[Hyperlink Loading Now!] - Spamton x Reader Oneshot

It's your fifth week of having Spamton as your roommate. You found him digging in your trash weeks before that, but instead of chasing him away, you offered to help when you could. After that, you'd find him in your garbage bin more often than not, waiting for your offering of food, water, and conversation. After building a friendship with the strange little man, you eventually came to an agreement: he could stay in your home as long as he paid part of the rent. It was a typical roommate arrangement in most ways, but in others, you found that he was a little... eccentric.

This is one of those ways.

Spamton sits at your desk, frustratedly fiddling with your computer. He's been like that for hours now, typing away. You can hear his muttering from your place on your bed. You might have asked him to move to his room, but you know that he refuses to use any computer other than yours. You're certain that he's used his own computer- your housewarming gift to him- but he never uses it when you're home and don't need your own computer for yourself. Even though he doesn't usually talk to you when he's working, you're pretty sure that he just likes the company.

At the moment, you're just scrolling mindlessly through your phone. You've seen all the most recent posts from your favorite content creators. You've spent all the energy in all of your games. Nothing that usually excites you is really scratching that itch.

You set your phone down with a sigh. You shift so you can see Spamton a bit better, leaning your head on your hand.

"Hey, Spamton. Whatcha doing?"

"...Troubleshooting," he mutters, barely paying attention.

He's been working on a specific project for a couple of weeks now. You don't know much about it except that it has something to do with programming, and that at one point, it was his passion project.

"What's wrong with it?"

"There's a [m0th] in the [[SphaghettiCode]]." His rhythmic typing is soothing to listen to. Tip, tap. Tip, tap. Tippity-tappity-tap-tap. "It's been [[Is Your Lif3 a WRECK?]]ing my [fine-tuned] algorithms since [[(C)1997]]."

You roll over onto your back and close your eyes, just listening to him type. There's a long pause as Spamton focuses on some bit of code or other.

"I'm so CLOSE, I know I am!" He growls, typing furiously. You can hear the change as his puppet fingers smash into your keys, flicking between each one with an industrial precision and brutality.

"Hey, now, gentle on the keys," you sigh pleasantly. It's not that big of a deal, after all. It's a pretty cheap keyboard that came with the PC. The only thing special about it is that you spilled a drink on it at one point and after cleaning it up, you were left with an irremovable and vaguely Tasque-shaped stain. You named it Gary and you're attached.

Spamton's typing noises soften in wordless reply. 

Knowing that he's in the zone, you pick up your phone again and head to your local video-based platform. Maybe some animal videos will do the trick.

~~~

After an hour or so, you've gotten ready for sleep. You pass Spamton on your way to your bed and stop to ruffle his hair.

"HEY!!!! Get your [[F1LTHY KITCHEN TILE]] paws [Off!]!!" He smacks your hand away in a playful anger. 

"Aw, little guy mad that I messed up his mullet?"

"IT IS NOT A MULLET!!!!!!!! IT IS A POMPA[DOORS]!!!!!!!!" His whole face goes red, steam escaping with a hiss from the junctions of his face plates. He bats you away harder this time, and you back off.

"Fine, fine," you say with a laugh. "Party in the back, where it belongs."

"WHY, YOU [little]-" He cuts off suddenly, his eyes locked to the screen. Any anger evaporates in an instant. With intense, almost frightened focus, Spamton edits a string of code.