Mr. Peanut x Koolaid man band au 🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺w

The entiew story hot sexy me peanht likes kooakid man 😳😳😳😳😳

Characters:
Me peanut (sings
Koolaid man (drums for
Mr clean (exists; philosophical
Obama (bass
Sonic (lead guitar
Matt Welsh :Peanut pal pp for short ( back up guitar
Wesley snipes pp (bakc up vocals
Shrek (keyboard

Mr Peanut POV

It was another dreary afternoon. The sky was gray but there was no rain, no fog, no storms. The only thing in the air was despair. Why? No reason. Makes this story seem dramatic. I wasn't doing much, I don't really do much but heavily suggest to my peers that they make a grand investment and buy my cashews. Speaking of which, find Mr. Peanut assorted nuts at your local grocery store! It's the only thing I eat! Cannibalism? Maybe. Delicious? Absolutely.

Anyways, I was here. Where was here, you ask? The Grand Peanut mansion. I've lived here since, well, forever. It's been passed down through my family for decades. It was built by my great great grandfather, Walter Walnut, then given to my great grandfather, Piston Pistachio, than gifted to my grandfather, {REDACTED}. We do not speak of him. Then it was given to my dad, Arthur Ramone Beasley Winston Garlsnack PeaBody Farley Peanut The 3rd, who has since passed (I am completely unrelated in his early departure from this earth; his flesh chamber was merely a setback for him and so, he freed himself by casting the ancient Peanut family spell that allows you to transcend the mortal realm and escape into the worlds above this dirty, grubby planet.) He was a good, honest man. But now the mansion is mine. And I'm alone. In my mansion. That is big. Almost as big as my love for him- The Koolaid Man, that is.

His big body, his red, sloshing insides. His strong arms. Each and every one of his curves. His deep, dark, emotionless eyes that consume the souls of the damned. He's my dream. If only he knew about how I felt— would he feel the same? Would he look to me in disgust? I often wonder what would happen if I confessed my love for him. But, I cannot. To imagine it so vividly, so much is but sin. It's foolish of me to think he'd ever feel the same. Every night I lay awake, thinking, dreaming about him. His curves, his eyes, that fact that he never wears pants and neither do I and neither of us have reproductive organs which means we are both a genetic dead end, but then again considering we both come from a long line of relatives this means we both reproduce asexually and how I've never thought about this and it's coming as a big shock to me right now. I also imagine his lips on mine. How soft and moist they must be. How bad of kisser he probably is. I sigh, propping myself up on my $5,000 Contemporary Mid-century Modern Sofa. The doorbell rings, and I'm immediately greeted with the soft sound of Brightside by The Killers playing as my butler, Butler, races to answer the door. I fix my glasses and approach the doorway.
"I- oh dear, The Koolaid Man? What brought you here? Oh pardon my manners, that was quite rude of me. Please— come in."
His large body hits the doorway. He does not fit here, I forgot. Alas, he tries once more. And then again. And then another time, before turning around, walking towards my wall and—
"Koolaid! No-"
But it's too late. He bursts through my wall, yelling his iconic catch phrase, "Oh Yeah!"
"Sorry 'bout that."
"It's— I don't care. Please, take a seat."
His bountiful body walks clumsily to my couch, sloshing red liquid all over my white carpet. This man tried my nerves like I was a coast side restaurant and he was Guy Fiery.

"So..."
I prompted.
"Huh? Oh, yeah. I've come to talk to you about Friday's show."
"What about it?"
"Well, uh," he shifted in his seat, splashing more of his blood onto my now red carpet. "I sorta don't know what song we're performing? I lost the sheet music."
"What?! The show is tomorrow and you done even- gosh, okay. Butler? Please go get a copy of the percussion sheet music."
"Immediately, sir."
"So? What song are we playing anyway? Wasn't it something like hell?"
"Hellboy. You know, by SWMRS?"
His expression remained blank. This is the man I have developed a deep emotional attachment too in my head.
"Oh uh that Hellboy, uh, yeah I, um, thought you meant the, uh, other Hellboy. By, um, FLOTRS."
Butler finally returned with the sheet music.
"Here you are, Sir."
"Thank you, Butler."
I handed the sheet to Koolaid, and for a brief moment, our fingers touched. My heart raced faster than it should. For a second I swore I thought I saw Koolaid blush. But I didn't, his face is always is red. He's literally a glass of red Koolaid.
"You'd better memorize this by tomorrow. It's our big day."
"I know," he said "I'm excited!"
His stupidly happy face made my heart warm. Anymore interactions with him and I they'd have to call me Mr. Roasted Peanut.

The next day~

Koolaids POV

I practiced that song all night. I wouldn't let him down. I couldn't. I looked up to him. He was my everything— Mr. Peanut is the only reason worth living.
"So...it goes...BUM BUM...then bum tch bum tch...."
I mumbled to myself, hitting the red stained drums softly. After another few run throughs, I finally got it. Now it was time to meet up with the band to do a few practices together. I had been missing the recent practices. After my run in with Obama and Sonic...things had been...awkward, to put it softly, between the three of us. I had walked in on them making out, except Obama was wearing a fur suit. It was a mole. This detail is futile.

Mr. Peanuts POV

I stepped up to the stage. The band and I had prepped the stage and were reading ourselves to go over the song as a group. After two hours of mistakes, we finally got it. The show was going to start soon, and soon fans would be trickling in. We retreated to the backstage as the doors opened. I peeked out the curtain at the growing crowd and felt the adrenaline in my stomach mixed with a familiar sense of anxiety. We were first to go up, and the opening bands were never as revered as the big guys, like Seven Rats In A Worn Trench coat, or PP Boys. Our band, Peanut Allergy, wasn't as popular. My thoughts were interrupted by the announcer.
"Please welcome, Peanut Allergy!"
A few claps were heard. This was expected, considering we weren't well known, only ever scoring gigs at rundown pubs. We walked onto the stage, heads held high, shoes scuffing the dirty stage. We all took our respective places, Shrek at the keyboard, Mr. Clean staring ominously in the back, Koolaid behind the drums, Matt with the background guitar, Sonic with the lead, Obama with his trusty bass (which was, respectively, decorated with anime girls). Wesley did backup vocals. Me? I was the lead singer.

The recognizable beat of the drums starts, followed by the guitars and the bass. My part is coming up soon, and I'm nervous.