Work Text:
You are climbing up the stairs to your apartment with several bags of groceries in hand when your phone pings an alert in your back pocket. That god-forsaken chime causes you to slow in your pace, having to readjust your grip on the plastic bags before continuing.
It was an alert from your bank account, one you had been expecting but hoping wouldn’t come.
With a deep sigh, you struggle to pull out your keys and unlock your apartment, stumbling inside as you set the bags on the floor. Having a moment to check your phone, you see a notification that your balance has dropped to an astounding $3.47 .
At least you had enough to buy some essentials. Heaven forbid you to run out of toilet paper, but all they had was the four-pack.
“It’ll be fine.” You reassure yourself, already feeling anxious over your financial predicament. “You have enough for the week; you just have to make it last.”
Though, that’s what you had been doing. You’d planned especially for today’s store run after weeks of eating ramen and leftovers. How long would you last this time? Could you stretch out the canned food you bought for over a month? Maybe two? You’ll have to worry about that when it happens.
Quickly putting your purchases away, you move on to other boxes on your to-do list.
Thankfully, this month's rent was already covered, but you still have to work out a payment plan for a new car. Yours, sadly, had been totaled last month in the world's most inconvenient collision. Inconvenient, considering you hadn’t even been in the damn thing. You had just left your night shift only to find that it was totaled entirely, having been smashed into by some asshole who decided to bail. Without any inclination to who the hit and runner might have been, you were shit out of luck. Now you didn’t even have a vehicle to get to work.
To put it mildly, you are struggling. Waiting every night with a mountain of blankets on stand-by in case your utilities are shut off was wreaking havoc on your mental health, and you aren’t sure how much longer you can do this without resorting to more drastic means of income.
You’d tried selling some things, but that hadn’t earned you more than a few twenties. Freelance work was in short supply at your local convenience store, though you always make sure to check the board for new flyers whenever you stop by.
The last time you’d been paid was after you offered to paint your neighbor’s walls, earning a solid fifty from the kind older woman, which is what you had used for your groceries.
Of course, there were… other options. You’d looked into online opportunities, things you wouldn’t normally consider. That was still a last resort, and you didn’t want even to imagine what those jobs might entail. But you still held them on the back burner, just in case.
As your day progresses uneventfully, you find yourself curled up in your bed with your laptop on your lap. Scrolling through the movies you have available, none that pique your interest. Perhaps a game would be better to pass the time while you wait for an interview callback.
About to select a game icon, another bank alert chimes on your phone.
“The hell?” You pick it up, reading through the alert to see that your account has dropped to “-$78.92” and that your bill has been automatically paid.
“Shit!” You yell, slamming your hands down onto your sheets and tossing the phone onto the floor. Grabbing fistfuls of your hair, you begin to sob uncontrollably.
“Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck,” you cry as you rock back and forth. What were you going to do? You could have sworn that you had more time to pay that bill, and now you might face legal repercussions if you couldn’t think of something soon.
Maybe you could call the bank, explain your situation. Get a loan, maybe? But with no income, how would you pay it off? They probably wouldn’t even give it to you after seeing how crappy your credit score had dipped thanks to your string of terrible luck.
Attempting to get yourself under control, the laptop reverts to its screensaver, flashing images of a lake in some faraway place that you don’t know the name of.
It was still an option, you remind yourself, drawing the laptop back into your lap and pulling up your browser. After a few minutes of searching, you find what you are looking for and take a deep breath as you consider what you are about to do.
“Just once, enough to pay off the bill.”
You nod, promising yourself that that was all you needed to get by before clicking “Create an account.”
—
Make-up, hair, outfit… that last one was subjective.
Looking at yourself in the mirror hanging from your closet door, you inspect your bang-up job. The dress was a nice touch, a soft neutral color that matched your skin tone quite well. You opted for no jewelry other than simple faux crystal studs, not wanting to overdo it. Yet, maybe the red ones would look better?
No, you shake your head, walking over to your laptop and sitting in front of the camera.
Everything was perfect; the Christmas lights had been dimmed so that the room was bathed in a romantic light, but not too much so that you can't be seen. The shadows only added to your beauty, flawlessly accentuating your collar bones and cheeks.
“Here we go,” you whisper, finger hovering over the space bar. One click and you are live, broadcasting yourself to the world. Whatever anxiety you had over being camera shy would have to be ignored because before you can back out, you hit begin.
The camera blinks red, and your image is mirrored on the screen. You had it set where viewers could play music through interactions, and a notification would display whenever a donation came through. After a few minutes of no activity, you start to chew at your lip.
Please, you plead.
Suddenly, four users join, and a five-dollar donation comes through with the request that you (mundanely) stroke along your neck. That wasn’t so difficult. Relieved that this wouldn’t turn awkward too fast, you do what they ask, caressing along your neck delicately while remaining transfixed on the chat log.
Another donation comes in this time for ten, asking that you blow a kiss and whisper the user's name.
Time to work on your acting skills. With the most sensual kiss you can give, you whisper their name into the mic, ending it with a seductive smile and wink.
This was easy ; you’d have that money in no time!
$25.00 donation from Yunpo: “smear your lipstick and mess up your hair”
You pause, more upset over the thought of ruining what you had worked so hard to perfect, but comply. Unpinning your hair, you let it fall and use your fingers to tussle it up.
Next, you take your hand and smear the lipstick across your mouth, making it look like you had just done something far less innocent than the truth.
$25.00 donation from Yunpo: “beautiful, be a good whore and start taking off that dress? ;) “
You read over the comment multiple times, your heart racing. Undressing had always been on the table, but having this person, this stranger, call you a whore… you had never felt so dirty, and you hadn't done anything tawdry yet.
Shaking slightly, you slide the straps of your dress down past your shoulders. The fabric falls just over your breasts, and a stiff wind could easily cause it to slip off and reveal everything you hold dear. Before you can commit to the rest, a horrible feeling of dread stabs you in the stomach, and you stumble away from the laptop and out of view.
You are panting, cold sweat beading across your brow and back. You can’t do this, what were you thinking? You could barely hold down a boyfriend without getting a nosebleed from the idea of physical intimacy, and you think you can strip in front of a camera?
Just as you are about to shut your laptop and forget this night with the last remaining bit of wine left in your refrigerator, a donation comes through.
Against your better judgment, you walk back over and sneak a peek, your eyes widening.
$500 donation from SpyMaster: “Sing a song.”
Five hundred dollars. You are in shock, your thumb swiping at your face to clean up the lipstick as you sit back down in front of the camera.
“What… what song,” you stutter. You’d never been a great singer other than in your shower, but for that much money, you’d sing a whole damn opera should they ask.
$500 donation from SpyMaster: “Whatever you like.”
Holy shit . That was enough to pay for everything you needed for the upcoming month—all in one night.
Snapping out of your daze, the user pulls up a seemingly random song on your playlist. The melody envelopes the room, its rhythm syncing up with your pulse as you begin humming to the tune.
“ Here she comes again
Troubles on her brow
Here she comes again
With worries, she can't hide.”
Your eyes flutter closed as you focus on the words. Such a simple song, but with so much inflection, it is perfect for you.
Your doting viewer seems to approve, sending in another donation with the message “ Keep going. ”
So, you do. Singing away and letting yourself enjoy such a harmless interaction without the cost of your innocence.
When the song comes to an end and your eyes open, you find that the chat is empty and that there are no other viewers online.
Checking your phone, the money has successfully transferred, and you are no longer in the negatives.
Whoever this SpyMaster was, you owed them a lot more than a song should you reencounter them.
—
It was your third night doing cam work, and you all but began to ignore the other viewers, patiently waiting for the return of your generous SpyMaster. Each night you logged off disappointed and without substantial donations, but you never gave up hope. Tonight was no different. Half asleep with your knees hugged to your chest; you desperately try to stay awake, watching videos on YouTube while the chat is as dead as ever.
You’d give it till the end of this compilation, and then you’d shut it down, but as the last clip plays and the replay button stares back at you, you can’t help feeling sad.
Maybe it was just a one-time thing. It was selfish of you to want to see them again, especially for something as superficial as money. Still, it was the lack of complexity in their request that had intrigued you so much. What sort of person spends that much to hear someone sing?
$1000 donation from SpyMaster: “Do you have a favorite color?”
You are now wide awake, closing out of every open window and straightening your posture.
“I… I like black. It goes with pretty much everything.” With such a straightforward question, you feel guilty giving such a short answer. However, Spymaster doesn’t mind and shoots you another question.
“What about purple?”
“Purples nice,” you chuckle, “Is that your favorite color?”
There is no response for several minutes, and you start to grow worried, sitting on your knees. “…h-hello?”
$500 donation from SpyMaster: “Wear purple tomorrow.” SpyMaster has left the chat.
You need to find something purple to wear.
—
“You look lovely.”
“Thank you,” you smooth your hands over the satiny purple dress. You had opted not to wear a bra, preferring the way it naturally flows over your breasts, but you are left slightly chilled without the additional cover.
“I was wondering,” you begin, eyes shyly shifting away from the camera. “It seems silly to keep meeting with you in a chat room when you're the only one I talk to. Maybe we could have a private session, just the two of us?”
“I’d like that.”
—
It has been over two weeks since you began your complicated affair with the mysterious SpyMaster. By all accounts, you might as well admit that you are his sugar baby.
Each day, you wake up to a healthy allowance in your savings, and each night, the two of you talk for hours over a video call. He, you think it’s a he, has yet to reveal his face, continuing to prefer chatting through text, but you don’t mind. He was friendly, funny, polite, and that’s all that mattered. In fact, after finally being able to purchase a used car for yourself, you told him that there was no need to continue sending such large sums of money now that you weren’t on the brink of bankruptcy. He ignored that offer, instead opting to send you more.
After setting up a nice steak dinner with baked asparagus and roasted garlic, you pour yourself a glass of wine and go to light your little vanilla bean candle, wincing as the match burns down to your fingertips.
Everything looks great.
You smile to yourself and place your laptop on the opposite end of the table before sitting down, touching up your lipgloss before entering the video call.
He had requested a dinner setting for tonight, wanting this to be as close to the real thing as possible. Never one to turn him down, you went out to buy the necessary ingredients the moment your alarm clock went off, converting your two-chair dining set into a table fit for a five-star restaurant.
It doesn’t take long for SpyMaster to log in, and you have to pinch your leg to stop yourself from grinning like an idiot.
“I hope this is okay? I could put on music if you like? Something traditional.”
“It’s perfect. How was your day?”
“Good. I got to stop by that new store they opened up on the strip. It’s way better than I was expecting but super expensive.”
“Do you need more money?”
“No!” You shake your head and wave your hands. “Money wasn’t the issue; I just didn’t feel like buying anything. It was weird, y’know? I know I can afford whatever I may have wanted, but now that I can… none of it appealed to me.”
He doesn’t respond immediately, but you don’t think much of it. You’d grown used to his quirks by now. Stabbing a forkful of the tender cut steak, you take a bite, pleasantly impressed by how excellent it tasted.
“Do you wish to see me?”
Swallowing your food, you read the question carefully. Everything had been so safe up until now without knowing who he was or what he looked like. Did you really want to know? Were you afraid of being disappointed?
“Only if you want to. I’ll be honest when saying that I’m curious, but it isn’t my place when you are the one who has been so nice to me.”
“That isn’t what I asked.”
Your mouth runs dry, and you remedy it by taking a swig of the wine, which only worsens the lump in your throat. “I mean… yes. I do. But how about we start with something easier? Like your name.”
“My name?”
“Yeah. You already know mine, but I don’t know yours. I can’t just keep calling you SpyMaster forever if we plan to… Pursue this relationship.”
Once again, silence.
“You don’t have to. We can keep things where we are, but I do like you and would love to get to know you if—“
“Soundwave.”
You drop your fork into your lap, stunned by the voice that comes through the speakers. It’s mechanical, artificial, like something from a sci-fi movie.
“Soundwave,” you reiterate, fumbling to feel for your fork before setting it back onto the table. “And that’s your real name?”
“Yes.”
He’s serious. No, how could he be? Who the hell names their kid Soundwave?
“What, are you a secret agent or something? First SpyMaster and now Soundwave, I can only imagine what it is you do for a living.”
“It is… unusual?”
The voice changes, this time with a tone much more casual than it should be and a completely different pitch. It was as if he was using pre-recorded voice samples in place of his own.
“No, it’s…” it was unusual, but “it suits you perfectly. Soundwave.”
—
Halfway through your shift and without an end in sight, you slump back in your computer chair, eyes mindlessly fixed on the screen. Sifting through reports all day was hardly what you considered gratifying work, but you needed another job, and this was the best life had to offer. Sure, you didn’t technically need work with Soundwave and all, but you insisted on remaining independent, now much more dismissive of his offers to send money.
He wasn’t too thrilled initially, but with time, he realized that you weren’t going to throw him to the curb after your use for him ran out, and he relaxed. The two of you still chat almost every night, and you even went as far and giving him your cell number so that he could reach you whenever he wished.
At first, you wondered if that was such a good idea, but he had made no effort to bother you when you were busy, stating that he also had a job to do and would contact you only when he was in privacy. Whatever that meant. Maybe he was overseas on some military operation and had to keep personal affairs to a minimum. It was exciting, speculating all the possible reasons he was so secretive. It gave you something to think about when you are bored out of your mind, like now, for instance.
Finishing another report, you stretch in your seat, letting out a big yawn. Only a few more hours and you could climb in bed and vege out for the rest of the evening, not a care in the world. Soundwave would surely understand your reasons for not calling, but you still feel a bit sad at the idea of not getting to talk with him. He’d become such an essential part of your life, and as much as you're embarrassed to say, you genuinely liked him. You’d be delighted living out the rest of your days with Soundwave on the opposite end of a screen, but part of you wants there to be more. You crave to be with him, to get to touch and feel him against you while you drone on about your day. You’ve finally reached a stage in your relationship where Soundwave has begun to do the same with you, telling you about his colleges and how they constantly look to him for a solution to their problems. You could listen to that robotic voice for hours.
As long as it was Soundwave, the world felt right.
Just before you’re caught daydreaming, your phone buzzes against the desk. The device is unlocked and in your hand before the message can even load, and you giggle as Soundwave sends a purple heart emoji.
“Idiot,” you mutter as you send a black one in response. He begins to reply immediately, and you watch the “typing” bubbles with anticipation.
“Would like to see you when you get home. Call me?”
You think about telling him how you will be too tired, but you can’t bring yourself to turn him down. A few minutes wouldn’t hurt.
Sending a simple “sure,” you set your phone down and get ready to continue your work. However, before you can even set your hands back on the keyboard, your phone screen flashes with another message.
“Wear the purple dress.”
Your fingers lock up, a blush forming across your cheeks. It had been a while since Soundwave made a request like that, and you know exactly what he is implying by how suddenly he'd brought this up.
Well, a good thing for you and him, you had bought yourself a matching set of panties just last week—purple velvet with black lace.