Chapter Text
The Pillsbury Doughboy watched in horror as the magic eraser went soaring through the air towards his girlfriend, Poppie Fresh. “NO!” He cried out in dismay as he quickly wrapped his hat around his hand and lunged towards the eraser soaring through the air in slow motion, like a shitty superhero movie. Luckily, he managed to knock the eraser out of the sky before it could make his girlfriend, who was tied to a chair, disappear out of this dimension.
The doughy hero turned around to face his hot ripped stocky manly adversary: Mr. Clean. The sun glinted off his bald head blinding him with his beautiful scalp, but the Doughboy could only watch in horror as Mr. Clean pulled out a mop.
That was it. The small boy-shaped clump of dough had no other choice. It was time.
“OH MIGHTY GOD OF PASTRIES AND ALL THINGS SPRINKLED WITH COCAINE!” He called out as loud as he could, trying to be heard over the sound of the rushing waterfall the author decided to add just now for dramatic effect, “PLEASE, HELP ME FREE MY POOKIE BEAR AND DESTROY MR. CLEAN ONCE AND FOR ALL!”
Mr. Clean looked at his soft doughy smexy enemy in confusion. Did his one true enemy finally lose it?
But no. Just before Mr. Clean could retrieve his magic eraser or attack the doughy individual with his mop, a beam of light shone down… and started playing… music!? But not just any music…
“WHAT IS THAT HORRIBLE MUSIC!?” Screeched Mr. Clean through his clenched teeth.
The dough man decided to use his muscular rival’s clear distress as an opportunity for attack. He leapt, as gracefully as an elk made of lumpy, sticky dough, onto Mr. Clean’s toned back and climbed onto his broad shoulder blades.
He lifted his small doughy fist, aiming it for Mr. Clean’s strong jawline…
But just before it connected, “WAIT,” shouted Mr. Clean, who was now desperately covering his ears.
“What!?” Snarled the homunculus of dough, a question burning in his fiery icing eyes.
“I can’t focus on our epic fight with the horrible music playing in my ears!”
The Pillsbury Doughboy finally paused for a moment to really listen to what he was hearing. It felt like his blood felt like it turned to ice when he realized what the music was. Is that… TAYLOR SWIFT’S 1989 ALBUM!?
He cried out in agony as he toppled from Mr. Clean’s shoulders and onto the cold, hard ground, rolling humiliatingly on the floor as he shoved his fists into his weird ear hole things. It would have been an excellent opportunity for Mr. Clean to win the fight, but he was also blocking his ears as much as he could.
Finally, he had had enough. The jacked man with the shiny bald head lunged towards the source of the music, which was a record player that, in retrospect, had clearly been summoned by the pastry and cocaine god. In a daze of pain, the Doughboy wondered why his beloved god would betray him like this… before Mr. Clean smashed the record player into a trillion pieces with the sheer power and glory of his massive pecks.
The doughy boy stared up at the large man, almost grateful for his assistance. As Mr. Clean was slightly distracted trying to get his ears to stop dribbling blood on his tightly fitted white shirt that showed off his abs, and facing where the record player was, the unbaked pastry man turned toward Poppie, meaning to untie her.
But then he saw something he wished he had never seen. There she was, Poppie Fresh, bopping her head up and down slightly to the Taylor Swift song that was previously playing and softly singing the lyrics, seemingly oblivious to the fact that the music had stopped a couple seconds ago.
"P-Poppie… you… you betrayed me?!" The Pillsbury Doughboy didn't try to disguise the hurt in his voice.
Poppie Fresh looked up at him with her wide chocolatey eyes, finally stopping her head bopping. "What do you mean, dearest? I would never do something like that!"
"You… like Taylor Swift!!" The doughy manchild cringed as he said the name of the woman whose voice and music sounded like the screeching of a demon from hell. Doughboy would know all about that.
Poppie was confused. She didn't understand what she had done wrong. "Well, yeah. Her music is really fun and relatable and-"
She didn't get to finish her sentence before Doughboy bitch slapped her. He simply couldn't believe it. He had thought the all mighty pastry gods had aided him, but in truth, they had shown him something he wished he had never learned.
Poppie Fresh looked shocked, then betrayed. "What's wrong with you!? You slapped me!!? That's literally domestic violence! You hit your girlfriend over liking Taylor Swift!? That's actually insane… we're done, Doughboy!!"
"Good. I could never be with a Swifty anyways." He glared at her one last time before untying the ropes tying her to the chair with his soft, moldable hands. "Get out of here. I don't want to see you again."
Poppie stood up, elegantly dusted herself off, and immediately bitch slapped Doughboy right back. "Deserved, lmao." Said Mr. Clean, who was currently sitting back against the wall and eating out of a large bucket of popcorn. The man-shaped dough blob, who may have just committed domestic abuse, softly touched his face where Poppie had slapped him, a single tear dripping down his cheek. He wasn't crying out of sadness, pain, guilt or anger-- he was crying out of realization. I guess it could never have been, he thought as he watched Poppie leave, flipping him off as she walked out of the cave entrance and through the waterfall concealing it.
As soon as she was gone from his life for good, the pale doughy figure remembered where he was. He spun around quickly, ready to continue his fight with Mr. Clean. But his fists unclenched as soon as he saw the way Mr. Clean was looking at him.
Mr. Clean was shocked to his core. He was angry after his arch nemesis had freed his kidnappee, but now, although he hated to admit it, his eyes were shining with admiration.
The Pillsbury Doughboy's heated gaze softened like melty cookie dough as he met Mr. Clean's gaze. "Mr. Clean, I-"
"Shh." Mr. Clean interrupted. "I have never seen another person who hated Taylor Swift as much as I…" He moved close to the dough man and leaned over to cover their 5 foot 3 ¼ height difference . Mr. Clean was now so close to him that they could feel each other's breath.
Mr. Clean hesitated a moment before asking the question, passion burning in eyes. "Can I… kiss you?"
Pillsbury Doughboy was overcome with a flurry of emotions. He knew that this was a bad idea.. there was no good way this could end. But HAWT DAMN, Mr. Clean's bald scalp looked hella smexy when he smashed that record player. "Yes…" Breathed the doughy mascot. And then, they pressed their lips together and shared a long romantic kiss.