??? ????? ??? ??? ???????? (Spamton X Reader)

Hmmm what's a consistant upload schedule? I've never met her :p

-Momo <3

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7:30 pm, September 5th, 20xx

Spamton was a nobody his entire life. Throughout school, he was outshined. He never got a straight-A report card, never got recommendations and praise from teachers. You know, looking back on it, he only got yelled at by his teachers more than anything else, which was funny in hindsight, but that wasn't the point. The point was he wasn't a traditionally smart kid and having Tourettes surely didn't help.

All throughout elementary, he would spaz out, breaking crayons or screaming randomly. He was given his diagnosis at the age of 8 but it didn't help. Going to a tiny public school in buttfuck nowhere New Jersey meant that the teachers weren't paid enough to care. So yeah, school was a nightmare up until high school and even then it still was rocky. Being the youngest of 5 boys meant that the reputations of his siblings reflected on him; if Spamton wasn't like the others, if Spamton was different, he was wrong. While all his older brothers were studious and excelled in his academics he ended up excelling in...other areas.

There was one thing he was better at than anything. It wasn't school work and it sure as hell wasn't paying attention; no-no. It was bargaining. From a young age, Spamton traded toys and food at lunch for quiz answers. Quiz answers turned into money a few years later, and the rest was history. By freshman year, he was hustling cigarettes to everyone, including the teachers. That was public education in white-trash county New Jersey. Though, if it weren't for his strategic business tactics and supply of illegal items that teenagers couldn't get their hands on, he would've never met Gaster.

It was early autumn and the leaves crinkled beneath his feet as he walked, hands stuffed in his oversized baby pink hoodie. The pavement was a fresh white which signified he was on Main street; everywhere else in this town had pavement that was grey and patched with tar. It was dingey and you really did have to scrap to survive out here, especially if you weren't rich or played sports.

Spamton was walking to meet up with another customer, this time in the back alley of the brick library. It had been around since 1803 or some shit and honestly, it was amazing that it was still there considering the walls were visibly bowing inwards. Though he didn't care, he never went in there anyway.

Turning down the alleyway, a few more leaves crunched under his sneaker. Seeing the figure of his buyer, he cleared his voice. Spamton, you got this; you can do this. Just don't fuck it up.

"Hey, bean-pole, let's make this snappy. I gotta be somewhere in 30 minutes, capiche?"

The sound of a plastic bag rubbing against itself could be heard as the ravenette produced the finest cigars money could buy at a gas station around here. "Alright I got some for 20, 15, and 10; pick your poison."

A slender veiny hand reached out his palm flat. "I'll take all the 20 dollar ones you have." This caused Spam to look up. The class president; holy shit. He wasn't expecting to see William here.

"Aye Woah Woah Woah, back it up. Is it THE William Desmond-"

"Gaster will suffice."

"Oh, real friendly too, eh? What are you gonna do with these? Party like a bigshot?" Spamton could see it now. A rich luxurious dinner party with women everywhere in beautiful dresses, cigars in one hand and scotch in the other. Ah, how lovely it must be!