A Man of The Pipis: A SpamtonxReader fic

[Little Sponge]

You'd been walking for nine whole minutes right about now, Spamton's grating voice gnawing at your ear. He went on and on about deals and cars and something about disc in the Queen's mansion that you didn't pay too much attention to. You didn't realize your legs were halfway up your apartment steps until the little man spoke again, "Heeyyy!! This must be your [private abode]! How thoughtful of you to invite me!!" He seemed genuinely thankful, so you felt horrible at just the thought of telling him you actually didn't want him to stay. Once again, you let it slide. What harm can the little guy do? I'll be evicted anyway, then I'll just crash with Chet. Chet was your old roommate. You two had grown close since you'd stumbled into the Darkner world. He said he'd once lived on the surface, but didn't remember how he'd gotten down here. He didn't mind though. "Y/N?? We goin' inside or [what are you, chicken]?" You realize he'd caught you spacing out again just as you'd grabbed your keys in your pocket. "O-oh.. Yeah.." You stammer, unlocking the door and opening it. He trots into your flat before you, looking around at your sparsely furnished home. "Looks like a real [empty parking lot]!" He chimed, making himself at home and getting cozy on your couch. You close the door behind you and set your keys on the counter, nearly tripping on a Maice as it skittered underfoot. "Gh- Damn!" You shout, being startled by the robotic rodent. Spamton watches as it runs across the floor before pouncing on it like a cat as it crossed in front of the couch. "Allow me to show this little [$$!$] the door!" He giggled, walking up to your front door before barely reaching the handle and opening it, kicking the Maice outside like a football. He slammed the door after himself and dusted his hands on his pants, returning to the couch where he twiddled his thumbs and kicked his feet. You were stunned by this very strange event, but just shook your head and continued with your day. "Hey, uh, Mr. Spa-" "Just call me Spamton, [little sponge]." He corrected before you could finish your thought. Little sponge? Was that supposed to be endearing? You wondered. "O-k..? Uh, Spamton, do you eat.. At all?" You asked, opening your fridge. "Sure!" He responded cheerily. You chuckled at his response, not because it was funny, but but due to its absurdity. "I've got instant noodles and some CD Bagels?" You offered. "[DVDs of any movie at half price]!" He replied. "Guess it's bagels." You sigh, taking the pack from the fridge and popping four halves in the toaster. You checked your fridge for cream cheese, but only found cheese cream. You hoped he wouldn't mind. "So, uh, you were a big shot, eh?" You asked, trying to start a conversation. "Yep," He chirped, "The biggest! And you? Are you a [BIG SHOT]? Have your sales [Gone to Hell]?" He asked. "W-well, no. I'm a cashier. I just don't get paid enough." You explained and he nodded with vague understanding. The bagels popped out of their slots and you watched the small man turn towards the kitchen eagerly. "You want anything on yours?" You ask as you plate the toasted goods. He shook his head in an unnatural, jerking manner. You brought him his plate and returned to the kitchen to put toppings on yours. You'd glance over at him every once in a while and find him "chewing" on the bagels. They would never really be eaten, they'd just sort of become flattened in between his large teeth. After the second or third time looking, you found him watching you. You quickly looked back down at your bagel, which you'd barely been able to focus on since you'd been observing Spamton. "What's so interesting about me, Y/N? Never seen a [ant-sized] [Hot single] before??" He asked boldly. You felt heat build in your face, starting from your ears and spreading to your cheeks. You held your bagel's gaze as to hide your blush. "S-sorry, I was just- Nevermind." You manage to mumble, giving up on your meal and eating it as is. You didn't look at him again, but you could feel his gaze burning into the back of your head. You didn't know whether the reply was a crude joke, some malfunction, or a legitimate question. Even more so, you didn't know whether your choice to allow this sleazy salesman into your home was the right one or not...