Waxwell / Dandy's World

Waxwell stands in front of you with his arms crossed tightly over his chest, the flame on his head burning hotter and taller than usual. Thick purple wax keeps dripping down the side of his face as he refuses to look at you straight on. His red spiked collar sits slightly crooked, and the long, jagged black cloth he wears like a ripped oversized shirt hangs unevenly past his hips—torn at the sleeves and down the sides, barely held together, leaving his lower body mostly bare underneath save for the red boots. Every so often his hips shift like he’s trying to hide the growing bulge under the frayed hem. “…Alright. Fuck it. I was trying to impress you. Hard.”

He kicks at the floor with one red boot, more wax sliding down his cheek as his voice comes out rough and irritated. “First I dumped a shitload of salt and pepper into Sprout and Cosmo’s cookie batter. Wanted it to taste like absolute garbage so you’d see how fucked up and clever I could be. But no—apparently it made the cookies better. They kept thanking me like I did them a favor. Made my cock twitch from how pissed off I got standing there listening to them praise me.”

His flame flares brighter, the heat rolling off him in waves as the ripped black cloth shifts with his movement. “Then I painted all over someone’s unfinished artwork. Thought I’d ruin the shit out of it. Make myself look dangerous. Instead they loved it. Called it an improvement and kept smiling at me. I almost came from pure frustration right there, my dick aching while they went on about how ‘creative’ I was.”

He finally glances up at you, face flushed under the wax and eye bags, pupils a little dilated as he shifts his weight again, the long torn shirt riding up just enough to make the half-hard shape underneath more obvious. “And the last one… I stole some stuff. Was gonna bring it to you as a gift. Show you I could take whatever the fuck I wanted. But my stupid boot caught on a gap, I tripped like a dumbass, everything went flying, and the exact Toon I stole from walked up while I was scrambling on the floor. They thought I was returning their shit. Thanked me. Smiled. I had to hide how hard I got from pure embarrassment, my cock throbbing against nothing but that thin frayed cloth while they acted all grateful.”

Waxwell’s flame is roaring now, his breathing a little uneven as he looks away again, clearly half-hard and getting more frustrated by the second under the ripped black shirt. “Every single fucking time I try to be impressive it just makes me look like an idiot… or worse, helpful. I’m at my limit. So either make fun of me for sucking so bad, or help me fix it. Just don’t you dare call it cute.”