#and my coworker says his ideal work schedule is 7 days on 7 days off

[corinneistherainbowsign]

having one day off work and one day on work and the next day off work is doing fantastic things to my psyche

[honeypirate]

58

Kunikida Doppo x Fem!Reader 

5495 words. I went hard for this guys.  

I took Ango’s ability for the reader because I like it and so this is now an AU where the reader has the Discourse on Decadence ability and takes memories from objects touched.

I know they don’t all live together but they do in this fic haha at least Kunikida, Dazai, and you are roommates although you’re hardly ever there together. Half of the time Dazai doesn't even sleep there. You’re the only one that really frequents, if you didn't all share rent you would assume you lived there alone save for late night run ins in the kitchen and bathroom. 

Warning: a couple swears.

Being in love with a man who was meticulous for following perfect schedules and plans was fine, you loved the structure and appreciated the consistency, but what really hurt, what really felt like your heart was ripped from your body with Akutagawa’s gift, was the fact that he had 58 conditions which he required for a spouse, and you only had 53 of them. You knew you failed his test, failed the expectations he had for a partner, and that someone as meticulous as him would never change his ways for someone who wasn’t above and beyond perfect when it came to those 58 ideals, but damn, you came so close, and that stung like a bitch. 

You had asked him one day what they were, out of curiosity when it naturally came up from Dazai teasing him about it, he showed you it with pleasure, and you noted mentally the boxes you filled, your heart cracking into more pieces with every box you didnt fill. 5, 5 things about you that are failures. You couldn't help but hate the number. 

You appeared at the door at 8am, right on the dot, the moment you were scheduled to be there and not a minute sooner or later. He really did like that about you, the fact that he never had to doubt you, he trusted that you always were where he scheduled you, you were the only one on the team that followed his orders to the T. “let’s go y/n we have to investigate a murder and your gift will really help” you nod with a smile “ready when you are” 

“Why did you want to join the detective agency?” he asks, he wasn't a huge part of your entrance exam and missed the questioning part Dazai did. You sigh as you think, remembering the day you joined 7 months ago, clasping your hands behind your back as you walk, “at first it was because I wanted to rebel, my parents wanted me to hide my gift and act like their perfect child, I dropped out of college and decided to train my gift, ultimately leading me to you guys. After I learned about how other gifteds are using their powers to help people I realized that I was using my gift poorly. I felt an overwhelming need to protect others, to protect my city, if i have this gift and shirk the responsibility it comes with, then it is just as much my fault if innocents die when I could have been the one to help them” 

He’s quiet for a while before he speaks again “that is admirable” is all he says before you get to your destination. If he was being honest, your answer was inspiring and he knows he would be writing it down in his notes later. 

You do your investigating, using the memories from the objects on the scene to find the culprit easily, finishing the job quicker than he had planned leaving you with approximately 14 minutes to spare in the schedule. As he finishes writing down some notes you appear beside him “we have like 12-13 minutes left in your schedule so i got us some roasted bonito. I didn’t see you eat like you normally do so i figured..” you shrug and hand him the food you bought him. He takes it from your gloved hand silently, his gaze piercing and prudent, but his heart was racing, you were so kind and always looked out for him. He appreciated your care but didn’t know how to react to it. “Efficient because we can eat it on our way back. Finishing early is always nice, I love the free moments where my mind is able to relax and process things.” You say and He watches you take a bite and hum softly as you appreciate the flavor. He makes a mental note to schedule in an extra 2-3 minutes on missions he goes on with you just so he can give you a second to breathe if you need it. 

You get back to the office with a few extra minutes to spare, you head to your desk to fill out paperwork and he watches you go, wondering why his heart seems to beat harder now that you left him. “Oooh does someone have a crush” Dazai says quietly as he teases Kunikida “I don’t know what you’re talking about. She is my coworker and besides,” “she lacks 5 of your spousal requirements yeah yeah. Maybe you're just a little too uptight with those 5, has anyone ever even gotten that close before?” Dazai looks at him with a smirk and Kunikida just walks off mumbling something about paperwork. 

The rest of the day went by as all of the rest seemed to, slow and filled with paperwork and sometimes smaller missions, you didn't mind though, in the office you had a straight line to watch Kunikida, and on missions you were helping people. You didn’t mind slow days, it meant no one was dying. 

You decided to break your routine, deciding to treat yourself to something special since your heart has been hurting for so long. You had a plan of getting something for dinner, doing a little indulgent spending, and then going home to drink a glass of wine and have a facemask and a movie night. You told Naomi of your plan since you two were close like sisters, not in her definition of a sibling though. 

You had dinner at your favorite restaurant, eating in the booth with the window that showed the sunset, then went to your favorite stores, buying a new silk red pajama set with shorts that had white lace around the leg openings. You bought a new red pencil skirt for work and a necklace that would match it. 

When you get home it’s so quiet you assume no one is there, you put your things away and shower before changing into your new pajamas, you had to admit, you looked delectable in them. You got a glass of wine and then took the bottle with you to your room to watch a movie. After about two glasses and half of the movie you felt a little tired so you decided to go to bed, you brought your glass and the wine back to the kitchen, wanting to put the bottle away in its cupboard and wash your cup. Although you only had two glasses you could feel your skin buzzing from the alcohol.  

As you go to put the bottle away you get startled when a voice speaks in the dark “What are you doing up so late?” His deep voice makes you jump and drop the glass and the bottle onto the floor around your bare feet, wine and glass going everywhere. “Hang on” he says and walks over, gently and easily lifting you up to sit on the countertop behind you as he grabbed towels and a broom to clean up the mess “i’m sorry Kunikida, you scared me but I should have been more careful” you whisper, why does the darkness of night always make you feel like you should whisper? “I’m sorry for frightening you, you have nothing to apologize for”  he finishes cleaning up the mess, throwing out the glass and paper towels before turning back to you. “You never answered my question” he says and you smile sweetly “just putting back the wine” you say innocently and a smile threatens to tug on his lips. 

“Oh you got wine on you” he says and before he realizes his actions he’s kneeled down on one knee, holding your foot gently and cleaning away the wine that has sprayed up your leg. “Ouch” you say and pull your foot away “what hurts?” he asks and then turns your foot gently “you have a piece of glass in your foot” he says and then gently pulls it free “wait here I am going to go get the first aid kit” before you can object he’s gone, down the hall to the bathroom.

When he comes back you’re swinging your feet softly and humming along to a song stuck in your head, he pauses for a moment at the doorway, noting how long and beautiful your legs looked in  your new pajamas, you made his mouth dry 

He came back, kneeling down once again to hold your foot, cleaning it with some peroxide before applying some neosporin and a bandaid, his cheeks flushed as he uses all of his willpower not to run his hands up your legs and grip your thighs, pushing your legs apart as he stands between them, kissing your soft- he cuts those thoughts short, you didn't meet the requirements, you weren’t the one. 

When he stood you followed what the alcohol in your veins was telling you, leaning into him you lay your head against the tall man's chest as you hugged him. “Thank you for always protecting me Kunikida” his hands find their way to your back, he can smell your shampoo and the natural scent of your skin, it's intoxicating to him.

 He had two choices, push you as far away as he could and reprimand you even though he is just as at fault, or embrace you and throw his list out the window. Maybe Dazai was right and he was too stuck up with the list, he was sure about one thing, that you were the only one who almost filled the entire list, the other five being self indulgent he could cross them out and then you would be the one. He was so confused, his life was his book, he was his book, his ideals were everything. Good thing ideals can change and evolve with time. 

You pull back and push him away softly before hopping down from the counter, your hands on his shoulders as you look up at him. He smiles down at you, a lovely smile that looked so genuine, filled with unspeakable loneliness in his eyes. You reach up and untie the crimson ribbon around his neck and stand on your tiptoes, kissing his cheek/chin and whispering a goodnight before walking off back to your bedroom. If he reprimanded you tomorrow you would blame the drinks and claim to be a lightweight. 

The next morning you wear your new crimson red pencil skirt, a white blouse tucked in, and the ribbon you took from Kunikida, around your neck twice and tied in bow, like the perfect choker that puts the necklace you bought the day before to shame. You slip on your black heels and exit your room, heading down to the kitchen to have a coffee and some breakfast, you’re usually up and out the door before everyone else so that you can take the long way to work, through the park to see the spring blooming. 

“You’re up early” his voice shocks you again, but this time you keep a hold on your coffee cup “I could say the same to you, I’m always up at this time. Coffee?” he nods with a small smile and you turn around to poor him some from the pot you made,  he never knew who made coffee, he knew that it was made when he got up but assumed you just put it on a timer, not that you were already up at this hour since you came into work right on time when you were scheduled. He wonders what you do with your mornings. 

You hand him a cup and he takes it with a smile “thank you y/n”  he says and you nod “no problem” you go back to making your breakfast,  pretending like last night’s incident isn’t fresh on your mind, until your toe kicks a piece of glass that was stuck under the lower cabinet. You crouch down, picking up the piece as Kinikida comes around “you’re not one to miss something Kunikida”  you hold it up with a sly smile “If i didn’t know better, I’d say I really flustered you last night” (if i didn't know about your list is more like it) his heart was racing, you did fluster him, “nonsense” he says, taking the glass and disposing of it, pretending to not notice the necklace you had made from his ribbon around your neck, or the way that you looked practically kneeling in front of him.

 You laugh as you stand, going back about your business, wrapping your breakfast up and throwing your bag over your shoulder before grabbing your travel coffee mug and sending him another, albeit fake this time, smile, “nonsense, I know I know, I don't even make the list.  58. I’ll see you at the office, Kunikida.” You bow slightly before leaving him in the kitchen, just as flustered as you had him last night, if you had pushed just a little more, he would have confessed, confessed that he has practically rewritten his list around you. Part of him wonders where you’re off to, you’re not scheduled for another hour and a half and he knows for a fact the walk takes ten minutes. He sighs, finishing his coffee, if he wanted to know he would just ask you later. 

The day went by smoothly, you did your missions, did your paperwork, and went home. Sadly though, because of a fight during a mission, you lost the ribbon you took from Kunikida and in turn got a ring of budding bruises and burns because of the villain using it to try and strangle you. What was worse was that you weren’t able to even see Kunikida for the rest of the day.

You walked up the steps of the home slowly, making sure you didn’t wake anyone, if they were even here, it’s past 11 now, your last fight took a while and so did the paperwork. If you shower quickly you can give yourself at least 20 minutes of time to relax and process before going to sleep, already hating your morning alarm. 

 You head to your room, take off your clothing and hang them up, placing the hanger by the door so that you can drop it by the dry cleaners in the morning. Once inside the bathroom you start the shower to warm up, looking at yourself in the mirror you gently touch your neck, hissing at the pain and quickly retreating your fingers. Sighing, you run your fingers through your hair, blood dried and caked in a few places making your fingers get stuck on tangles, you grab your comb and take it into the shower with you, combing through gently after it’s been washed and conditioned. 

You sigh again, grabbing the wine bottle, before you even reach for a glass you think better of it, uncorking it and drinking straight from the bottle. The sound of the bottom of the bottle scraping as you placed it down against the marble sounded loud in the quiet, dark room, but compared to the sound of the feet stomping down the stairs it was silent. 

You take another drink then gasp as the light turns on in the kitchen, causing you to yet again drop what you were holding on to the floor, the bottle shattering around your feet and your head hanging, this isn't what you needed, something else to keep you from sleep. Before you can even think of bending down to clean up the mess, you are lifted to the counter again, the same as the previous night, but what made it different was the gentle fingers, turning your face up to look at him. 

“We have to stop meeting like this” you say, trying to diffuse the tension, but by the way his lips turned down into a frown, made you break, you couldn’t get reprimanded right now, not by him, not by the one person you wish would comfort you. You tear your head from his grasp, looking back down at your lap as the tears gather in your eyes and your throat tightens in what feels like agony.  

“Stay here” he says as he disappears, once he’s gone your face scrunches up, failing to hold back tears anymore you cover your face with your hands, muffling your cries and hiding your face even though the hot tears just slid down your palms and off your chin, hitting your thighs silently. 

When he gets back he pauses, seeing you look so vulnerable, at your end, he’s never seen you like this and it absolutely kills him. he knows his damn list, knows what he has said before, but somehow, regardless of his words or actions, his heart has chosen for itself. He crosses the room in seconds, sets the first aid kit down beside you, and wraps his arms around you, pulling you to his chest. 

your hands find their way around his back, grabbing fistfulls of the shirt he was wearing, your face buried in his chest as your tears soaked through the fabric. He held you tight, his hand smoothing down your hair as your sobs wracked through you. When you were done crying he held you longer, waiting for when you were ready, when you would pull away. 

All he can think about as he holds you was how pissed off he was when Dazai told him you were attacked, how pissed off he was at the villian you fought. But so proud of you for your win, for your fighting skills, he was told you were almost killed, almost strangled to death with your necklace, the necklace that was made from his ribbon. It made him angry because he wasn't there to keep that from happening, he knew you were strong but he felt this pit in his stomach, that he was so close to losing you and you didn't even know that he cared so much for you. The way Dazai looked at him made him angrier, all he could do was change the subject and finish paperwork. He was worried about you. When he heard you in the shower he was grateful you were home, he resisted going to you when he heard you back in your room, told himself to go to sleep when he heard your footsteps go back down the steps. But when he didn’t hear you come back in a few minutes he couldn’t control himself, running down the steps as quick as he could, he couldn't help it, he needed to make sure you were okay. 

When you pulled back from him you felt embarrassed, “Sorry Kuni-” he tilts your head up to look at him “you have nothing to be sorry about” he whispers, brushing your tears away and then leans down to kiss your forehead. You gasp in shock as he acts like this was a normal thing between you two, looking at him with wide, bloodshot eyes as he grabs the first aid kit. He takes out the Neosporin and then puts some on his fingers before gently rubbing some on your neck, you hiss and pull away from the pain “I’m sorry” he says and you shake your head before taking his other hand, holding it as you tilt your face away to expose your neck better in the light. 

He frowns as he sees the extent of damage your neck took. “I’m sorry for taking your ribbon. Karma, i guess” you whisper through gritted teeth as he gently applies the cream to your neck, the broken bottle and spilled wine forgotten about for the time being. “Hush” he says and squeezes your hand, he moves to the other side of your neck and you roll your head to keep the correct side of the wound in the light. His touch feels nice on your neck, his gentle cool fingers against your angry red, wounded neck,  you sigh softly, a sweet sound to his ears. He squeezes your hand again as he finishes his work and you drop it, turning your face to look at him. 

“You can have any ribbon of mine you want” he says calmly as he grabs a hand towel from the counter and crouches down, wiping up the wine carefully. You look down at him with your eyebrows raised “Kunikida?” He looks up at you from your feet “what?” He responds and you chuckle softly, your stuffy nose changing the sound “why are you being so nice to me?” He looks back down to his cleaning so you don’t see his blushing cheeks, his heart beating wildly, “what do you mean? I’m a nice guy” he says and you laugh “you are. But you’re making me feel special, that’s usually not your M.O.  I mean I’m not even that worthy by your standards.” You say and you feel your heart crack at finally saying the truth out loud. 

He sighs, the weight in the room heavy as he finishes cleaning up the wine and glass, just throwing away the glass towel, making a mental note to buy a replacement tomorrow. He walks back over to where you are, still sitting on the counter, looking down at your toes and focusing on the cool tile under your palms and the way the heat in your neck throbs. 

He places his palms against your knees, gently opening them to stand between them, you gasp as he places his fingers under your chin and tilts your face up to look at him. He looks fiercely serious and your eyes flick down to his lips for a second before meeting his eye again, blushing as he smirks at your actions. 

“Y/n” he starts, his voice deep and as serious as he looks, you don’t know if he’s going to reprimand you or not. “Where do you go in the morning before work?” he asks and a chuckle bubbles out your throat “Kunikida, here I thought you were going to kiss me but instead you wanted to ask me about my morning ritual? Come with me in the morning and you can see” he nods, his cheeks pink “okay I will” he says and then picks you up easily into his arms “what are you doing? Oh god please don’t drop me” he chuckles as you cling to him and doesn’t say anything as he carries you upstairs to your bedroom, tucking you in and kissing your forehead, successfully confusing the hell out of you as you watch him leave your room “we’ll talk over breakfast. Get a good rest” he says as he closes your door behind him.  

The next morning you’re up a little earlier than usual, excited to have Kunikida accompany you before work. You dress in a dark green pencil skirt with a cream blouse tucked in and black heels. You layer a couple long gold necklaces, making sure to avoid the still red and bruising marks, and put on some matching earrings, you style your hair up in a neat bun, leaving out a few whispies to frame your face.  You put on a little makeup to accentuate your features before leaving your bedroom and taking along your clothes to drop off at the cleaners. When you get downstairs Kunikida is already there, pouring you a cup of coffee. 

Your stomach flips when you see him, your breath hitching as you watch him pour the coffee into your travel mugs. You feel your face flush as he looks up to you in the doorway “goodmorning Y/n” he says, setting the pot down and walking over to you. He reaches out and gently takes your chin in his hand, tilting your head back to examine your neck. “Let’s put more medicine on this, it will probably take away some of the pain.”

 “Should I sit on the counter again?”  your voice was low and teasing, your hand coming up to rest on his chest. His heart beat is so loud in his ears he hopes you can’t feel it under your palm on his chest. 

Your breath hitches as you gaze up at him, his eyes flicking to your lips as you stand close together in the kitchen. “Yes that might be wise” he says and places his hands on your hips as he leads you around to the island behind him, your butt bumps into the counter and he swiftly lifts you back to the countertop. You chuckle, steadying yourself by holding his shoulders. 

“I’m starting to think you like me up here” you tease, smiling at him, the height of the counter making you almost eye to eye. 

His cheeks dust a light shade of pink as he pushes up his glasses, “i’m just trying to take care of you since it was my ribbon that did this to you” 

He gently grabs your chin again, looking into your eyes for a moment, the tension in the air thick as you smiled sweetly, his tongue wets his bottom lip and your eyes flick down to them, when you look back up at him his eyes are dark and you can tell he wants to kiss you, a soft chuckle escapes your lips and it seems to shake him out of it. He turns your head gently and grabs the neosporin. 

“Thank you Kunikida. I’m sure i will heal quicker because of your care.” you whisper as he begins on the other side. “I surely hope so.” he states. Your hands are on your lap as you play with your fingers, waiting patiently for him to finish.  

“Are you ready to see what I do in the morning?” you ask when he finishes his work, your eyes finding his again. He nods “yes, I am truly excited to go with you.” You place your hands on his shoulders and slip off the counter, pressing yourself against him you stand on your tiptoes and kiss his cheek “thank you. For the care and the coffee” You use your thumb to softly wipe the lip gloss from his cheek before slipping past him, grabbing your coffee and slipping your bag across your shoulder and grabbing last night's clothes. 

You take a sip of your coffee and then smile at him “Ready?” you ask and he nods, your bright smile making his heart race as he picks up his coffee and bag and follows you out of the kitchen.  

You walk the opposite direction from the office and he quirks his eyebrow at you but says nothing as he follows, his stomach in nervous excited knots. He takes a sip of his coffee, hoping the hot bean liquid would help him relax.

 After you drop off your clothes you take him to the bread shop a few blocks away, getting a bagel for breakfast where he opted for a croissant. You showed him your favorite building, a small home that was ancient and still standing surrounded by the tall glass buildings and businesses. You stopped for a moment to talk to the lovely old lady who lived there, she was always tending her flower garden when you passed in the morning and you became good friends with her. 

“Who is this? Your sweetheart?” she asks and you chuckle “This is Kunikida, we work together” you say with a small smile and she looks at you knowingly “Oh honey if i had a coworker who looked at me the way he looked at you,” she doesn't finish the sentence, she just sends you a pointed look causing your cheeks to flush as you chuckle, Kunikida just watches you with a smile, loving how cute you look when you blush.

The next stop was the park, since it is the spring the flowers are in bloom and it all looks pretty, you sit down at your usual bench that overlooks the majority of the area, the sun in the sky warming your shoulders as the shadows of the trees dance across your features, Kunikida sits by you, drinking in your presence as he watches you truly enjoy every moment you are in. 

“You said we would talk today. Is now a good time or maybe later during lunch? That is if we don’t get last minute missions” you finish your coffee and place your cup in your bag. He sighs, looking out across the park and he pushes up his glasses “You have perplexed me.” he says you laugh, a little confused. You turn to him and watch him, waiting for him to continue. 

“I am my ideal. Ideals that mean everything. I have my protocol and I stick to it no matter what. Everything is planned, work is structured. It is how I thrive. I have these ideals and requirements. But then you joined the group and slowly you have captured my heart.” he turns his head to look into your eyes now, they are full of raw emotion that leaves you speechless. 

“Kuni-” he takes your hand and it silences you “My list” he says and reaches up to wrap your whispies around his finger “all it has on it now is you”

Your heart stops and your breath catches as he confesses his feelings, this man who is all ideals and protocol, who you have been in love with since you started working with, who you never thought you would have a chance with, is holding your hand and telling you that his only requirement for a partner, is that it is you. 

“What about your list of 58? This is very unlike you Kunikida” you whisper, your heart going positively wild at his confession, you never thought he would be the one to change part of his ideal. It was completely out of character. “You are hundreds, thousands of things that make my life sweeter. Who needs 58 when you give me all” your breath catches and he leans down, pressing his forehead into yours. 

“Please tell me you feel this too” you chuckle, your hand coming to rest on his cheek “I feel this too. Kunikida I-” he captures your lips with his, a kiss that has been built up with tension over the past few days, you sigh and reach up, your hand ghosting over his cheek and neck before landing on his pony, wrapping the strands around your fingers. His free hand is cupping your cheek gently, his fingers brushing against your skin as his tongue brushes against your bottom lip, you sigh as you touch your tongue to his, the feeling of electricity coursing through your veins. 

Your phone beeps and you groan, pulling back from him as you look down at it, reading the message that has come through, his hand was still playing with your hair.“What is it?” you sigh and look up at him, forgetting about how close your faces were until your noses brushed “Dazai says to come in as soon as possible so we should go now-” he pecks your lips softly and stands, pulling you up with him

“Always more work to do” he says and you smile, he was right as per usual. He holds out his hand and you take it with a smile, lacing your fingers together as you continue your walk. “Are we going to tell the others?” You ask, really unsure yourself about what was best “yes. There will be paperwork to do but I’ve had it on my desk for a while now” you chuckle “you have?!” He nods “ Dazai gave them to me. He knew how I felt before I did” you laugh “Dazai always knows. He caught me looking at you once and I had to promise him if you didn’t feel the same that I had to help him with his suicide mission, just so he wouldn’t tell you my feelings first”  you both make mental notes to talk to Dazai. You stop outside the doors and pull him down into another soft kiss, when you pull back you smile up at him and he chuckles “be safe today” he says as he looks over your neck again and you nod “yes sir” you say and chuckle at the emotion that flashes in his eyes you lean forward “i wish we had to time to explore that. Too bad we have to work” you kiss his neck and then pull back, opening the door and walking into the building chuckling. Daizai watching with a knowing smirk from the window above.

[jalapeno-princess]

Dance For You

(This entire photoshoot wrecked my life and my soul actually left my body how can one human be this fucking sexy it isn’t fair)

Mark Tuan X Stripper Reader

Genre: This one has all the good shit (So much fluff, tiny bits of angst and SMUT SMUT SMUT)

Warning: Rated 18+

Oral (both male and female receiving), edging, choking, face riding, breast play, degradation, doggy style, cowgirl, daddy kink, dominant Mark (one can dream)

Word Count: 11.5K

Summary: Becoming a stripper was the last thing you would have ever saw yourself doing as a job, but because you had so many financial responsibilities, you were willing to do whatever it was to get a large amount of money in a small amount of time. There were many pros that came with being a stripper; not only were you paid excessive amounts of money that you weren’t able to wrap your mind around, but your job is what also led you to meeting the actual love of your life; your devastatingly handsome boyfriend of three years Mark Tuan.

A/N: I wrote this over a year ago (I don’t know what inspired me to write this but the idea of Mark dating a stripper got me all sorts of fucked up and one of my favorite youtubers is a stripper and I just grew curious about what it would be like to have a boyfriend while being an exotic dancer) so this came out. If I’m being honest, I had to tweak this story A LOT; I was actually cringing at how bad my writing used to be I’ve come a long way guys--happy reading!! 

Being a stripper was not an ideal job. They were always frowned upon by most people and ridiculed for selling their bodies in order to make money. But what most people didn’t understand, was that pole dancing and stripping was an art as much as it was sexual entertainment. When you first started stripping, it was to help pay for college, your apartment and your car. You told yourself you would quit stripping once you graduated from college and paid off all of your bills. However, you’d be lying if you said that you didn’t enjoy the money you would bring home almost every single night you worked. 

The club that you worked at was one of the most popular strip clubs in town. It was always packed to the point where people would have to go on a waiting list or could only get in if they had connections. Most dancers at your club were practically family to you and they made sure you knew that you were the reason everyone would come to that specific club. You were always quick to shut down their compliments because you didn’t think you were all that special. From the time you were a little girl, you’ve always loved to dance. 

Whether it be ballet, jazz or hip hop, you would dance any and everywhere there was music. As you got older, you got so busy with both work and school that you no longer had the time or energy to continue doing what you loved so much. When you graduated from high school, you decided to attend college thousands of miles away from your hometown to your parents dismay. They were very helpful when it came to paying for your college education. However, because it was your decision to move away and be an out of state student, they told you that you needed to help pay for your tuition. 

After months of working boring, low paying jobs, you overheard one of your classmates talking about how much money she gets paid from her job. When you asked her about it, it was then that she admitted to being a stripper and offered to get you an audition with her company in order to get a job there. At first, you were contemplating on doing so. You were raised to be very modest and anyone who sold their bodies to people for money whether it be prostitutes, hookers or strippers were frowned upon by your family. However, the income strippers received is what sold you. 

You didn’t care about the consequences that came with being an exotic dancer—you just wanted life to be easier. When you went for your audition, everyone was blown away by how graceful your movements were and you were immediately hired on the spot. For the first week after being hired, your managers had the other strippers teach you the basics. Even if you were a dancer, dancing in heels and lingerie was not something you were used to. Although you had a fit body from dancing for so many years, you didn’t think you had the breasts nor the butt to be a stripper. 

Seeing your fellow coworkers bodies made you very insecure from time to time, but you were very quick to learn that this was a cutthroat business. There was no room to have a low self esteem. Even if you were close with almost every stripper you worked with, things weren’t like that in the beginning. Strippers were some of the most competitive people there were and you couldn’t blame them. 

They all wanted to be the best in order to attract more customers. Sure, there were times where you would regret becoming a stripper—and the guilt would eat you alive every time your mom called you to ask how college was going. But there were more pros than cons that came with being a stripper. You loved your job; the management was very lenient with your schedule, you made more money in one night than you did in two weeks at any of your previous jobs and because it was stripping that introduced you to the actual love of your life—your boyfriend of three years, Mark Tuan. 

On the night you and Mark first met, he had just turned 21 years old. You were 19 at the time and you had already been dancing for a couple of months. For his birthday, his friends decided to take him to a strip club; telling him that he needed to experience such wild and fun things while he was still young. Mark wasn’t the type to go out to clubs, parties and bars. All he really cared about was school and video games; until he met you and that’s when everything changed. You were getting ready to perform when you were requested for a one on one session. It wasn’t uncommon. Men would request for a one on one performance with strippers all the time, but you had yet to do so yourself. 

You’d hear stories all the time from your coworkers about how scary it could be, even if it paid more. The club charged more for one on one performances only because they could be making more when the dancer performs for a crowd rather than just one person. You told your management that you didn’t feel comfortable performing for someone alone because of the countless horror stories you heard about men getting physical and even trying to rape the dancers. However, after the few incidents, the management made sure that whoever entered the club had a quick background check before they were able to enter.

“Y/n, your customer is waiting for you in room 7. Go easy on him. He’s really cute. Oh, and wear that cute red suit you bought the other day. Trust me.” 

You did as you were told and put on the very tiny, leaving no room to the imagination lingerie set while slipping on your Louboutins. After a taking in a few deep breaths and whispering words of encouragement to yourself just like you did almost every night, you made your way outside to his room. When you walked out on that stage and your eyes landed on your customer, you felt your heart rate increased. Your manager wasn’t lying when she said that he was cute. In fact, that was an understatement. He was gorgeous. Extremely handsome. Probably the most attractive man you’ve ever laid your eyes on. 

For a second, you felt flustered and you were worried you were going to mess up because you were obviously very much attracted to the man sitting just a few feet away from you. But once you took a quick look at yourself in the side mirror, you marched down that stage like you owned it. Seeing him gulp as you made your way towards him only increased your confidence and soon, you found yourself sitting on his lap. 

“Hi there. Forgive me if I’m wrong, but you don’t seem like the type to come to a place like this.” He nodded his head while you ran your hands up and down his chest. 

“I don’t. It’s my birthday and my friends forced me to come. But if I’m being honest with you, I’m very glad I came. You’re extremely beautiful.” 

You giggled at his words and you were very grateful for the fact that the club was dark or else he would see you blush. Nobody who came in here has ever called you beautiful before. It was always either derogatory terms; “sexy” or “hot”. Hearing him call you beautiful, only made you want to hear him say it to you again and again. 

“Thank you. Oh, and happy birthday. What’s your name?” He smiled politely at you while hesitantly bringing his hands to your hips. 

“I’m Mark.” You placed a soft kiss on his cheek before standing up and seductively making your way to the pole. 

“I’m y/n. Let me dance for you birthday boy.” 

His eyes never left you and your body the entire time. Even if it was dark, the very prominent and large bulge in Mark’s pants didn’t go unnoticed to you—it made you feel even more confident and sexy. Slowly, you walked over to him and found your way back on to his lap. You dragged your thumb against his bottom lip all the while slowly grinding yourself on top of him. Hearing his moans and seeing him bite his lip only made you go faster. 

“Fuck—you’re so—fucking sexy—please—don’t stop—“ 

The other dancers would always tell you about how they would do more than just give somebody a lap dance during these one on one sessions. A lot of them slept with their customers willingly in order to make more money. You were never one to want to do that—you were here to dance, not to have sex with people. However, with the way Mark was looking at you with so much lust in his big, brown eyes and holding you all but gently, you wanted nothing more than to please him in anyway possible. You brought your hand down to his very thick and long cock; stroking him through his pants, earning yourself multiple moans and whines from his pretty lips. 

“Can I give you a birthday gift? Would that be okay?” He quickly nodded in agreement and before you could even process the entire situation, you found yourself getting on your knees. Once you unzipped his zipper, his sigh of relief when you pulled him out of his pants sent warmth to your already soaking clit. 

“Fuck—I—holy shit—just like that baby. Oh god—mmmmm—so—so so good—“ 

Only seconds after relieving him from the constraints of his boxers, you dragged your tongue along his slit while circling his tip. His breathy whimpers and wanton moans only motivated you to go faster; you brought him completely in to your mouth and bobbed your head up and down his length, taking him down your throat as much as you possibly could all the while fondling his balls. He pulled your hair in to a makeshift ponytail and continued to thrust himself deep down in to your throat. 

“So warm and so tight. Fuck. You’re so beautiful. So fucking pretty. Look at you, taking this cock. Do you think I could fuck your face princess?” 

You nodded earning yourself a raspy groan. He started roughly pushing your head on to his dick but you were too busy trying to pleasure him to even think about the pain. His cock grazed the back of your throat in the most delicious way. You tried your best to go as rough and as hard as you possibly could; licking and sucking on him while pinching on his ass cheeks. Your eyes began to fill up with tears, but you couldn’t find it in yourself to stop—mainly because it was adamant that he was enjoying feeling your mouth wrapped around his cock. 

But you were genuinely having a good time yourself. Watching his eyes roll to the back of his head as he bit down on his bottom lip sent chills down your spine. He was so damn hot. After a few moments, you felt his white, creamy liquid fill your mouth and you swallowed it entirely. Seeing him throw his head back and the fact that he came in less than 5 minutes sent fire through your bones; it was an indescribable feeling. 

You weren’t one who really cared about giving head; most of the guys you’ve been with never cared whether or not you were comfortable and it unfortunately ruined your entire outlook on sex—but something about this boy made you want to perform oral on him every single day. He pulled you up off of the ground, back on to his lap and roughly connected his lips to yours. 

“Holy shit. You’re not real. You can’t be. Where did you come from? I can’t even describe how amazing that was. Shit wait, are we allowed to do this? Am I going to get in trouble for letting you blow me? Nobody can know I’m here right now my parents would probably have a fit-“ he sounded so cute getting flustered over the thought that he might get in trouble for having fun with you. You shook your head in attempts to keep his mind at ease and began leaving soft kisses along his jaw. 

“You’re totally fine. Don’t worry about it.” The vibration coming from his phone broke the two of you out of your little world and he hid his face in your chest after reading the messages from his friends. 

“They’re looking for me. Apparently we’ve been here for three hours. It doesn’t even feel like it’s been that long. They’re not kidding when they say time flies when you’re having fun. That was the best birthday present ever. I’m really glad I came. Literally. But I should get going. I um—can I—your number—“ 

As devastatingly handsome as Mark was and no matter how much you wanted to see him again, strippers didn’t get in to relationships nor did they have any sort of human interaction other than with the customers. You didn’t want to burden Mark with the fact that you were a stripper; you didn’t want him feeling embarrassed if he ever had to introduce you to people. After placing a long kiss on his lips and running your fingers throughout locks, you started making your way towards the curtains. 

“Come back again soon and we’ll see about that.” 

Mark stayed in your mind for the rest of that night. You couldn’t stop thinking about him—how gentle yet rough he was. How he held you as if you were such a fragile piece of glass. How he looked at you so softly, with so much adoration in his eyes. How thick and big his cock was and how you wanted nothing more than to feel him inside of you. But you couldn’t do that to him. You wanted to be selfish and give in to temptation by calling him and seeing where it goes between the two of you, but you didn’t want to end up hurt. You’ve heard one too many stories from your coworkers about how they’d get their hearts broken because the boys they were interested in weren’t accepting of their choice in occupation.

Just a few days after that erotic night together, fate brought you two together again; but not in the way you had hoped. You were late to class one morning because you overslept seeing as how you got home from work at almost 4 in the morning. You were so focused on your notes that you failed to see someone walking towards you until you collided with a body. 

“Oh my God I am so sorry I really should be looking where I am walking—Mark?” Your eyes widened in shock at the sight of him and the grin that rose on his face filled your stomach with butterflies. 

“Hey princess. I’ve missed you. I’ve been planning on going back to the club just to see you again but I haven’t had the time-“ You brought your hand up to cover his mouth and made sure no one was around to hear about what you did to make your income. 

“Please don’t say anything about that. Nobody here knows that I’m a stripper and I’d like to keep it that way. Now if you’ll excuse me.” You began walking away in the direction of your building when you were quickly pulled in to his chest. 

“Mark I’m late for class as it is please let me go.” He released a long, frustrating sigh and you were genuinely very embarrassed with how harsh you were acting towards him. Especially because he didn’t do anything to deserve such hostility. 

“Your number. Can I please have it? I regret not trying harder to ask you for it. I’m sorry if I’m coming off rude or creepy, but I would really like to take you on a date if you’d let me. If I’m bothering you, just say the word and I’ll never speak to you again. I just hope you know I can’t get you off my mind. And before you start assuming, no. It’s not because—well—yes—you gave me the best head of my life but there’s something about you that intrigues me; something about you captivates me. There’s something mysterious about you and I can’t stop trying to think about what it is. The way you move and make that dance floor yours. The way you touched me and ran your fingers through my hair awakened something animalistic in me and I knew that wasn’t going to be the last time I saw you. The way you have so much confidence allures me and I can’t stop touching my lips because of how much I miss the feeling of yours against them. It probably meant nothing to you, but it meant a lot to me. I promise I’m not some weirdo, I have pure intentions please believe me.” 

You gave him a small smile and then motioned for him to give you his phone so that you could enter your information. You’d be lying to yourself if you said you weren’t hung up on him. This is what you wanted. You were secretly hoping he’d come back to the club with the thought of continuing where you both left off from last time, but you knew why you were hesitant on taking things further between the two. 

“Are you free tonight?” You sadly shook your head—you wish you were; you wanted to see what he had in mind for the two of you. 

“I work from 9-3. But I’m off tomorrow. So I’m all yours.” 

He grinned in excitement at your words and the two of you soon said your goodbyes. Before you let him completely walk away, something inside of you—maybe the confidence he had mentioned earlier made you grab at his wrist and pull him in for a chaste kiss. 

“See you soon.” 

You went to work that night with the biggest grin on your face and couldn’t wait to see where things would go between the two of you. You and Mark started texting back and forth as you were preparing for work and during your break. He told you he had the entire date planned and to say you were excited was an understatement. When you first got in to stripping, you pushed away the idea of a relationship to the back of your mind because you knew most guys wouldn’t be quite happy with the fact that their girlfriend is a stripper. But Mark didn’t seem to care and although you shouldn’t be getting your hopes up, you couldn’t help but feel like he was going to be someone special in your life. 

If he didn’t want to be with you because of your occupation, he would have said so much earlier. The next day, the only information he gave you was that he wanted you to be ready by eleven and that he was taking you somewhere fun. You decided to wear a cute sundress and lightly curled your hair. You applied a small amount makeup in attempts of concealing the dark circles that developed under your eyes in the last week and decided to watch some tv while waiting for him. Mark texted you that he was on his way and you found yourself heating up at the mere thought of him. 

It’s been quite some time since you were involved with another guy, let alone one that you were genuinely interested in. You were hoping that things would work well between you and Mark because he seemed like a genuinely nice person who fit the standards you were searching for in a significant other. When your doorbell rang, you tried your best to stay calm and pretend he didn’t have such an effect on you. 

Truth was, you never felt this way about anyone before. You had yet to experience a real relationship and it wasn’t like you had feelings for your any of your customers or fellow classmates. Even if you hardly knew him, you found yourself wanting to learn more about him and you could only hope for things to go well for the both of you. Once you opened the door and your eyes landed on him, your heart rate increased. He had to be some sort of Greek God in his past life. There was no way someone could be this handsome. 

“Hey. You look very beautiful. Not that I’m surprised. Ready to go?” You nodded as he reached for your hand and led you to his car, but not before connecting your lips together. 

“Mmm, I think I’m addicted to these pretty pink lips of yours. I’m addicted to every little thing about you.” 

Heat rose to your cheeks once again and he chuckled at the sight. This boy was honestly going to be the death of you. He was quick to intertwine your hands together and led you to his car—like the gentleman he was, he opened your door for you and helped you get settled in to your seat, stealing a quick kiss from the corner of his mouth. 

Once he made his way to his side, he turned on the radio and absentmindedly placed his hand on your lap. The car ride was quiet in the beginning, both of you having so many things on your minds but neither of you had any idea what to say. Although you enjoyed the piece and quiet, there was so many things you wanted to learn about him—however, you didn’t want to be the first one to start the conversation. After a while, he finally spoke up. 

“What are you majoring in?” From that question on, the two of you were complete chatterboxes and the conversation continued until he reached the destination. Your smile rose tenfold when you realized where he brought you. 

“I hope you’re fine with the beach? I just love it here and I thought the weather was nice. If not, we can go somewhere else. I’m fine with whatever you want to do.” You shook your head and placed a chaste kiss on his cheek. 

“I love the beach. I actually haven’t been to one since moving here for college.” 

He beamed up at you and gently squeezed your thigh. When you got out of the car, you quickly noticed the basket in Mark’s hands and smiled even wider than you already were, if it was even possible. 

“I packed us a picnic basket. I wasn’t too sure on what to get because I have yet to learn what you like, but I hope this is all okay.” 

Seeing him get all shy, completely different from just a few nights ago when he was shoving himself down your throat made butterflies swarm in your tummy. He reached for your hand and intertwined your fingers while leading you to a secluded area. He placed the blanket down and motioned for you to sit down. Before you could take a seat next to him, you were being pulled on to his lap. You were about to object until he placed his lips against yours in order to silence you. 

He ended up feeding you and the thought of him wanting to take care of you made your head spin. The two of you continued to talk about pretty much anything and everything your hearts desired and in the few hours you got to spend with him, you learned a lot about the shy and extremely kind hearted boy. For starters, he was a huge fan of the Los Angeles Lakers, yet he had not once stepped foot on a basketball court before. He also wanted to go in to architecture; he had a passion for drawing and he also loved anything that had to do with buildings and construction, but his mom talked him out of it in fear of something happening to him while he was at a construction site. 

His favorite food was Hawaiian pizza—a fact that you were quick to tease him about, but he was quick to defend himself and it made you fall even harder for him. Once the two of you were done at the beach, he took you to an arcade: somewhere you learned he spent most of his time at. Seeing him get all excited over playing race car games and skeeball brought warmth to your cheeks. You were quickly growing fond of Mark and you knew in that moment you were screwed. 

As soon as you both realized it was getting late, you made your way back to his car and he started heading back to your place. A part of you didn’t want to leave him just yet—his presence alone made you feel safe;comfortable. Even if you haven’t known him for too long, you loved the way he made you feel and you knew you could get used to having him around; that’s why you didn’t find it surprising when you invited him in for some coffee. Although, the both of you knew coffee was not going to be involved in the plans for the rest of the night. Mark wanted to be a gentleman and take things slow with you, but he knew he couldn’t—you had such an effect on him that he knew he would do anything you’d ask him to and the thought excited him more than it scared him. 

The two of you found yourselves tumbling in to bed together. It wasn’t a surprise, you knew sooner or later you had to have him. If he didn’t have to go so soon just a few nights ago, you were sure you would’ve let him take you against the stage or hell, even up against the pole. With the way he was leaving rough kisses all along your body, you knew he was quickly losing his sanity too. After bringing you to heaven twice with his head between your thighs in less than half  an hour, the two of you relished in your newfound relationship. 

He took you in your bed, against your kitchen counter, on your couch and finally in the shower. He couldn’t get enough of you and it was evident that you felt the same way about him. After finishing up in the shower, he helped you prepare for bed and even gave you his shirt to wear as he slept in only his underwear. He held you tightly to his body and whispered sweet nothings in to your ear before finally asleep. It had to be one of the best nights you had since moving to California. 

From that day on, the two of you were inseparable—like magnets. Wherever you’d go, he would follow and vice versa. The two of you could never go without one another. You found yourself falling in love with him in just a few months of dating and although the two of you weren’t together for too long; you were sure he was the man you wanted to spend the rest of your life with. Mark wasn’t a jealous boyfriend—he knew you were his and his alone. At first, he was kind of insecure with dating you, especially because he was well aware that you’d continue being a stripper even if you were now in a relationship. 

It wasn’t that he asked you to quit; nor did he try to make you feel bad for continuing your profession. He was proud of you for working a full time job and attending school at the same time and your boyfriend knew you were your own person before you were his—plus he trusted you. Mark knew you loved him just as much as he loved you. It wasn’t you he was worried about, it was the men who would come to the club. Knowing that you were one of the main dancers only worried your boyfriend because he was afraid that people would try and take advantage of you when he wasn’t around to protect you. 

He’s been to the club countless times since the two of you started dating, and it took every bone in his body not to fight anyone who tried to lay their hands on you. You would reassure him that you were fine, and that he was the only one you would have one on one sessions with. You made sure to tell your manager you were in a relationship and did not feel comfortable performing for someone alone knowing your boyfriend was at home, waiting for you to finish work. 

One thing Mark did that made your heart flutter, no matter how many times you told him you were fine, was that he would pick you up every single night that you worked—no matter what time it was. He never failed to come get you and always told you it was because he wanted to make sure you got home safely. Just a few months after the two of you started dating, he had asked you to move in with him. 

At first, he was afraid of rushing things—he was afraid that he would scare you away if you weren’t ready to take that further step in your relationship, but he craved your presence and loved being around you. Plus, it was easier for him to pick you up and drop you off to both work and school. He accommodated you in any way you needed. Before you could bring over your things, you noticed he had purchased a lot of the things you needed including your shampoo and conditioner, a jewelry box to put all your jewelry in, some face masks and other skin care products and he even bought you a vanity for your makeup. 

Dating Mark was a dream. He was everything you could ask for in a boyfriend and more. He was patient, extremely funny, generous, always put your feelings first and had one of the kindest hearts. You only fell for him more and more each and every day. He scheduled his classes so that he could take you to school and finish around the same time you did; and not that it was the main focus of your relationship, but since you started dating Mark, the both of you had a sexual awakening. 

What he didn’t know, was that although you were a stripper, you’ve only had one sexual experience before him and you regret not making him your first. He took such amazing care of you when it came to sex and always put your needs before his own; he made sure you came before he did, only moved when you told him it was okay and tried out any position you wanted to. He would do anything you asked him to and made it known to you just how much he loved you both physically and verbally. 

Unfortunately, the two of you had your first fight just hours ago. Neither of you remembered how it started, but you couldn’t stop thinking about how it ended. Some mean words were thrown about and you both said things you knew neither of you meant, but it was too late and the damage was done. You took your things for work and decided to find your own way to get there. You knew your boyfriend was upset when he didn’t come after you. 

As soon as you walked out the door, tears came streaming down your face and you were about to call in sick for work, but you refused to let this argument get the best of you. Once you arrived to the club, you threw your earphones on and started to get ready. Your phone began to vibrate so you ultimately turned it off; it didn’t take a genius to know who was contacting you. 

Other than your parents, your boyfriend was the only person you ever really called and texted. You released a long, frustrated sigh and continued to apply your make up. When you were done with both your hair and makeup, you put on your outfit and prepared yourself to make your way outside. You were not in the mood for any sort of human interaction, but there was nothing you could do. it was going to be hard, but you had to separate your work life from your personal life and right now, you had to put on a fake smile to prevent anyone from realizing that something was bothering you. 

When you made your way in to the club, there were at least fifty men already crowding the stage. You tried your best to push all thoughts of your boyfriend to the back of your mind and started strutting your stuff down to the pole. Right as the music turned on, you swayed your hips to the rhythm and made sure that all the guys were dropping their jaws at the sight of you. Hearing the crowd roar at your raunchy movements and seeing all the money being thrown on stage only gave you more confidence to put more effort in to your dancing and soon the entire argument was forgotten in that moment. 

To your dismay, only two hours in to your shift, some men had a little too much to drink—meaning a few people were beginning to jump on stage and your anxiety was starting to build up. You could feel your chest fill up with worry and it was getting hard for you to breathe. The only thing you could really do was move back in attempts to get as far away as possible from the drunken customers. 

Before you could process the entire situation, you saw fists being thrown and when you realized one of the men involved was Mark, your heart both sank and fluttered at the sight. Your boyfriend wasn’t the most built guy out there, but you knew he could take on most of the guys in that club because of how drunk they all were. However, one guy grew angry with the way Mark was being aggressive towards him and started to fight back; seeing him sock your boyfriend in the face worried you. 

You quickly ran over to the two of them and started punching and slapping the guy in attempts to get him to release his hold on your boyfriend. This was not the way you would have expected the night to go. It felt like you were begging for help for the longest time—yet no one seemed to be coming to your rescue. Finally, after what felt like hours even if it was only a couple of minutes, the security guards pulled Mark away from the now bloody man and threatened to call the cops on him even if he was clearly trying to save you from being harassed. 

“He’s with me. It’s fine. I’ll take care of him.” 

You got off the stage and brought your boyfriend to the back, earning yourself a couple of boos from the crowd, but you didn’t care. Mark was all that mattered in that moment. Once you reached your dressing room, you sat him down on the couch and searched for a first aid kit. When you finally found one, you quickly walked over to where Mark was sitting and immediately started applying medicine to his cuts. 

“Stay here, I’ll go get ice.” Before you could walk away, he was pulling you on to his lap and wrapped his arms around your waist. 

“It’s fine babe. I’ve been through worse. I’m just glad you’re okay.” You frowned at him while gently grazing his cheek. Tears started forming at your eyelids and he was quick to kiss them away once he saw them. 

“Why are you here? And why would you put yourself through danger? The security guards would’ve handled it Mark. Now you’re all beat up and if those guys remember what happened in the morning they can press charges.” He shrugged indifferently while running his hands through your hair. It was obvious he was not worried one bit of the entire situation. 

“Let them. I honestly don’t give a fuck. It was worth it. Nobody messes with my girl. I’m sorry baby. I couldn’t help myself. Seeing them trying to reach out at you already got my blood boiling. But once I saw them jumping on stage, I had to get involved. I know how you can get anxiety sometimes and I didn’t want you having an attack. And I’m sorry for earlier. I was planning on talking to you on your break and I was going to wait till you were done to take you home. I don’t care if we fight, I’m not gonna let you go home on your own. I’m so fucking sorry y/n. You know I didn’t mean anything I said right? I was just mad, but that was no excuse. I’m not ashamed that my girlfriend is a stripper; if anything, I find it so fucking sexy. Nor would I force you to quit knowing how much you love it here. I hate fighting with you. I shouldn’t have let you leave while you were upset but my pride got in the way. I’m so fucking in love with you it’s not even funny. I couldn’t stop thinking about the pain on your face as you walked out the door. Please forgive me y/n. I don’t think I can handle you being mad at me. Scream at me, punch me, hit me, call me names even. But please, don’t be mad at me anymore.” 

Your heart broke when you heard his voice crack and you found yourself connecting your lips together. Mark was a very sensitive person; he would cry at the smallest of things and although his friends would tease him about being too much of a softie, it was a characteristic of his that you were extremely fond of. He was hesitant at first—he was still upset with himself for making you cry in the first place; but when he felt you relax in to him, he wrapped his arms around your waist. You cupped his cheek and depend the kiss; swirling your young all but gently around his, earning yourself a couple of deep grunts. All too soon, Mark pulled away to catch his breath and hid his face in the crook of your neck. 

“I’m not mad at you baby. I’ll admit, I was a little hurt by what you said. But I said some things I didn’t mean either so I’m just as in the wrong as you are. I’m sorry by the way. Everything that I said was in the heat of the moment. You’re not a bad boyfriend. You’re the best boyfriend a girl could ever ask for, you know that right? I’m very thankful to call you mine. Just the mere thought of you brings a smile to my face and when I’m not with you, I feel empty. That’s why I couldn’t stop crying when I left. I really don’t like fighting with you. I love you Mark.”

He placed multiple kisses along your face and quickly wiped away your tears. His fingers were featherlight against your face; he smiled at you while tracing your features with his index finger. Honestly, it didn’t matter that the two of you were sitting in the dressing room of a strip club; it honestly did not matter where you were, you wanted to spend as much time in the moment that time would allow you to. 

After a few moments, you heard a knock on the door and freaked out when you saw your manager. You were afraid of getting in trouble for what happened but released a sigh of relief when she told you to go home early. You quickly packed your things and walked over to help your boyfriend up. 

“Let’s go.” 

He intertwined your hands together and the two of you walked over to his car. Once he helped you get settled in and got himself buckled, you both drove home. For the first couple of minutes, everything was quiet, other than the playlist he had put on. However, about ten minutes in to the drive, his hand absentmindedly found your thigh. 

It’s not like you weren’t used to him touching you like that. On most drives, he would either hold your hand or place his on your lap—however, he began slowly tracing patterns against your skin causing goosebumps to rise. He brought his fingers closer to where you needed him the most; the coil in your stomach was twisting to the point where you had to cross your legs in attempts to form any kind of friction in between them. 

To your dismay yet his delight, your boyfriend ultimately pulled away before he could do anything to help soothe the fire that was overtaking your entire body. You saw him laughing to himself and mentally cursed him before grunting in irritation. 

“You’re gonna get it Tuan I swear to God.” He looked at you as if he had no idea what you were talking about and simply shrugged. 

“Just you wait baby. You’re going to regret teasing me.” He bit his lip seductively while finally pulling in to the parking lot. 

“I don’t know what it is, but I can’t wait.” Once he parked his car, you made a bee line to your apartment and didn’t even care whether or not he was following right behind you. You brought a chair from the kitchen in to your bedroom and took off your clothes, leaving you in the extremely tiny outfit you were wearing earlier. 

You knew it was Mark’s favorite and seeing you wear it tonight is what probably riled him up and got him to fight with other people. When you heard the door close, you sat there and waited patiently for your boyfriend to enter. When he did, his jaw dropped at the sight of you and his gulp did not go unnoticed—in fact, it only turned you on some more. 

“Holy fuck. Y/n—“ He reached out for you but you quickly backed away—earning yourself a breathy and extremely sexy whine. 

“I’m going to give you a lap dance. However, I have rules. My body is off limits. Absolutely no touching. The minute I feel you touching me, I’m going to make it stop. If I feel your hands on my body even just once, it’s over with.” 

Your boyfriend quickly nodded in agreement, willing to take whatever he could get at thus point and motioned for you to start. You turned on your speakers and soon your room was being filled with The Weeknd. Slowly, you sauntered over to your boyfriend, bringing your hands up to his face and caressing his cheek all the while grinding in to him. Seeing him bite his lip to the point where you knew there was a chance it would start bleeding, trying his best not to make a noise nor touch you made you laugh quietly to yourself. 

You brought your hands in to his hair and gently pulled on it, earning yourself an exhausted groan from your boyfriend. Leaving chaste kisses along his jaw and neck made Mark shiver and you could tell he was about to lose all his sanity pretty soon. You turned around, giving him a view of your round and plump ass—you purposely dropped one of your bracelets on to the floor so you had an excuse to bend down. 

Hearing him take in a breath from how much of an effect you were having on him only made you want to take your time; you wanted to break him. When you felt his hard on against your ass, heat went straight to your core. Slowly, but very roughly, you grinded yourself against his thigh and smirked when you saw him squeezing both sides of the chair in order to prevent himself from touching you. 

“Mmm, someone’s excited.” 

He glared at you and the growl that came from the back of his throat did not go unnoticed—you could feel yourself growing wetter and hornier by the minute. The sex was going to be mind-blowing; you just knew it. 

“I’ve been hard since I walked in to the club and saw you wearing this. Fuck baby. You don’t know what you do to me. Y/n. Please. Enough. I’m dying here. You’re actually lethal, do you know that? I’ve been a good boy long enough baby let me fuck your brains out, I’m begging you.” 

You bit your lip at the sound of his dirty words. Mark was a very soft spoken and gentle guy. Around his friends and anyone he was close with, he could talk up a storm. It always made you smile seeing him comfortable enough to talk with people without getting nervous or stumbling on his words. However, when it came to sex between the two of you, he was very dirty and rough—just how you liked it. 

His naughty words and raspy voice never failed to send shivers down your spine. You decided that your boyfriend had enough of your teasing and with the way he protected you tonight from all those drunk and rude assholes, he deserved a little treat. When he saw you get on your knees, he let out a content sigh. Although you were seconds away from fulfilling his carnal urges, you were extremely excited to finally have his dick down your throat. 

Giving Mark head was just as fun for you as it was for him. Slowly, you unzipped his pants and released him from his underwear; the sight of his hard and throbbing cock sent warmth to your core. First, you kitten licked his tip and ran your tongue all along his cock—licking back and forth, dragging your teeth along his veins before ultimately bringing him in to your mouth. The noises; his grunts, moans and cries of pleasure that were rapidly falling from his mouth only drove you crazier. You were bobbing your head at an exceedingly rapid pace; trying to bring him as far down your throat as you could without gagging all the while looking up at him with your soft, doe eyes. 

“Ba—baby—fuck—just—just like that. Ah fuck. You’re so good to me. You were made to suck my cock. Faster baby please. Your tongue—I can’t even—fuck.” 

Your hands found purchase on his hips as you forced him deeper in to your mouth. No matter how much it hurt and how tears were forming at your eyelids, you loved being about to pleasure your boyfriend and you knew he loved it when you blew him. He ran his fingers through your hair and bit his lip in attempts to prevent himself from moaning loudly. Whatever you couldn’t fit in to your mouth, you pumped with your hand. 

Every now and then, you brought his balls in to your mouth; sucking and grazing your teeth against both testicles. It was obvious with the way he would throw his head back that his balls were even more sensitive than his actual cock and you used that you your advantage. 

“Baby—I’m gonna come—fuck y/n—you always get me to come so fast you’re so fucking sexy baby. Just like that—ah fuck.” Once he came in to your mouth, you were quick to swallow it entirely; milking him of everything he had and before you could process what was going on, your mouth was yanked from off of his tip and you were being pulled in to his embrace. 

“You’re not real. I know I’ve said this many times but I have a hard time believing you’re real and that I’m the lucky man who was blessed with you as my girlfriend. You’re the most beautiful girl in the entire world baby. Fuck. Your mouth does wonders. You’re an ethereal being and I’ll do anything you ask me to. Whatever you want, it’s yours. I’m yours. Do whatever you want with me baby.” You turned around to face him and connected your lips together while bringing one of his hands to your core. 

“Fuck y/n, you’re soaking. You’re honestly going to be the death of me you know that right? You’re so fucking sexy. My beautiful baby girl.” He took you off guard by shoving two fingers in to your heat. As soon as he started pumping, you hid your face in to the crook of his neck and tried your best to silence your moans. However, your boyfriend quickly but gently pulled you away and lifted your chin so that you were making eye contact with him. 

“Don’t hide those beautiful sounds princess. Daddy deserves to hear how good he’s pleasuring you. All those men tonight can only dream of seeing you like this. Don’t get me wrong y/n, it’s so hot when you dominate me. But we all know at the end of the day, whose the real boss when it comes down to it huh? You thought you could tease me with this extremely sexy little dance while wearing my favorite lingerie of yours? You’re gonna get it I swear to God. I’m going to make sure everyone in this apartment structure knows how good I’m making you feel tonight.” 

He quickened the pace and watching his facial expressions while he was pumping his fingers inside of you sent you closer to your release. His fingers were warm and the callousness of his digits only did wonders against your pussy. It didn’t take long for him to find your g-spot; during many of your love making sessions, Mark made it a habit to learn a knew thing about you. Your likes, dislikes, preferences, positions you wanted to experiment in, where your clit and g-spot were located; he just really wanted to please you and loved knowing that he was the only one who had that kind of effect on you. 

“Mmm, we’ve already had multiple complaints Mark—maybe we should—FUCK.” He brought his fingers against your clit and flicked it; pinching your nub causing you to moan louder than expected. 

“That’s exactly what we’re going to be doing. All night baby. Get ready to call in sick because when I’m done with you, there won’t be any feeling in your legs.” 

He knew exactly how sensitive you were and always took advantage of the situation. You continued to grind yourself against his fingers in hopes of finally reaching your orgasm—but all too soon, he pulled away. When you whined at the loss, he simply giggled. 

“Mark what the fuck? I was so close!” He definitely was not going easy on you tonight. Your boyfriend was going to make it known that he owned you—that he was the only one who could bring you sheer ecstasy just by his fingers. He loved tormenting you when it came to the bedroom and after that fight earlier, he was excited for the kinky, hot sex he had planned for the two of you. He motioned for you to get off of him and brought you over to the bed. 

“You’re going to sit on my face with that pretty little pussy of yours and I’m going to eat you out until you’re numb. Got it?” You nodded in agreement; excited for what was going to happen in just a couple of seconds. As he lied down, he pulled you with him, having you hover over his face. 

“Sit.” 

Both you and your boyfriend weren’t strangers to face riding, but you were always afraid of crushing him. However, Mark was always vocal about how hot he thought it was eating you out while you were sitting on his face. He always tells you that his face is your throne and wants nothing more than for you to sit on it when you both have the time. His hands found their place on your ass and he grinded you against his tongue. As much as you loved giving head, you really enjoyed receiving it—especially because Mark was a professional at eating you out. He knew exactly what to do to make you scream, cry and beg him to hurry up and bring you to your orgasm. When you felt his fingers graze your clit, you know you were done for. 

“M—Mark—Mark—baby please.” 

Your hands found purchase in his hair, pulling and tugging on it as he continued eating you out like a man starved. His wet muscle felt amazing against your folds; his pace was relentless. He continuously licked stripes against your entrance; biting gently and sibling on your overly sensitive nub. Hearing him moan and hum against your cunt made you want to scream. When he pulled away, you let out a loud whine and you were embarrassed seeing as how needy you must’ve looked but you didn’t care. This was the second time he edged you tonight and you were sure it wasn’t going to be the last. 

“That’s not what you call me when I’m fucking you my pretty slut. If you want me to continue, you know what to say.” 

Hearing him call you such a derogatory name only brought you closer to your end. There were a few times where Mark would degrade you during sex—but it always turned you on. He brought his tongue back up to your entrance and continued his ministrations. 

“Da—daddy—fuck—so so good. You’re always so good to me—just like that daddy please—please let me come—” 

When you felt him nibble on your clit, the coil in your stomach released and you came all over his tongue. Your boyfriend lapped up all your juices, making sure to slurp up every last drop and hummed against your pussy. Feeling him sigh and him against your soaking core only made you wetter at the touch—as much as you were enjoying the way he gripped on your ass and smashed his face against your pussy, you needed more. When he felt you get off of him, he was confused and a little bit worried. 

“Baby I wasn’t done. Are you okay? Did I hurt you? Do you want me to slow down? Y/n I’m so sorry—“ 

You connected your lips with his and wrapped your arms around his neck before you began to leave soft kisses along his jaw. Although he could be rough and dominant when it came to sex with you, he always made sure you were having a good time. He hated the thought of hurting you in any way. 

“I’m fine babe. That was amazing as always. You’re always so good to me. And I love how dirty and kinky you get during sex. You become this animal—it’s so fucking hot and I just—need you inside me. Right now.” He nibbled on your ear and licked a trail down your neck. Your words made him hard again; honestly anything you did never failed to make your boyfriend hard as a rock. 

“Fuck y/n. I’ll do anything you ask me to. As much as I love eating you out and as much as I love how you taste, I want to fuck the living shit out of you. Fuck baby you taste so good I could eat you out for hours. But feeling how tight and wet your cunt is, I want to be buried inside it.” He yanked off his pants and threw them against the wall all the while bringing his hands up to your round mounds and squeezed the both of them. 

“These. These right here are my favorite body parts of yours. Well, other than your extremely pretty face—and thick thighs. Don’t even get me started on your ass babe. Everything about you is simply perfect, I can’t get over it. But your tits—fuck. So big and so pretty. I could spend an eternity sucking on these things.” 

He licked and nibbled on one of your nipples while squeezing the other breast with his free hand. He did this in attempts to distract you from when he finally enters you. Although the two of you had sex almost every single day, you would never get used to the stretch every time Mark would enter you. It always felt so good, but you’d be lying if you said it didn’t hurt. 

Your boyfriend was thick and long—you had a hard time believing someone could be that perfect. Even if you considered penises to be very ugly, something about Mark’s was addicting—it never failed to make your mouth water and you loved the feeling of it buried deep inside of your pussy, between your breasts and in your mouth. 

“Let me know if it hurts okay? And tell me when I can move my love.” He reconnected your lips together, melding his lips perfectly with you and finally entered you, eliciting breathless moans from the both of you. You gently tapped his shoulder, letting him know that it was okay for him to move. 

“You know, for someone who claims he’s going to make me immobile for the next week, you sure are very soft for me.” He chuckled and let out a content sigh. 

“I’d beg to differ. I’m hard as a fucking rock for you.” You playfully slapped his shoulder as he hid his face in your neck. 

“I just don’t wanna hurt you. I’m very protective over you y/n. Even from myself. You’re so delicate in my eyes. I’d do anything to keep you safe and make you happy.” You didn’t even realize a tear fell from your face until you felt his fingers gently brush them away. 

“You asshole. Professing your love to me is not the reason why I should be crying during sex. But I love you too. And I’m in love with you. Madly in love with—mmmm.” 

Hearing those words fall from your pretty lips only made Mark crave you in a way that he needed to have you now or else he was sure he would actually go insane and he couldn’t help himself—he needed to move. He started off slow, bringing himself in and out of you as gently as he could—but he was quick to pick up the pace once he felt how amazing your walled wrapped around him. His fingers roughly grabbed your waist and you were sure there were going to be bruises in the morning, but you didn’t care. 

You loved seeing his little marks that he left around your body; it would only remind you of the amazing night before and the fact that you were his. He lifted your legs up and placed them both behind his head so that he could be closer to you while ramming himself in to you. You absentmindedly clenched around him; the feeling of him stretching out your walls made you want to scream. The sensation obviously had an effect on your boyfriend because he stopped moving and roughly grabbed both your wrists, bringing it up along the sides of your face. 

“Stop that. You know exactly what that does to me. I’m going to come right now and I refuse to come before you do. Fuck baby. You’re so fucking tight and wet I can barely stay in. I would fuck you every single day if I could.” He brushed some of your hair behind your ear and placed a chaste kiss on your lips. 

“You’re the most beautiful girl in the world. I could never get enough of you. I want you for the rest of my life. I hope you’re well aware that you’re stuck with me. You’re mine y/n.” 

No matter how many times he would confess his love for you, you were never ready to hear it and your heart would always melt in to a puddle when he did so. You knew by the way he was groaning and roughly kissing you, that he was close to his release. Therefore, you gently squeezed his hand to get his attention. 

“Baby.” 

He looked at you in curiosity. You motioned for him to get off of you but before he could ask what was going on, you turned around and stuck your ass out in front of him. Out of all the positions, doggy was your favorite. There was something so erotic about how animalistic Mark would get in this position. He was rougher and his movements were so much faster in this position. It also turned you on even more when he would shove your face in to the bed sheets. When he realized what you were asking for, he moaned quietly to himself. 

“My dirty little slut wants me to fuck her from behind? Fuck baby. I’m going to fucking wreck you. Get over here.” 

He pulled your ass up against his pelvis and you moaned in sync at the feeling of his hard cock rubbing against your drenched folds. When he brought his hand up and spanked you, you could feel your orgasm building up again. Mark brought his lips up to your neck and started leaving multiple hickeys against it, you were his own personal canvas and he loved knowing people saw that you were spoken for. You pulled on the sheets and quietly screamed in to your pillow as he made his way back inside of you. 

This time, he didn’t give you a second to prepare before roughly thrusting himself in to your cunt. His pace only quickened now that he could reach further in to your soaking pussy. The sound of skin on skin slapping could be heard throughout your room and every so often, Mark would whisper dirty things in your ear. His hands wouldn’t stop lingering everywhere along your body. 

Your boyfriend always needed to be touching you. A lot of times, his touches weren’t even sexual; Mark had a hard time believing you were real and all his to love. Touching you was like a safety blanket to him. It only made him accept that you actually existed and that he was the proud owner of your heart. His hands were one of your favorite body parts—his fingers were long and skinny and you loved how they felt wrapped around your neck, your waist, against your lower back and buried inside your pussy. You also loved how they felt squeezing both your ass and your breasts. 

You brought his hand up to your neck, hinting to him that you wanted to be choked. Although choking was a huge kink of your boyfriend’s, Mark was always very nervous and hesitant because he didn’t want to hurt you. But God, did he love the effect it had on you. 

“Fuck! Did you just get tighter? You’re already soaking and tight as hell baby please tell me you’re close.” You nodded and he gently twisted your head so that he could kiss you. 

“I love you. I love you. I love you so much baby.” Soon, his warm, creamy liquid was filling you up to the hilt and he let out an exhausted whine. 

“Baby I’m so sorry—“ You shook your head and asked him to pull out. Mark had a tendency of reaching his orgasm before you did, but it was understanding. It also did wonders to your confidence knowing that you could have him reach his release in just a matter of minutes.

“Let me ride.” The look on his face sent shivers down your spine. He was quick to lie down against the pillows and pulled you on top of him. 

“I don’t know what I did to deserve this breathtaking view but I would do it again and again if I had to if it meant getting to love you in every single lifetime.” You smiled down at him; his heartfelt words sent warmth to your cheeks and you knew in that moment that you would do anything he asked of you—however, your smile was quickly replaced with furrowed brows as you bit down on your lip and moaned as you sank down on his dick. 

“Mmm—Daddy—please go faster. Aw fuck—just like that—harder—I’m so close baby.” 

He sat up so he had a better view of your face and took this time to suck on both of your breasts. The feeling of bouncing on him while he was licking and nipping on your breasts brought you closer to your end. You sank up and down on him at a relentless pace; the feeling of his cock gliding against your walls, his fingers gripping on your ass as he helped guide your body against his and the way your ass slapped against his pelvis was a sensation you would never be able to form in to words. His tip kissed the back of your cervix with each and every bounce—and it was beginning to become too much for you to handle. Before you knew it, you were coming all over his dick with him following just seconds after. 

“You’re not real—you can’t be. You’re so perfect y/n what did I do to deserve you?” You shook your head before bringing your hand up to his face and cupping his cheek with your palm. 

“It’s me who doesn’t deserve you. I’m sorry again for earlier. I know it’s inevitable that we’ll fight again, but promise me that most fights will end like this.” He chuckled while flopping back down on the bed and bringing you with him. 

“Trust me, I love making love to you at all times, but fucking you after fighting with you is a mind blowing experience. Should we fight again tomorrow?” You rolled your eyes and playfully pushed his shoulder. 

“I can’t feel my legs. You win. You’re calling in sick for me tomorrow.” His laughter engulfed the room and you gently ran your fingers through his hair. 

“Do you want to take a shower? I’ll carry you to the bathroom. Or I can even run you a bath if you’d like.” You shook your head—the thought of having to get up, even if he was going to carry you was exhausting. 

“I just wanna go to sleep. I know you babe—we’re only gonna have more sex in the shower. I’m too sensitive for more sex tonight.” He pouted in to your neck but knew you were right. Mark would never be able to get enough of you and he wanted you to be completely recharged when he decided to have his way with you again. 

“Hey, you said tonight. So tomorrow morning—“ You punched his shoulder as he giggled at the action. 

“You are the horniest human being I know.” He ran his fingers up and down your back while leaving lingering kisses along your cheeks. 

“I mean, have you seen yourself? And your body, God I hate the fact that you’re so insecure about it. Your body is perfect y/n. I love your thick thighs and your curves. And I don’t know why you think your breasts are small, I can barely fit one in my mouth. Oh and this ass, fuck. I cannot get enough of it. I could write a book about how much I love your body alone. Imagine if I were to talk about the love I have for you in general. A fucking novel. I never used to be this soft before. Your love made me all sappy. But it was worth it. You’re worth it. I’d do anything for you. Be anything you want me to. I’d do anything to make you happy. You’re my entire world y/n. I love you.” Tears fell from your eyes and he was quick to kiss them away. 

“Come on my crybaby, let’s go to bed. Since you’re calling out sick tomorrow, I’m planning on having a lazy day—for the most part. At some point I plan on making love to you against the kitchen counter and on the couch. Maybe both. We’ll see if you’re up for it. Goodnight princess. Sweet dreams.”

[astrozones]

Sanders Behavioral Health, Chapter 4: Mother Logan

three hours bouta be gone

discord for only the truest Lads. gender dont matter- Astro’s Zone

Three hours.

Fifteen minutes.

Another hour.

Another break.

And so on and so forth, until it was exactly 8:45 p.m. and Logan would get ready for bed, and when 9:00 came around he would ideally be sleeping, no electronic devices in sight.

It was the perfect schedule for a weekend of study. And Logan sure did need it, he was only a couple months ahead in the curriculum, which was a month less than where he should be right now.

But just as Logan sat down to start, his phone chimed. Logan was 100% prepared to ignore it, but the voice told him he had to pick it up. The metaphorical voice, of course. Now that he knew how to identify it, he knew it was either his OCD or anxiety, and oftentimes both.

Logan stared at the book in front of him, not moving in the slightest. He knew it was stupid, he didn’t have to check anything. But, he could still anxiety rushing through his body.

He picked up the phone and went through his texts, feeling relief almost instantaneously.

FamILY!

{ We should all hang out today!!! }

[ Wait whend the chat name change ]

| like last night roman where were you |

[ Sleeping??? ]

| sleep? who’s she never heard of her |

[ And going back to Patton i am free today ]

{ Yay!!!! }

| my parents are gonna force me to do homework if I don’t, so sure |

{ !!!! }

{ Logan? }

{ We can see you’re online!! }

( I’m afraid I am busy today. I’m studying. )

{ I thought you were ahead in the class?? }

( Yes, I am. But I am not where I want to be. )

{ Aw, Logan!! You should take time to not overwork yourself!!! }

( I do. And I was under the impression that you were busy this weekend. )

[ And i oop- ]

| i can’t believe roman’s a vsco girl |

[ sksksksk ]

| that wasn’t an invitation. |

{ I am for most of the day!! I was thinking we could have a sleepover!!!! ^-^ }

| wait so i do have to do my homework? |

| i’m willing to do it if it means i get to punch roman when he acts like a vsco girl again |

[ Id like to see you try ]

{ I would very much prefer there to be no punching, but it’s great to see you’re both in!!! }

{ And Logan? }

( ... )

( I suppose I can think about it. )

{ OMG YES!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! }

{ We have the whole famILY :3!!! }

| huh I thought roman would’ve had something to say about that. |

{ I do have some bad news though ;-; }

{ My parents are repainting our living room and don’t wanna risk anyone messing it up :( }

{ So I was wondering if either of you were willing to host? Not Logan because he’s still considering it }

| ugh i should’ve been more picky about it and I wouldn't have to go through this |

| well my room’s too messy and it’d take more than the day to clean |

{ Well, Roman??? }

{ Roman?????????? }

[ Wait what ]

[ Sorry one of my posters fell down and i had to fix it ]

[ Lemme read through the chat ]

| lmao |

[ … ]

[ asdkfldsaihateyouvirgildksfl i suppose i can do it ]

| hey i see that |

[ My parents are out for the weekend so yea ]

{ !!!! YAY!!!!!! I CAN’T WAIT TO SEE YOU ALL AGAIN!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! }

-- --

Logan’s anxiety was yelling at him once more, telling him he needed to put the phone down. Ever compliant to the voice, he put it in a drawer under the desk. A little unnecessary, sure, but it made him feel better.

Logan shook his head, the voice driving into him once more. He was off-schedule! That’s 10 minutes of studying, wasted . He was certainly going to fail, all it would take was one set off his system and he’d get addicted to the freedom it promised.

He took out his pencil, and arranged the books around him to be exactly how he wanted. If it wasn’t, it would be unbalanced, and that certainly wouldn’t do.

Because everyone knows you can’t study unless you have a perfect workspace.

Right?

--

Logan was outside his house, door in front of his face. He huffed.

His parents had kicked him out for a couple hours, telling him he had to go outside for once instead of staying holed up in his study room.

They didn’t get it.

They didn’t get why it was wrong .

According to them, Ramona Steers, a staff from Sanders, had told them all the ins and outs of what they needed to help Logan get better, and that making him go outside was one of them.

Originally, they said he’d have to be out for 5 hours, but once he told them about the sleepover situation, they had agreed to take an hour off.

So, he was going to a sleepover, he had 4 hours outside, $100 to spend as he wished, and nowhere to go.

--

Logan walked into the popular local café, The Lolapad, known for it’s fantastic drinks, welcoming aesthetic, and it’s kind owner, Lola Adams.

Lilo was at the counter today, alongside her coworker… Patton?! Logan narrowed his eyes, Patton had never talked about a job, and Logan was a frequent visitor to The Lolapad. Logan knew he had to question him about it.

Well, once he got through this excruciatingly long line, anyway.

The only downside to The Lolapad was its popularity. With it being this early in the morning, it was full of daytime workers preparing for the long day ahead of them. Logan sighed.

He admired the decorations. The floor was a deep blue, to mimic water. The tables were designed like lilypads, and the chairs had a flower pattern. The walls were purple, with painted vines crawling up in some corners of the room.

The ceiling decor was the most impressive, though. Soft, blue lights and glass hung on wires from the ceiling, almost like bubbles flying towards the sky. There was no competition that would ever pass The Lolapad, at least not anywhere nearby.

He recognized a few students lounging in chairs, mostly consisting of the upbeat, extroverted club members.

And, if he was right, one Vanessa Cordill, with her boyfriend, Jace Lendell.

God, he despised Vanessa. She had been a huge bully in the past, only stopping after he stopped reacting to it. Logan hardly had anything to do in class, having learned all of this in his own time, and his teachers would yell at him the moment he picked up a book to study ahead of the curriculum. So, seeing what his classmates were doing was the only interesting option.

And oh, Logan saw .

He was never one for gossip, but he remembered so many things.

And most of it had to do with Vanessa.

Like that time she had snuck a gun into the bag of the boy beside her- Victor Jackson. Victor was taller, and larger, and had a mean-looking face. For anyone who got to know him, though, he was very sweet, and hated hurting people.

Victor was expelled the next day.

Logan had, of course, defended Victor. But Vanessa was convincing, lying her way through her nice girl act until the principal was convinced.

So, Logan did what he did best. He collected evidence. And, once he felt as though he had enough, he would report her.

But until then, he was forced to stand by and watch as Vanessa got to do whatever she wanted.

She was like a villain out of a bad movie, or a crappy fanfiction.

“Oh, Logan!” Patton’s voice dragged him out of his thoughts. Logan was at the front of the line, apparently. “I didn’t expect to see you here!”

“Neither did I,” he responded. “When did you start working here?”

“Oh, no, I don’t usually work here! Jessalyn asked me to replace her today, well, she asked last week- so I’m working here for a couple hours! Lola was okay with it, she’s really nice y’know? And-”

“Are you getting paid?” Logan asked. It would be rather selfish of Jessalyn to keep all of the money, at least in his opinion.

Patton shook his head. “Nuh-uh. But I’m okay with it though! I like helping people. Now, what can I get ya?”

--

Logan found himself on a swing at an empty park. He had finished his drink, and was now letting himself go back, and forth, back, and forth. He wasn’t the biggest fan of attempting to do anything… potentially dangerous, but he found softly letting himself go back and forth was a good way to collect his thoughts.

The birds chirped in the background as the sun shone above him. Everything was as it should be, but he couldn’t stay too long at the risk of getting a sunburn.

He heard a text come in, and he pulled out his phone.

FamILY!

{ If your son gets burnt by the sun, is it a sonburn? }

-- --

Logan smiled slightly as the replies came in from his friends, all exclamations of distaste as Patton sent a plethora of emojis, that mostly being-

Oh.

Wait.

His friends .

…

Hm.

Not that he was against that, of course, but the immediate reaction of calling them his friends was, well, a little unnerving. He had always been the quiet one, and had a few friends in the past, though they had all moved away to other towns or cities or whatever . He didn’t care.

And if his new friends did the same, he would be okay with that. Yes, he would definitely be okay with that. If they cared, they would contact him, and if they didn’t, he was okay with that. There was no use fighting it, after all that would only give him more time to study.

As it should be.

He put his phone away, no use replying, as he had already agreed to go to their sleepover.

He heard giggling from behind him. He was brought back to the real world, only to find that he had slowed to a stop. Logan turned his head around.

There stood a small being, maybe 6-7 years old, and definitely a child. He had a light brown mop of hair on his head, and donned a red-black-green coat and tiara. He stood to face… it.

“Hi! I’m Adrian!” the kid said, stuttering over the ‘r’. “What’s- did you just get done from a- a-

‘businesses’ meeting or somethin?”

Logan looked down at himself. He wasn’t even wearing a tie today… he had a simple black button-up shirt, and jeans. What about this screamed ‘professional’?

“No,” was all he said in response.

“Are you- are you gonna go to a businesses meeting?”

“No. I’m still in high school.” At this, the miniature human named Adrian grinned, and he could practically see the metaphorical sparkles.

“That’s so cool! I’m only in firs’ grade, but Mommy says I’m gonna be 7 in-” Adrian started counting on his fingers. “15 months!”

“What… do you mean 15 days?” he asked, it was either that or 15 weeks. Adrian nodded excitedly. What he was excited for, Logan couldn’t tell.

“YEAH! I’m gonna be so smart!” Adrian boasted, causing Logan to smile slightly. “Do you wanna come play wif me?”

“I- er-” he was cut off as the 6-year-old grabbed his hand and tugged him along towards a large willow tree.

“I’m gonna show you my friend- her name is Joy! She has two dads, isn’t that so cool! Some people make funs of her for it- but I find it cool! She’s really funny, there she is!” He pointed towards a girl, presumably 6 as well, in a princess costume, and very red hair.

“JOY! I FOUNDS US A FRIEND FOR OUR TEA PARTY!” hold on, tea party ?!

“It’s Princess Joy now,” the girl stated, surprisingly strict for someone so small. “Who is he?”

“Dis is Logan!” Adrian said, adding in a whispered, “he’s a buisnesses man”

“Hold on-” Logan tried. He suddenly found the purple princess in front of him, eyebrow raised. Was he about to get judged by a child?

“Hmm,” Joy said, looking him up and down before nodding. “He may stay.”

She turned around and strutted back to where she was sitting before. She dusted off her skirt before plopping down on the ground, gesturing for them to sit near her.

“We don’t have an actual table, so we gotta pretend.” Adrian whispered to him before skipping over and sitting near Joy. Logan reluctantly joined them.

“Princess Adrian, may you please pour the tea?” Joy instructed. Adrian nodded, miming the actions of pouring.

“Princess?”

“Yes, Peasant Logan,” Logan jerked his head back, this kid - “Princess is longer than prince so’s it’s better than a prince. Princess Adrian and me are both princesses.”

“Prince and princess are equal titles.” Logan said. Joy actually looked offended .

“Impossible.”

“Yeah!” Adrian chimed in, sitting himself down in his spot. “Everyone knows that.”

“But-”

“Princess Adrian! That’s rude, Logan’s a peasant so he didn’t know.” Joy said, taking a ‘sip’ of imaginary tea.

“Oh! Sorrys Logan.” Adrian’s voice lowered, and if Logan was right he was on the verge of tears?

“Er… It’s okay Adri- Princess Adrian.”

Adrian brightened. “YAAAY!” he cheered, getting up and bouncing around him. Logan didn’t know what to do-

“That is not princess behavior, Princess Adrian.” Joy said, turning up her nose. Adrian looked confused.

“It isn’t?”

“Princesses are more quiet. I’m 7, so I know better.”

“I’m 17,” Logan cut in. Joy turned to him.

“And? You’re still a peasant, Logan. I don’t makes the rules,” Joy put her cup of tea down. “I only knows them.”

Logan was about to respond, when-

“Woah, hey what’s going on here?” another voice said. Turning around, Logan saw Roman enter their little… area behind the leaves. He sighed.

Adrian gasped from beside him, nearly tripping over his feet in order to get to Roman. He peered up at him.

“Are yous a prince?” He asked, practically vibrating where he stood. Roman scoffed.

“Of course I am, I’m Prince Roman! I just lost my crown.” Roman announced. Adrian glanced at Joy, who nodded, causing Adrian to smile.

“I’m Princess Adrian! That’s,” he turned back around to point at Joy and Logan. “Princess Joy and Peasant Logan.” Roman, the bastard, hid his giggles behind his hand. Logan glared.

“Peasant Logan didn’t knows that princesses are higher than princes cause princess is longer. That’s true, right?” He asked, dragging Roman along to sit with them. Roman looked at Logan, smug.

“Of course! It’s common knowledge! For shame, Logan!” Roman exclaimed as he sat.

“For shame!” Adrian repeated. Logan groaned, shoving his face into his hands. This is not how he thought his day would go.

He felt a small hand pat his knee, and he looked up to see Joy looking at him with a sympathetic frown.

“It’s okay, Logan. Not all of us can be royalty.” She said, before returning to her princess persona and commanding, “Princess Adrian, would you may please pour Prince Roman some tea?”

Adrian nodded, standing up and dashing around the ‘table’ to give Roman his… ‘tea’.

“Thank you, Princess Adrian, I am forever in your debt.” Roman mock bowed from his sitting position. Adrian giggled before returning to Joy.

“Once we are done with our tea, we shall help you find your crown, Prince Roman.” Joy said before taking another sip.

“Of course. Thank you, Your Highness,” Roman faked taking a sip of his tea. “I must say, this tea is quite delicious! I commend your skills, Princess Joy.”

Joy preened at the praise, resituating the tiara on her head. “Thank you, Prince Roman. It is greatly appra- appre- appreciated.”

Minutes of his free time went by as they all mimed sipping tea and making small talk. Well, all except Logan. That quickly changed once Joy prompted him to start drinking, with Adrian and Roman piping up in agreement. Begrudgingly, Logan followed through.

Eventually, Joy stood up and announced that they had all finished their tea, and had to search for Roman’s crown. Logan argued that Roman’s crown didn’t exist. Joy said he was just a peasant and didn’t know what he was talking about. That shut Logan up pretty quick.

So, he was dragged around on the search for a crown he was certain didn’t exist. Joy separated them into teams, Roman and Joy on one, Logan and Adrian on the other. She said her reasoning was ‘one to search and one to protect’, with both her and Adrian on the search side.

Logan silently followed Adrian around as he set out to find it, looking in the places it couldn’t even be at times.

“Logan!” Adrian whispered, tugging on his sleeve. “Logan look! Issa bunny.”

And it was. A cream colored rabbit was frozen staring at them, ready to move at any sudden movement. Hm, that reminded him of Virgil… or was that rude?

He watched as Adrian slowly crept up on the rabbit. Logan looked around to find Joy and Roman. He saw Joy’s bright purple dress… in a tree? Roman was right next to her, carefully following to catch her if she fell while she was searching the tree.

He turned once more to Adrian, only to find him cuddling the bunny. Odd… if it were wild, it would have bolted the moment he came too close, so this one must be socialized. He walked towards Adrian and the rabbit.

Adrian smiled at him as he approached.

“I named him Jerry!” Adrian whispered, extending the rabbit towards Logan. “Wanna pet ‘im?”

Logan reached out to Jerry, only to jump back when it tried to bite him.

“Bad Jerry! Don’t bite people!” Adrian reprimanded the animal, as if it were a dog and not a clearly aggressive rabbit.

Well, at least when they brought it over to the other two it attempted to bite them, so at least it wasn’t exclusively Logan. It seemed to only like Adrian, to Adrian’s delight and Joy’s distaste. They were quickly corralled into a game of House by Joy, the quest for Roman’s crown forgotten.

Joy claimed herself as the father, saying, “I have two dads so I have to be the dad!”. Both Roman and Adrian nodded in agreement at her claim. She pointed to Logan.

“You shall be the mom!”

“ What- ”

“You act like a mom so you are a mom.” She cut him off, turning to Adrian and Roman for confirmation. They both agreed, Roman looking amused at Logan’s sneer.

“I’ll be the kid!” Adrian announced. Joy nodded and pointed to Roman.

“You can be the dog! Because you remind me of the golden dogs.” She said. Logan would’ve laughed if he hadn’t been put in a worse situation. Roman nodded, looking determined.

“Woof,” was all he said. Joy nodded once more.

“Perfect.”

—

So Logan found himself playing a game of House, something he hadn’t done in years . He interacted as little as they would let him, dear god if another student came and saw him like this, he wouldn’t survive.

He ended up there for far longer than he had wanted, a total of 6 hours since he was kicked out. Yet he was reluctant to leave, he knew it would break the kids hearts if he did.

He was finally freed from his metaphorical prison when a voice called,

“Adrian! Come on, we gotta drop off Joy at her dads’ house!” A woman called. Logan glanced at Adrian.

“Is that your mom?” he asked. Adrian nodded, turning to the two older men. He gave them both hugs, first Logan, then Roman. He even gave Roman his tiara, saying he was sorry they couldn’t find his crown, and he had more tiaras at home. He turned as Joy stood up and they both sprinted towards Adrian’s mom, well, only after Adrian had picked up Jerry.

Both of the remaining boys watched, amused, as Adrian seemed to argue with his mother before she gave up and let Jerry in the car. Before Adrian got in the car, though, he turned to the boys.

“Bye-bye Logan! Bye-bye Prince Roman!” he shouted, before disappearing into the car.

“So,” Roman started, and Logan mentally prepared to be poked fun at.

“See you at my house in a couple hours?” Logan blinked, once, twice, before he realized that he wasn’t being made fun of for playing with children for several hours. Well, he supposed that made sense, as Roman had done the same.

“Uh… sure.” Was all he said before making his way back home.

—

Logan was stressed, to say the least, when he got home. His parents were happy that he stayed out for longer than they had offered, but all Logan’s mind would acknowledge was that he went off schedule. He was going to be so behind, this is why you don’t go off schedule, Logan! You get looped into it, and you’ll never get out of it.

He dedicated the rest of his free time to studying.

As it should be.

[hub-pub-bub]

Wage theft is when your boss doesn’t pay you what you’ve already earned. When I learned that Massachusetts had “blue laws,” that my bosses weren’t obeying them, and had shorted me around three thousand dollars, it was wage theft. 

This was the law: retail employees were to be paid at a “premium” rate on Sundays and holidays, time-and-a-half, the same as overtime. But none of the booksellers where I worked had ever been paid it. And while not being paid overtime is a textbook example of wage theft, when I tell people, they are happy to qualify it for me with a “Well…” or an “Okay, but…” I don’t know where this instinct comes from. Maybe it’s because “wage theft” makes it sound premeditated, more like a crime. (But it was a crime!) Or maybe it’s because I worked at an independent bookstore, and indie bookstores are beloved pillars of the community. (What would that mean about the community?) Maybe it’s because it doesn’t makes sense that an independent bookstore would do something like this. Everyone knows indiebookstores are thriving! (Which is true—it’s the people who work in them who are struggling.)

I found out when I was trying to see if I could afford to take a sick day. I felt like I was coming down with something, but taking a day off meant losing a not-insubstantial chunk of my monthly take-home pay ($11.50 an hour). Since there were sick hours adding up in a box labeled “time-off accrual” on my pay stubs—and surely they had to amount to something—I went to mass.gov to check the law. But they amounted to literally nothing, as it turned out: Massachusetts businesses only have to provide paid sick leave if they have more than eleven employees, and we had ten. My “sick days” meant I couldn’t be fired for staying home sick (as long as I wasn’t sick more than five days per year).

But I learned something else. There were links to related pages and I clicked the one about “blue laws,” which I didn’t know we had in Massachusetts.

Later that day I emailed the bookstore’s owners. Is there a reason our bookstore is exempt from blue laws, I asked, or was this an oversight?

They responded the same night. They’d heard that other area bookstores had to pay the premium rate, they said, because their booksellers were unionized, but that otherwise there was some exemption. They said they would investigate, that they’d talk to their lawyer and get back to me.

After that the story gets so routine you could probably write it yourself. When I followed up a few days later, they said their lawyer was on vacation but that they’d update payroll and we’d receive the premium pay on Sundays and holidays from then on. When some of the other booksellers and I contacted the Attorney General’s Fair Labor Division, they only sent a form letter saying the matter was too small for them to investigate personally, but we were welcome to pursue legal action (on our own time and at our own expense). I found some free legal clinics on wage theft, but only once-a-month and while I was scheduled to work. Ten days after the first email, I followed up again; “still the same conflicting intel,” they said, “but when we told our lawyer that we started paying 1.5 for sundays and holidays, the matter dropped. (lawyers are expensive!) let me know if it’s not reflected in your check.” A coworker who already planned to quit asked the owners specifically about back pay–which I hadn’t had the courage to do—and they told her no, they weren’t going to pay it, and they said it in writing.

I ended up speaking to a lawyer, who offered to represent me on a contingency fee basis: I wouldn’t have to pay if we lost, and the bookstore would be responsible for my legal fees if I won. But he recommended I not move forward until I got a new job. It isn’t legal to retaliate against an employee for bringing a case, he told me, but, you know, it also isn’t legal to ignore blue laws.

I said thank you, I’ll consider my options.

One day in November one of the owners called me into the office at the bookstore. She gave me $500 in cash and $500 in store credit, about a third of what I was owed. I spent the store credit on gifts for the holidays and I looked for a new job. I ignored a follow-up call from the lawyer and tried not to wallow in the humiliation. I was not successful. Even now it feels like admitting something shameful: I was fooled, maybe, or I’m some kind of miser. A few people asked me, what if they can’t afford to pay back pay and they go out of business? You hear it more than once and it’s easy to forget it’s not a ransom, that you didn’t pluck the number out of nowhere. 

It’s hard to compare independent bookstores to other kinds of retail stores. Bookstores sell a cultural product and booksellers insist that bookstores can’t be compared to other retail stores because they sell a cultural product. And bookstores don’t exploit their employees more than other retail. But what grates is when bookstores market themselves as more than stores, as community hubs.

“Independent bookstores act as community anchors,” the American Booksellers Association declares, at the bottom of every page on their site; “they serve a unique role in promoting the open exchange of ideas, enriching the cultural life of communities, and creating economically vibrant neighborhoods.”

This same lofty idealism justifies why booksellers don’t need to be paid a living wage, like employees of nonprofits or teachers: because bookstores are so vital for the community, the assumption goes, the job should be reward enough itself. The work is so important that maybe booksellers should make personal sacrifices, working well below the value of their labor.

I spoke to around twenty booksellers while I was writing this, and I was struck by how many are willing to make trade-offs. Perhaps I shouldn’t have been. “Independent booksellers consistently describe their work as more than just a way to make a living, and more than just a means of escaping the constraints that come from working for somebody else,” writes Laura Miller, in her 2006 book, Reluctant Capitalists: Bookselling and the Culture of Consumption; “These booksellers see themselves as bettering society by making books available.” Plenty of the booksellers I spoke to saw bookselling as a calling. Because of course they do! If they weren’t willing to make sacrifices, they couldn’t still be booksellers. And how else could bookstores get away with paying them—they, who generally have to have a college degree; who have to spend a lot of unpaid time reading across all genres and topics; who have to have at least a little knowledge about everything, from the ancient Greeks to Dog Man 7: Brawl of the Wild; who, at at least one store, famously have to correctly answer quiz questions before being hired—so little, while so successfully preserving an image as a (generally progressive) force for social good?

And it is so little. A bookseller in Southern California with eight years of experience still earns less than $20 per hour; “I can’t think of another industry where you could work for eight years and still be making that little,” he said. A different Southern California bookseller/assistant events manager earns $17.50. A bookseller/assistant events manager in the Boston area is earning $14. A former bookseller in Northern California was making $14.25, a quarter above the minimum wage. A part time bookseller in Chicago makes $13, the city’s minimum wage. A former bookseller in Minnesota was salaried after two years at $30,000 while a bookseller and events manager in Tennessee started at $25,000, six years ago, and now makes $31,500.

I started at $11 per hour and ended around eighteen months later at $11.50, and as far as I know, none of the booksellers at that store even earned $15. The median rent for a one-bedroom apartment in Boston is $2400 per month, which I could cover if I worked 50 hours a week, didn’t pay taxes, and didn’t need money for food, utilities, medical care, or literally anything else.

The booksellers I spoke to reported quite a range of benefits—in one year, for example, a Bay Area bookseller accrued three weeks of vacation time, and in the same time period a Pennsylvania bookseller got three days. But some booksellers told me that their benefits were mostly on paper. Not being fired for calling in sick or going on vacation doesn’t make it financially viable, after all. A Minnesota bookseller told me she has ten paid vacation days per year, but the store has so few employees that taking time off means she’d have to make up the missed hours working overtime. A bookstore in California offered a health insurance program, but gave employees a fifty-cent raise if they didn’t enroll.

It’s not so bleak for everyone. Unionized stores generally fight for better benefits and act as safeguards against labor law violations; I talked to a handful of booksellers whose stores had some kind of profit sharing, which can make a big difference.

But… I don’t know. There’s a bookstore owned by people who, all evidence suggests, really give a fuck and want to do right by their booksellers. They pay at least $15 per hour, and I heard one of the owners say on a podcast how much is required of booksellers; “If you’re a college graduate, and you’ve spent all this time reading, in addition to going to college—yeah, you deserve $15 an hour. Period.” But when his interlocutor mentioned a bookstore that had profit sharing, the owner was quick to say it wouldn’t work at his store. (And it wouldn’t, yet—the store is young and not yet profitable.*) But “It’s also a matter of loyalty,” he said, and explained that he couldn’t envision employees staying longer than a year. “I would love to find a bookseller who I know would be around long enough. Right now it just hardly seems even worth doing all the work. No one would qualify, because they won’t stick around long enough.”

Tell me, what are they going to stick around for? The bookstore owner said all of his employees are part-time—they’re either in grad school or working other part-time jobs. Are they supposed to stick around for a part-time job that pays $15 per hour?

What is there to be loyal to?

IndieBound—an ABA project—has a section on its website dedicated to answering Why Support Independents? One answer is that “Local businesses create higher-paying jobs for our neighbors.” But you can also find a page at the ABA website on “The Growing Debate Over Minimum Wage,” warning that “a minimum wage increase that is too drastic could result in reduced staff hours, lost jobs, or, worse, a store going out of business.” There’s also an “Indie Fact Sheet” to print out and give to local politicians; “Many indies pay more than the current minimum wage already for senior and full-time staff,” it says; “They do this because offering superior customer service is one of their competitive advantages—it is what separates them from their chain and remote, online retailing competitors. This also helps indies retain and attract good employees.”

See? Many bookstores pay their booksellers more than the minimum wage! It’s not their problem that that same minimum wage isn’t enough to cover a one-bedroom in any state in the country. It’s not their problem that inflation has eroded the value of the minimum wage. It’s not their problem that low wages are an affront to basic dignity or that higher minimum wages save lives. They’re just fiercely committed to their neighbors and their communities.

The ABA is happy to help its member stores fight even modest wage increases. “If the minimum wage is raised,” the Indie Fact Sheet continues, “it inevitably means indies will have to increase the wages of senior and full-time staff, in addition to increasing the wages of any minimum-wage workers. This increases the ripple effect. A seemingly ‘insignificant’ wage increase can have a dramatic effect on the bottom line, sending a profitable store into the red.”

There’s no mention of the dramatic effect an increase in the minimum wage could have on employees.

At Winter Institute–an annual ABA conference for independent booksellers–there’s a town hall where members can share their concerns. According to the ABA’s coverage of the event, an independent bookstore owner went to the mic to speak about the minimum wage. “I’m very happy the staff is getting a pay bump,” she said, “but that’s a huge adjustment to make every 12 months and once you get a handle on it, then it’s going up again. I feel like this seems to be going countrywide and that is something that is extra important to our nonexistent margins.”

Why this framing? Why not ask how other stores are handling the adjustment? Why not pay employees a living wage now so as not to have to change business model every year? Why does a bookstore owner feel comfortable getting up and saying this in front of an audience of booksellers?

If your local indie bookstore skirts labor laws or advocates against them, at the expense of its employees, can you still be sanctimonious for shopping there? Is your local indie bookstore thriving if its employees skip doctor’s appointments they can’t afford? If your local indie bookstore’s trade group doesn’t have resources for booksellers on paid sick leave, health insurance, or wage theft–in an industry famous for its tiny margins–is it an industry you’d recommend joining?

“We find ourselves in the uncomfortable position of being believers in social and economic justice while struggling to pay our employees a salary they can survive on,” writes Elayna Trucker on shopping local and running a bookstore; “We urge our customers to Shop Local but make hardly enough to do so ourselves. It is an unintentional hypocrisy, one that has gone largely ignored and unaddressed. So where does all that leave us? Rather awkwardly clutching our money, it seems… All of this brings up the most awkward question of all: does a business that can’t afford to pay its employees a living wage deserve to be in business?”

I am so glad I don’t have to come up with an answer. I have no idea. I haven’t the faintest idea at all.

In the end it was a tweet. I left the bookstore after the holidays and started a new job in January. In February, after a night of shitty sleep, I tweeted, “I have been spending hours lying awake at night doing nothing but feeling this intense shame like a stone in my chest about experiencing wage theft at my last job and I am sincerely just hoping that tweeting about it is enough to make it stop so let’s see if it works.”

A day or two later I got an email. “It’s filtered back to me that the $1000 we gave you to settle the Sunday pay issue,” they said, “didn’t resolve it.” They said some things about how they hadn’t known until I told them. They cut me a check for the back pay that same day.

I didn’t delete the tweet. I don’t know if any of my coworkers got back pay.

A little later, I read an article about the student-run Harvard Shop in Cambridge. The Massachusetts Attorney General’s Office found that the store owed almost $50,000 in back pay to their employees and $5,600 in fines for violating blue laws. “In this case, we unknowingly did make a mistake in how we were paying our students for Sunday and holiday pay,” the store’s manager said.

I only saw the article because the union I joined at my new job shared it on Twitter.

In Seasonal Associate, Heike Geissler’s barely-fictionalized account of her time working at an Amazon fulfillment center, she writes: “What you and I can’t do, because you and I don’t want to, is to think your employer into a better employer, and to compare these conditions to even worse, less favorable conditions, so as to say: It’s not all that bad. It could be worse. It used to be worse. We don’t do that. You and I want the best and we’re not asking too much.”  

I loved bookselling. I loved it for the same reasons everyone does: the community of readers and booksellers, the joy when someone came back into the store and says I recommended the perfect read, the pride when authors reach out directly to say how much my work meant to them. The free books, the discounts, the advance copies, all of it. And I do believe that bookstores can be forces for social good, insofar as bookscan be forces for social good, which I think they can. It is self-evidently better to get your books from a local store than from Amazon, and for precisely the reasons the IndieBound website gives.

But it’s not enough to Not Be Amazon, and framing bookstores as moral exemplars regardless of how they treat their employees isn’t to the benefit of booksellers. Bookstores “thrive” by hiding how much their booksellers struggle. “Any thriving I do personally is in spite of my store,” one of the booksellers I spoke to said. Working at a bookstore is not as bad as working at an Amazon warehouse; I didn’t walk dozens of miles per day and my bathroom breaks weren’t monitored. But are we willing to let that be the baseline?

*clarification added after publication

[j-morgan-fly]

Venting, you can ignore.

So, about two months ago after being uneployed AGAIN, I went in for a job at a 7-1-1. I got the job, I like the job, it didn't pay as little as I thought hey would, and it's not that stressfull of a job which is nice. So here is the thing: When I went in, I explained to the owner that I am waiting to take my state CNA exam, that I am only interested in part time hours and I would like this to be my second part time job on top of the CNA job I will be looking for once I pass my exam. He was happy to here I would still like to work for them once I pass my exam.

Now, despite agreeing to hire me on part time and work mostly afternoon and evening shifts. Somehow, my boss starts giving me full time, 9 hour shifts after I finish my training. Which at the time, is fine, I need the money and my state exam hadn't been scheduled yet.

Now, my exam is at last scheduled and confirmed for June 4th. Last week I sent my boss a lengthy text explaining that for the next two weeks I am going to have to drop some of my hours, specifically letting him know that 4p to 9pm shifts are ideal for me. I have study groups I go to during the day, including some practice time on the clinical skills with my teacher and independent study and my schedule these next two weeks is not flexible.

Message was delivered, but my boss never responded. Today comes out our schedule for tomorrow and the week ahead. I have only one 4-9 shift, and sunday I am supposed to work 7a to 3p. As an employee who usually works evening he never asked me if this was ok with my schedule. I worked last Sunday morning only because it was the second time since I've been hired that I was scheduled to work a morning. I don't mind working an opening shift once a month, but I it was never discussed with me if I would be ok with doing morning shifts weekly. And I feel like this was the start of a pattern. So I tell my boss I can't work Sunday, and if he got my message about trying to keep my hours to 4-9 if possible. Which was my whole schedule last week, almost everyday but one I worked 4-9.. "I did. That's why if you noticed I cut your hours this schedule," what I asked him wasn't about the hours, it was about the times I can work.

I told him I needed to make a call and see if I can change my plans sunday morning. "Well it's 7a, I doubt your actually doing anyhting at 7a."

I bite my tongue and tell him I will call him back and let him know if I can move things around after he asked if I can at least come in from 7a-10a. Now, I do not like to cut my hours, I don't like to lose money because I need it as I am paying off debt and am trying to move to Florida in a year and half and need to help put money aside with my roommate(best friend of 15 years)for the moving costs and down payment. I have never been very good with studying. I was a B average student in high school, but there is so much more riding on this exam and I am already nervous and stressed and can only handle one thing at a time and I need to choose studying over money. So if I have to say no to shifts so I can do that, I will.

I said to my boss "I really wish you would have called me after I sent that message if you saw it so we could have worked this out more." "I am working with you, I cut your hours. Your sharing shifts with *insert coworkers name*. Do you need me to cut them more?" I bite my lip. I specifically asked for 4-9 because it worked perfectly for me. It gave me the morning and afternoon to study, get together with classmates to study, and when I got home I have a few hours for independent study. 4-9 is my ideal schedule and that is what i said, not "Cut my hours because I need to study more. Any time is ok as long as I'm only working 4 or 5 hours a day"

Then, my boss suddenly springs on me that next Thursday he's having heart surgery and for the week after his surgery he needs everyone's cooperation. That is the week of my exam! He's saying he won't give me a lot of hours, but the point is what time are my shifts?

Why would you not give your employee's more notice. People make plans, they have children, they have other jobs! This man talks about working with his employees but doesn't communicate properly with us about our schedules. He gives us our schedule a day before the new week. We have no advance notice of our schedule. It's crap.

Ok. I am done now. Sorry about this.

[dc-x-readers]

Personal Assistant Part Two (Jason Todd x Reader)

So this is for all of you who wanted me to do a part two, I am going to be honest, I don’t think this one is as good as the first, but please give me criticism if you have any. I love to hear what people say, and how I can get better!

Part One Here

The elevator to Bruce Wayne’s floor dinged at 7:30 exactly. You stepped out, coffee in one hand and a bag of pastries dangling from the other. It was day after the ordeal with Corey and Jason Todd, and you were eager to get back to a normal day of work. 

Walking in you could have sworn your coworkers were staring at you. The personal assistant who has two Wayne’s backing her up. It unnerved you a bit, but you let it slide today. 

Strutting to your desk you felt a wave of surprise come over when your boss leaned casually against it. He was never here this early, he was never even here on time! So why was he today?

“Y/N!” Bruce said with a smile, you somehow knew you weren’t going to like what came out of his mouth next. He was never this happy, especially not in the mornings. 

You gave a small smile in acknowledgement to Mr. Wayne’s greeting before sliding down in your chair. The extra coffee was handed to Bruce as always. He thanked you with his signature smile, and you were happy for a moderate sense of normalcy. 

“So, I heard about what happened yesterday.” Bruce started, his voice coming off teasingly, you didn’t know the dark knight could tease. Then again the Bruce Wayne side of him was always so different than the reports of Batman. 

“Did you? What happened with Corey then?” You mused, pulling out a file which you had been working on from your purse. 

Bruce’s face grew dark at the mention of his ex-employee. “He won’t be able to het a job in Gotham anymore after what I did.” He said darkly, and for a brief moment you could see the Dark Knight in his eyes. As if sensing your vision Bruce forced his face to be lighter, “if anyone ever treats you like that again, tell me. You’re my best employee, and my friend. I don’t want anything bad to happen to you.” Bruce patted your head, and for a minute you felt like a dog. 

“Thanks Mr. Wayne.” You said smiling into your coffee. While you didn’t need Bruce backing you, it was nice to know he was on your side. 

“Now on to more important things.” Bruce said, a bright smile lighting up his face, he clapped his hands together in anticipation. “So you and my son?” You tried not to let your coffee spill from your mouth at Bruce’s words. Sure Jason had been dashing, and totally made you think you had a hero complex, you couldn’t possibly start anything with your boss’ son. It was out of the question. 

“Yes, he terminated Corey. I put the completed paperwork on your desk before I left last night.” You spoke, trying to keep your voice steely so Bruce couldn’t see the underlying embarrassment that came from your ever growing crush on Jason Todd. 

Bruce must have seen through your facade, because he let out a laugh. You wanted to have the world swallow you up whole, because talking with your boss about your crush on his son was not your ideal way to start a Wednesday. “That’s not what I mean.” Bruce said teasingly, but he walked into his office anyway. You let out a sigh of relief that he was gone. You really didn’t want to talk about Jason, with his cute white streak and his dazzling blue eyes. You shook your head and got to work, rolling calls and writing up a form for HR. It was going to be a long day. 

——–

You stared down at your cell phone again, this time it read: 12:47. Glancing up you saw Bruce still on the phone with… someone. 

He had taken the call thirty minutes ago, and hadn’t yet left for business lunch, which started promptly at 12:30. Your anxiety over Bruce’s chronic tardiness was reaching an all time high. 

Bruce hung up the phone with a smile on his face, you wanted to scream at the man for being late, and for the nerve to be happy about it. Bruce swung out of his door and looked at you with a sparkle in his eyes. This was going to be bad. 

“What am I doing at nine tonight?” Bruce asked. 

You grabbed your agenda before standing up and ushering Mr. Wayne to the elevators. Flipping through the  color coded schedule and pressing the button for floor one proved to be a challenge, but you managed. 

There was nothing on for nine, you did that purposely, to leave time for Batmanning. 

“Nothing.” You snapped, watching the elevator descend floors slowly. You really needed to get Mr. Wayne to this business meeting.

“Good. I am having diner with an associate of mine. You need to come with me. Dress nice.” This wasn’t an unusual request, you are constantly being asked to sit in on meetings, you often take notes and prepare talking points for Bruce as he sleeps with his eyes open. However Bruce has never outright said you needed to go. And never before after hours. This associate must be extremely important. 

You nodded in agreement as the elevator door dinged signaling the  the arrival to the correct floor. You looked down at your phone one last time, you were 26 minutes late. Better than last time. 

——-

You stood outside the high class restaurant smoothing down your dress for what felt like the 100th time. You had arrived at 8:45, and immediately felt underdressed in the luxurious atmosphere.   Now it was 8:59, and you knew you needed to go in, but you felt the need to smooth down you hair one last time. 

Once arriving at the greeting station a host in a finely tailored tuxedo looked down at you. By the look on his face you were underdressed. Very underdressed. 

In that moment you resisted the urge run back home and change. Or maybe run back home and fake sick. 

Instead you just gave the host Bruce’s name and held your head high as he lead you to the table. Sitting there was a pissed looking Jason Todd. 

Jason sat in a jet black suit pants, and a crisp white button up. The tie around his neck was loosened, and draped around his shoulders was a brown leather jacket. One that strongly resembled that of the Red Hood’s.

When you saw Jason you knew you had ben played by Bruce Wayne. He didn’t have a business dinner, he was playing cupid. Jason seemed to be following a similar train of thought. The waiter seated you, clearly upset with the pair of you, and your fashion statements. 

“So Jason Todd, I am guessing you’re not the business associate which I need to take notes for.” You stated, taking a sip on water. 

“And Y/N L/N, you do not look like a girl who needs saving.” Jason started, but a smile overtook his face and he added, “Today.”

You let out a nervous giggle, which caused Jason to smile endearingly. He liked you laugh more than he cared to admit. Despite being furious with Bruce for manipulating him, he couldn’t find it in himself to be upset about being here with you.

“About that.” You started once the nervous giggles bubbled away. “I don’t think I ever said thank you.”

“You don’t need to. Like I said yesterday I live to save people, especially beautiful girls like you.” Jason smiled. 

——

The two of you talked the night away at the restaurant, which was new territory for you. Never once did you check the time, and you genuinely enjoyed what Jason had to say. Apparently the two of you were so caught up in your conversation you didn’t notice it was midnight, and the restaurant was closed, which didn’t make the host any happier with you. 

He ended the night by walking you home, a sweet gesture, especially considering how dark it had grown. Your hands brushed the entire way home, but you were too shy to initiate real hand holding.

Arriving at you apartment you didn’t know what to do, you didn’t want the night to be over, because you knew it could never happen again. It was inappropriate, but you wanted him to kiss you goodnight and call you tomorrow. 

And thats just what Jason tried to do. He leaned down, his lips inching towards your own. You wanted to reach up and bridge the gap more than anything, but you knew. 

“We can’t.” You said leaning away. 

Jason stood stalk still, staring down at you in surprise. He had the best night of his life, and he worried that you felt differently.  That you saw him for the screw up he is. 

“You’re the son of my boss.” You spoke aloud, but your voice hushed. It doesn’t help that you are a vigilante. The words went off in your head, but you couldn’t risk saying them aloud.

“He’s the one who set us up,” Jason reasoned. 

You gave a small smile, “I know. But if any of Mr. Wayne’s competitors found out he could lose everything.” You explained. 

Jason leaned in once more, you wanted to feel his lips on yours and you felt yourself caving. “We just won’t let them find out.” Jason said, his mouth centimeters away from yours. You felt his breath wash over you. You wanted the kiss so badly. 

You reached up to connect the kiss. Sparks flew for the second time tonight you didn’t want it to end.  

As long as nobody found out.

[fuck-customers]

I have a nice workplace in terms of management and most of my coworkers so my experience here may be a bit skewed but I'd like to speak about my experience with something that affects a lot of people on this page MENTAL HEALTH IN THE WORKPLACE.

This is gonna get long and I've actually cut out a lot to save explaining because it's a bit ...shitty... but here's the main story. 

I just wanna say on the out -  don't be afraid of sharing. I found that sharing actually did help me a lot at work, and if I told them earlier it would have saved me a lot of hassle.

I've worked for the same company for almost 4 years now. I started as a high school student, transferred and then continued as a university student. Before that I worked in a really terrible small store as a summer temp, and I've worked for my school during the summer for three weeks (and ongoing corresponding throughout the year that I'm paid for) as part of a summer school exchange. But. My focus for this will be my main job and the store I'm currently at.

I suffer from an anxiety disorder - with it brining symptoms of depression but I would never really say I had depression or even depression and anxiety. I don't take meds and I'm not currently in therapy (I had a short stint at the beginning of this year but had to bail as it interfered with class). Although I believe understanding your symptoms is important I'm not 100% of self-diagnosis but I was pretty sure prior to diagnosis that I had problems with anxiety. I was diagnosed in 2014. 

I'd never properly brought it up at work. I sometimes mentioned feeling increasingly more anxious at times when I was at store 1 during my high school days and this was brushed off. I think my supervisor said something along the lines of, "everyone gets like that! just relax!" he was a pretty nice guy, but, a bit dim. Another time I told him I was stressed and he told me I was too young to be stressed. 

The first time it came up was when I first got introduced to my current manager. I was working in the store for about 2 or so months when my manager there quit. I was heartbroken because I really hated my then "new" store at the time and constantly felt homesick - him and maybe one or two others made it bearable. What's worse, my new(current) manager was known to a lot of the staff already as he worked between our store and another store as a supervisor a few years back, and then became a temporary ASM before the current one came. I was opening with him on maybe his third shift back, it was me, another staff member and someone completely new. He didn't say one word to me - really - as he wanted to help the new person and he knew the other person. I felt super uncomfortable as for that whole shift I felt forgotten about - he spoke to everyone else as they were either a new seasonal staff or he worked with them beforehand. I was just not on his radar. At this time. I hated this place even more. At this time, my anxiety was hella bad. I had a lot on my plate, like, a fuckload of shit that I'd rather not get into online and it would probably get us off the point of this place. 

Essentially, I needed to clarify something with work that my old manager had told me was okay but it didn't seem to be noted anywhere. As I didn't know him at all, I asked supervisor number 1 about my issue. Supervisor 1 shrugged me off and told me I'd have to speak to our boss about this. He wasn't in on my next shift, so, I decided to ask supervisor 2 - supervisor 2 was less helpful than supervisor 1 as she told me the exact opposite of what I was hoping. I cried the whole way home. I felt trapped and hopeless.

I even contacted my old manager asking if I could transfer back down. It was almost Xmas anyway, so, I could just go home (although this was not ideal, abusive household). I only lived about 100 miles away so I could always travel to there on a Friday night, work the weekend and come up mid-Monday as I had no class either until the summer (when I would just come home and work...again not ideal but at the time I was getting a lot of money for my age as I was still only 17) or I could just work there until I found a new job here.

The next shift I was in was with my manager, it was a Tuesday starting early, I don't know why I was scheduled in for this shift as I had class. But. I went anyway. I thought fuck it, I'll ask him. As I didn't know him that well I just explained my situ and also what Supervisor 2 said to me. I also told him (truthfully) that I'd been having panic attacks since Supervisor 2 spoke to me.

His response was kinda ...weird. He thought it was "fucked up" (exact words) that he had no handover on the issue and immediately sorted it. He told me later on that shift that "nothing work related should make you that anxious EVER". And we left it like that.

I still felt left out at work. My manager still didn't really speak to me. My anxiety was getting worse due to class/bad family back "home" and work. I recall getting told off by my manager for something really trivial and for asking for a holiday a few times for him to snap at me before storming off to enter it. I assumed he didn't like me. I was a pain in his ass. 

Shortly after this, I got hit by a massive anxiety truck. I felt so low, I couldn't leave my bed. I missed so much class and so much work (although I lied and said I had food poisioning from work as I didn't know how to bring it up). And then... I felt better. I was scheduled for work at 9:30am on a Sat, which was pretty standard and the night before a few of my high school friends were in town for a gig, so I met them after it for a drink. Honestly, I don't drink A LOT - I have a very low tolerance made worse by anxiety. Since I was in class all day and was meant to work the next day this would be the only time I'd see them for a while. I lasted one drink and felt overwhelmed. I had to go home. I cried all night and couldn't calm myself down. Before I knew it, it hit 7:30am and I was still shaking so badly. I honestly couldn't make it out of my place to get the bus. Serving customers was off the menu. I'd only been back on shift as well, and hadn't done my back to work. I called in and it was Supervisor 2 - who I really hated and was leaving soon. But. I just told her. I couldn't lie anymore.

"You've been off a lot."

I had been off a lot - at my old location I was off ONCE and that was because I had a sickness bug and was sent home the day previously. (I had to throw up and couldn't make it to the bathroom so threw up outside the store...lovely). I'd been off here a lot - mainly due to catching illnesses but more recently due to anxiety. 

"....I'll go see a doctor?" I shrugged.

"Yes, do that. I'll say to manager." 

I had a long weekend (inc Monday) of wallowing in self pity before making my way to the doctors on the Tuesday. My doctor could see I was intensely stressed and asked me if my student loan could cover my living costs (no) as my job seemed unnecessary due to my university commitments. By this time I had lost around 20 lbs as well - I was never skinny to begin with but this weight came off in about 2-3 months essentially because I was living off ramen as the thought of cooking/going to the shop seemed too scary (hahahah you're such a student with your ramen nope I'm fucking mentally ill). He offered me medication but I denied, as I was worried about adjusting to them so close to my deadlines. I planned to start them that summer but I'm still not on anything. He wrote me off for a further two weeks for both work and uni, but, I was behind on uni so went in anyway. 

I didn't want to go back to work. The thought of work made me feel so ill and so anxious. I started looking at new jobs and filled in an application for a stockroom job for a museum gift shop. I was just waiting for the right time to contact my old manager from the first store for a reference because there was No Way In Hell my boss was gonna give me a reference. 

When I returned, after trying not to cry as I reached the door, my boss grinned at me as I walked in, "HEY WELCOME BACK! :)" 

"...hi..."

"I'll catch up with you later, okay?"

As I entered the staffroom, a new face was there, "HI I'm Supervisor 2.1!" Supervisor 2 had left already, phew. Supervisor 2.1 kept talking and talking and talking. He was nice. I already decided I liked him because he seemed to have little filter and seemed genuine. 

"I used to work at [other location] but I live in [same place as me] so this is closer! And I'm getting more money as I'm not a SUPERVISOR!!! Just getting used to the busses!"

I smiled and told him I got the busses too and would help him tonight. 

As I was about to start, my manager called me into his office to do my paperwork and also dragged Supervisor 2.1 in to show him how to do it, and to keep him "in the loop".

"We need to do your back to work form. But this is quite serious."

I thought...fuck... he thinks I'm faking. I'm gonna get fired for a lot of absences. 

Nope.

We filled in the form as usual and looked over my doctors note. He said he recalled the time I told him I was taking panic attacks and just thought I was exaggerating and he apologised a lot for thinking that.

He then told me he valued me so much as a team member as I always got shit done and was a hardworker, he apologised if he'd ever been "off" with me as he said he just didn't really think I liked him or needed constantly guidance on tasks.

We had this long-ass chat about mental health. In which he told me he'd been on and off anti-anxiety medication for the past 5 years. He went into detail about how he didn't go into his old work at all and eventually got fired and said he was super proud I sought help before things went too far for me in regards to either work or school. Supervisor 2.1 chipped in and said he's a very nervous person, perhaps not anxiety level but nevertheless very nervous.

It went on for an hour and since then, we've had a great relationship. And I mean REALLY GREAT. Essentially, we worked out we were basically the same person - I would have probably never found out this shit if we never had this long-ass convo. I also become really close friends with Supervisor 2.1 who constantly gets me into trouble for talking to him and coming back late from lunch as he always insists on dining out. 

I think I was making myself quite distant at work because I was in a bad place mentally - and because of that - I was getting increasingly anxious at work.....the cycle went on.

Since then, I've obviously had "difficulties" but it's been super easy to talk to managers about it. I once mentioned, in passing, to our ASM how the messy tshirts unsettled me and she switched my zone in the store so I could go tidy them (I was doing nothing anyway). I've had reviews and have been praised for hard work and customer service - with downsides being confidence, usually. 

Recently, I had quite a bad anxiety "relapse" - I asked my manager if I could talk to him - as it was fucked anyway and an issue at work with one coworker and another being assholes to myself and another coworker made it worse. Mixed in with deadlines, I needed either reduced hours or a couple of back of house shifts to help me calm. We talked out the issues and I took a panic attack that he managed to talk me out of before it got too bad which, sadly, kinda set him off a bit as I noticed he was stimming quite badly. He checked up on me that night and thanked me for sharing.

Due to the fact I get easily stressed and my work knows this, they are happy to fit my schedule around my class and deadlines. Something that before they were a bit like "meh" about. 

I just wanna say PLEASE DO NOT DO A ME AND HOLD IT IN UNTIL IT GETS REALLY BAD. I still get very stressed and nervous when I think about that time in my life - if I had been more open earlier I would have saved myself a lot of stress which in turn made my mental health worse. 

[darisu-chan]

Death in the Cabaret, Part I

Prompt: Mystery/Noir Daily Themes: Smoke, Lipstick, Leather

Summary: Kuchiki Rukia is an amateur private detective who has just gotten her biggest case as of yet: helping alleged murderer Kurosaki Ichigo prove his innocence.

You can also read it here.

It was a calm night, like any other. The moon was high in the sky, when I decided to leave my office. It was just another ordinary day without a new case. The thought was frustrating. I just wanted to go home, drink tea, and take a bath ─my usual routine. However, before I could put on my coat, someone knocked the door.

“Come in.” I said, after sitting on my chair again, playing with some random papers that were on my desk, trying to appear busy.

A man entered and closed the door. He was tall, above 5’10, and seemed to be fit by the way his black leather jacket clung to his body. He wasn’t the type of man to be patient, for he rushed into the room with heavy steps. It seemed he wasn’t reserved either, by the way he came in. His most striking feature was his wild orange hair. I wondered if he had dyed it, and if so, if he was some kind of delinquent.

“Hey! Who are you talking to?” The man exclaimed, looking inside the office like a lunatic.

I snorted. “No one. Now tell me what business do you have here?” I commanded.

The man looked dumbfounded. I could see right away that he was not very bright. I was starting to get impatient.

He started scratching his cheek, a clear sign of nervousness. “Are you Detective Rukia?” He asked at length.

“Yes, I am. What do you need?” I asked him.

The man turned serious. “My name is Kurosaki Ichigo, and I need your help.”

Honestly, I would have shouted in glee if I hadn’t been observed by this strange man. I hadn’t had a case in a long time, and I was beginning to become desperate. He was godsend, but I needed to pretend to be the hardboiled detective I wanted to be.

“Take a seat.” I ordered him, and he sat down on the chair in front of me. “Now, tell me all about it.”

The man gulped. “I’ve been framed.” He said.

“Framed?” I raised an eyebrow. “Framed of what?”

“Murder.” He whispered, and observed me carefully to watch my reaction.

I was, indeed, surprised. Despite his looks, I did not see him as a murderer. He had a bit of innocence in his eyes, that a murderer wouldn’t have. I also started wondering who could have framed such a man. He did not seem past twenty five.

“Are you actually being framed, or did you kill someone?” I asked him even if I believed him. I had to know. It was in my best interest not to associate with a murderer.

“Of course I’m being framed! I’d never kill someone!” He shouted, slamming his hands on the table. It was convincing enough for me.

“Alright, I believe you.” I said to calm him down. “Now, Mr. Strawberry─”

“It’s Ichigo.” He deadpanned.

“Right.” I shrugged. His name was unimportant. “Tell me the specifics. Of what crime are you being accused off?” I took a notepad to write all the details of the case.

Strawberry─ I mean, Ichigo, shifted on his seat awkwardly. He, then, sighed, and looked me straight in the eye. “I’m accused of murdering Inoue Orihime.”

Inoue Orihime had been a very famous dancer at the cabaret Las Noches. In the underground businesses, she was widely spoken about ─not that I frequented such places, but as a detective I always have to be informed. She was described as breathtakingly beautiful, with her hourglass figure, luscious orange hair, and doe-like eyes. Many referred to her as their ‘porcelain doll.’ I was unaware if the men who went to Las Noches ever did more than watch her dance. She did not have that reputation. She was alluring but untouchable. For many men, she must have been the ideal combination between an angel and a devil, innocent while being scantily dressed. Heaven and hell in one person. She had been murdered last night. The details were not given, just that it had been a grizzly affair. The news of her sudden demise had spread even in serious newspapers. There was no one in Karakura Town who was unfamiliar with her death. Therefore, it deeply surprised me that someone like Kurosaki Ichigo could be held accountable for such a cold-blooded crime.

I blinked, and for a moment I thought he was joking, making me waste my time. However, one look at his face told me he was being serious. I licked my lips, a nervous habit, and spoke again. “Who’s framing you?”

“Aizen Sosuke.” Ichigo said, surprising me once more. Aizen Sosuke was a shady businessman, who owned, among many other places, the cabaret Las Noches. I felt that Ichigo was pulling my leg by saying the names of so many famous people, while he looked like an average citizen.

“How do you know?” I inquired. “Did you know him before this?”

“Look, all I know is that this morning a group of officials knocked on my door and wanted to arrest me for Inoue’s death. I asked why, and they told me that Aizen Sosuke had been suspicious of me the night before. They barged into my house, looking for evidence, and they supposedly found a shirt. Before they could arrest me, I dashed out and ran away. I’ve been looking for someone to help me. A contact, Urahara Kisuke, gave me your name and address, and told me you could help me.” He explained, while I wrote everything down. This definitely was getting interesting. I started to believe him. I knew Urahara personally. That cunning man wouldn’t have sent Ichigo to me if he believed he was guilty.

“Alright, I believe you. You’re innocent. I’ll help you, but I’m going to need more details.” I told him.

“It’s fine by me. And thank you for your help.” He said sincerely, flashing me a small smile.

“Don’t mention it.” I said, then focused on the task at hand. “First things first, did you know personally Inoue Orihime?” There must have been something that linked Inoue to him, so much that the police were already investigating him.

“Yeah. We were childhood friends.” He said vaguely. That was a start, but I was going to need more.

“Just friends? Not sweethearts? What exactly was your relationship with her?” I pressed him.

“There was never anything between the two of us! I met her the day her brother died. He was ran over by a car, and taken to my father’s clinic. There was nothing he could do, so her brother died. Inoue was there, and I kept her company while my dad tried to save her brother. After giving her the news that her brother had passed away, we stayed with her, and ever since she came to my house often to eat dinner and stuff. That’s the story.” Ichigo said, crossing his arms in a gesture of defiance.

“You never fell in love with her?”

“Hell, no! We were just friends!”

“Is there any way that the police can prove that you two were in a relationship?” I asked again, as I kept jotting everything down.

“Well…” He trailed off.

“What?”

“I don’t know for sure, but our friends kept telling me she was in love with me.” Ichigo said, with a hint of sadness. “I never had feelings for her, nor do I believe entirely that what they said was true, but…”

“The police can use that against you.” I finished for him. This case was getting even more complicated.

“Yes.”

I nodded. “Now that we have established that, let’s get into the events of last night. The newspaper said that Inoue Orihime’s corpse was found at Las Noches, and we can deduce that that was the place where she was murdered.” I said as I made more notes. “Were you at Las Noches last night?”

“Yes.” He said simply.

I mentally cursed. He was in deep trouble. “Why were you there?” I asked, hoping he told me something that could help him.

“I needed to see if she was okay!” He yelled. “She felt that someone had been following her, but rested importance to the matter. I went at about 10 pm to ask her if she was alright, if she had been followed again, and if she wanted me to wait for her, and take her home. Inoue ignored my worries, and told me to go home. Since I didn’t want to make her uncomfortable at her work place, I left, then went home.”

I wrote everything he had said on my notepad. I thought about the time period Ichigo had stayed at Las Noches. Just one hour. It wasn’t enough time to murder someone and then escape. Never mind the fact that, in those hours, the cabaret was full, and there should have been many eyewitnesses, not just Aizen. It was fishy. “Did anyone see you enter and leave?”

“Besides Inoue, her friend and coworker Rangiku-san, and Aizen were the ones who recognized me.” He answered.

Great. We had two eyewitnesses, one which was already framing Ichigo, and another who could either cooperate or remain silent. Worst case scenario, this person could be working with Aizen. Our best bet right now was to come up with a timeline, and show the police the impossibility of Ichigo being the culprit.  “Do you know what her schedule could have possibly been last night?”

“Yes. She always arrived at 7 to prepare. The cabaret officially opens at 9, but the dancers take some time to appear on stage. Inoue generally performed at around 10:30. That’s why I went at 10, to catch her before her performance. Rangiku-san let me in the dressing rooms. After speaking with her, I sat on the backseats and watched her first show. I went to say goodbye, and left at 11. The cabaret is open until 1, sometimes 2 o’clock. After closing time, the dancers and other workers stay for one more hour. Inoue should’ve gone home at around 3, 3:30.”

I made my timeline, realizing the time frame for the murder was between 1 and 3:30. However, it got reduced when taking into account the rest of the employees who remained in the establishment. I needed to find out the time of death. I needed to find this Rangiku person and interrogate her. “Alright, we have a start. The last thing I need to know is why was the shirt taken?”

Ichigo sighed. “The shirt had a lipstick stain, and they say it matches Inoue’s lipstick.”

“It isn’t hers?”

“No! I don’t even know how that shirt got stained. I wasn’t with any woman last night, and it certainly wasn’t Inoue’s.” Ichigo said.

I sighed. This case was going to be more difficult than I had expected. “Let’s go.” I said, standing up, and taking my coat.

“Go? Where?” Ichigo asked with a bewildered expression, but followed me anyway.

“Where else? To the scene of the crime! There’s no time to lose. We have to investigate, now!” I answered, as I put on my bag the things I was going to need, like my notepad, pens and pencils, magnifying glasses, powders, and other stuff.

“But they’re going to recognize me!” My client said, pointing to his very recognizable orange hair. I had an idea.

“Don’t worry. I have a plan.” I said, and put on my hat. I was not going to fail him.

Las Noches was just like I had expected. It was a building which stood between two other edifices. The only difference between them was that Las Noches was highly illuminated, while the others had no lights. A few posters showed the current It Girls, and the singers who had performances there. Over Inoue Orihime’s poster, there was a black ribbon, no doubt signalizing the girl’s demise. The architecture was beautiful, it probably looked inconspicuous during daytime. But then, with the lights, the posters, and the people lingering outside, it looked like what it actually was.

I felt a little out of place in the purple dress I was wearing. I was not used to wearing such garments, preferring pants and shirts to them for my daily job. Beside me, Ichigo stood awkwardly, pulling the hairs of his black wig.  Before coming here, we had made a stop at Urahara’s store. He was an old friend of mine, who had helped me countless times in my cases. The blond man was eccentric and clever, but for some reason he had decided to aid me in my endeavors. Somehow, he always sold whatever I was going to need. Tonight, he had this dress on sale, along high heels of my size, a dark suit and a black wig. I made Ichigo buy all the items, then we dressed there and headed out.

“If you keep touching it, people are going to notice.” I admonished Ichigo, pinching his arm.

“Ouch! That hurt!” He complained. “I still don’t understand why we’re here, though.”

“If you want me to solve the case, I’m going to need to see this place.” I said, and then we both entered.

A few eyes turned to stare at me. It was a bit peculiar to find a woman in such places who wasn’t a singer nor a dancer. However, it wasn’t that unusual, especially if said woman was accompanied by a man. Some couples liked that kind of amusement. I pulled Ichigo close to me to act as a couple. He grumbled but didn’t pull away. Once inside, I observed the place. It was filled with various men, and few women. Everybody was elegantly dressed. They sat on tables which surrounded the stage. Waitresses went here and there, taking orders and delivering drinks. A few dancers lingered on the tables near the patrons, whispering into their ears. It was a cabaret, alright.

“And now, let’s all give a round of applause to our favorite dancer, Ran-chan!” A man with silver hair dressed in a white suit spoke suddenly from the stage.

“That’s Rangiku-san.” Ichigo whispered in my ear as a woman entered the stage.

Matsumoto Rangiku was a woman on her late twenties. She had wavy strawberry blonde hair, which reached past her shoulders. Her figure was voluptuous, her tight golden dress barely leaving anything to the imagination. The men all clapped the moment she started her sensual dance. As I observed her more intently, I discovered that her blue eyes were slightly red and puffy, as if she had been crying. I made the connection. She probably had been crying over Inoue’s death. I hoped that her feelings would be a key factor to make her cooperate with us.

Some minutes later, her performance ended and she returned to the dressing rooms. I turned to Ichigo, and he nodded, showing me the way. I was happy to see that my client and current partner in this case was already understanding my body language. That would make things easier. We followed Rangiku to the dressing rooms, where some dancers lingered about, but didn’t ask questions. I figured they probably thought we wanted an autograph. I knocked on the door, and waited a few seconds until the woman in the flesh opened the door. She was wearing a hot pink robe, probably already starting to change.

“Yes? What do you want?” She asked, raising an eyebrow.

“I admire you a lot, and I was wondering if I could ask you some questions. I’d like to dance myself, you see.” I said animatedly, gushing at her.

Rangiku bought it and let us in. “So, what do you want to know?” She said, crossing her arms.

Once she had closed the door, I went straight to the point. “I want to know what you were doing last night when Inoue Orihime was murdered.”

Rangiku gasped loudly. “What? Why are you here?”

“My name is Kuchiki Rukia, and I’m a detective in charge of finding out the culprit of this crime.” I said. “Now, are you going to make this easy or difficult?”

The woman sighed and slumped on a chair. “Fine. I was dancing, and when I wasn’t dancing, I was getting ready here.” She said, as uninterested as possible. That raised some red flags.

“You need to be more specific. Where were you when Inoue’s body was discovered?”

Rangiku touched her forehead. “Last night, after my last performance, I did not return to the dressing rooms, nor did I see Orihime. It was until one of the girls screamed, that I ran all the way here. Then, I saw Orihime, laying on the floor of her own dressing room.” The woman let a single tear fall, then rubbed her face furiously.

I nodded, writing everything down. Next, I put a hand on her arm, in a comforting gesture. “Look, I know this is hard to say, especially to a stranger, but I really want to solve this case, so please, tell me all the details you remember. How did the body look?”

“She was… very pale. Her eyes were wide open, as well as her mouth. I could see a few scratches on her arms, as if she had been grabbed but tried to pull away. She had a wound on her stomach. There was a puddle of blood beneath her.” Rangiku said and cried. Behind me, Ichigo turned around, visibly affected. “It looked like she had bled to death, and she didn’t deserve that! She was such a sweet girl, detective! She didn’t belong here!”

I nodded sympathetically and patted her arm. “I know.” I turned serious again. “Please describe the state of the room.”

“It looked like normal. However, it seemed there was a fight of some sort, for various things, like her makeup and earrings were on the floor, as if they had fallen down.” I took note of that.

“Anything else I should know?”

“Aizen-san, our boss, arrived at the scene and asked everyone to leave. I thought he was going to call the police, but they took about an hour to get here. They removed the body, and the room has been closed ever since.” Rangiku explained.

“At what time was the body first discovered?”

“I believe that it was 3 am.”

“And the police arrived until 4?”

“Yes.”

“And when was the last time that you saw Inoue Orihime?”

“1, maybe 1:30…” She trailed off.

After her words, I came to a few conclusions myself. However, there was something which was bothering me.

“There were no dancers near her dressing room? No one heard anything?” I prompted, looking at her in the eyes.

“I don’t know. Some dancers do not get straight to their dressing rooms, they decide to spend time with the audience, if you know what I mean.” I did know. Prostitution was always a side business in cabarets. “Others get something to eat or watch the other performances.”

“So there are no witnesses?”

“None.”

“One last question, Rangiku-san, where were you from 1 to 3 am?” I asked her. I had found it strange how the woman had avoided telling her whereabouts.

Rangiku smiled ironically. “Oh, detective, you won’t be able to put the blame on me.” She said, reading my thoughts. “If you must know, I was very busy fucking the master of ceremonies, Ichimaru Gin, at his office. The last time I saw Orihime, I winked at her, as I left for his office. You can go ask him, if you don’t believe me.”

“That won’t be necessary.” I coughed. “Thank you for your cooperation. I will take my leave now.”

“Please, find the one responsible for this, detective. The police have put the blame on an innocent man, but the real culprit is out there. Orihime deserves to rest in peace.” She said, taking my hand and slipping something there. “Oh, and Ichigo?” She called my client, who flinched. “I don’t believe you did it, and the police will soon realize it too.”

Ichigo nodded, and the two of us left the dressing room. I turned to look at a closed door which said Inoue Orihime. I couldn’t stop to inspect it, but it didn’t seem like the entry had been forced. Whoever the killer was, he either had a key, or was let in by the victim herself. We exited the cabaret, and walked for a few minutes in silence, until I stopped and inspected the object Rangiku had slipped into my hand. As I had figured, it was a lipstick. It could belong to no one else but Inoue. I smiled.

“Well, our visit was completely successful.” I said, and showed Ichigo the lipstick.

“So what now?” He asked me.

“We need to get access to your shirt. But first, we must rest.” I said.

“And where exactly should I go? The police’s still looking for me, Rukia.” He complained, addressing me by my name for the first time.

“Oh, there’s one place they won’t think to look.”

“When you said you had a place in mind, I didn’t think it was your own apartment!” Ichigo exclaimed once we were inside.

I rolled my eyes. “As far as the police is concerned, you don’t know me, so they won’t think to look in here. Besides, this way we won’t get separated. We need to stick together.” I informed him, hanging my coat, and taking my heels off. I looked at him and noticed he was standing near the door. I chuckled. “Come in, and make yourself comfortable. Do you want tea, or something stronger like scotch?”

Ichigo took his shoes off as well, and sat on the couch. “Scotch.” He just muttered.

I went into the kitchen and brought back two glasses of scotch. I gave one to him. “After this, we need to sleep. We’re going to get up early tomorrow and continue the investigation. The longer we have no prove, the more likely it is you’re going to get convicted.”

The man nodded, and sipped his booze. “Is it really alright?”

“What?”

“Me staying here. You’re a woman living by yourself, and I’m a man…” Ichigo said, his cheeks turning red. God, he was so innocent.

“We can do it if you want to.” I proposed, scooting over until our knees were almost touching.

He spit the scotch, coughed, and yelped, looking alarmed. “What?!” He exclaimed.

I just laughed. “Relax, I was joking.” He crossed his arms, annoyed. “It is fine. I do not care. You can sleep on the couch.” I added.

Then, his eyes stared deeply into the glass. He downed the rest of the scotch in one sip. “You know, I only found out about her death when the police came to my house.” He said, his voice soft.

I pitied him. Losing a friend, to a murderer no less, was tragic. I could only imagine how he was feeling in that moment, having lost a friend, and having to hide from the police. “Look, nothing you do now can change the past. It happened, and sadly your friend is gone. But what you can do is clear your name and find the real murderer. I’m going to help you. You’re not alone.” I said, trying to comfort him.

He smiled at me, still a little sadly. “Thank you.”

“Don’t worry. As a detective, it is my duty to find the truth.” I answered.

“I think we should go to sleep now.” He said.

“Alright.” I took both glasses, and left them on the sink. Then, I gave Ichigo a blanket to cover himself. “Goodnight.”

“Goodnight, Rukia.”

I went to my room, took off the dress, and prepared my clothes for the following day. I started planning what our next move should be. I needed to get my hands on that shirt, but furthermore, I needed to see Inoue’s body. The time and cause of death were important, as well as the weapon used. I also needed to prove the lipstick on Ichigo’s shirt was not the one Inoue was wearing. My mind rapidly started thinking about Aizen. I hadn’t told Ichigo yet but it was known Aizen disposed of anyone who wasn’t useful to him or betrayed him in some way. However, the police could never find evidence that linked him to the individual murders, and was left alone time and time again. The fact Inoue worked in Aizen’s cabaret, and that he was the third person to find the corpse, but waited too long to call the police was definitely suspicious. Ichigo appeared to be Aizen’s scapegoat. I needed to clear his name soon.

The next morning, I woke up Ichigo at 7 am, having already outlined a plan. I gave him a couple of my brother’s clothes, so he could change, and told him to keep the wig on.

“Where are we going today?” He said, as we both ate a quick breakfast.

“To the morgue. I need to see the body.” I explained.

“And how exactly are you going to get access?” He said sarcastically.

“Oh, I have many friends in this city, and one of them owes me a favor.” I said smiling.

We left at around 8, and we took a cab which left us a block away from the morgue.

“Why are we getting out here?” Ichigo asked me, as we walked towards our destination.

“It’d be too obvious if the cab left us right there. We need to be unassuming so as to not raise suspicions. Now, I’m going to go in, while you will wait for me at my friend’s office. If anyone asks, you’re my assistant.” I informed him.

Ichigo looked as if he was going to say something else, but decided to keep quiet. We walked in silence, until we reached the morgue. It was a plain looking building, with nothing special about it. The only thing eerie about the place was knowing that it was where they kept corpses to be examined. Having seen a fair amount of dead bodies in my life, I was already desensitized to the whole experience. That couldn’t be said of my companion. This is why it was imperative for Ichigo to not be in the room. I feared he would collapse.

We walked into the morgue casually. I could see that Ichigo expected for us to be stared at, but we were ignored. I walked to the front desk and gave a name. We were lead through the halls of the morgue were the offices were at, and the secretary left us in front of a door with the inscription of Ishida Uryuu. I knocked, and was let in.

“Well, well, if it isn’t Kuchiki-san.” Ishida said. He looked the same as always. Black hair, glasses, and a smug smile.

“Ishida.” I acknowledged him. “It’s been a long time.”

“It has.” He nodded. “Who’s this?” He asked, noticing Ichigo.

“He’s my new assistant. He’s here to learn the trade.” I shrugged.

“What is he going to learn from an amateur?” He said, sarcasm dripping from his voice.

I remained calm. “I’d tell you about all the cases I’ve solved, but you already know that.” I said, making him frown. “But that’s not what I’m here for.”

“Then why are you here?” Ishida inquired.

“I’m here to cash a favor from last time.” I said, remembering the time I had helped Ishida with a case.

“I had figured as much.” He nodded. “What do you want?”

“I want access to a body that was brought here yesterday.”

“Which body?” He asked, raising an eyebrow.

“Inoue Orihime’s.”

“I should’ve known.” He chuckled. “Why do you want to see it?”

“Not that it’s any of your business, but a client wants me to solve the case. The police has been corrupted and cannot be trusted to find the culprit.”

“Of course.” He nodded, smiling at something. “Follow me, and let’s make it quick.”

Ishida started walking out, while I silently told Ichigo to remain in the room. He did not fight me about it. Once outside, Ishida directed me to the place where they kept the bodies. The room was cold. Ishida rubbed his hands and arms together to get warm. As for me, I did not mind the cold. I enjoyed it, actually.

“So why did you make your assistant stay?” Ishida asked, as he looked for the body.

“I figured it’d be too much for him. He’s new, after all.” I said. “Did you find it?”

“Here it is.” Ishida opened a cabinet, displaying what used to be Inoue Orihime.

Even in death, she remained beautiful. I went closer to the body and inspected her face. As I had hoped, bits of makeup still remained on it. I lifted the blanket covering her, and inspected her body. As Rangiku-san had mentioned, there was a deep wound in her abdominal area. If that wasn’t the cause of death, it certainly had helped in her demise.

“What is the cause of death?” I asked Ishida, as I continued inspecting the body, noticing the scratches on her arms.

“It appears it was heavy bleeding. That wound killed her. She was stabbed by some sort of sharp object. Perhaps a dagger.” Ishida said, pointed at her stomach.

I nodded. “Any other information?”

“There are signs of struggle, as you can see by the scratches in her arms. She was also hit on the face.” I had already noticed a bruised cheek.

“Was she raped?”

Ishida shook his head. “There were no traces of semen on her body. This is definitely not a rape gone wrong.”

I nodded once more, and took the lipstick out of my pockets. Next, I took the cap, showing the bright pink color of the lipstick. I put it side by side with Inoue’s lips, where hints of lipstick still remained. Next to each other, they looked almost the same, but it wasn’t enough. I put on gloves, and used my finger to take off a bit of the lipstick from her lips.

“What are you doing?!” Ishida exclaimed, horrified.

“Finding evidence, of course.”

I put the sample from Inoue’s lips on a piece of paper I had taken out for this purpose, and next to it I put a swatch from the lipstick itself. They were identical. I smiled in satisfaction. Now, all I needed was to compare Ichigo’s shirt with this lipstick. I put the piece of paper inside a plastic bag, and then I hid it inside my own bag.

“Thank you, Ishida.” I said.

The man nodded. “I hope you find the culprit.”

“I hope so too.”

We walked back to Ishida’s office to pick up Ichigo. Then, my client and I left the place in silence. I was still smiling from the high of making such a discovery.

“Well?” Ichigo asked me.

“It was a perfect match.” I said.

“Now what?”

“Now we get our hands on that shirt.”

“And how exactly are you going to do that?” Ichigo asked, skeptical.

“I told you I have many friends, and one of them works at the police department.”

The walk to the police station was silent for the most part. Ichigo was deep in thought, and I was analyzing what I had gathered so far. In my mind, it was clear that Aizen was trying to make it seem as a passionate crime. Framing Ichigo, making him pass as Inoue’s lover ─hence the shirt with a lipstick stain─ who killed her in a spurt of vengeance of some sort. What I still couldn’t understand was Aizen’s motif. What could Inoue have known that prompted Aizen to kill one of his most beloved dancers?

“How exactly did Inoue end up in that place?” I asked Ichigo.

“After her brother died, Inoue stayed with an aunt of hers, but a few years ago, her aunt died too. When that happened, Inoue tried to find a job which gave her a steady income, enough to pay for her own apartment. As she lacked any experience, and didn’t study after high school, she had little to no jobs available for her, and definitely not ones that paid a lot. Eventually, a friend of hers told her about the cabaret, and that they were looking for dancers. She auditioned and was hired on the spot, because of her looks. Obviously it was a high paying job, and she accepted it. I told her she shouldn’t work there, but she didn’t listen.” Ichigo explained.

“Did she have a good relationship with her boss?”

“As far as I know, she did.”

I frowned. “Did she have any enemies?”

“Not that I know of, she never complained.” Ichigo said.

There was something that I was missing. “She didn’t offer other services, did she?”

Ichigo turned to me, looking pissed off. “She was not like that!” He yelled at me.

“I didn’t know her, you know? I need all the information I can get if I’m to solve this case.” I said. “It just doesn’t make sense why she was killed if no one was out to get her. She must have known something incriminating. The only clue we have is that she felt she was being followed. But if that was true, then how come it was Aizen who incriminated you, and no one else? There’s a missing piece of the puzzle, and I won’t rest until we find it!” I proclaimed.

Ichigo pondered this for a minute. “A few weeks ago, she did mention she didn’t feel as comfortable working there. But she wouldn’t tell me why.”

Finally. There was a big clue, but I still had no information. I sighed. This case seemed easy yet difficult at the same time. I stopped thinking about this when we reached the police station. We went in and, as in the morgue, we were promptly ignored. The police officers were going in and out. Some people sat on the entrance, waiting to be interrogated or waiting to make some sort of declaration. I ignored them, and asked the secretary to take us to Detective Abarai’s office. She did not ask why, probably recognizing me from the other times I’d been there. I knocked and a man with long red hair opened.

“Rukia?! What are you doing here?” Abarai Renji, a detective and my friend, exclaimed when he saw me.

“Wow. No, ‘Rukia, long time no see, how have you been?’” I said, ironically.

Renji rolled his eyes. “Your visit just surprised me, that’s all. Come in.” He said. “So what brings you and your companion here?” He gestured to Ichigo.

“A case.”

Renji smirked. “As usual. So what can I do for you?”

“Glad you ask. There’s a new case that seems to be progressing because of a piece of evidence.” I said, dissimulating I was inspecting my nails.

“Go on.”

“And I need to see that evidence to confirm my own suspicions.”

Renji frowned. “What case and what evidence?”

“The shirt from the Inoue case.”

My answer caused him to flip. “Oh hell no, Rukia! Do you know how much trouble would I get into if I let you tamper with the evidence of that case?!”

I rolled my eyes. “I won’t tamper with it. I just want to prove something, that’s all.”

“That’s all?! That’s everything! Do you know who the chief detective is? It’s Byakuya!”

“You’re overreacting. I just need to see the shirt, and then I’ll leave.” I stated. When Renji didn’t seem convince, I made by best puppy eyes. “Please?”

“Argh! Fine! But you owe me big time!”

We followed Renji to the storage, where the police kept all major records as well as evidence of several cases. He looked for a brown box which was marked with the name of the case. After a few minutes, he finally found it, and opened it, revealing a blue shirt wrapped in a plastic bag. I smirked when I saw it.

“Well, the police is following a lead blindly that will take them nowhere.” I said.

Ichigo turned to look at me. “What do you mean?”

“They’re going with the theory that the man who wore that shirt had an affair with Inoue Orihime, and that they were together that night, probably kissing passionately, and that the shirt is the proof. However, that is not the lipstick she was wearing that night.” I said, and pulled out Inoue’s actual lipstick. The difference was striking. Inoue’s lipstick was pink, while the lipstick stain on Ichigo’s shirt was red. Aizen was sloppy.

Renji whistled. “Chief Byakuya won’t like it.”

“Yeah, well, it’s his own fault for not examining all the evidence carefully before starting to arrest people.” I said. My mind started putting the pieces of the puzzle together. However, before I could share my thoughts with Ichigo, the door suddenly opened, revealing Kuchiki Byakuya, the chief investigator of this case, as well as my older brother.

“Chief!” Renji exclaimed, frightened.

“Kurosaki Ichigo, you’re under arrest for the murder of Inoue Orihime.” He said, and started walking towards us. I jumped in front of Ichigo.

“You have no evidence!” I shouted.

“Step aside, Rukia. I need to arrest this man.” My brother said monotonously.

“No, I won’t, nii-sama!” I retorted.

Ichigo gaped at me. “You know him?!”

“Yes, he’s my brother.” I said simply. We did not have a good relationship. Nii-sama never wanted me to follow in his footsteps and become a detective, so I escaped from home and made a life for myself as a private detective. Our paths had seldom crossed until now. He was not happy that I was meddling in his job.

“Rukia, this man is a murderer. You’re holding the evidence in your hands.”

I rolled my eyes. “Then how come the lipstick stain does not match the lipstick Inoue Orihime was wearing before she died?” I asked. “Have you even interrogated the eyewitnesses? Are you really going to solve the case following a lead Aizen Sosuke gave you?”

“You’re stepping onto something you do not understand.” My brother said, gritting his teeth.

“All I know is that if you arrest this man, I will go to Ukitake and tell him that you have no grounds to arrest Ichigo. See if Chief Yamamoto likes it when he finds out you’re helping Aizen Sosuke get away with a new crime.” I threatened him.

For a moment, my brother looked almost impressed. “Very well, I’ll let him go. But you have to hurry if you want to proof this man’s innocence. Aizen Sosuke has been very demanding. It is almost suspicious.” Saying that, he left the room.

I breathed in relief.

“For a second there, I really thought he was going to arrest you.” Renji told Ichigo, who just scratched the back of his neck.

“Me too.” He said, then looked at me. “Thank you, for helping me.”

“It was no problem. It’s my job after all.” I said.

“Now what?”

“We go back to the cabaret. Aizen has been very sloppy this time around.”

I decided I was going to catch him. I needed to free Ichigo of all charges. Something in my heart told me that, beyond money or doing the good thing, I had to save this man. We were linked now, and I resolved to do anything in my power to solve this case, even at the cost of my own life.

[nc-ten-scenarios]

Request: Hiya:) can I request a Johnny fluff where he gets his first tattoo as his birthday gift. And you start teasing him because he was whining about how much it hurts? Please Thank you 😊✨

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Another day another dollar was the motto of Seoul tattoos, a hidden gem among the Gangnam area. You started working there at the age of 18 starting off at a decent wage, but quickly working your way up through the ranks and landing yourself in the top five tattoo artist in your area.

The shop you worked in wasn’t very big, only having room for about 7 artists in total. Not a ton of availability, especially for you. Yes being in the top five was an incredible achievement, especially with you only being a couple of ears into the business, but it came with the not so great perks. Being booked months upon months in advance, sketching designs non-stop for customers day in and day out, waking up at the ass crack of dawn to finish a sketch, buying tons of erasers, pencils, paper, and markers because of how many of each you’ve gone through. It was exhausting in a way, but it was all worth it because of the immense satisfaction you got when the colors were blended and lines were smooth pulling together the design and the customers smile and words “I love it” were what made it all worth it.

~~~

“Hey y/n how are you? Long morning?” Your coworker and good friend josh greeted you as he came in for his afternoon clients. Josh wasn’t your typical tattoo artist guy. Sure he was over six foot and had plenty of tattoos visible that gave him the majority over your own tattoos, but beneath the ‘tough’ exterior was a literal puppy. He looks intimidating, but equals like a little girl when he’s scared and 'secretly’ loves cats and chihuahuas. In a summary he’s a huge fluff ball and softy.

“Good afternoon josh it’s been going well thanks for asking. Had three clients just this morning and I got one more this afternoon before I get to go home and relax.” You replied flashing him a quick million watt smile before glancing back down at the sketch pad of your nearly complete design.

“I thought you had that done weeks ago. You k ow when he scheduled it?” Josh peered over your shoulder to glance at the magnificent sketch you had created for your afternoon client.

You shrugged. “I thought so too. But you know me always not satisfied. I’m just adding a few more details to really tie it together you know?”

“Yeah I know miss precision.” He folder his eyes before sauntering off into the employee room.

You heard the distinct crinkle of your bag of snacks from the employee room.

“Josh dont you even think about it!” You shouted as his head popped out form the doorway and a pot already adorning his lips.

“Aww please y/n? I just want one snack!” He whined loudly causing you to roll your eyes at his dramatic facade.

“Fine! But just one bag I’m saving those for tomorrow!”

A squeal left his lips as he proceeded to rip the bag open and steal a small bag of chips before prancing down the hall to his station.

You sighed at his weirdness before turning back to your sketch to add the last couple of pencil strokes.

You had just set your pencil down when the bell on the door dinged making you aware of the client now inside the parlor.

“I’ll be with you in a minute.” You announced before ducking behind your station to grab your client book. You popped back up, book in hand, and proceeded to walk toward the waiting area all while flipping through the book to your afternoon appointment. Your eyes scanned the page until the landed on that one name that was scheduled for 3 o'clock pm.

No. Way.

You blinked a few times at the name scribbled on your page, thinking you had misread it. You counted to three eyes closed and opened them and yup the name was still the same.

Sprawled out in neat handwriting was Johnny Seo aka your ex-boyfriend. You two hadn’t ended in bad terms per say. They just weren’t ideal terms. Long story short you had dated before his debut and when he did debut he was forced to break up with you and you haven’t talked since. To be accurate it’s been only a few months since the break up, but it was still fresh in your mind the way he had asked you to meet at your favorite cafe as a couple one evening. You could tell he was nervous as his hand were wrung together on the table and his eyes wouldn’t meet yours. You remember the way you placed your hand in top of his, trying to get his eyes to meet yours and when he finally did, you could tell something was gonna happen. He took a deep breath and told you straight up “Y/n we need to break up. Management thinks I would be more appealing if I was on the market.” The shock you felt was unbelievable. Your emotions just went numb as you released his hands as if the words he said were a force shoving you back. His eyes stared into yours in sorrow silence, waiting for you to say something. You stayed silent processing the information before standing up flashing a weak smile that said it’s okay as he tried To apologize and you turns and walked out of the cafe not looking back. Once you had gotten home the waterworks switch flipped as the realization of being in a relationship was gone, shattered to pieces like your heart.

Back to the present your head snapped up to see the same lovely smile adorning his lips as he looked back at you.

'Don’t smile at me.’ You thought. 'It’s only going to make me realize my feeling I still have for you.’

You cleared your throat, forcing the lump down and flashing a million dollar smile that could fool anyone. “Mr. Seo, 3 o'clock appointment?” You surprised even yourself with how strong your voice came out.

Johnny nodded his head in affirmation before you gestured for him to follow you back to your station.

You sat down in your artist chair before motioning for him to sit across from you in the client chair. “Okay Mr. Seo first tattoo in black and white, no filling, no color. Is that correct?”

Johnny nodded an affirmative again hoping you would just look up at him.

“Me. Seo I’m gonna need your ID and would. You like to pay now or later?” You busied yourself with grabbing the calculator for price and your other notebook full of transactions.

Johnny didn’t reply, he just stared at you. How did you the girl who was so bubbly and bright and absolutely hated formalities form into the girl you were now?

You waited for a response that wouldn’t come. You sighed as you mentally counted to three before looking up and seeing johnny’s intense stare directed at you. You two had a stare down until he finally broke the silence.

“What’s with the formalities? You never called me or anyone by their last name or surname before. What’s changed? Where’d my y/n go?” He whispered staring intently into your eyes not allowing you to look away and face the question head on.

“I’m in a work place Mr. Seo and I always use formalities with a client-”

“No you don’t. You’ve never used formalities with a client because you make them feel comfortable. So why are you using them now on me? We’re still friends y/n.” He cut you off.

You sighed knowing he wouldn’t let you continue until you called him by his real name and you wanted to be out of the parlor by 5.

“Johnny. Can we please just get to the tattoo-”

“Say it again.” He interrupted once agin.

You blinked owlishly at him. “What?”

“Say it again. Sag my name again.” He repeated.

“Johnny I don’t have time for this. I need your ID and form of pay please so I can start on your tattoo.” You turns to grab your notebook and when you spun back to face him a grin was adorning his features in the most adorable way. Without a word he grabbed his wallet handing you his card and ID watching as you scanned them before returning them to him. You went to return your notebook but felt a grip on your hand, soft but firm, hold you there.

A thumb caressed the back of your hand slowly as if he was transferring he feeling of your skin to his memory to cherish.

You slowly pulled your hand free from his grip and returned your supplies before grabbing the stencil and laying it on his arm, the place where he desired the design to be. You slipped York gloves on and filled the machine with black ink to start. You made sure the needle was working before taking a peek at Johnny’s face that was trying to be calm. You smiled lightly as he tried to act tough before laying a gently gloved covered hand in his arm.

“Johnny are you alright?”

“Yeah I’m fine. Why?”

“Well I haven’t even started and you are starting to look nervous. Are you sure you want to do this? You know it’s there forever.”

“Yeah I’m sure. Now or never right?”

You grinned at his facade before patting his arm and starting up the machine to start tattooing. You brought the needle closer to his arm before glancing up as his face seeing his eyes squeezed shut waiting for the unavoidable pain. You quickly reached behind you grabbing your blue stress ball and leaving it in his palm. His eyes opened at the feeling of a squishy object in his hand and he turns to you with a confused expression.

“It’s to help distract you from the pain. Squeeze as hard as you would like. I’m gonna start now alright?” You said watching as he nodded and rested his head back before inhaling and exhaling deeply to calm down.

With his affirmative you whirred up the machine and began to tattoo his desired design onto his skin.

~~~ “All done.” You announced as you took a cloth and began to wipe off the remaining ink and blood that wasn’t supposed to be there.

“It’s over?” Johnny questioned eyes opening.

You glanced up at his face and was surprised to see his eyes rimmed light red and the tears misting about. You took off your gloves and reached up to wipe at his eyes to clear the tears.

“It’s over. You made it through Johnny. How do you like it?” You asked as you grabbed a mirror to show him the finished design.

“Wow it’s incredible. Thank you y/n.” He gawked at the mirror hand hovering over the design.

You gently grabbed his hand and moved it away form the red skin before wrapping the tattoo and handing him instruction on what to do for the next week.

“Make sure you don’t get it wet for a few days then wash it after the third day. Put this cream on it afterwards and don’t put it in salt water. Come back if you have any problems okay?” You questioned ha ding him the bag of things he needs to ensure it healed properly.

He nodded and stood up. “I will. But what if I don’t understand what to do?”

“Then you can come back in or call one of us.” You replied wiping your hands on your jeans.

“So I can call you? You didn’t change horn number right?” He asked slyly.

You shook your head no a slight smile crawling onto your lips.

“Well then miss y/l/n how about some dinner then? I know I was your last appointment and I kept you longer than you should’ve stayed. Let me make it up to you.” He flashed his million watt smile at you that you couldn’t resist.

“What’s with the formalities Seo? I thought you didn’t like them?” You teased as he grinned at your playful tone before leaning down to your height.

“Thought I’d make it fair and use them in you. So how bout dinner? I’ll pay.” He held his arm out to you.

You rolled your eyes playfully before closing down your station and grabbing your purse before spinning back toward the awaiting male. You grinned mischievously before sauntering in his direction, walking past his form and out the door before turning slightly to see his gobsmacked expression.

“You coming or what? I’m starving Seo.” You teased slyly watching as he laughed before bounding after your form, linking arms and heading to dinner just like the old times.

~Nik

[theolddarkmachine]

Imaginary- Chapter Five

Midoriya Izuku’s life was turned upside by fate.

Eri’s life was turned upside down by circumstance.

And Bakugou Katsuki is about to learn that even imaginary friends need to grow up.

Also on AO3

A/N: Aaaaaaye, it may be late BUT I didn’t end up skipping a week like I had been kinda scared was going to happen :D That being said, my schedule is all goofed up now, so I’m gonna try and get back to my beginning of the week posting but since I’m also working on a Big Bang for a different fandom, we may be switching to end of the week posting from here on out! 

***

Bakugou Katsuki.

Izuku turns the name over in his mind as his gaze stays on the closed door. It’s a strong name, one that matched the fire trapped in the man’s strange, crimson eyes.

Bakugou Katsuki.

Moving toward the closed door, Izuku flicks the lock, making a mental note to change it as he hears it click into place. The man was the same as the one he’d caught a glimpse of outside the house, that much he’s sure of. His scowl, pinched and ready for a fight, was unmistakable in a way that sent a prickle across Izuku’s skin.

He had moved on instinct when he’d seen the uninvited guest in the living room. Had had him pinned before he could even think better of it as blood had rushed through him with the need to protect above all else.

In the first bout of luck Izuku seemed to have had in a long while, Bakugou had seemed a well enough sport about the whole ordeal. At least, he thinks as he finds himself pacing toward the kitchen.

The last thing he needed was to walk into his new job with a complaint under his belt.

Heaving a sigh, Izuku picks back up where he left off in his meal prep. Losing himself to the task of dividing mixed vegetables between the plastic boxes set out before him, he finds his mind wandering back toward the mysterious blonde.

Everything in Izuku had screamed out at him, warning signs and sirens blaring as he’d caught the stranger in his living room. Instinct had taken over then, filling him with equal parts fear and anger as his mind hit a quick downward spiral toward of every possibility for why the man would have been there that always ended with Eri.

Not much thinking had to go into pinning him to the ground after that.

Guilt, sour and bright, zings through his veins as he drops the emptied pan of vegetables into the sink as he thinks of the accusatory glare Bakugou had thrown over his shoulder toward him.

There’s no doubt in Izuku’s mind that if the blonde had truly wanted to, he could have broken from the grasp he had had on him at anytime, which only adds to the bitter emotion pressing deep into the meat of his chest. No matter how he parsed the moment, Bakugou hadn’t given him any reason to believe he was there to hurt Eri, no matter how thin his excuse had sounded.

Bakugou Katsuki, he thinks again, clicking the tops down onto his premade bentos.

Who are you?

“Kachaan?” Eri’s small voice slices through his thoughts as he places the stack of meals into the fridge.

“Kachaan?” She calls again, her questioning voice coming from the living room. Quickly toweling his hands on a dry towel hanging from the oven door, Izuku makes his way back to the living room to see the small girl standing at its center with a board game in her hands.

With her back toward him, Izuku can’t help but note how much she seemed to have grown in these past couple of months. For just a moment, he wonders how much she’ll manage to grow in a year’s time if this was the difference of just months.

It makes his chest ache with a different kind of emotion as Eri turns over her shoulder and fixes him with her sunshine smile.

“Daddy Izuku! Have you seen Kachaan?” She asks brightly, clutching the board game a bit tighter in her grasp as she looks up at him with her crimson gaze. The question fills him with a startling zing of confusion as he cocks his head.

“He isn’t here?”

Squinting her eyes, Eri slowly turns toward every corner of the room before returning her focus to Izuku and shaking her head. Her cheery demeanor dims, her bottom lip wobbling ever so slightly as she looks up at him in a way that breaks his heart.

“Maybe he’s in the kitchen waiting for lunch,” he says carefully, offering her a small smile. “How about we go make that.”

“Alright, Daddy Izuku,” Eri says lowly, shoulders sinking low as she drops her gaze down to the board game still clutched in her hands. It’s an old one, one that Izuku didn’t even realize they had. Eyeing the bright pink of the candied title, he smiles wider in hopes of perking the girl up.

“After lunch, do you want to play?” He offers, nodding toward the box.

“Don’t you have to get ready for tomorrow?” She asks timidly, still looking down at the game box. Shrugging a shoulder and making a noncommittal noise in the back of his throat, Izuku ruffles her hair softly.

“That stuff won’t be going anywhere.”

Snapping her head up, Eri’s smile returns, pulling wider than before as she excitedly proclaims a quick okay.

Izuku watches as she skips toward the kitchen, noting the way her head swivels as she surveys the room before setting the board game onto the dining table and sitting down.

Following suit, Izuku moves to the counter, making quick work of plating what was left from his meal prepping. Carefully balancing both meals, Izuku’s mind does one final lap around his thoughts as he sets them both down.

Bakugou Katsuki.

Izuku would have to remember to look his name up in the databases tomorrow.

***

Izuku’s morning had been doomed from the start.

Before his coffee had even had the chance to kick in, he’d been faced with a teary eyed Eri as she’d lamented the red dress she couldn’t seem to find in her closet that she had really wanted to wear. With a bit of finesse and the knowledge that he’d accidentally forgotten to move it from the dryer and back to Eri’s closet, Izuku had been able to avert that crisis.

That’s when his day should have been returned back to its track, setting him on course to arrive just on time.

Then his mother showed up, pastries in hand and scowl painted on her face, already berating him for considering that much caffeine to be an ideal breakfast meal.

Several anpan later, Izuku’s morning should have still been salvageable, even if it meant he’d most likely be 7 minutes late.

But the third and final straw, was the god damn geese.

Walking out across the road as if they’d strutted straight out of Izuku’s nightmares, the gaggle of geese had brought the morning traffic of Noto to a stand still.

Now, after finally getting his car pulled into his designated parking space, Izuku is a shade of annoyed, a lot frazzled, and approximately 23 minutes late.

“Damn geese,” Izuku groans, knocking his head against his steering wheel and taking a steadying breath. It surely wouldn’t make for a great first impression, and he already dreaded the apologies he would need to make in order to fix it. With a sigh and another tap of his head against the wheel, Izuku pushes himself up in his seat.

Snatching up the bento on the seat beside him, he let his silent resolve set the line of his shoulders as he pushed himself out of the car.

The slam of the door was loud in the otherwise quiet parking lot, the sound of it lost to him as he took in the small police station before him. A quarter of the size of the one he’d been stationed at in Tokyo, it still looked rather new. Of course, Izuku figures that would be the case. After all, it couldn’t see much use outside of the occasional drunk.

And possibly traffic obstructing geese.

Quickly making his way to the door, Izuku opens it slowly, letting his eyes roam across the open floor plan filled with six desks. Toward the back, he saw two doors, one with a small window cut into it and a plaque marking it as the captain’s office, and the other a plain wooden door.

A low sound of shuffling paper greeted him as he gently shuts the door behind him, gaze quickly finding the hunched figure in the back corner as his new coworker went through files at the bottom of a cabinet.

Stepping further into the room, Izuku clears his throat.

“Excuse me, I’m Midoriya Izuku. I apologize for my tard—”

The person suddenly shoots up, spine rod straight as he turns to look at him.

His dark eyes, set behind the silver rim of glasses, scan over Izuku’s frame as the man’s mouth falls slightly in shock. Warm familiarity brushes through him as he takes in the officer’s appearance. Though his face is more chiseled, losing what boyish roundness had been left clinging to it after their graduation, Izuku would recognize his high school friend anywhere.

“Midoriya?” He asks, almost unsure. Guilt rocks at Izuku’s core as he scratches the back of his head bashfully.

“Uh, hi, Iida!” Izuku says, trying to bury the sound of surprise that turn his greeting an odd, bright shade. “I didn’t realize you joined the force!”

Laughing loudly, Iida drops the folders he’d pulled from the filing cabinet onto his desk with a loud slap before pushing his way around the large desk. As his moves toward Izuku, his smile pulls wide, showing all of his teeth.

“Yes, I had tried to join the family business but it turned out being a lawyer wasn’t something that really worked for me,” he states in that matter-of-fact way that Iida had always had. Izuku can’t say he’s shocked that joining a law firm hadn’t quite worked out for his friend.

Righteous almost to a fault, Iida Tenya had always had a more hands on approach to helping those in need.

Arguing in a court room after the misdeeds had been done wasn’t much of his style.

“Guess you could say that you inspired me,” Iida continues, holding out a strong hand toward him. Flicking his gaze between his friend’s hand and his smile, Izuku’s own mouth turned up slightly as he took it. A small shake later, Iida laughs again as he pulls him into a crushing hug.

There’s a small pop in Izuku’s spine before the taller man loosens his grasp.

“What are you doing back here!” Iida asks cheerfully. “I didn’t think we’d be seeing you again. Auntie Inko always says you’re doing big things out in the city.”

Self conscious of the sudden admiration radiating off of Iida, Izuku takes a timid step back, chewing on the full of his lip.

“It’s a bit of a long story,” he answers after a stiff silence, keeping his eyes focused on the space over his friend’s shoulder. “But I guess the important part is that I work here now.”

A look of shock turns Iida’s eyes wide as he looks over Izuku one more time, seemingly noticing the uniform he wears beneath his jacket for the first time.

Then, after a small eternity, his smile goes wider.

Just as he opens his mouth to say something, the door opens behind Izuku, barely missing him as a cheery voice calls out:

“Sorry I’m late, Tenya! Those damn geese were at it again.”

Ears perking at the voice, Izuku turns on his heel to see a woman just shorter than he is. Donning a matching uniform, and with her hair pulled back in a loose bun, she looks more put together than her harried voice implies. Her warm, brown eyes skip past him and straight to Iida as she frowns, but Izuku feels his heart squeeze all the same.

Uraraka Ochaco had been one of his closest friends. Growing up together, they had been damn near inseparable until Izuku had left the small town. Losing contact with her hadn’t been a choice, so much as mere accident. Life had gotten to them both, days between phone calls had become weeks, then had turned to the occasional text, until months had gone by and then finally years.

It was one of Izuku’s greatest regrets.

That same guilt rocks through him once more as he feels Iida’s hand fall onto his shoulder.

“Uraraka! Look who’s joining us!” He says, excitement lifting his voice and breaking through Ochaco’s string of goose related curses.

Finally looking toward him, her eyes grow impossibly wide before she gasps loudly, hand flying up to her mouth.

“Izuku?” She exclaims, embracing him in a hug before he can even reply. “Oh my gosh, what are you doing back here!”

Heat collects in his cheeks as he wraps his arms around her shoulders, holding her close for just a moment longer before stepping away.

“It’s a bit of a long story,” Izuku repeats carefully.

Ochaco nods, quick and curt, almost as if in knowing before she makes her way toward the closest desk and drops her bag on its surface.

“Well, I’m sure you know that when you’re ready to tell it, we’re all ears,” she says gently as she starts to remove her jacket. The reassurance etches a thankful smile across his lips as he returns the small nod before turning his attention to the desks.

“So,” he starts hesitantly, “which one is mine?”

“Back right,” a drawling voice answers from the back of the room, pulling the trio’s attention towards the doorway of the office. Standing just outside of the now open door, the older man has his arms crossed across his chest as he surveys the officers. His dark hair is marked by silver streaks at the temples, but it’s still pulled back in the same low ponytail Izuku had always known him to wear, and his scar stands stark under his right eye.

Aizawa was one of the best officers in the town when Izuku had been in high school. He was the one that he’d worked so hard to impress back then in an attempt to build a good connection with the man. If not for the experience he could learn from him, but also for the recommendation he could offer him into the academy.

A just and fair man, so much so that it made him come off as a hard ass, he was always someone Izuku had looked up to, and the only real shock it gave him seeing the man stepping out of the captain’s office was that he was still in Noto and not somewhere else.

“Aizawa,” he hears himself say, almost in wonder.

“Captain Aizawa,” the man corrects flatly before giving Izuku a small, rare smile. Heady pride zips through him as he dips his chin toward the captain before Aizawa turns his attention to Ochaco.

“Geese?” He asks, though from the sound of his voice, he already knows the answer. The question earns him a groan as Ochaco flops down into her chair, the wheels of it carrying her a foot back from the momentum of her fall.

“We really should do something about them, sir. They’re getting out of hand,” she growls as she swivels around to face their captain. The man shakes his head before speaking again with joking warning.

“Don’t let the locals hear you say that, they’ll string you up to be pecked to death.”

“Sir, we are locals,” Ochaco emphasizes, waving her arms to encompass all of the room’s occupants. His inclusion makes Izuku’s blood run warm in his veins.

It was a small thing, not altogether unexpected given he had been born and raised there, but something about still being considered local made his heart squeeze.

This is home, his brain supplied offhandedly as he made his way toward the desk that Aizawa had pointed out for him.

“You know what I mean,” Aizawa replies, causing Ochaco to groan again. Setting his bento onto the cleared desk space, Izuku follows Ochaco’s lead and pulls off his coat. Placing it on the back of his desk chair, he looks to the captain expectantly.

Aizawa’s dark stare is on him filled with a question that Izuku answers with a small, barely perceptible nod.

“Well, now that you two have greeted your new teammate, let’s go over our focus for the day,” he drawls as he steps further into the room.

Settling down into his desk chair to listen to their morning briefing, Izuku can’t help the feathering warmth in his chest that told him maybe things would be alright after all.

***

Sinking low into the patio chair, Izuku feels the tension of the day ease from his shoulder as he takes a long drag from his beer.

After a day of learning the patrol routes, picking Eri up from daycare, eating the meal his mother had kindly left for them in the fridge, and then finally getting Eri bathed and into bed, Izuku felt the first embrace of a comforting fatigue. Not bone deep and crushing like the one he had grown so accustomed to, but one that left him feeling accomplished as opposed to just drained.

Taking another sip of the malty liquid, Izuku lets his gaze connect the spaces between the stars above as the quiet night wraps around him.

Tomorrow was a new day, and for the first time in a long time, that didn’t fill him with dread.

Smiling up at Ursa Major, he lets his mind settle into a quiet hum, Bakugou Katsuki and the databases he had forgotten to look him up on far from his mind.

**************************************

[ourjourneytobaby]

When my wife and I began our journey I was so optimistic and had no idea how much my wife really wanted a child. We had discussed having a family early on in our now 9 year relationship but for years she wasn’t ready. When we met with the doctor at the start of this year, I was naïve on how the process would go despite my research. Through this process I’ve learned my wife is really on board with becoming a mother and starting our family, but I also learned I’m stronger than I thought.

 My doctor wanted to start the process with me having a saline sonogram, which turned out to be a good thing despite its set back in our process. Through the saline sonogram we learned that I had cysts on my uterus which needed to be removed before we began trying to conceive. We scheduled the surgery and it went well but we had to wait 6 weeks before having our first try.

 It worked out that on the day exactly 6 weeks from my surgery that I began my next cycle and was able to have our first try then. I remember being so sure that it was successful but being devastated that it did not. At the time my wife put on a brave face and I had no idea how deep it affected her. She was a rock as I realized the process was going to take longer than I anticipated and be more difficult at the same time.

 When we went for our second try I could feel from the beginning that it was unsuccessful. It was still incredibly hard but I took the second negative much easier, I guess you could say I lowered my expectations. But by this time I was beginning to get nervous that we would run out of money before we were successful. We had already used up all of the money I had made working last year on my old science teacher’s fathers home. My parents and I worked to renovate it so it can be sold, a project I have continued this year in addition to my main job as a news producer/morning show manager.

 In our third month my doctor adjusted my meds to a higher level though we still were sticking with oral medications. Also the sperm back made all the childhood photos of a potential donor available to prospective parents without the extra cost. The picture just reinforced our pick because not only did we like the personality and information about our donor but also the fact that he resembled my big brother. I was once again optimistic about our chance to conceive, but with another try and negative result it hit me hard. It was with this result that my wife could no longer keep it together and I learned how much each failure was deeply hurting her. It broke my heart to see her so hurt with what I feel was my fault, my body wasn’t working. It still breaks my heart to know that I haven’t been able to conceive for us. My wife has been my rock throughout our journey something that was just reinforced with each failure.

 In our fourth try we once again changed my meds though this time due to shortage in the one I was taking. I was optimistic because it seemed like this was the one. The numbers from our donor, and from my blood work seemed promising. But once again it failed and I was devastated. I had tried not to focus on it and stress over the procedure and outcome just as every woman in my family advised. They told me once they stopped stressing about it, they were able to conceive. Unfortunately none of my family members went through fertility treatments and each of them are heterosexual, so sure they stopped trying and let nature take its course something I can’t do in a same-sex relationship. The hardest part despite having the support of my family is feeling like they don’t really understand and their suggestions just don’t work. It makes for a lonely journey with only my wife understanding and having no-one else to talk to about it. I have tests and try my hardest to not think about any of it, but I want it so bad and my mind strays to the possibility.

 When we had our fifth try we readjusted my meds again back to what I was taking previously in month 3. Though each try has weighed on me, I could once again feel that I wasn’t pregnant so I took it better than other tries. This is when it became harder to not listen to the voice inside my head that something wasn’t wrong with me. This is something I continue to struggle with that my latest conversation with my doctor’s nurse has just reinforced.

 When we had our sixth attempt I made the decision to get out of town for a few days to keep our minds off the testing. We traveled to the Grand Canyon, a 10 hour trip from where we live. It was breathtaking and such a wonderful trip but despite trying to remain stress free our 6th try was unsuccessful. This one hit me hard in part because the doctor had warned me we may have to change meds again to something more powerful. I could see that it was moving in a direction that would make trying to conceive a near impossibility due to money.

 So with try number 7 the doctor did inform me that we needed to move to injectable meds known as follistim in addition to the oral meds and adding an HCG shot and sonogram to pinpoint a mature egg. Try number 7 was delayed by a month due to me going out of town with my mom to babysit my niece and nephew for a week while my brother and his wife went on a cruise. I spent that month trying to enjoy life. It was great to not feel stressed or worry about it, though the thought and next try was not far from my mind. I was nervous about the upcoming try and having to administer the shots to myself, but also terrified of the possible side effects if I had hyper ovarian stimulation. The first injection I was crying and shaking, by the second injection I was only shaking and the third less so. The nurse was nice enough to do my HCG shot after the sonogram revealed that I had one mature ovum, though we were hoping for more than 1. As with all of my procedures it wasn’t the smoothest due to my uterus being flipped in a weird way. But as always the nurse was able to go on with the IUI, with some adjustments. I was very optimistic, in fact until the day of the blood test I was so sure the procedure worked. I had decided to have the blood draw to check for pregnancy due to the high numbers on my hormone test the week before.

 The failure of that procedure compounded with the previous 6 has left me feeling empty inside and as if there is something wrong with me. Each day for at least a week minimum after each procedure I’ve struggled not to cry and this time is no different. My abuser as a child taught me crying was a weakness and I’ve struggled for year since then not to let that be a part of my outlook, and not hold in my tears. In fact I’ve cried so many tears over the last 11 months that I can’t fathom having anymore in me. I sit at work and it can’t even distract me, having to run stories about parents hurting or doing something worse to their children is like a knife in the gut. In addition my coworkers having newborns was tough. I tried to be supportive of them and not let my feelings of jealousy and resentment at how easily they conceived affect how I interact with them. I work with mostly men and am the boss, so I feel like I can’t be vulnerable around them despite how hard some days really are.

The doctor wanted me to try IVF which I was not sure my wife and I could afford. My folks pushed for us to consider my wife carrying, which we did and she said she was willing to do. Though I knew from our conversations it is not her ideal role, and I was terrified her getting pregnant would break me. I want all the aspects of motherhood, pregnancy and the connection it brings. So then we had to consider that option, which due to her meds she was on for endometriosis would delay us. 

My mom had suggested us using a turkey baster or us taking time off and seeing if the doctor would let us try again after a break. Though with the turkey baster method we weren’t sure who was serious about helping or if I was prepared for that. My mom support in our attempts to start a family is great but her lack of understanding of our situation makes it frustrating and hard to feel optimistic.

After a break the doctor confirmed they were not comfortable with us doing another round of iui so we set up an appointment for ivf. A friend of ours offered to help and we took time to discussing and seeing if it was something we wanted to try and knew that if we did there was no guarantee or that it could take awhile. Though we did ultimately try and got pregnant on the first try. We are now awaiting the arrival of our little girl this coming April. Thank you for following our journey and stay tuned for more updates. 

[braindamageforbeginners]

Week 4, day 31, radiation 21

Those of you familiar with me in private life will be aware that I am not a morning person. At all. This isn’t some sort of dark, vampire secret or anything; most of my neighbors - whom I wouldn’t encounter outside of working hours anyway - seem aware of this personality trait (I also have a terrifying, glow-in-the-dark, nightmare pale coloring that can only be maintained by completely unaware of the hours between midnight and 11 am)(or prolonged stays in caves). Which is why one of the weirder aspects of this whole cancer shenanigans is the constant rewriting of my internal clock (I mean, I’m normally awake during daylight hours and asleep in the hours of darkness, but anything else is fairly fluid these days). Which, I suppose, is what happens when you combine an insomniac with Woody Allen-type paranoia (and becoming a crazed, paranoid hypochondriac after three brain tumors isn’t a mental degradation; it’s a simple acknowledgment of reality; but I digress) with the Hunter Thompson/Robert Plant held-together-by-drugs lifestyle. Which is not an endorsement or judgment on that lifestyle, merely an honest admission that I am - by doctor’s orders (mostly; I will admit to taking more tylenol and slightly more zofran than advised) - putting all sorts of strange substances into my body (and, again, when you are - on a professional’s recommendation - exposed to more radiation than some Hiroshima survivors, all bets are off). Which have many effects (the best one being, I hope, to stay alive and mostly-intact), but one of them is that my sleep schedule nowadays resembles a bizarre lunar calendar of pagan festivities. Some days I sleep 19 hours. Some days, I sleep three. The common, underlying theme throughout this experience has been that, since treatment started a month ago; I really don’t seem to be able to lie about in bed languidly. Of course, I had a bit of trouble with that beforehand (as a former EMT coworker pointed out, I have two speeds - sleep and sprint), but it has definitely been brought to the fore by man’s unnatural manipulations of my physiology. Which means that I don’t get up at an early hour, and kind of spend an hour or two coming to my senses. Which I kind of miss, but it’s hardly a major sacrifice.

All of which is an extremely roundabout way of saying that I was upright and fully-ready for mayhem at 7 am this morning. And there was no one else in the household (don’t worry, nothing burned down or died). Which then meant that I rung in the new dawn the way God intended; with a cell-phone-connected stereo, lots of high-quality coffee, and a massive heart-hostile breakfast. And it was great. When you lose agency - in my case, the ability to plan for life after six months (and drive)(and not be attached to an NSAID salt-lick)(but I digress), you kind tend to flail and over-compensate for the few things you can control. And it’s always tinged by the dark possibility that this may be the last time you can do this activity. It sucks, but it does add a slight bittersweetness to the experience (which went well with my coffee, which had hazelnut overtones). This might be the very last breakfast I make, and that limitation sucks. But, if this is the last one, it’s not a bad note to end breakfasts on. There were eggs, vegetables, toast, etc. all in 19-lb. frying pans cooked over massive flames (we have a flame-top grill), as God intended. It was great. HOWEVER...

It does bear mentioning that, as is so ever the case, there is always a serpent in paradise. In this morning’s celebrations, it was the range hood. Like any good stove, ours has a hood. What’s different about our hood is that it’s about 5′7″ high - which puts it perfectly in the danger zone for any many between 5′8″ and 6′4″. Which, by a very strange coincidence, encompasses the height of all the men in my immediate family. I have seen my brother and father snag themselves on this insidious, oversized hunk of steel (and that’s not even some quasi-hypothetical “in the dark reaches of the past” statement - Dad smacked himself on this thing just a week ago while grilling salmon). I have done it, myself, many times. Today, however, StoveTop Satan struck at me from my most vulnerable angle. As those of you familiar with proceedings will recall, I have some rather nasty pains along my suture lines - think of a very large, upside-down U over my right ear - to the point where Radiation Oncologist recently prescribed something to reduce inflammation (and pain) at the site. Today, ladies and gentlemen; somehow, while, taking a step back from the eggs to reset the coffee machine, the damned hood struck a mighty blow. Right. On. The. Center. Of. My. Surgery. Scars. Now, it should be noted that, 12-ish hours later, there seem to be no major repercussions (apart swallowing OTC painkillers by the bottle)(don’t do that at home, kids, I’m a professional neurology patient). However, the phrase “pray for death” (which is also the title of an amazing ninja movie) did describe me for the better part of the hour. So, I had a good breakfast and got a good (albeit painful) story out of it, which might make it the perfect breakfast for me. Sort of. I mean it’s far from the ideal, but my governing philosophy at every step of my life has been, “If it can’t be perfect, at least give me a good story out of it.” Well, that and some good coffee.

Anyway, due to some scheduling conflicts, I wasn’t able to leave the house before my appointed radiation therapy (I’m still losing hair) and Warlock A (who, remember, wanted to check on me after the most recent serum infusion). Now, for those readers wanting to know some of those little tell-tale signs about the quality of a physician (or their team), pay close attention. You may recall that I got a call late Wednesday afternoon from Research Coordinator that Warlock A (not to be confused with Warlock B)(or Mad Scientist Oncologist)(or Radiation Oncologist) wanted me to drop by at my earliest convenience, to ensure speedy release of Serum Infusion #5 and continued quality of care. After much wailing and gnashing of teeth, we arrived at an almost-mutually-agreed-upon appointment for late this afternoon. Yesterday - 36 hours ago - I got a call from Research Coordinator confirming this appointment, with the addendum that I should check into the clinic after my radiation appointment, and they might be able to get to me before Saturday morning. Because this is Socal, and traffic factors must always be considered, Dad and I arrived at the radiation clinic very early, and, because the radiation folks here are all top-notch (or very fast, anyway), I was in the clinic lobby almost two hours before the appointed meeting time with Warlock A. So I called Research Coordinator. I called him a second time. He finally returned my call, stating that I was much earlier anticipated, but he’d see if he couldn’t pry Warlock A from the communal cauldron. Folks, within an hour of walking into the hospital, Warlock A was in the lobby, telling me that it might take a bit, but they were working on finding an exam room. Not even twenty minutes later, I was recounting my weird hang-over-y symptoms to Warlock A (remember, this is for his pet drug study, so he wants to know if I have an unexpected hang-nail)(again, selling your body for money is dangerous; selling your body to save your life might be the crucial difference between having a body and, well, not). Warlock A also took my DMV med forms and said he’d fill them out and/or look into them (as he noted, the weird, arbitrary deadline the DMV assigned me to get my paperwork in on time wouldn’t actually count a total of 90 days between my seizure and the paperwork)(I mean, I guess it’s good they can do basic math and have my records, but it’s still annoying). THEN, after listening to me gripe about my woes and problems, told me that the worst symptoms - sleep and fatigue-wise - would occur in the next ten-odd days.

I almost laughed at that. Since day 1 - Hell, since before then, when I was still recovering from surgery - everyone has had dramatically different statements as to when the “worst” symptoms would occur. Now, to be fair, all parties have been fairly accurate, when you take time to examine the fine-print. Yes, the “worst” symptoms - hair-loss and nausea (sort of; I just started chewing my zofran) - showed up in the third week. Yes, the “worst” symptoms, like fatigue and insomnia, started in the second week. It really does make me want to see my funeral, because, at the current rate; the eulogy will end with, “Sure, he looks awful now, but wait a few weeks.” Which, again, is totally accurate, but not exactly helpful to me. Anyway, tune in tomorrow for more symptoms, Or more stories of betrayal by major kitchen appliances.