Crack Attack: A Collection of One-Shots and Other Disturbing Shit

Extra Crunchy (Chipotlan)

Written to the tune of "Habit" by Rain Man (Feat. Krysta Youngs). I highly recommend headphones and Wi-Fi for this chapter. Please check the story warnings before continuing. I mean it, kid. Don't take another step past that line.

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I hear Jerome screaming at his computer upstairs and fuck knows where Mitch is. I check around the corner and I see that his office door is shut - they must be recording together now. Perfect. I slip my flip-flops off and slink my way upstairs like a hot and spicy shadow, cool, slippery sweat dripping down my cheek. It's only 35 Celsius outside today and 60% humidity. I'm still dying but I guess I'm finally adjusting if those numbers doesn't phase me anymore. I can smell the stench of stress sweat on myself and every step up the stairs feels like its own little victory. The boys didn't know I GrubHubbed my bae so they can't tease me about it this time, now can they? The heavy, crinkly brown bag swings in my hand and lifts the weight from my heart.

I've missed you.

You wronged me, yeah, but I still missed you.

I forgive you. I hope you know that.

I can't stay mad at someone as perfect as you.

You're beautiful, just the way you are.

Don't let them get you down, calling you 'fat' and 'lumpy' and 'greasy.'

They don't know what true beauty is, do they?

If they did, I'd fight them for you. I'd prove my love to you.

Then would you believe me?

Then would you love me again?

The lock clicks on my door. The dresser scrapes across the bunched-up tan-grey carpet. I can't let Mitch see that I pulled the staples out of his carpet. He'd ask why I kept moving furniture in front of the door. He'd ask what I had to hide.

I'm not ashamed of you. I'm ashamed of myself and my weakness. People like us... we aren't... I'm a YouTuber. If I was anyone else, we wouldn't have to keep us a secret. The world is watching me, babe. I can't... I can't out myself like that.

Now stop it. Don't give me that face. You know I wouldn't leave you. No, that's not what I'm saying. I would never leave you - we just can't be all over the internet, doing crazy things on camera for the views. I love you, and only you, and we don't need everyone and their goddamn uptight, Fundamentalist American mother watching me tongue you for me to show you it's true.

Aren't moments like these enough?

Gentle fingers peel your scratchy sweater away, revealing the dazzling liquid silver skirt shimmering underneath. Shaking hands palm every millimeter of your body, absorbing your glowing warmth and your supple curves. You're so perfect. Your fancy artificial cover slowly falls away, revealing the true beauty within: tan, freckled skin kissed with the fragrant cilantro cologne that always drives me crazy, your self control crumbling under my ministrations as you start to unravel under my touch. Your soft, juicy lips open up for me like petals on a fresh flower, blooming for the first time.

It's our first time again. This will never get old. We will never grow old.

We've come a long way since that first night, haven't we? Since our first experiment?

Nobody else can make me feel this way.

Nobody else makes me lose everything I am at the pinnacle of bliss, and your smooth, persistent hand always leads me there.