Archive of Our Own

“I'm home! Look what I got!”

Spamton's soul almost jumped out of his body upon your sudden entrance through the door of the apartment you two shared. You had a bright smile on your face, squealing with excitement and eagerly shaking the white plastic bag you were holding. The door shut behind you with a swift kick of your foot.

“LIGHTnER! YOu ALMOST GIVE ME A_ [[ Heart attack ]]!! WHAT'S THE [ Occasional side-effects include— ]?” He giggled nervously. Straightening the front of his suit jacket and dusting off his chest with firm swipes of his hands, he stared you down as you excitedly searched for whatever you had placed inside the bag to show him. You held it out for him to see with great pride after fishing it out. To his surprise, it was a little plush doll of the man himself! It seemed to be pretty good quality… and surprisingly soft. His head looked a little big, but it only served to add charm to the overall design of the thing.

The little salesman's eyes lit up when you held the plush out for him. He cautiously took it from your hands, holding it out in front of him like a proud father would.

“AH YOU GOT YOUR HAND(S) ON ONE I [ See you later ]! MY PLAN TO RISE BACK TO THE ↑ IS            — BUT SURELY HAPPENING BEFORE OUR EYES!!”

You turned slightly, eyeing the darkner from where you were sitting to take off your shoes. He seemed excited; his eyes were practically sparkling with hope. You quietly snorted at the sight.

“Your plan? Tell me more.”

He turned towards you with a smug grin and tucked the little plush under his arm firmly.

“PLAN. YES.      YOU SEE. MY [[ Planning ]] OF GETTING B4CK TO THE FAMOUS HANDSOME STUD I ONCE WAS!! TRENDS CHANGE FROM [ day to day life ], YOu HAVE TO TRY HARD TO STAY ON TOP OF THE MOST TREND  IEST [[ Business tactics ]]. BUT PLUSH DOLLS? HOO MAMA! THEY ARE ALWAYS A HIT!”

He followed at your heels around the room while you put away the coat and beanie you wore out, all while continuing to give you the description of his foolproof master plan.

“NO TRENDS, THEY ARE ALWAYS [[ You're gonna be popular ]], PEOPLE LOVE TO COLLECT THEM FOR [ unnamed reason ], AND I SEE M_NEY IN THAT IDEA!”

Were plushes actually a good way to get money? You guessed there was some truth to this plan's success rate, considering there were people who pre-ordered plushes and resold them for more money somewhere else. Maybe he was onto something. Though, you sort of assumed you were the only one who would buy one of these limited edition Spamton plushesᵀᴹ. Of course, you couldn't tell him that.

You made your way back to the kitchen to retrieve the rest of the things included in the mysterious white plastic bag you brought home from work, Spamton still rambling on. He leaned his back against the counter you were working at, looking the little plush doll over and examining the stitching and different fabric textures carefully.

“What you said earlier…” Spamton's head turned toward you slightly, hearing you speak up. “You are still handsome… by the way.”

“Ah.” The plush fell from his hands and hit the floor. He stared at you for a moment before heat spread over the entirety of his face. Quickly, he turned back around to lean down and pick up his little doppelgänger like nothing happened. 

NOW'S YOUR CHANCE, NOW'S YOUR CHANCE, NOW'S YOUR CHANCE TO—

Spamton squeezed the plush a little too tight upon picking it back up and its shrieking voice startled the both of you; it nearly landed on the floor again. You took it from Spamtons hands, turning it around in your palm to shut off its voice box in an attempt to avoid another accident like this anytime soon.

“PRETTY [ loud and proud ] THAT. LITTLE GUY, HUH?” The darkner laughed awkwardly and stretched a little to calm himself down. His shoulder joints popped from the movement. He mumbled something before turning around to get back to the couch he was laying on and the book he was reading… before you entered the apartment with such vigor, that is. Reading was a favorite pastime for him; this selection just so happened to be a detailed guide on how to quickly gain popularity in the workplace and how to successfully start your own independent business. Even if he had no current job, that didn't stop him from investing time and energy into learning how to become successful when it did finally happen. It was not only a good read, but motivation for his foolproof master plan.

…

Forget the stupid book. He wanted to know what you were up to.

“So HOW WAS YOUR DAY DARLING? 4NGEL? SWEET PEA? ANYTHING [[ E x c i t i n g ]] THAT HAPPENED AT WORK_?” There was genuine interest in his beat up old voice box. Well, maybe he was actually more nosy about what you did when you weren't at home—where he could see you and keep his eyes on you like a normal person did—but that didn't really matter in that moment. It wasn't like he waited all day for you to come home and finally walk through the front door so that all of your attention could be on him again, anyway. Being home alone all by yourself got lonely very fast, and Spamton wasn't good at handling loneliness. Especially now that he had a roommate: something— someone— to call his own and look forward to instead of waiting patiently for any kind of stranger to accidentally stumble across his shop and be harassed into making a purchase.

The salesman's head peeked up over the back of the couch when he noticed you didn’t answer his question. Maybe you didn't hear him over all the rustling of bags and plastic that you were busy with? He could see you standing in the kitchen from where he was sitting, still leaning over the counter slightly and toying with—

Oh right, the plush.

He cleared his throat and picked up his book again, opening it on the page he last remembered before you entered his thoughts abruptly. You were distracted; he understood. It was the adrenaline and ecstasy of buying something new that could make you forget the world around you. If anyone knew what it was like, it would be the former big shot himself, so he couldn't be too upset at you for it.

Spamtons brow twitched when he heard the plush talk once more and the quiet giggle that followed shortly after, but he didn't turn around this time. The book in front of him was way more important, yes! He had to focus on his master plan and couldn't afford any distractions anymore. Even when said distraction made his stomach feel all fuzzy… but who cared about that stupid plush anyway, it was just a toy. Sure, it resembled the darkner himself, but it wasn't even alive. In fact, he found it almost flattering that you'd get so enraptured in something that looked just like him, but he was sure you would eventually calm down again and forget about it. That was the way of business: create hype around something, sell it, make money, and wait for the hype to die down again before repeating your steps. It was so easy.

You did, in fact, not calm down about it.

It felt like your obsession over this thing just kept growing and growing. Spamtons flattery very slowly turned into bitterness before he could even realize it happened. During the following week, you even decided that it'd be a good idea to take the little guy to work with you, all the while taking cute pictures of it as it accompanied you on your daily little adventures.

The little salesman looked up at you like a sad puppy left in the rain as you stood in the doorway of your apartment again, ready to head off to work with the new morning ahead of you. It sucked to leave the little guy by himself for so long. Even if he was obviously old enough to handle himself (hell, he was older than you), something inside you still felt a little bad for the old man.

“Alright, I'm off to work now. See you later, Spam.” You leaned down a little and gave his scratched up red cheek a few soft rubs before turning towards the front door. Spamton waved goodbye as the door closed with an audible click, and a somber sigh left his mouth at the sudden silence. It looked like today was going to be another day of him being all by himself until the late afternoon. Sure, while he was looking for some jobs on his own, he had agreed to stay at home and take care of chores when you went out, but it was still so lonely without you. He was a little clingy— although he would never dare to admit to it in front of you— but you leaving the apartment for work sure did take all the fun out of his day.

While pondering what to do for the day during your time at work, he stepped into the kitchen to make himself a nice cup of coffee. He needed something— anything— to wake up right now. You woke up pretty early for work yourself, and while Spamton didn't have to, he still made it a habit to get up early so he could see you off before he was home alone for hours on end. The loud whirring of the coffee machine came to a halt, signaling it to be ready, so he grabbed the mug and made his way back to the couch with the remote now in hand. Maybe something good was on, but he doubted it, really, considering the time. Nothing good was ever on this early in the morning, unless you wanted to watch the news or weather, like some kind of nerd.

Suddenly, something caught his attention. He barely noticed it in the corner of his eye at first, but when he turned his head to the side, there it was: the plush.

Spamton scoffed a little at the sight.

It looked like you didn't take it to work today, which was surprising. The plush, however, wore a different outfit this time. Not the usual black suit jacket he always wore himself, but a knitted little pink sweater and some teeny tiny pants with heart patterns on them. He took a closer look at it and went up to touch it, positioning it on his lap. The sweater looked self-made in a way, threads hanging loose here and there. Even the pants seemed to be a DIY project of yours with how uneven the pattern of the hearts looked.

His fingers fiddled with the bottom seam of the self made sweater and lifted it a little to expose the white fabric underneath. Whatever did you see in this thing? It couldn't be that it looked like him, otherwise you would be dressing the real him up in your homemade knitted sweaters and making him try on different outfits too. His cheeks felt warm and he sighed, delicate fingers feeling over its head and long pointy nose that mimicked the one on his own pale face. He wanted to know why you liked it so much, so badly, so his fingers slid back down, slowly inching the front of the heart patterned pants down, exposing more and more of the soft white fabric hidden underneath. The darkner leaned in just a little— releasing a breath he didn't realize he was holding— with his face mere inches apart from the dolls own face and—

Rustling keys in the door startled him back to reality. He launched the plush up into the air instinctively and swiftly lurched forward to catch it just as fast before it could hit the ground.

You entered the apartment looking disheveled and sweaty. Immediately, you rushed into your bedroom, rummaging through a bunch of things and throwing papers around the room while looking for something before you rushed back out with a couple of binders and loose papers under your arm. Grabbing the door handle to get back on your way, you stopped for a moment to catch your breath and turned back toward the darkner sitting on the couch.

“What are you doing...?” you panted, a confused tone sitting on your tongue as you licked your lips for a moment.

“AH YOU— YOU. I WAS LOOKInG AT TH_E NEW [ Outfit ].” Spamton breathed nervously with his signature smile present on his face and held up the plush for you to see. He almost looked just as disheveled and sweaty as you.

“Do you like it?”

The puppet nodded frantically, face completely red. You gave him a soft smile and a gentle laugh before getting back on your way.

Spamton jumped up from his spot on the couch and ran towards the door, listening for a moment to see if you had really left. No sound was there to answer him, so he timidly made his way back over to the couch. The plush was still in his hands as he stared it down. Anger and shame bubbled up in his stomach. He threw the doll back on the couch with a lot more strength than needed, but it made him feel a little better about the whole thing.

“WH4T AM I [[ Strategic thinking ]]!!!” The salesman groaned loudly, slamming his hand against the side of his head. It made something inside rattle from the rough treatment, yet he didn't dare to bother with it, and instead went back to his now lukewarm cup of coffee, zapping through the channels on the TV aggressively to calm his nerves.

“DONT THINK YOuRE THEIR NEW FAVORITE Y0U L1TTLE [[ @#$% ]]…”

✦

Unfortunately, the rest of the day went by rather slowly… much slower than Spamton would've liked. It killed him internally when you didn't show up around your usual time. You would always be here at about the same time every evening, and if something came up, you were sure to inform him with a quick phone call. Tonight, however, the phone was quiet, and it drove him nuts.

He started pacing around the living room, suddenly feeling uneasy. What if something happened and he was none the wiser? What if you got kidnapped or decided to finally leave him for good after realizing how much of an inconvenience he was on your wallet and bills!?

In an urgent need for comfort, he grabbed the first thing he saw— which was the little plush replica of himself— and held it firmly against himself in a hug while continuing to pace around the living room. Why he had the urge to hug something for comfort and why it happened to be the plush of himself, he had no idea. Maybe because it was small enough to tuck under his chin, or maybe the thought of hugging “himself” brought him comfort and reminded him of the past? When the phone stopped ringing one day and he was stuck in his office chair waiting impatiently and anxiously for a sound, a call, anything. Sitting outside of Queens mansion, quiet, not a single sound. Yeah, he could've used some comforting hugs back then too, and even if they didn't change anything, it maybe would've given him the idea that someone— anyone— cared for him after all.

The door slammed open for the second time today as you stumbled around with a few bags coating your arms; you looked like you got hit by a car with the way all your clothes were askew.

“Sorry! I know I'm late!” you gasped, as you finally walked into the apartment with shaking legs.

Immediately upon seeing you, all of Spamton's worries and built up anxiety flew out of the window (similarly to how the plush doll flew out of his hands as he hastily threw it behind him). But forget that thing, you were here now. His angel was finally home.

“DOLL!!” He was so happy to see you that he all but tackled your legs, hugging you tight; you almost tripped over the force. As you crossed the room to enter the kitchen and deploy the excess of bags you were carrying, you dragged him along with you.

“I’m sorry for taking so long, Spam. I went to get a few things for dinner and got caught up in traffic! Did I worry you?” The firm grip of his fingers immediately loosened and he stepped back with a cough, clearing his throat. His face immediately reddened as he straightened his suit jacket, wiping his hands on his pants to calm himself. You noticed before that he always did this when he was embarrassed. You were really lucky to have a roommate this awkwardly cute.

“WELL, [ Yes and No ]! I TH0UGHT YOU WOULD [ Call this # now! ] AND WAITED [[ d e s p e r a t e l y ]] FOR THE PhoNE> TO RING…” He played with the joints lining his hands while you stepped away from the kitchen for a moment to take off your coat and put it aside. Walking towards the living room, you began searching for something. Of course, the little darkner suspected what it was already.

You found it pretty fast of course, since Spamton tossed it behind him earlier. He watched you as you picked it up from the floor and dusted it off with your fingers, anxiety building up as you stood there, a stern hand on your hip.

“Hey, why's the little guy on the floor and not where I left it this morning?” you spoke, almost like you were scolding a dog for ripping up a pillow or peeing on the floor while you were out. He didn't know the stupid plush doll was off limits!!! You didn't say anything before you left, and neither did you say anything when you saw him holding it!?

He whined, taking steps backwards until his back hit one of the kitchen drawers with a thud. You were walking towards him now, with his teeth chattering like he was attempting to shiver off a sudden chill. But as his luck would have it, as you cleared the room's boundary, you went toward the plastic bags on the counter instead of whatever he expected you to do to him.

“It's okay if you wanna play with it you know, just… don't throw it around okay? I don't want it to get dirty,” you sternly remarked. You were rarely this serious, which freaked him out a little and caused him to start picking at the joints on his fingers again.

“I'm sorry,” Spamton whispered. He didn't care much for the stupid doll, but he didn't want to upset his lightner, his best friend and roommate. He cared about you too much at the end of the day, and the guilt of upsetting you and making you sad was greater than anything. A small smile tugged at your lips as you spoke knowingly.

“You're not jealous, are you?”

“JEALOUS!? WHO— ME!? COMe ON [ angel ]!! IT'S= JUST A DOLL!” He laughed awkwardly. Him? Jealous? Don't be ridiculous, now.

“You are also a doll, silly.” His heart sank as you threaded your warm fingers through his greasy hair, straightening out some of the tangles on the top and sides. You told him time and time again that he should brush his hair more— even offering to do it for him— but the darkner got extremely defensive when you first suggested it, so you didn't dare to ask again.

Was that it? Would you like him more if he cleaned up some more? If he looked tidy and nicely put together like the little plush doll?

“You’re so tense, Spam….” He shuddered at your words and featherlight touches on his head. “It’s okay, I’m not mad at you for playing with him. Promise.”

Him?

His thoughts were interrupted by a little pat of your hand on his scratched-up rosy cheek.

“Wanna help me with dinner?”

Smiling to himself, he got up on the little step stool beside you and quickly helped you unload the  grocery bags.

✦

Two weeks had passed since you got your hands on the little Spamton plush replica… not like anyone would count the days or anything. That'd be ridiculous.

Today, unsurprisingly, was another boring and uneventful day of Spamton waiting for you at home. With not much else to do, the little salesman decided to take a hot bath to pass some of the time. Sitting in a hot bubble bath wasn't exactly what he thought he'd be doing while you were out working for the day. Here he was, doing nothing but lounging like royalty in the bathtub, staring up at the ceiling while you were working your ass off to take care of him. A gross, guilty feeling spread in his chest at the thought. He could be so selfish sometimes.

He sank into the water a little, his long and pointy nose peeking out over the steaming hot water. Maybe you should take a hot bubble bath yourself once you got back home from work, he thought. Of course, Spamton noticed you usually took quick showers instead of long, hot baths, though after a long day of work, it'd probably do you a favor.

Maybe he could prepare a bath for you too for when you got home… make it extra hot, because that's the way you liked it. Get you something nice to eat while your aching body got ready for a steaming bath. His thoughts wandered a little at the idea, and suddenly, the image of you undressing to take a bath wouldn't leave his mind. He’d seen the hair on your body before, of course; fine hairs covered your arms and legs, and it occasionally crossed his mind that you could have hair elsewhere. Your shoulders? Maybe even your chest, your stomach, or…

Heat quickly rose to his face, butterflies setting in his stomach at the thought. No, no, he shouldn't think about you like that. You were probably tired after work, and here he was lusting after your body hair and curves.

He sank even further into the water and laid back almost fully, with only the tip of his nose peeking out of the water now. The hot steam was clearly getting to his head. He should take a few steps back.

Well, although the thought of restraint was there, that didn't stop his hand from resting on his plush stomach and slowly inching downwards. His fingers inched closer to his crotch, delicately feeling over the smooth plastic between his thighs. He didn't have any body hair himself to help his imagination, but that didn't stop him from thinking about yours. This wasn't the first time he had thought of it either, with you two potentially bathing together. Would you believe his excuse about saving hot water if he offered it to you? Or would you look right through him and see that he'd be lying right to your face?

“You just want to see me undress, don't you?”

“Y-YES,” he groaned out quietly. His jointed fingers moved up and down slowly, the hot water adding to the friction of his hand. Yes, he wanted to see you undress. He wanted it badly, to see you slowly expose more and more of your gorgeous body for him. To look over your curves, muscle, the hair on your body, little freckles and beauty marks… he wanted to explore your features and memorize them forever. The water level in the tub would rise upon you joining him, with you taking up most of the space to the point where Spamton would have to sit between your open legs. The hot water would warm up your body as your hot hands would touch his cool face. You'd get a hold of him and pull him close. Closer and closer still, until he'd lose his balance and have to rest his small hands on your soft thighs, giving in under his own weight. You’d lean in and kiss him, and he’d have no other choice but to rest his body between them as you used your legs to pull him in.

The darkners head fell back with a moan. He hit the edge of the tub just behind it with an uncomfortable thud. The steam in the room was becoming overwhelming, but even still, he needed more. His free hand came up to rub his eyes and cheeks as he started panting softly. The desire was intoxicating, but the flustered feeling in his stomach mixed with the nausea of shame. This did nothing to ease his arousal; if anything it only spurred him on as his other hand picked up the pace, clinging onto the edge of the tub, nearly squeaking with his tight grip. The movement of his hips made the water slosh, but he couldn't find it in himself to care, being far too distracted by the blissful warmth spreading through his body and the seething hot pressure building up in his stomach.

“ANGEL_4NGEL! I NEED— [[ &@!# ]]!!”

Having nothing to work with, so to speak, made jerking off an infinitely more complicated process. He still had erogenous zones and his body still reacted to stimuli, but he had nothing to help relieve the pressure accumulating in his crotch. Rubbing at it was one solution, of course, though this rarely helped him get close to the edge, if at all. 

It was always barely there, like a deep itch under your skin that you couldn't scratch no matter how hard you picked at your skin. Always on the brink of finding some kind of relief, but rarely getting it. That did not stop the little puppet from trying, though. Feverishly rubbing between his legs and squeezing one of your pillows between his thighs, riding it like it’d help relieve much pressure at all, or— on rare occasions— where he was feeling bold enough to do so out in the open, hump the armrest of your couch like a bitch in heat. You would always be none the wiser, given that there would be no evidence of his actions left to find in the first place.

There was one time before where he couldn't help himself, too caught up in the movie he was watching when the actors on screen started undressing each other and making out passionately in front of him. His hand wandered down almost instinctively, disappearing under his white slacks. He didn't get very far, however, because just when he was starting to get warmed up, that's when you decided to come home and startle him with the jingling of your keys.

You almost screamed that time, when you saw him staring at you from the couch with the TV turned off and sitting in the dark all by himself.

He was lucky you weren't there with him to watch movies that night.

Movies…

Spamton bolted upright in the bathtub in a blink, still panting like he just ran a marathon. Bathwater sloshed over the edge and onto the tile flooring with a couple of splats. Movies! A movie night would be the perfect opportunity to have some alone time with you. Real alone time, without you having to go to work the next day, or see friends, or hang out with other people. Just you two. It would finally him the opportunity to make the first step and seduce you.

His jointed fingers slowed down their frantic massage and he caught his breath between heavy pants. There was no way he could get anywhere close to finishing this while he was so unexpectedly distracted by his own thoughts, already planning your movie night in his head… even though you didn't even agree to it quite yet.

One last sharp sigh left his mouth and he decided to get up and finally step out of the tub. There was no point in covering himself up with a towel, so he stepped onto the little plastic stool you kept in your bathroom just for him and took a quick look in the mirror. The sight was almost… pathetic, really. His hair was wet, disheveled, and clung to his forehead. His face wasn't much better, being completely flushed pink. Turning on the faucet, he splashed his face with some cold water before hopping off the plastic stool.

You weren't home yet, luckily. Was it even really luck? Spamton was alone, and you were out with people he had likely never even met before. Who was here, however, was the little mini plush duplicate seated neatly on the couch. Looks like you didn't take it to work with you as often as Spamton thought you did. He walked over to it, and upon closer inspection, he noticed that it wore a different outfit again: a red suit, which the darkner softly sighed at. He inspected the suit closely after picking up the plush with one hand, but quickly felt his stomach stir at the display before running off with it and laying it down on your bed, giving the plush one last look before the door to your bedroom clicked shut softly.

✦

You had come home late; Spamton was already fast asleep by the time you entered your apartment. This, unfortunately, meant that you two couldn't catch up after work and talk about plans for the next day like you usually did. The salesman had woken up early like always, but he was a little confused to see you were nowhere to be found when it came to your usual morning rituals.

He softly knocked on your bedroom door before letting himself inside after getting no response. You were… still sleeping? His chest tightened with a pang of panic, thinking you might be oversleeping. He hastily maneuvered around the discarded clothes and shoes on the floor, aiming directly for your nightstand in order to secretly check your phone. No, he didn't know the code to unlock it (although he would love to), but he could clearly see that your lock screen had your schedule for this week on it, and it looked like you were supposed to go in later than usual today.

Spamton quietly left your room again, wondering why you didn't tell him you were working late today… sometimes, it felt like you were forgetting to inform him about things regarding your life at work. Sure, it wasn't really his place to know, considering he'd never been at your workplace before… or had any reason to be there, really. But some part of him did want to know regardless. Perhaps this was his possessiveness seeping through, leaving a nasty feeling sitting heavy in his stomach.

The darkner shook his head. Maybe you just forgot. You two hadn't seen each other since the morning before; a lot can change schedule wise in just a day… that was probably it.

He made his way over to the fridge, using the other stepping stool you kept stored under the kitchen sink just for him, and used it to take a look into the fridge. Maybe he could make breakfast for you two? He had to improvise today.

Somehow, he started feeling a little self-conscious as he stood in front of the open fridge. What was up with him today? The nerves of asking you to watch a movie with him were getting the best of him. He took a deep breath to calm his nerves and grabbed the eggs and butter from the fridge, setting them aside in order to get hold of some potatoes and the grater, which was hidden in the very back of your cupboard since you would rarely cook anymore; work kept you busy all day, so you would default to ordering food instead.

You deserved to get a little spoiled too, of course… you were roommates after all. It's not like he was dependent on you. Like a… stay at home husband, maybe. He wouldn't be opposed to that idea either, he thought to himself.

As the butter in the pan started melting from the heat, he couldn't help but fantasize a little bit about his hypothetical. A nice little house in a regular boring old neighborhood, just how he saw on TV countless times before. You'd walk in through the door with a suitcase in your hand and a vintage plaid patterned suit on, announcing your appearance with a loud “honey, I'm home!” as the live audience cheered and applauded your entrance into the cozy, homey scene. Then the camera would switch to the kitchen where Spamton would be, wearing an old 50s style dress with an apron and some oven mittens on. The audience would clap once he'd be on screen, but their cheering would quickly hush with audible awww's when you'd give him a kiss on the teeth lips, complimenting his hair and dipping your finger into whatever he'd be cooking in the moment. You'd swiftly take off with your finger in your mouth and the darkner would run after you, scolding you for ruining his cooking, while the live studio audience would break out in loud laughter.

Something about this idea made warmth spread over his body, and it surely wasn't from the grated potatoes slowly cooking on the stove. Spamton couldn't help but giggle at his little fantasy, his body shaking with soft laughter.

It was a silly fantasy, really, but a man can dream, right? Plus, it wasn't too far off from what you two had going already anyway; you'd also greet him with a kiss on the cheek sometimes, even if you never complimented his hair directly… unless running your fingers through it meant anything to you at all.

Well…

At least you used to give him kisses until two weeks ago. If it weren't for the little plush doll taking his place.

His little fantasy came to a halt both suddenly and unwillingly when thoughts about the doll surfaced. Fantasy-you would act differently one day upon entering your house. Spamton would have to put his oven mitts and cooking aside in order to pay attention to whatever was very obviously bothering you, but you wouldn't say. He suspected what was going on, but how would he know if you were playing favorites or not? Maybe it was just adrenaline, meeting a new person who isn't really a problem to you or your bank account. He mentally looked towards the live audience— quiet, as no one made a sound— the studio was empty. Would they boo you? Throw tomatoes in your direction for finding someone else? Or would they cheer you on, clapping and cheering loudly as you walked out of the house for the final time, officially leaving Spamton G. Spamton behind. For someone like him? Maybe this life was just a too-good-to-be-true dream and he didn't deserve any of it. He wasn't sure…

“This smells pretty good. What are you making?”

Spamton jumped at your groggy voice behind him, almost making him fall off the stool he was using as leverage. He must've gotten a little lost in his own thoughts, not even noticing that you already got up and made your way over to his side of the kitchen. Your hand rested on his upper back, peeking over his shoulder to see what he was cooking up for breakfast. You smiled at him adoringly, resting your chin on his shoulder while he was adding seasonings to the pan. His breath hitched when you inched closer. Your hands found their way to his waist, softly letting them rest there.

“Are you making hash browns?”

The salesman did not reply verbally, but instead opted to nod slightly at your question. He couldn't trust his voice right now. Trying his hardest to stay focused on his cooking, Spamton swiftly flipped the hash browns before they could get a chance to burn. You were making it hard to concentrate on the task in front of him when you wrapped your arms loosely around his middle and hugged him from behind.

You closed your eyes, humming as you rested your head against the darkner's hair and listened to his breathing. The butter in the pan was sizzling deliciously in front of you. His face burned. His heart was pounding against his pale plastic casing. It felt like he couldn't breathe. He didn't even know what to think of, his head felt like mush despite spiraling earlier. But before he could really relish in your warm hug, you pulled back again. The breath he was holding escaped his mouth in a sharp exhale, sounding almost annoyed; you barely held back laughter at the drama of it, not wanting to upset him by poking fun at his misery.

He coughed into his fist to clear his throat before he finally plated the eggs and hash browns he prepared for the both of you, but to his surprise, you were gone again as soon as he turned around with plates in hand.

“ANGEL?”

“I'm here! Just wanted to grab the little guy.” You laughed— honest to God laughed— as you held up the Spamton plush replica for him to see. Not again…

“Do you remember the last time I made him an outfit? Look, I made him another one. I think I'm getting better at sewing! Thoughts?”

Spamton placed the two plates on the table and his eyebrows discreetly knitted together in frustration. This time, it wore a blue sweater with a white button up underneath it; it was something he himself had surely worn himself at some point. Whether or not you knew that, he wasn't so sure of right now, only staring the plush down like it might attack him if he didn't keep a close eye on it.

“It looks good.” His voice sounded hoarse.

The plush doll you got was seemingly all you cared about anymore nowadays. You took it everywhere with you. You took it with you to work, you took it with you in your bag when you went out with friends, and from the looks of it you even took it to bed with you. All this, while Spamton had to stay at home by his lonesome and couldn't tag along, even if he wanted to. It wasn't like he ever asked to meet your coworkers in the first place, but that wasn't the point. That stupid little thing got so many new outfits and accessories that Spamton could only dream of— his own wardrobe being significantly less colorful and stylish… not that that was your fault in any way— but he would totally try out new things if you guided and helped him. You seemed to have an understanding of what looked good on him, but instead, chose to waste all of that talent on that… that thing!!!

The darkner took a proper bite of the breakfast he cooked up for you while you continued to talk about the doll's new outfit— completely lost in thought— explaining in detail how you made it and how long it took. Normally, Spamton would listen to every word leaving your lips eagerly, but something inside him stirred at all the compliments targeted towards the little doll. His eyes flickered down a couple of times when you stopped your rambling, which caused you to look down at the plate in front of you as well.

“Oh, I’m sorry Spam, I didn't notice I was talking so much.” You set the plush aside carefully and started taking your own bite from the food your roommate oh-so-lovingly cooked for you, smiling at him briefly. It was pretty good; you supposed he was a good cook after all. Given that he always bragged about his skill but weaseled out of proving it every time, that really surprised you.

“Hey, these are really good. I had no idea you knew how to cook.”

“WELL! WHEN YOU LIVE [[ —all by yourself, handsome? ]] YOU GoTTA [ Learning ]!” 

You took another bite, savoring the flavor for a moment before your eyes left Spamton' s face and slowly drifted back towards the plush again—

-SLAM-

Spamton's fists were planted firmly on the table. The sudden noise startled you into jumping and spinning your head back around toward him in surprise. He was staring at you like his life depended on it, breathing harshly through his nose, and grimacing. As quickly as it appeared, though, his frown was replaced with a bright and inviting smile. The puppet's small hands reached out towards you— palms up— and you accepted his offer to hold them.

“AHAHAH!! A-ANGEL! D4RLING! WELL….” Now would be the time to ask you out, he thought. Do it. Do it before the moment is gone! A blush spread over Spamton's face, suddenly a little sheepish. His words got caught in his throat when you looked up at him, not breaking the eye contact this time.

“Yes?”

“DO YO_U [[ Want to! Need to! ]] WATCH… A. MOVIE. WITH ME [ Alone on a Friday night? ] ER! JUST [[ Baby, you and me ]]!???” He forced it out of his mouth, smiling a little nervously. His teeth were chattering. Hopefully you couldn't hear that. Did what he said sound dumb? Was his glitching too bad??? Your fingers closed around his smaller hands, squeezing them affectionately as you smiled down at his reddening face.

“Sure. I should be home around 6 tonight and I have a free weekend, so we can stay up late. We could do a marathon or something… I’ll let you pick!” You winked at him. “Do we have a deal?...”

Spamton sighed with relief. Thank the stars that he didn't make himself look like too much of an idiot in front of you. He'd prepare while you were at work, and once you got back, you two were going to have real fun. Spamton would finally make the first move towards signaling you just how much he really liked you. His hands flexed in your grip, loudly laughing out of excitement. 

“DEAL_DE4L A DEAL /S A [ Dealmaker ]!!”

You finished your plate and left to go get changed for the work day ahead, but not before you took care to press a light, quick kiss to Spamton's scratched up cheek as he took care of the dishes. He waved you goodbye for the day and you two promised to see each other tonight for your movie night. He couldn't wait.

✦

Waiting for you to come home was actual torture.

Spamton took care of all the chores that were piling up lately, just to pass the time. He took care of all the dishes, sorted them by size and colors, dusted and wiped everything down, took a shower, scrubbed the bathroom, vacuumed the whole apartment, and threw all your combined clothes in the wash. He even found time to take a little break to read, and when he fell asleep in the process to regain some of that spent energy, it was still only 5pm when he woke up.

He groaned loudly as he stretched his stiff joints. Perhaps washing his face and grabbing a glass of water would be best for him.

The couch barely moved under his weight when he sat back down and groggily rubbed his eyes. It always felt torturous. Today wasn't an exception. It was always hard to wait for you to come home, and it was even worse on days where you two had things planned or on days you'd be working late. Sometimes Spamton would have to just go to bed by himself, merely having to settle for sending you a quick goodnight message and knowing you'd probably only see it once you'd left work with him already soundly asleep. 

But today? Not only was it torture to wait for you to get home, but the anxiety was building up in his gut to no end today. He had the habit of planning everything through in his head beforehand, already thinking of potential outcomes, but tonight there were so many ways this movie night could go that for once in his life, Spamton was thinking of nothing at all, like his head was filled with actual cotton.

He chuckled to himself quietly. Maybe you'd like him more if his head was actually filled with cotton.

…The apartment felt all too quiet all of a sudden.

Overthinking tonight's movie night did little to pass the time, so the salesman had to think of something else to do. Suddenly, he was up and walking again, frantically laying out blankets on the couch and fluffing up the pillows. He brought out a bowl and some snacks which were placed on the small coffee table in front of him, and then hastily ran back to the fridge to grab some additional drinks.

His eyes shot back up towards the clock hanging in the kitchen. About 20 minutes had passed and he already felt like ripping out his hair. In fact, he didn't notice his hands already in his hair or how hard he was pulling. A couple of black strands came loose, stuck in the joints of his small fingers. You would be home soon, but not as soon as he liked you to. Why in the world was he so anxious? Something about you coming home at 6 sent shivers down his spine. He let out a long, sad sigh. Hopefully tonight would go well.

Spamton decided— with around 15 more minutes to spare— that he should probably start getting changed for your movie date… night! Movie night! He shook his head as he ran to his own bedroom trying to distract himself.

He stood in front of the bedroom mirror (for once, instead of the one in the living room), staring at the reflection in front of him. A change of clothes would be a good idea for a cozy movie night on the couch, but what to pick? He couldn't just walk out in his usual black suit jacket and try and get comfortable like that. Even if he did end up falling asleep in his clothes more often than not. No, no, that wouldn't do. He had to get creative and impress you… maybe… tease you a little. He hated himself sometimes for being such a pervert; his mind wandered way too fast for his own liking. He was already thinking way too far ahead. You two would just watch a movie. Nothing crazy.

He slowly stripped out of his clothes and stood in front of the mirror, just in his underwear. There wasn't really any point in wearing any undergarments at all, considering he didn't have anything down there, but it felt weird to go without it. It gave him a sense of security in a weird way. If his pants ever decided to rip, he at least had his boxers to keep decent; if not, his whole ass would be on display for the world to see. For you to see…

His warm hands rested against the cold mirror in front of him as he stared into his own reflection. He couldn't let tonight go wrong. Enough was enough. That stupid plush toy got enough of your attention already. Things would be different tonight.

He could feel it.

Making his way back to his closet, he looked through the drawers located at the bottom. He wasn't a very fashionable guy— at least not so much anymore nowadays— so it was rather tough to pick out something to wear. But it was going to be a sleepover kind of hang out. A movie night! So wearing some pajamas would be most appropriate, he thought to himself.

The darkner put his legs through the holes of the pajama pants he picked out and slid the matching shirt over his shoulders. He looked himself up and down thoroughly as he slowly buttoned up his shirt, one button at a time. It was a light blue pajama set with stripes covering the whole two-piece. You had picked it out for him when you went shopping by yourself, surprising him with it not too long ago… even if he did not have a chance to actually show it off yet. His hand slid over his arm and chest, slowly and delicately feeling up the soft fabric. Seeing it on himself for the first time made his heartbeat grow quicker. It was a present from you after all.

After getting dressed, he finally walked out of his bedroom and shut the door behind him with a muted click, walking through the halls and into the kitchen to get himself something other than water to drink. Just as he was pouring himself a glass of ice cold juice, he began to hear your keys jingling outside of the door. His head snapped up toward the clock above him; sure enough, it was already past 6. Looks like he took a little bit too long to finally get dressed after getting so lost in his own thoughts.

You jumped when you entered the apartment and saw Spamton standing mere inches in front of you. Lo and behold, he wore the pajama set you bought him a few weeks ago. You couldn't help but smile softly.

“Oh! Hey, Spam. You're wearing the pajamas i got you! The blue looks good on you.”

He almost spit out his juice at your compliment. His red face complimented the blue of his pajamas quite nicely, you thought, as you chuckled at his reaction.

“HOW WAS [ Working ]?” The darkner wiped his mouth as he asked, trying not to make himself look like a complete fool while he set aside his drink.

“Same old, same old. Luckily there wasn't much to do today or I would've been too tired tonight, trust me.” The darkner's eyes were observing you as followed your usual after-work routine: taking off your coat and beanie, untying your shoes, and kicking them off somewhere before Spamton rushed over to neatly put them away, with his hands on his hips.

“ LIGhtNER!! I [[ 20% off on all cleaning products!!!! ]]” You laughed at his attempt to scold you, which just made his face turn even redder.

“Sorry, sorry, you're right.” You made sure to put away your scarf and gloves neatly so he wouldn't complain. “You probably spent all day cleaning after my mess. Thank you Spam.”

He didn't reply to that, instead looking back up at the clock for a second. Your eyes followed your roommate's gaze and you immediately started panicking. It was already around 6:20.

“Shit, I didn't even realize…. Tell you what, I'll go get changed and then we can get this movie night started. Sound good?” The salesman nodded eagerly, clearly excited, and watched as you turned around to enter your bedroom. You mouthed a quiet 'be right back' in his direction before your door clicked close.

With everything set up and ready to go for movie night, Spamton sat down on the couch and waited for you to join him. It felt like ages before he could finally hear you walk back out of your room. Your soft footsteps approached behind him. He straightened his back and swept back the black strands of hair loosely hanging over his forehead, turning his head to look in your direction with a preemptive smile on his face.

… It was a smile that immediately dropped as he saw you enter his field of vision. You walked out in a simple graphic tee with some shorts and fuzzy socks; this was nothing out of the ordinary in itself, since Spamton usually saw you dressed in a similar manner. It was the object you were holding in your arms, as you walked around the couch and sat down, that caught his attention.

The plush. You were holding the little plush doll in your hands. His heart sank.

A million thoughts ran through his head, and his mouth fell open in surprise at the sight. He told you it would be just the two of you tonight, didn't he? Did you think the plush wouldn't count since it wasn't alive? Should he have clarified beforehand? GOD DAMMIT.

Your arm reached over to his face before he could notice, too busy thinking about the plush getting all your attention once more. Resting your hand on the underside of his chin, you gently pushed the bottom part of his jaw up to close his mouth with an audible click of his teeth.

“Careful, you don't want it to stay that way,” you giggled serenely, with your voice almost a whisper; it at least was enough to get Spamton back to his senses in the moment. He waved your hand away from his slowly reddening face to keep at least some of his crumbling dignity intact and fell back into the cushions, defeated. You always seemed to be just one step ahead of him, ruining his plans with your stupid charm and nice voice.

He watched you lean back into the soft cushions now too, setting the plush down on your lap. It was just laying there, not moving… not doing anything, really, just resting against the crease of your elbow, but even that was enough to make the puppet sitting next to you stir a little at the sight. Maybe he was jealous, but he would never allow himself to admit to it… or let you, of all people, know how he really felt. You could never know about his desires; he'd rather rip out his heart and throw it on the ground, hoping to bring his embarrassment and shame to an end before you could ever see him show any vulnerability.

Suddenly there was a hand on his, squeezing reassuringly.

“Spam? You okay?”

The darkner's hand left your grip faster than you could even react, holding it close to his chest like your mere touch burned his fingers. The two of you stared at each other for a second, Spamton starting to sweat under your intense eye contact. He shook his head like a dog out of nowhere and threw his hands up in the air, jumping up to stand on the couch himself.

“ HUNKY-DORY, LiGHTNER!! LETS [ Waist ] NO M0RE PRECIOUS— [ Time and time again! ]!!!”

The salesman all but jumped off the couch again, sprinted out of the room, and quickly returned with a couple of DVDs in hand. He could barely carry all of them given his size, nearly toppling over as his plush stomach hit the coffee stable with an audible squeak. The DVDs fell onto the table and clattered loudly before he proudly outstretched a hand like he was presenting a brand new car to you.

DVDs huh? Very old-school, you thought, while your eyes browsed all the movie options Spam offered. Old-school indeed, since some of these DVD covers were basically either half scratched off already or missing altogether, simply replaced by the title messily written on top with a black marker. It reminded you of your childhood a little; half of the movies in your collection looked like this growing up. Sweet nostalgia overtook you as you picked up one of the DVD cases and looked inside it. The disc itself was completely bare; there was no cheesy movie logo printed on and no title… just a regular empty disc.

“Where did you get this movie from?” You sneered in Spamton's direction. He obviously either found it somewhere or burned it himself when you were away at work.

“A BUSINESSMAN NEVER REVEALS HIS SECRETS.”

You chuckled at his answer and decisively handed him the bare DVD case. He quickly made work of the rest of them laying askew on the coffee table and threw them in his bedroom, slamming the door shut behind him and scurrying back over to the TV to insert the movie you picked into the DVD player. Looks like he thought of everything for your movie night; not even you remembered where you put that old thing, stashed away in unlabeled boxes that were hidden away in storage somewhere. And yet, Spamton did not only find it there, but he also got it to work again. Made it appear pretty much brand new too, from the look of it. Well, as new as an old DVD player from the early 2000s could look, of course.

Spamton sprinted over to the light switch to dim the lights in the living room for the right ambience and climbed back onto the couch next to you, handing you the remote with a bright, expectant smile. He desperately tried to ignore the little plush still resting next to you. It leaned against the exposed skin of your thigh that the shorts you were wearing didn't reach. He was going to make tonight count. He had to, for his sake, or he would lose his mind for sure.

“My, what a gentleman. Thank you.” You smiled before you pressed play and watched as the movie started revealing an assortment of trailers for movies yet-to-come, which, according to the movie you chose, would have been 1997. Interesting. The movie barely started— the opening cinematic was still playing, accompanied by music and a sway of the camera, showing off the landscape— and Spamton was already reaching for the bowl of popcorn on the table, holding it up for you to take.

“[ Taste test ] NOW SWEETHEART— I M4DE IT JUST FoR !!”

“You're really spoiling me tonight aren't you, Spammy?” His face grew hot at the nickname. You rarely used it on him; he usually only heard it when you were trying to make sure he knew you were especially fond of something he did for you. Maybe he should do those sort of things more often….

His eyes couldn't help but follow the movement of your hand as you reached into the bowl he was holding up for you. How it reached into the sweet, greasy popcorn, to the way it made its way back to your mouth, how the tips of your fingers glistened with oily butter, touching your lips briefly as you took the popcorn into your mouth with a satisfying crunch.

The little salesman gulped at the sight and forced himself to look away, turning his gaze back to the movie that was playing in front of you two. It was picking up slowly; the two main characters had just met for the first time as they accidentally ran into each other. A classic meet-cute. It was obvious they were set up to fall in love eventually. The puppet himself wasn't a huge fan of romance movies; they were usually incredibly cheesy and followed stupid clichés that made the movie far too predictable. He wondered if you knew. If that's exactly why you picked it out. To test him. Maybe this was your way of giving him a sign, or maybe this was just him reading into something that wasn't even there. He would've asked you about it, but if there was one thing Spamton G. Spamton didn't do, it was being honest about his real intentions, so all he could do was speculate.

Something inside of him had shaken off that earlier confidence and had replaced it with anxiety instead. He couldn't fuck this up. Neither of you had spoken much since the movie started. He wasn't even sure what to talk about. Sure, the voice box in his throat was still functioning after all this time, but Spamton himself was at a loss for words. So many thoughts on his mind, yet none of them made it out.

His eyes wandered toward you as your arms moved a short distance from the corner of his vision. This time, it was not for more popcorn, but to pick up the plush doll sitting next to you in order to set it back down on your lap. You gave the plush replica a little pat while you continued watching, fingers moving rhythmically over the black fabric of its hair… almost like it was involuntarily, instinctive.

You noticed, of course, the darkner's distraction, and decided to push a little further. Your free hand reached back into the bowl, fingers reaching back up to your mouth and yup, Spamton's eyes followed your hands movement. It was obvious he was trying his best not to turn his head too much so you wouldn't notice him peeking. Cute. You greedily licked your fingers clean before you let them slide down the plush's head and downwards towards its face, flicking its nose to make it bounce in place. Spamton forced his eyes away. The movie in front of him was all that mattered, and not even the little shiver running down his back would distract him. He didn't look away from the screen, despite seeing your blurry hands and arms move from his side.

“H3Y, LIGHTnER!? DON'T YOU__WANT TO [ listen to me!! ] PUT THE LITTLE [ Puppet boy— ] AwAY FOR A [ little while longer? ]…” he asked nervously, ads breaking through before he could clear his throat. A breathy chuckle left his mouth at the question, worried he was being too obvious with his request.

You did not reply immediately, simply giving him a quick glance before your hand crept lower, over the plush's face. Two of your fingers slid into the front opening of its jacket and began playing with the lapels.

“Come on, Spam… he's not doing anything is he? He's focused on the movie, unlike someone else.” His head snapped back toward the screen again on instinct upon being called out, sweat beading on his forehead. He already missed what was happening in the movie. In fact, he couldn't even pretend that he still understood what was happening on the screen in front of him. The heavy feeling setting in his stomach at the comment made his desperate attempt to focus an impossible one.

You could be so mean to him sometimes. Such a tease. It was almost like you wanted him to get jealous and die on the spot. Like you knew just how badly he craved that sweet, sweet touch of yours, yet refused to give it to him. Forced to see you touch and pamper that stupid doll, but never him, the real Spamton G. Spamton, who was… very clearly distracted by your behavior. But he didn't dare to move his head again, way too anxious about you calling him out again and embarrassing himself in the process.

A soft sigh left your mouth which he could hear faintly over the music of the movie, currently playing slow and sensual melodies. Spamton's hands found their way to his thighs. His fingers firmly gripped the fabric of his pants as he noticed you lean back even further, head now resting on the back of the couch.

Pressing on further down its chest, your fingers opened the plush's jacket at the intrusion. They slowly inched their way lower and lower. The darkner next to you followed your movements with his eyes like a starving animal looking at a delicious piece of meat, his mouth hanging open slightly at the sight. Fingers reached down further, only stopping at the plush's crotch. You ignored the man sitting next to you and slid them back up just briefly, rubbing up and down at the plush's stomach at a leisurely pace.

Spamton shivered at the movement. He couldn't help but instinctively press his legs shut tight, trying his hardest not to rub his thighs together in an act of further desperation. If he focused hard enough, he could almost feel it himself, just barely there. Either way, he couldn't tear his eyes away, even as he raised his own hand to wipe away the black fluid leaking from his mouth and dripping down his chin like drool.

And then you just had to start talking again. Your cheeks were red now too, faintly.

“He's doing so well, isn't he? What a good boy~”

“OH MY— [[ @%$# ]]!!!” The darkner groaned at your words, even if he knew they were not meant for him. His head hung low on his shoulders, curling in on himself as he tried to calm down his hitched breathing. Some part of him wanted to pretend still, pretend that what you two had was strictly platonic and one-sided, that you did not share his deranged fantasies, that the divine image he had of you in his head was not breaking apart in front of him and leaving broken glass in front of his feet and line of sight.

But… would it really be so wrong? To finally give in? Was it so wrong to surrender to the hot, burning feeling stirring in his stomach? That feeling he buried deep inside of himself for as long as he could think? That feeling that had been brewing since you two first moved in together? Hell, since his first sale to you even. The more Spamton thought about it and the less he tried to rationalize it, the more he longed to pick up a shard of your divine image that laid bare in front of him and cut himself in the hand willingly, hoping that if anyone was there to tend to his bleeding wound, then he'd see your face smiling down at him.

“I'm sure he likes all the attention and touches he's getting, huh?” Your voice brought him back from his spiraling thoughts, if only for a moment.

NOW'S YOUR CHANCE TO BE A BIG SHOT!

Your words got interrupted by one of the plush's prerecorded voice lines going off from accidentally pressing it too hard against your chest, and Spamton honest to God moaned at the sound. Leaning further forward, he tried covering his mouth with his hands, hoping to muffle the sounds escaping it. That could be him making all those unwilling sounds, he thought, if only you were touching him.

He could hear you laugh with his eyes closed, and something inside of him snapped. He was pissed, this was not fair! This movie night was for you and him, not the damn doll. It wasn't anything special, just an object that resembled him. He already regretted commissioning those stupid things to be made in the first place. He should've never even considered it, knowing you would get your hands on one and use it against him like this. The little puppet's head finally rose back to your form on the other end of the couch. His desire practically drove him crazy. Enough of the teasing, enough of the stupid plush. What did he do wrong? This was too much. He couldn't handle it, the heat burning his face and the tingly feeling between his legs drove him insane. He had to do something… anything. He only had so much strength.

Spamton pulled his legs up on the couch and rested his hands on the cushions under him, crawling towards you slowly like prey. You didn't oblige to his want for connection, only slowing down your touches of the plush doll to make eye contact with the panting and drooling mess in front of you. With a red face and sweat dripping down his forehead, he steadily made his way towards you. There was no reaction toward his misery from you at first, but then the poor thing started speaking.

“[[ Angels above ]]! TELL ME . WH4T- WHAT DID I DO <WROnG!? WHY ARE YOU [[ p u n i s h ]] ME HUH???” The darkner whined and sobbed as he grabbed you by the front of your shirt. His despairing stutters and glitches were getting worse and worse. He leaned his forehead against your chest with his small form trembling against you and joints chattering quietly. “PL3aSE_ tell me….”

Your hand found the back of his pajama shirt, gently pulling him back to see his face. His fists refused to part from your shirt whatsoever. With a completely flushed face, he looked close to crying as he stared at you. Small droplets of black liquid were leaking out of his mouth. Your eyes followed one of them specifically; it inched down his chin while he panted, and eventually dripped down onto his shirt.

Desperation was written all over his face. His shoulders were tense, shaking under your touch. Seeing him like this, you just couldn't keep up the act of being mean to him any longer.

“Oh Spammy, I knew you were jealous….” You leaned forward just slightly, pulling the little darkner onto your lap and let your lips meet his teeth. Spamton moaned at the contact and felt something inside of him finally break with the kiss, sighing out a relieved sob.

The tight grip his fingers had on your shirt loosened, instead resting them on your shoulders as he leaned in to kiss you again. Again and again, he almost couldn't get enough. Pressing his teeth against your lips, opening his mouth every so often, just for a moment. This did not last long; what began as simple, short kisses gradually shifted into greedy want. Pressing himself further against you, he wanted for more. He let his tongue slide out of his mouth, which leaked even more of that strange black fluid. It surprised you at first. It was cold to the touch, jet black in color, and had a slimy texture to it, being thicker at the base of his mouth and slimmer at the tip. No matter how odd you found it, it was just another part of him that you couldn't help but find endearing in its own weird way.

His tongue met your own as you two kissed tentatively. Strange, but potentially the hottest thing you had ever witnessed. It swirled against your own, and the strange black fluid entered your mouth with it. The taste was almost chemical, like something you'd find in an auto repair shop, and yet you found yourself getting addicted to the taste.

Spamton sought out the contact and heat of your body against his own in its full strength when something stopped him from moving further. He broke the kiss you shared, not bothered to wipe away the inky drool on his face. As he looked down between you two, your eyes followed and landed on what was bothering him: the plush doll. The puppet looked annoyed as his hand reached down and gripped the plush by the hair. His attempt to pull it out from between you two was interrupted, though, when your own hand reached down on top of his.

Instead of pulling it up and out from between you two, you gave it a little push so that its head slid lower between you until it was face to face with Spamton's clothed crotch. He stared at you in horror, eyes wide.

“YOU—” He coughed into his fist with a dry throat and tried again. “ARE YOU. [ seriously ]…?” His voice was so shaky that he almost didn't dare to ask, already knowing what you were hinting at.

“You're mad at him, aren't you?” Your free hand snaked up to Spamton's back as you spoke. “You hate him because he took away all my attention, don't you?” He closed his eyes and let out a breath he didn't realize he was holding, nodding hesitantly at your question. Reaching his backside, your fingers slowly but firmly urged his hips to inch closer to the plush's face. “Don't you wanna show him his place? Nothing more than a toy, right…?” you cooed, and almost instinctively, Spamton's fingers reached down to position the plush doll right under him so that he was sitting down on its face, its nose barely peeking out from under his crotch.

His fingers moved back to your shoulders, gripping your shirt with determination. You moved in closer again, giving him a chaste kiss before licking a long stripe over the front of his plastic teeth. Your tongue felt over the ridge of a chipped spot in the process… cute. The darkner opened his mouth again despite keeping his eyes closed, his tongue lolling out and snaking across your warm lips. Tongues met again in a wet embrace, only serving to contribute to the pool of dark drool that dripped down Spamton's chin and onto his shirt. Normally, he would worry and fuss over your gifts to him gathering mess of any kind, but it wasn't like he cared in the moment, what with your warm skin finally on his own, your fingers on his hips, and your mouth against his.

Small hands gripped your shirt tighter still, the salesman's face inching closer and closer to yours. If he could, he would move in so much closer to you, absorb all your body heat, and melt into your soft skin. Shallow panting filled the space between you. His tongue met yours feverishly; the long, slimy appendage slid across your hot tongue in an excited embrace, not able to get enough of the taste of your mouth.

Before you could react, however, you noticed his tongue making its way into your mouth a little further than originally expected, slowly inching toward the back of your throat. The intrusion felt cold and wet, but not unpleasant; it was incredibly arousing to witness. The appendage reached deeper and deeper with every passing second, and you were sure you would choke around it, but once it hit the back of your throat, it retreated again. This moment to catch your breath was fleeting and precious, with his tongue inching its way back down your throat almost as fast as it had drawn itself out. It repeated the motion a couple of times, and each time it went back down your throat, you could feel it reaching just a little deeper, a little further. Thankfully, it still gave you enough time to adjust, almost like it had a will of its own.

Your eyes peeked open just barely to get a glimpse at the puppet in your lap. Thank God you turned off the plush's voice box. With how hard Spamton's hips were humping its face you were sure it'd be going off by the second. You almost gagged at the long appendage steadily sinking deeper in your mouth. Drool slid down your chin at Spamton's desperate movements. He'd slide his long tongue back out and then deeper in again, faster this time, thoroughly fucking your mouth with it. With nothing between his legs, he at least always had his tongue as backup.

Muffled moans and sharp breaths through your nose drove him wild. If he couldn't fuck you any other way, he'd just keep using his tongue, stuffing it deep inside you, reaching everything and everywhere he wanted, watching you moan and squirm at what he could give you. His little hand came up to rest at your throat, not to hurt you, but to feel the way you'd swallow around him. A desperate groan escaped him when you swallowed down his tongue and the black goop escaping his mouth.

Fortunately, he didn't actually want to cut off all your air, so he leaned back a ways and the black tentacle-like appendage slowly slid out of your mouth again. Both of you sat there panting, drool and black fluids connecting your mouths.

“Fuck…” you breathed, “I didn't… know you could do that….” Your voice was hoarse enough from the sudden intrusion, but Spamton kept even more silent, untrustworthy of his own voice not to glitch out if he so much as opened his eyes to look at you. He leaned forward, resting his forehead on your shoulder instead to cover his rising shame. Even still, his hips did not stop their pace once, continuing to hump the plush's face, and only occasionally switching to rocking back and forth on it slightly. It didn't do much to help the burning ache between his thighs. It wasn't nearly enough.

“LiGHTNER)… pLEASE. touch me.” His voice bordered on a sob, reduced to soft whines like he couldn't get enough of your touch. Maybe he truly couldn't. Who knew when he last had anything like this? When someone last indulged him like this? If he ever had anyone indulge him like this at all? Your hands held fast onto his hips, stilling his movements just enough for you to pull the doll out from under him and finally throw it aside to the other side of the couch. This time it could watch and see what it was like to miss out.

Plush thrown aside, your fingers bashfully broke the line of his striped pajama pants' waistband and pulled them down, finally giving you an idea of what this guy could be sporting between his legs.

To your surprise there was… nothing there? It was completely blank. Bare plastic. Despite this, you couldn't say you found issue in it; that just made it all the more interesting to see what this was doing for him and how on earth he could possibly get off… if that was even possible. You dropped his pants on the floor behind him, pulling him fully onto your thigh, closer to you. His eyebrows knitted together, but his eyes stayed closed. It was almost like he couldn't bare to look you in the face when he was currently being humiliated.

“ANGEL… oh…hah—”

Spamton heard you laugh again— softly, out of breath— and your arms wrapped around his shoulders, firmly pulling the little darkner into a hug close to your chest. His cheek rested on your shoulder again. He was shaking in your arms, overwhelmed by the sudden affection.

“YOu C4nT…. DONT [ t e a s e ] ANG>L! I [[ Can't handle all this? ]]” The puppet whined against your chest, hips not once stopping their agonizingly slow movement against your warm thigh. Your fingers roamed his back with delicate touches, feeling over the soft, striped blue fabric. You dragged them downward toward his hips, holding him with one hand while the other crept under his shirt and scratched faintly over his lower back. His hips stuttered for a moment before they began falling back into their previous faster pace. You rested your cheek against his temple as a comfort.

“Tell me what to do.” Frankly, you wanted to know what could even get him off, but also how to achieve that. And giving the little salesman back a sense of control after depriving him of it for this long would only be fair.

As you felt over the plastic of his crotch, your fingers adjusted to the space you were working with. It was surprisingly warm to the touch; whether it was friction or body heat, you weren't sure. The plastic of his body was old and worn. Spamton flinched as your hand glided from lower back, to side, and then stomach, but before he could react further, your exploring fingers squeezed right in between his crotch and your own thigh.

“GAH—!” he yelped, as your skin met his sensitive plastic. His hips shot forward almost instinctively, meeting your fingers eagerly for proper friction and warmth. As if he were recoiling in pain, his head lifted suddenly away from your shoulder, where after a few moments of wincing, he started panting like a dog. His tongue lolled out of his mouth, groaning at the feeling of your soft fingers finally touching his most delicate spots.

You were rubbing against him, slowly, working at such a leisurely pace that the darkner felt like begging for more through tears which he barely held back. As quickly as he shot backwards, he was at your collar again, barely giving you a chance to adjust your grip on him before his teeth met your neck instead. His cold tongue licking against your skin sent a shiver up your spine. He pressed himself harder into you, taking in every rub and scratch of your nails against him.

“TOUCH ME TOUCH ME TOUCH !!          ]”

You complied, moving up softly and back down more firmly over the grooves that molded his backside. He moaned at your touches, shaking against your neck. Such sensitive plastic. Even though your hand began to tire, it still wasn't enough for the poor puppet. Spamton grabbed your wrist with both of his hands and eagerly started grinding against your fingers. He couldn't take your teasing. Not now. Not anymore. He needed you to give him what he so desperately desired: for you to bring him over the edge.

“PLEAS3_ LIGHTNER. [— fit in more]!!” The salesman's fingers intertwined with your own as he humped your hand hungrily.

There was something he wanted even more than this— more than just the outside touches— but his puppet body would not be able to give it to you no matter how much he wanted it to. That, however, did not stop him from voicing those desires as he continued to insatiably grind against your fingers.

“LIGHtN3R. [[ Oh baby~]] yOU_ D0NT KNOW. WH AT I — $%@? WWHAT I W4NT. TO Do),” he panted, groaning right up against your ear, “I WAn_T TO [!@$?] YOU. want. T0 [[!@$?]] YOU!! I W4NT TO F3EL Y0u. [[ Deep inside? ]] >INS1De!!” The darkner's hips moved involuntarily in a harsh rhythm above your warm thigh. Your pajama shorts did not do much to cushion anything; Spamton's movements just made them roll up your leg even more, using your hand and bare thigh as friction to get off. His head was hanging low on his shoulders, and his hands were gripping your wrist with such strength that you were sure it would leave bruises. Too overwhelmed, his eyes squeezed shut again in focus. You could see him get redder every time he trembled against you.

Shutting your eyes yourself, you allowed yourself to take a break from the visual (although it was hard to get enough). You could barely think with Spamton's needy sounds and his squirming in your lap.

“Hah— you know. If I could, I'd love to be inside you too.”

He moaned at that, groaning and panting needily at your confession. You inside of him… you were so much bigger than him. He could see it clearly from behind shut eyes. Your hands would squeeze his thighs so wonderfully and without much trouble at all, almost wrapping around them fully. You'd grind into him, stuffing him full of everything you could give him with more than enough to spare. He'd be a moaning, panting mess under you, desperately begging for more. Now that this idea had entered his brain, it wouldn't let go anymore; neither did it leave yours as soon as it had been spoken.

“Do you want that? Want me to cum inside you, puppet boy?” You grinned, out of breath. Spamton nearly wept at your words. He could only answer with a lazy nod.

Your free hand moved up to his mouth, which hung open with black goop drool that now covered not only his shirt, but yours as well. Feeling over his black tongue that kept hanging out, you moved your fingers further into his open mouth. You weren't sure what was hiding in there… though, you did wonder what it'd feel like to put your hand inside him.

And so that's exactly what you did.

You noticed that there was in fact nothing where his uvula was supposed to be. In fact, there wasn't really any difference in texture at all. Everything was cold and wet to the touch, just like his tongue.

The deeper your arm reached into Spamton's mouth, the more his slimy tongue lolled out to make room for you. It slowly wrapped around your wrist and moved up your forearm like a snake. Snug around your arm, it moved up and down as he took your arm deeper down his throat. Your breath was punched out of you at the sight and you couldn't help but wonder…

“Have you done this before? The mouth stuff, I mean….” With his mouth occupied, the salesman could only nod at your question, eyes remaining closed as he focused on your fingers reaching further into his throat. Your elbow met his teeth, and yet there still seemed more than enough room to go deeper. You wondered if his mouth even had an end to it. “Have you ever—” You shook your head. You were elbow deep in your roommates mouth; he probably wouldn't mind the question, now of all times. “Have you ever done this for money?”

A guttural groan crawled its way out of his throat at your question. His breath quickened with the stuttering of his hips, slowing down to drag the feeling out even longer.

“Well…?” you pushed. You were curious now, given his reaction.

Spamton squeezed his eyes shut even more at your prodding and stilled his movements completely. His face was burning hot, blush creeping down over his neck and disappearing under his pastel blue collar. A beat passed for him to breathe in deep. Hesitation wracked his body; he slowly and agonizingly nodded, face scorched with humiliation.

“Oh my~” Your arm retreated from his mouth slightly before pushing back in further, working up a rhythm of fucking his mouth with your arm. Every push down his throat reached just a little deeper. “I'm sure you were popular, hm? Probably had darkners lined up left and right to fuck your mouth.” His movements picked back up, thighs squeezing together around your own. It was starting to cramp a little, given the tight squeeze, but this wasn't as much about your own pleasure as it was about Spamton's. And you were finding out a lot of fun things about him at that.

You decided to be a little mean and use his rare vulnerability to your advantage.

“That's what you're made for, aren't you, Spammy? Being people's pretty little fucktoy. Explains why you're so good at it.” He eagerly took your arm deeper down his throat and you incredulously asked yourself how this was even possible. The opening of his mouth nearly reached your shoulder. There were no complaints from him about going too deep or needing to breathe… not even any gagging from the puppet in your lap. He seemed to love every second of this. Surely, if he had more holes to use than just his mouth, he'd be offering different services.

Practically drooling at the idea of Spamton being able to take anything, no matter how much larger than him, you pulled out from his mouth to give your aching arm a rest. The darkner took a long, deep breath before lowering his head and coughing into his fist. His gravely coughs slowly transitioned into soft, breathy giggles that kept getting interrupted by glitched out moans.

Most of his moans were in his own voice— deep and hoarse from your arms intrusion, with the occasional bit-crushed moan leaving his mouth— but every once in a while his voice sounded a little off, like there was something different hidden under his usual moans and grunts. If you listened closely, it almost sounded like someone else's distorted voice, moaning out praises in a language you couldn't understand.

Your face burned with embarrassment, pondering about where the old puppet was possibly pulling these sound bites from that sounded like they could be straight from a cheesy porno.

It was here that you almost had enough of Spamton moaning softly in your lap and clinging to your shirt. You needed your mouth on him now, and badly. You sat back a little straighter and pulled your hand out from under the puppet, who momentarily looked back up at you with confused desperation before being picked up under his arms and pulled off of your now way-too-warm thigh.

“A-ANG3L %WAiT—” he nearly yelled, panicked. Genuine fear spread over his red face in an instant, worried you'd leave him hanging after all. Anxiety had already settled in his stomach by the time you sat him down beside you on the couch. His back made contact with the plush cushions beneath him as your fingers moved from their grip of his arms to slide further down his body. They traced his chest and moved further down over his plush stomach, hands resting on the plastic of his outer thighs. Your fingers gently wrapped around his warm plastic thighs and pulled them apart with ease, with barely any response from the puppet below you beside a relieved sigh.

Not waiting long after your head moved down, your hot breath ghosted over the white plastic of his crotch. Spamton visibly flinched at the accidental stimulation. Instincts and desire were all that lead you in your next moves as your lips parted to press your wet tongue firmly to his plastic. A breathy moan snaked out of his mouth at the contact. Shaking above you, his back arched off the couch. His small, jointed hands gripped the cushions below him so hard, you'd be sure they'd rip if it weren't for the puppet's size.

Your mouth made direct contact with his skin in a mockery of an open-mouthed kiss. Massaging his thighs softly with your larger hands, you panted against him. Every lick and kiss made his legs twitch more and more around your head, eventually locking it in place. You were not allowed you to raise your head, even if you wanted to. Your hands wandered over his thighs and hips; small scratches and chips of plastic littered his body much like freckles and scars on a human's skin. The salesman's hands let go of their firm grip of the couch cushions and instead moved down to tangle them in your hair. His head tipped back and he squeezed his eyes closed once more. All shame left his body completely as he pulled your face closer to his crotch by your hair, hips moving eagerly against your mouth to continue chasing any pleasure he could afford.

You tried to talk while actively licking and kissing between his legs, but it was a futile attempt, so you resorted to petting his thighs in an act of comfort instead. The puppet's eyes opened just barely at your actions. It was as if he was trying to get a glimpse of what you looked like to truly burn it into his memory forever. You looked up through your lashes to meet his gaze and let one of your hands move away from his thigh up to his face, feeling over his chin before returning it to a resting position just above where his heart was. Leaning back from his crotch, you licked your lips briefly. Spamton let go of your hair as you steadily got up on your hands and crawled closer. His eyes looked exhausted, but never left yours even once. Breathy pants supported your frame. You stared down at him. Until suddenly, without warning, those three sacred words left your lips.

“I love you—” It was barely above a whisper that you cut yourself off from by pressing your lips against Spamton's face, kissing him in earnest. It had stayed unspoken for so long that the puppet desperately whined at your words, nearly crying at your confession. He finally got what he wanted for so long. Hips moved against yours feverishly, his hands clinging to your hair and face with newfound vigor.

“I L0vE YOU [[ My Angel ]]— I love you!” he gasped out between heady kisses, throwing his head back one last time as the pressure between his legs finally snapped. It left him a squirming, twitching mess under you as you held him through his glitches.

The puppet's body gradually came to a halt, a deep exhale escaping his throat like his soul just left his body and finally made it to heaven. He raised his head back up to look at you, and to no one's surprise, there was even more of that black goop leaking out of the darkner in front of you; you figured it was to be expected, given all that build up and how actually reaching his peak seemed easier said than done. The corner of his mouth twitched up slightly as he looked at you with interest, a breathy giggle escaping his throat at the sight in front of him. You promptly sat up to give his poor body a break.

Your shirt was stained black and wet; the strange fluid near covered up the whole design that used to be visible on the front. Your hair was ruffled from him pulling it, and some of the strands of your bangs were clinging to your forehead with sweat. Your eyebrows shot up in a fit of giggles as you pulled him closer again. He was not in any better state himself, you noted, as the little salesman's nose had begun to leak the same stuff his mouth had. It idly dripped onto his pajama shirt and added to the mess on his front.

You pulled up the hem of your already-ruined shirt to wipe his nose, which Spamton first protested, squirming in your grasp to get away. He soon gave in though, as it became clear to him just how stained your shirt was already anyway. You didn't want him to ruin his pajama set you had bought him any more either.

“ANGEL, D1D YOU—” He quieted down as his eyes wandered to inspect the front of your pants next, which were indeed very, very visibly ruined. His question was answered for him, he supposed.

Pulling him close, you gave him another firm hug and placed a little kiss to both his temple and forehead. The two of you stayed like this for a while, catching your breaths while relishing in your shared embrace, not wanting to let go too soon. You smiled against his now damp hair, licking your lips before finally speaking up.

“We should probably get this mess cleaned up, huh?” The darkner sighed into your arm contently and silently nodded before you got up. Standing on wobbly legs and waiting in ruined clothes, you held up your hand for him to take. His knees buckled as his feet planted on the ground much too fast. Even still, he barely had the chance to complain, since you briskly pulled him after you by his hand towards the bathroom.

Your fingers interlaced with his own as you made your way down the hallway. And the puppet smiled. It wasn't winning any awards, and it wasn't losing any either. But it was happy, truly happy, and a little silly.

And naturally, the two of you broke into a loud fit of laughter as you nearly stumbled over Spamton's lost pants on the floor.