south_park_kink_meme | South Park Kink Meme

South Park Kink Meme

This is a kink meme for South Park. It's fun and easy!

People comment anonymously with their prompts. Then, others write fic or make art based on the prompts and post their creations in response to the original prompt comment below!

Guidelines:

1. Please do not fight about ships or content in your prompts.

2. Hit "Post a new comment" if you'd like to leave a prompt, and hit "Reply to this" beneath the prompt you'd like to fill if you're filling a prompt

It's traditional to write the fic in the replies, but you can leave external site links too (such AO3 for fic, or privatter for art).

3. Please see this example prompt if you need guidance! Prompts don't have to be elaborate; please just try to give writers/artists enough to work with ^~^

- Here is a list of kinks you may find helpful, and you can search on your own as well

- Got an idea that's SFW or not necessarily centered around kink? Check out the General Prompt Meme!

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- Also a collection on AO3 if you should choose to post there as well and would like to add it. There is an input box for collections when you upload a new work on AO3, and you just type in: SouthParkKinkMeme_DW, and it'll pop up

- Here are some examples of past South Park Kink Memes on Livejournal if you're curious

Temp Note 7/30/22: I've had to turn on comment screening because of spamming, but prompts have been great otherwise, so keep 'em coming if you got 'em. Comment screening just means I have to hit a button for them to appear. Please see the FAQ post if you have any questions!

Please click here for a shortcut to the latest fills and prompts on this post!

There's also an index post with links to all the fills and prompts for easy access!

Threaded | Top-Level Comments Only

thanks for the great prompt, anon. hope this fits the bill
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It’s so packed on this train, Tweek can’t even mess around on his phone. It’s not like there would be any messages. He just moved here. His apartment is a hovel he shares with Kenny McCormick, his job consists mainly of fetching coffee and running errands for minimum wage, and he hasn’t had the time or energy to try making friends yet. No one is clamoring to contact him during his early morning commute.

Still, it would be nice to be able to do some KenKens or something.

If he could muster up the requisite social graces, he’d see if he could find somebody to carpool with, but he probably lives further outside the city than anyone else.

His back is to the doors that don’t open, which makes him anxious even though they shouldn’t open during this train ride; they probably won’t open and let him fall and be crushed under the train. It’s unlikely that will happen, but still, he stands with his face to the window instead of his back. If he’s to fall to his death in some freak malfunction of the door mechanism, he wants to be able to see it coming.

The train pulls into the next station and the doors open with a hiss and more people push in. He’s pushed closer to the edge of the door. He can smell the cheap shampoo on the man behind him, feel the heat of his body, but they’re not all pressed up against each other just yet, which is good because Tweek doesn’t really like to be touched.

The man moves his hand over on the rail to their left. Tweek spots it immediately in his peripheral vision. He slides his grip down, til his fingers are right above of Tweek’s. They’re not touching but only just barely. Tweek’s heart thumps in his chest.
He’s too close for Tweek to be able to turn his head and get a good look at him without it being very obvious.

They reach the next stop shortly thereafter and the doors hiss open again. Tweek takes the opportunity to scoot his fist down further on the rail so they’re not touching anymore. He can breathe a little again, but only for a second. This is a busy stop, few people push out and many more pack in, and the man pushes him further into the corner. He’s trapped, locked in place, but so is everyone around them, he notices as he jerks his head side to side, desperately looking for someone who might be paying attention, who might care. Everyone has their earbuds in, everyone is half-asleep, everyone is thinking about their impending work days.

But not this man. This man presses his bulge into Tweek’s low back, nose ghosting across his scalp. Tweek shudders to feel him inhale hard, breathing in his scent. He lets out a frustrated squawk from the back of his throat; no one even blinks.

“Please stop,” he begs the stranger in a low voice.

No response is forthcoming. He tries to turn his head but the man brings a hand around to grasp his jaw. “Eyes forward.”

Tweek gasps quietly, afraid, ashamed. “Not gonna hurt you,” he murmurs, and Tweek shivers as he strokes that hand down his chest, down his stomach, landing right above the waistband of his pants where his fingers stay hovering.

He lets them rest there, barely touching Tweek’s lower abdomen. The tension mounts in the pit of Tweek’s stomach. He’s being teased. He breathes in slowly and tries not to fixate on how much his body is heating up under his light touch.

It doesn’t work. Soon he’s breathing hard and he knows the man can feel it. He slows his own breath and pulls Tweek in closer by the hip in response. Tweek is forced to slow his breath too to match the stranger’s rhythm. It shouldn’t be calming, he reminds himself. This is unwanted attention.

The doors open again abruptly. Tweek gasps at the hissing sound, and the people packing in allow the man to press him into the corner even further. No one can see him. No one will come to his aid. It's just him and this stranger and his wandering hands.

He can feel his own treacherous cock reacting to these thoughts as if it's a good thing and not a violation. Even if he has some odd kink he's just now discovering, logically he should regard this as an inconvenience at the very least. It's not like he brought a change of pants. Still, it feels good to be wanted. He's feeling less touch-averse than usual. He has no say in the matter, after all.

The stranger's fingers stroke his lower abdomen more firmly, then slip just beneath the wasteband, and Tweek lets out an embarrassing moan.

“You want my scarf to keep quiet?” the man murmurs in his ear. His hot breath sends a chill down Tweek’s spine. Tweek pants but says nothing. “You want other guys hearing you? Finding out how easy you are?”

His voice is flat and lifeless which should give Tweek the creeps, especially given the things he’s saying. He finds it oddly comforting instead. No, he doesn’t want anyone else to hear. He shakes his head. The man stops touching him to wrap his scarf around Tweek’s mouth and neck.

“How can you go out in just this little thing, babe? You’re gonna get sick,” he says, sickeningly sweet, tugging at Tweek’s button down. Tweek shudders when the man sticks his hands directly down his pants. He’s not touching his dick yet, but it’s straining at the intimate touch.

“Look at you, you’re shaking.” The man finagles his open coat around Tweek’s shivering body. It’s thick and wool and seems expensive, but Tweek can’t think about all that because the man’s pants are very thin and his cock is now pressing into the cleft of his ass.

Then he shoves his hand further down Tweek’s pants and runs his fingers down the length of his straining cock.

“No underpants, huh? Perfect, you’re perfect,” he mutters in his ear. He grips Tweek’s cock and Tweek whines beneath his scarf. “Perfect little slut. Bet you want my cock, don’t you.”

And then he just stays put, just like that—hand around Tweek’s cock, his own pressed into his ass. Tweek breathes deliberately, teeth clenched around the fabric of the scarf, the man’s cock throbbing against his ass, and his own throbbing in the man’s hand.

Tweek waits for what feels like minutes. No one around them can see. They are just pulsating together, one horny unit within the warm cocoon of the stranger’s nice winter coat, and then Tweek’s hips stutter backwards of their own accord. He moans into the scarf, quiet and raspy when the man grinds slowly forward to meet him, and then he jerks forward, and repeats this cycle of stilted grinding.

It doesn't take Tweek long. It's like the man said: he's easy, so easy, can just be minimally grabbed and groped and he'll fuck into the fist clutching at him, and grind back on the cock pressing up against him. Release creeps up on him in no time at all, eyes rolling back in his head and pleasure shooting down his legs into his toes curling in his shoes. The man strokes him til his thighs shake and he's whimpering into his scarf from how sensitive he is to the touch.

“Look at the mess you made. Dirty boy. Clean it up,” he commands in a low, throaty voice, grinding more urgently against Tweek’s ass. He jams his index and middle finger into Tweek’s mouth. Tweek accepts them without a fight, docile post-climax. He sucks hard, then laps at the fingers with a languid tongue, as the man's grinding grows erratic.

He pulls his fingers from Tweek's mouth with a groan and sucks the rest of Tweek's cum off his. "You taste so good, honey. So clean. Wish I was inside—fuck, fuck," he hisses, and then he comes to a shuddering halt. It's warm and damp against Tweek's ass. The man has managed to ruin the front and back of his pants.

He leans into the crook of Tweek's neck, trying to catch his breath, and after maybe thirty seconds, gathers himself, retracts his coat from around Tweek's body, and takes his leave. Tweek spins around, snatching his backpack from the floor to hold in front of his soiled lap, and tries to catch sight of the man. Tall, black hair, nice woolen coat. That's all he really has to go on.

As he leans against the back doors, Tweek thinks he won't bother asking the other interns about carpooling. The train isn't so bad. He'll mark down the number of the train car. So he doesn't come to this one again. Yes, so he doesn't accidentally come again.

I can't read it????

Hey, what part are you having trouble reading? Not everything has a fill yet if you're wondering why there's no story for this one yet. I'm sure it'll get filled eventually though! Please let me know if you're having any other trouble

craigs on ssris and cannot cum, tweek thinks this is really hot and purposefully edges him because he loves watching craig squirm

Cartman and Damien have a pyromaniacs' competition over who can cause Pip to suffer more. Pip is enjoying himself too much. Optional degradation kink if they're grossed out that he gets off on it and tell him so

alien tweek knocks up spaceman craig and they have an assload of babies

the girls bet creek and kyman a lot of money that they won't have a foursome, and everyone is uncomfortable except for cartman who thinks it's funny. cartman calls tweek a whore and craig and kyle both punch cartman in his mouth. cartman keeps talking dirty to embarrass kyle and craig refuses to suck any dick that's been in cartman's ass even with a condom on. tweek doesn't care though (twyle dick suck aw yea)

the girls might be watching outside with binoculars but it's up to you!!

After he pisses a mischievous imp Tweek off, Craig gets turned into a cat-human hybrid. They fuck for whatever reason. Craig keeps munching on Tweek's tail which is very sensitive and Tweek is trying to restrain Craig/show dominance by biting behind his neck, Craig is very needyyy

Mysterion finds himself captured by the nefarious Professor Chaos, chained up and at the mercy his nemesis. The villain planned to use his powers to torment the hero, but weirdly enough... Mysterion seems to enjoy the electric current that jolts through his body. Bonus if Chaos has a gentle touch while his electricity packs a mean bite, and extra bonus if he breaks character after a particularly painful zap and is super remorseful!

[9/?]

Craig doesn’t remember crossing the threshold, nor does he remember tossing Tweek onto his damaged bed. Yet there he is, flushed and breathless with damp blonde hair framing his face, gulping down desperate breaths of oxygen while lying on his back. He scrunches up his face. Craig has no memory of locking his arms in place on either side of Tweek’s body. But clearly, he’s done it. He has Tweek thoroughly pinned below him. He’s slotted between Tweek’s legs nicely, though neither of them makes any distinct moves to tangle their bodies again. There’s a hollow space between their torsos. Craig shudders. He’s getting sick of this torment. It’s frustrating, unlike anything he’s experienced before. He wants it but he doesn’t want it. He’s in control but he’s spiraling and feels lost in ungovernable disarray. Craig bites his lip as Tweek gazes up at him, wall-eyed and complacent. It’s clear that the effects of scenting him are still in heavy impact. Fortunately for Craig, he’s still feeling it, too.

He isn’t sure if he regrets it. For the most part, he doesn’t. It’s proven to be the one action he’s taken thus far that has actually managed to quell his reckless behavior. But on the reverse, he’s worried about what it’s done to Tweek. He’s spoken to people who have scented an omega and he’s seen depictions of it in media, so he thought he knew what to expect. Maybe context takes a bigger role than he was initially led to believe. Craig takes a few shaky breaths in through his mouth and puffs them out through his nose. Scenting hasn’t taken away his desires, but rather it’s simply given him the clarity to at least be cognizant of what he’s doing. For Tweek, however, he’s utterly mollified. All the fire and indignation has melted from him and left him as a complacent, obedient puddle.

At least, that’s how Craig feels about it. He can’t think of any other reason he’d be so malleable and willing to go along with being groped and handled. And, to be completely honest, it doesn’t particularly feel good. He thinks of how unfair that must be for him. That in and of itself is a bizarre and uncomfortable concept for Craig. He hardly knows this guy. Yet here he is, hovering above his bare and vulnerable body, and trying to take his feelings into consideration. This is the weirdest rut of his life. Craig frowns. His cock is absolutely aching. He knows he needs to stay true to his internal promise. But it’s hard. It’s so, so hard. His swollen length drags along the cotton sheets and he pushes himself back to stand upright. He clears his throat with an awkward grunt.

“You, uh… you can make your nest here,” he suggests in a very stupid, stiff voice.

“Okay,” Tweek agrees distantly but doesn’t seem like he’s about to go anywhere.

“Only if you want,” Craig tacks on awkwardly.

Tweek blinks a few times as if just waking up from a particularly restful nap. He sits up slowly and braces himself on the heels of his palms. For a very long moment, he stares ahead seemingly looking at nothing. Before Craig can have a chance to figure out what he’s doing, Tweek belts out a strangled yell and his body twitches violently. His head snaps to the side, his eyes blink out of tandem, and his arms flap up and down to alternate between gripping the bed linens and tugging aggressively at his hair.

“Craig!” Tweek yelps. “Ahhargrgh, what am I supposed to do?! I don’t know how to make a nest!!”

“Hey!” Craig winces and puts his hands up defensively. “Tweek! Hey! Okay? Calm down.”

“Don’t tell me to calm down!” Tweek points an accusing finger at him. “Don’t you dare tell me to calm down, man!”

All these ups and downs are making Craig’s head spin. It’s the most nauseating roller coaster he’s ever endured. He keeps his hands raised as if Tweek is a frightened, cornered animal and he’s showing the poor creature he isn’t a threat.

“Okay,” Craig concedes. “But maybe you could at least give me a warning if you’re gonna flip, dude.”

Tweek produces a series of jittery and frustrated groans. He grunts under his breath and bites his lip, squeezing his legs together and hanging onto the bed sheets like his life depends on it. Craig doesn’t know what to say, so instead, he waits and listens. He closes his eyes to attempt to ground himself again. He’s annoyed. Every attempt to regain his sense of control is countered with a new and enticing way Tweek seems to inadvertently beg for him. Craig knows the grunts aren’t meant to be of a sexual nature. He knows that. He knows that! But even still, his cock bobs a few times with each groan and it twitches and leaks with each shrill, garbled whine. It shouldn’t be so tantalizing, but somehow… it is.

“How the fuck am I supposed to make a nest,” Tweek bemoans and flops backward onto the mattress. “Urhk, I’ve never made a nest before. Why… argh, why is it called a nest?! What am I, a bird?!”

Craig can’t help but chuckle at this. A few guffaws get past him, but then Tweek shoots him a look that could kill. He covers his mouth with his hand and swallows down his laughter.

“It’s not funny, Craig,” the corners of Tweek’s mouth point downwards sharply.

“It’s a little funny,” Craig mutters, then sighs in relief when he realizes Tweek hadn’t heard that.

“I’m serious. Augh, I don’t know how to do this stuff,” Tweek grumbles and fusses with a stray blanket.

“Well,” Craig averts his gaze so he can try to think without distraction. “What kind of stuff do you know how to do?”

“What is that supposed to mean?” Tweek somehow manages to take this as an attack, as though Craig has insinuated he doesn’t know how to do anything at all in the world.

“Nothing,” Craig dismisses the hook and presses on. “Just think about it. Isn’t nesting about being comfortable? So what kind of stuff is comfortable for you? You’ve gotta know how to do something about that.”

Tweek makes a suffocated, strained noise as if he’s got a gun pointed to his head and he’s been asked to explain the Pythagorean theorem in the original ancient Greek. Craig tilts his head slightly, daring to catch a small glimpse of the naked man in his bed. Tweek’s grinding his teeth, gnashing away at nothing but air as he struggles to consider what might bring him a little comfort.

“Hrnnngghhhh…” he vocalizes somewhat thoughtfully. “P…pillows…?”

“Then let’s start with pillows,” Craig affirms him immediately and Tweek’s shoulders instantly relax just enough so that they’re no longer crammed up to his ears. “Uh… They used to be up on the top there… God damn it. Okay, I’ll go get some more pillows.”

Craig uncomfortably shuffles back out of the room. It’s terrible. He shouldn’t feel so out of his element in his own dormitory. There’s garbage and home furnishings strewn about everywhere. The whole place gives off an unsettling vibe that could be best described as half “hotel abandoned after a catastrophic tornado” and half “serial killer dwelling.” He can’t bring himself to draw too much attention to his surroundings. He’s just gotta find some pillows. Craig’s headache starts to return. It’s due in part to the unrelenting and frustrating swell of his stupid, angry cock between his legs. There’s no chance this obscene thing will stop plaguing every aspect of his existence anytime soon. But it’s also in part as a result of the choreographed fight in his mind between resistance and desire. Logic speaks clearly first: he needs to provide (even though it goes against everything he has ever claimed to want), and he needs to retain control (even though that also goes against everything his body tells him he wants). Lust whispers softly in reply: he needs to give (his body is able and willing), and he needs to receive (his unlikely bed partner is able and willing, too).

Craig tries to focus on the task at hand. He needs stuff to make a nest. He needs pillows. A few tattered couch cushions litter the floor and he grabs them. There’s that scratchy homemade blanket his grandmother sent him when he first moved into his dorm. It’s probably not very comfortable, though. Maybe he could wad it up and use it to prop Tweek up? Or use it for… uh, lumbar support? Craig groans. It’s not like he has some sudden understanding of how to do this just because he volunteered to help. He wonders what it might be like to be in Tweek’s position. It can’t be comfortable. The need for something like a nest makes sense. It can’t be easy feeling like a freshly carved piece of meat, dripping wet and constantly drenched in a river of slippery slick. Craig’s heart skips a beat.

There are a few moments of pause where Craig’s mind crashes to a halt and runs rampant with curious thoughts about how that must feel for him. Does it feel good? Does he like the way he gushes and throbs? Craig’s mouth feels dry and his fingers grip the ratty couch cushion. His thighs must be so wet with it. If he squeezed them together, would that mess spread itself in a vulgar smear along his skin and offer a sultry invitation? …Would he do it on purpose? Craig’s eyes go wide and he nearly drops the ugly cushions and the uglier blanket. He needs to get some towels. His heavy legs guide him to the linen closet. Craig couldn’t tell anyone the colors of the fabric in his clutch if his life depended on it– his focus is clearly elsewhere.

When he returns to his bedroom, his eyes hone in directly on Tweek. He’s been fluffing the same pillow for quite a while, it would appear. He fusses and frets with it while bent over the mattress and Craig’s knees lock. It’s nothing particularly lewd by design, but it still has Craig biting the inside of his cheek and white-knuckling his humble home decor. There’s something about the way the muscles on Tweek’s back tense up as he bends and there’s something more to the way his spine arches in almost a feline curve leading down to the fullness just above his thighs that makes Craig want to lunge. But he can’t; or rather, he can… but he won’t. In only an instant, a series of racing desires barrel through his mind. He wants to bend and grip and push and thrust and feel. He wants to feel everything. It’s torture now that he’s had a taste. The only thing keeping him centered is the two-word staccato mantra that beats itself into the thickness of his skull. Protect. Survive. Protect. Survive.

“I brought some stuff,” Craig announces, hoping his demeanor comes off as sufficiently casual.

Clearly, it’s not casual enough because Tweek immediately lets out a startled scream. Craig’s already starting to get used to that, honestly. Tweek jolts straight upright like a puppeteer just yanked on his marionette strings. If Craig wasn’t so absorbed in his open-mouthed gawking, it would be almost funny. Tweek’s acting like he was caught burying a body rather than fluffing a deflated pillow. None of that matters, though. He’s frozen in place, struck by the realization that despite having been up close and personal with Tweek on multiple occasions within the last hour this is the first time he’s truly had a full view of his entire body. Up until this point, Tweek has been either guarded and curled over himself or pressed so tight to Craig’s own body that much was obscured. Now, ironically, that he’s been startled to attention, Craig can see it all. He wets his lips.

His shoulders are broader than his hips, but not by some significant measurement. He’s slender but wiry rather than frail. His hip bones are sharp and jut out at odd angles as his tight legs tremble. But most noticeable (and Craig feels remarkably stupid for not noticing before) is that his dick is hard. His smooth shaft peaks out from the bed of golden curls at its base and it’s tinged a rosy pink, as though it’s shyly blushing. It’s a strange thought, but Craig thinks it almost looks pretty. Maybe it’s from the extensive time he’s been looking at his own cock, which by now seems grotesque by his standards considering it’s veiny and throbbing and bloated with neglect. He hopes Tweek doesn’t notice him staring.

Tweek, however, does in fact notice his obvious staring. His cheeks stain a splotchy red that spreads like spilled ink down his throat and all along the top of his pale shoulders. His shaky hands move quickly to attempt to cover himself from sight.

“Oh, god, agghhh!” Tweek scrunches his eyes shut. “Shit, I’m sorry, man! Oh, Jesus Christ, this is so embarrassing…”

“I mean…” Craig chuckles sarcastically and gestures between his own legs. “It’s not like I’m judging.”

Tweek tries to stifle a long, shrill groan. He sounds like a dog on a leash that’s just a little bit too tight. Craig steadies his breathing. He focuses on his normal behavior again. It’s such a challenge. The way his mind gurgles with the knowledge of the confirmation that if Tweek’s in that state, surely those former speculations must have some sort of merit. He takes a couple of steps forward before he realizes he’s moving.

“Can we just make the nest?” Tweek pleads in a slurred liaison of words as the thin bones in his neck strain under his exertion.

Craig doesn’t speak. Instead, he acts to demonstrate his endorsement of the idea. It’s only a few strides to the bed, so Craig measures his steps carefully to contain himself. He concentrates. He needs to stay focused. The only thing that matters right now is setting up a nest so Tweek can settle in. in his peripheral, he can somewhat see that Tweek has cautiously resumed his jittery fussing with his shamefully crappy pillows. He carefully smooths the towels on top of his mattress. He can see now that they’re brown, as well as ugly and tattered. He hopes they’re at least a bit absorbent. A shiver runs through his bones at the thought and he tries to squash it down. The couch cushions and grandma's blanket are next. He tosses them haphazardly against the cracked headboard adjacent to the pillows Tweek is busy kneading. In what he hopes is a stealthy motion, he stuffs the itchy crocheted blanket in a crumpled ball behind them. With a quick scan of the room, he snatches up the first blanket he can see off the ground. Craig drapes it high in the air and it flutters down like a collapsing parachute over the rest of his handiwork. He decides that’s probably a nest.

“There,” he stands upright and proclaims, even going so far as to proudly place his hands on his hips.

“There…?” Tweek snaps from his trance and gives Craig a very confused look.

“It’s done,” he nods at the bed.

“Augh, what do you mean, it’s done?” Tweek scrunches up his face, his displeasure made entirely palpable.

“The nest,” Craig clarifies, but now he’s starting to feel less confident.

“Craig, hrngh, that’s not a nest,” Tweek fully frowns. “You just made the bed. But… ngh, you made it worse.”

Craig looks over his workmanship. It’s a completely uninviting amalgamation of scratchy fibers, uneven and mismatched items, and a less than adequate offering of neck support. It’s all squarely framed by the broken headboard that now sits about forty-five degrees off its center. It looks more fit for a stray dog to rest its weary vagabond head than for a desperate omega seeking comfort during heat. Craig’s shoulders fall in defeat. He can totally see how this could be described as a bed, but worse.

Sophomore year of community college, Kenny had a sort of arrangement with Craig Tucker. Craig had been doing some crypto shit Kenny didn't really understand, but it meant that he was always buying designer drugs off the dark web and making a killing selling them on campus. No one knew what the fuck 2C-I or 2C-B were, but thanks to Craig, they were a hell of a lot cheaper and more readily available than acid or shrooms. Kenny got his for free, or at least it felt like it was for free because he actually liked sucking dick.

He'd been surprised that Craig went for the deal initially, but after spending some one-on-one time with the guy, it started to make more sense. He'd had his established friend group from K through 12, but Jimmy was at some liberal arts school in Vermont, Tolkien at Stanford, and even Clyde was too busy with his football frat to hang. Craig didn't seem to know how to make friends, let alone romantic or sexual partners, and so he took the deal and Kenny sucked him off whenever he felt like tripping balls.

It was generally hard to get the guy to react. Kenny wasn't sure if he had some sensitivity issue, maybe something medication-related, because it took him forever to come, but the challenge made it more fun. Sucking off someone like Stan was less weird—he'd react to every lick and suck, and would joke around with Kenny in the aftermath—but it posed no challenge. This time, though, as Kenny bobbed his head up and down and pumped the base of his cock with both hands, Craig was breathing deliberately through his nostrils like he was trying to hold back not even five minutes in. This gave Kenny what in retrospect was a premature burst of confidence.

Kenny had been gone over break and now that he thought about it, it was unlikely Craig managed to get his dick wet in that time span, so he was probably going to be able to get him to bust in record Craig-time, maybe even before his jaw started to ache. Kenny didn't gag easy or anything—a childhood spent being paid to eat things off the ground helped him build up some resistance on that front—but Craig's sheer length, girth, and curve upwards at the head made him a struggle to choke down.

But swallowing him as far down as he could is always what would make Craig come in the end so he'd gotten pretty good at reading his signs in order to be able to time it just right. He was spot on this time—Craig did start coming directly down his throat when he expected—but a new and unexpected problem arose as the volume and intensity with which Craig came refused to abate.

Cum began spurting out of Kenny’s nose and he choked on the amount filling his throat, sputtering as his sinuses filled with fluids.

“Craig,” he managed to get out as cum sprayed out of his mouth and nose, “what the fuck!”

Craig finished jacking it all out onto Kenny’s face and chuckled down at him in his stupid little nasal voice. Why did Kenny have to like sucking this moron’s dick?

“Hey, come on dude, don’t—” Craig tried to insist but it was no use. Kenny began hatefully blowing his nose on Craig’s discarded boxers, glaring at him all the while.

Once his nostrils had been cleared out and only a painful burning remained, Kenny reached for his hoodie and almost pulled it on and left right then and there. But he wouldn’t be satisfied til he figured out what the fuck was wrong with Craig and his newfound excess ejaculate.

“So you gonna tell me what the fuck is wrong with your fucking dick? You been saving it up special just for me or something, man?” he asked, not even trying to hide his irritation. Why should he, when Craig was still laughing at him? Bastard.

“Uhh, it’s been a few weeks,” he said, trying to stifle his snorts.

Kenny raised his eyebrows impatiently. That clearly wasn’t the whole story.

Craig pulled on some plaid pajama pants and a new shirt since the one he’d been wearing got hit with substantial splashback. He rolled his eyes to find Kenny still waiting for a goddamn explanation.

“…okay, maybe I’ve been taking some supplements to increase my load size. I was just curious if they worked. Mostly soy lecithin,” he lisped. Kenny pulled on his hood and started putting his shoes on. He could not fucking believe this guy.

“To increase your—you can’t even make eye contact with that guy in your art class, and you want to increase your load size? For fucking what, Craig?”

He’d managed to hit a nerve because the jerk’s face fell for a few moments, but then his self-satisfied smile was back.

“Maybe just to see the look on your face.”

It was the closest to affectionate Kenny had ever heard Craig, and that pissed him off more than anything. Tugging on his left Converse, he stood and abruptly smacked Craig in the face.

“Ow,” Craig said, a few seconds delayed. Kenny made his way to the door, glad to be able to leave with some dignity intact, having had the last word in a way.

Or so he thought.

“Hey idiot. Your drugs?” Craig said once Kenny’s hand reached the doorknob.

Kenny released a huff of air out his nose and turned back around. He marched up to Craig and snatched the baggie of capsules from his hand, avoiding Craig's stupid smirking face. As his dorky little snorts started up again, Kenny stalked off, slamming the door behind him, and resolved to find out if Henrietta Biggle would go for a head-for-shrooms deal.

[10/?]

“God damn it…” Craig grouses. “Fuck me for trying, I guess?”

“Well, no…” Tweek begins thoughtfully. “It’s just not done.”

He scoots onto the mattress and curls his knees up to his chest. Craig watches stupidly from the foot of the bed with his legs just a little too far apart to stand normally. He watches as Tweek pushes all the padding up against the broken headboard and gives it a few hearty slaps to confirm everything is placed the way he likes.

“That’s better,” Tweek nods at the organized mess he’s created.

“Is it done now…?” Craig wonders aloud.

It doesn’t look like a nest. It looks like a crumpled heap of random materials. This is too weird. He knows there’s got to be some kind of biological imperative here, but he has no idea how or why this would be some important ritual. Tweek leans into the pile and the placated look begins to return to his face.

“Mnph, no…” Tweek makes swinging vertical gestures with his arms along the edges of the bed frame. “It needs, agh… bumpers?”

“Bumpers,” Craig repeats flatly.

“Bumpers,” Tweek agrees as if that somehow further explained anything.

There’s a pause and then Tweek makes another garbled noise and his body rolls in a big, spastic twitch.

“Work with me here, Craig!” Tweek squawks. “Grargh, c’mon, man… do you have more blankets or something?”

Craig can work with that, he decides. And he does in fact have more blankets. Once he’s collected and presented them to Tweek, there’s no hesitation on Tweek’s end. Some sort of neuron has activated in his brain and wires it into a mode of unadulterated instinct. He stirs around in the bedding and creates two long, fat strips of rumpled-up blankets like they’re a pair of lumpy and colorful sausages. He lines the edges of the mattress with them and Craig can see it now. Ah, yes, bumpers. They’re like soft fortifications for the ledges of the forming nest. It’s a rudimentary task, but making this nest keeps the pair of them occupied. Tweek busies himself with bird-like architectural design and Craig assists by continually scavenging for anything remotely plush or soft that might be stashed away in his dorm. In time, the nest takes shape and form. The appearance is a bit reminiscent of one of those big, soft pet beds that are shaped like a donut. Granted, the appearance also calls to mind imagery of the backroom of an extremely unorganized thrift store as well. Nevertheless, there’s clearly something about the messy hoard of linen items arranged with a distinct hollow spot in the center that identifies it distinctly as a nest.

“Hrmgh,” Tweek darts his eyes around the piles and grunts thoughtfully. “It’s missing something.”

“I’m out of stuff,” Craig purses his lips. “It looks fine, Tweek. What else could you possibly need?"

“Grargh, I don’t know?!” Tweek rakes a hand through his frazzled hair and his eyes bulge and twitch as though this is really gnawing at him.

“That’s actually everything. Like I said, I’m out of stuff,” Craig shrugs, but then a thought occurs to him. “Well… I mean, I’ve got some shirts-”

“Yes!” Tweek agrees before the thought is fully formed and whips his head up at such high velocity it gives Craig a sympathetic sense of whiplash.

Even from this distance, Craig can see that Tweek’s pupils have fully dilated. He feels as though he’s uttered some magical incantation and he dares not break the spell, so he fumbles his way over to his overflowing hamper of soiled clothing. An emotion starts bubbling up deep inside his belly. It’s neither pride nor shame, but it most certainly feels pleasant and validating. Craig retrieves every cotton shirt and hoodie he can gather and presents them to Tweek. They’re snatched from his hands like he’s a hungry dog a little too eager for his treat. Tweek draws one of the navy blue hoodies up to his face and breathes deeply into it as though it contains a powerful elixir. Craig watches with a slack jaw as Tweek’s eyes roll back shamelessly.

“They’re perfect,” Tweek’s muffled voice drawls low and thick from beneath the heavy fabric. “Thank you, Craig.”

Craig tries to swallow down the dry lump in his throat. A sharp pain shoots through his palms from his fingernails pressed deeply into them in his tight fists. The signals in the room are so strong and the pheromones that riddle his aching body urge him to just fucking do it. He should jump right now. It’s his bed, after all, so why shouldn’t he? Tweek would make for such a decadent, willing prize. He’s sweating again. There’s a deliciously gushing omega sitting in a crudely made nest compromised of his own possessions in his own bed, and that very omega perches there huffing at his soiled clothing like a junky huffing a paper bag filled with addicting solvents. He can barely contain himself.

“Well, if you’re all set, then…” Craig grits out through a tight jaw and turns on his heel to leave.

“Wait!” Tweek calls out as soon as his back is turned to him.

Craig doesn’t turn around. He can’t. He won’t. It’s a temptation too powerful and a lure too irresistible. But Tweek’s voice cuts through him like a pocket knife. It’s a sincere plea laced with a dejected sort of pain that almost humbles Craig to his plight. He chances a peak over his shoulder.

“Don’t leave,” he mutters softly like he’s ashamed to ask for what he wants.

Craig’s insides feel soft. His shoulders slump and he spins back around. He can’t do this.

“I shouldn’t stay in here with you in this state, Tweek,” Craig groans.

He doesn’t want to put words to this. They both know what will happen if he stays. It’s precisely the thing Craig promised himself, and he silently promised it to Tweek as well. Tweek only makes a disgruntled little noise in response to share his counterargument. Craig stands uselessly in place as Tweek wraps his arms around his knees and knits his eyebrows into a frustrated tangle above his forlorn eyes.

“C’mon, Tweek,” Craig practically whines in a desperate attempt to get him to understand the risk. “I’m an alpha.”

Tweek pulls his face from the hoodie and fixes a smoldering gaze directly on Craig. His lips turn down into a defiant frown.

“I’m not afraid of you,” his fiery words burn through the tension and resonate with the dignified sort of implication that he’s offended that Craig would insinuate anything of the sort.

Craig lets that gestate for a moment or so. It’s not at all what he expected to hear. His head is throbbing with a nauseating mixture of confusion and frustration and raw lust. A little spark of anger bubbles in his belly. Can’t Tweek see it’s not about fear? That it’s not about desire? It all comes down to the simple fact that actions have consequences. Can’t he fucking see that? Craig has suffered through the hell of his nature for enough years to understand this with a grim and thorough understanding. And now, completely out of the woodwork, Tweek thinks he can just arrive in his life and assume it’s as easy as deciding to say a few brave words in spite of nature itself.

“Don’t you think I get it, man?” Tweek doubles down, as though he can read Craig’s thoughts. “Grrr, I fucking get it, Craig. Don’t patronize me. You think I’m some pathetic little omega. Hrngh, but I’m not! I’m not, Craig.”

Craig scoffs. It’s not just that. Shows what Tweek knows. It’s a vile composite of factors. It’s not solely that Tweek is a lustful omega who is literally incapable of preventing himself from bequeathing himself to the first alpha dick he lays his eyes on. If only it were that easy. And no, it’s not enough that Tweek so boldly claims that he can abandon the fear of that prospect. Craig lowers his eyelids and exhales slowly through his nose. That feeling has to prevail from both parties. The truth is, Craig is afraid. He’s afraid deep down into the marrow of his bones. At this point, Craig wholly believes that Tweek has a strong constitution and at least understands some of the risks at play here. But Craig is so very profoundly and shamefully afraid of what he’ll do going forward. He doesn’t want to lose control. He doesn’t want to relinquish the lingering threads of self-perseverance he’s managed to hang onto throughout this ordeal.

“You said you’d help me, Craig. Hahngh, and you know what? Maybe you should trust that even though this shit is the biggest goddamn nightmare I could possibly imagine, I know what I need,” Tweek looks down his nose with that same air of reckless defiance. “Grargh, can you just help me?!”

He knows it’s a mistake. It’s a huge fucking mistake. But Craig relents anyway. He feels a bit justified, though. The simple knowledge that Tweek would dare to so blatantly make his needs known and demand them so freely despite the swell of pheromones swaying between them helps Craig feel as though he should stop fighting it. There’s a possibility that everything will be fine. And for reasons he can’t really understand, he believes that just maybe it really will be fine.

“Lay down,” Craig pushes the words out on a trembling breath.

Without resistance, the omega lays on his side. He curls into a loose fetal position and waits expectantly. It’s a few short strides to the bed and then Craig is on all fours. He crawls slowly up the length of the narrow passage between the clumsy barriers of the nest until he reaches the top. The fragrance is almost overpowering at this range. All the terrifying and comforting feelings meld together in a fragile blend of an emotional slurry Craig has never experienced before. His heart thrums nearly painfully behind his ribs. Slowly, very slowly, he lowers himself to fit alongside Tweek’s scorching body. In delicate and cautious motions, he molds his limbs to fit nicely all around Tweek.

“Just hold me for a little while,” comes the quiet whisper once they’re finally settled.

So he does. He concentrates on his breathing. He matches himself with Tweek, or maybe it’s Tweek that mirrors him. It’s hard to discern. What matters, though, is that their unsure aspirations work in an easy tandem. There’s an acute intimacy to it, just laying still and experiencing a private, quiet moment with another human being. Tears threaten to prickle in the corners of Craig’s eyes. He feels overwhelmed with such an inexplicable sense of security that strikes so sincerely it almost scares him more than ever. A ragged sigh heaves its way out of him, making his bones rattle under his flesh. It’s as if all his internalized strife is escaping on the hot puff of breath that rolls down Tweek’s knobbly spine. It earns him a contented sigh from Tweek in response and all the fine hairs on both of their bodies stand on end.

Their legs tangle together carelessly in the mess of fabrics. Craig’s arm snakes over Tweek’s torso and urges their bodies to press together. The motion is met with a languid acceptance. Tweek rolls his shoulders back until Craig’s chin slots into the crook of his neck. Craig flattens his palm over the breadth of Tweek’s tight abdomen and presses it firmly. He closes his eyes and lets himself live in the present. He’s been so overwrought for days, and while he still feels addled and agitated and his body is in absolute agony… this simple act of holding another human being close to his chest floods him with such a devastating sense of relief. Craig can’t bring himself to move or speak or even think. He can only cling tightly to the warm flesh beneath his hand and drink in the soothing aromas of their mutual scents. It’s only been about an hour (though it feels like a pleasant eternity) before Tweek begins to squirm a bit.

“Thank you, Craig,” he whispers softly. “For everything you’ve done for me.”

“I think…” Craig starts in a low voice, but then pauses for a moment to appreciate the way his voice rumbles a bit against Tweek’s neck. “I think I needed this, too.”

A weight leaves him as he admits that. In fact, now that he thinks about it, this must have been the true climax of the effects of having scented Tweek. In fact, it only now occurs to him that his erection has been pressed hotly against the small of Tweek’s back this entire time and it hasn’t caused him any egregious control issues. On the contrary, he realizes that for the first time since his rut has begun, he’s felt a bit of relief. He should feel some solace from this, probably, but instead, a cold spike of newfound fear rips through him. Hopefully, Tweek won’t notice his rising cortisol levels. All of these feelings are good, of course, but they come with a toll. Sure, Craig has never scented an omega before. Sure, he’s in well over his head with the entirety of this situation. But he’s still experienced enough to have an innate understanding of what’s happening. The calming effects will wear off soon. The clarity will fade and he can feel deep in his bones that the relapse will be stronger and more gripping than before. Most terrifying is the thought that the most powerful aphrodisiac he’s ever encountered is currently lounging comfortably beneath the weight of his arm. Craig tries not to panic. He needs to stay calm. He needs to be strong. He needs to retain control.

“Argh, I’m starting to feel sore again,” Tweek complains quietly.

“Where,” Craig rasps out the question before he can think.

“Mmmmnnnghh, same as before…”

Craig’s breath hitches. His eyes open but his vision is already starting to blur. He can feel himself plummeting into carnal downfall. He’s told himself time and again that allowing himself to succumb is strictly verboten. And yet…and yet…

“It’s okay, Tweek,” his words slither down the side of the omega’s jaw. “I can help.”

craig is put on a psych hold for punching his fucking boss and his hospital roommate gets horny on sleeping pills. craig likes the sounds he makes

Bebe eats Henrietta’s pussy for hours.

(idk if this place is still alive i'm sorry i'm late to the party. i tried to make this a mix of smut and fluff op i hope u like)

"No."

"Dude." Stan grins down at him. There is no other way to describe it - Kyle is sulking, his arms crossed over his skinny chest. He'd cast his gaze away from Stan's, and he always tries so hard to seem indifferent, only to be betrayed by the pink flush crawling up his neck.

"Let it go, Stan! God, it's -"

"Cute?"

"I was going to say mortifying, actually." Kyle finally catches his eyes. He's nibbling on his lower lip, a nervous tic of his that Stan is familliar with, much like he's familliar with all of Kyle's mannerisms. Sometimes Stan feels like Kyle is the only thing he really knows - the only language he's fluent in.

He shifts a bit, sinking further onto the bed, between Kyle's splayed-open thighs, and is regarded wearily. "Why is it mortifying?"

"Because! I feel like such a baby." Kyle's arms are still crossed, and it feels like he's trying to sink deeper into the pillows. "Honestly. Why is this my life? Who else do you know who's too... who's... ugh, too-"

"Too ticklish for blowjobs?" Stan ducks his head, anticipating the smack to his head before it comes, but he still can't avoid it. "Dude!"

"Don't tease me!" Kyle is sputtering, and Stan can't help that he's laughing. It's just so Kyle - half the time he's wound so tight he's unflappable, and the other half he's weak to Stan's ministrations, crumpling before he's even being touched. He isn't lying when he says it's cute; watching Kyle squirm never fails to arouse him, whether he's moaning or stifling nervous giggles. "I can't help that I'm.... sensitive, you know. I don't exactly have a lot of experience. You promised you wouldn't laugh." Kyle is actually starting to look kind of distraught, and Stan won't stand for that. He swoons forward so that their foreheads are touching, pressing gentle kisses to Kyle's nose, his cupid's bow, the corners of his lips. He feels Kyle's answering sigh against his skin, his thighs flexing under Stan's as he shifts to emcompass his weight. "I didn't mean to make fun of you, you know that." Stan pulls back just enough to show Kyle his earnest expression. "It's honestly kind of endearing."

"It's frustrating, is what it is." Kyle puckers his lower lip in a pseudo pout, the kind he knows will always get him what he wants. They both shift their gazes lower - Kyle had been hard a couple of minutes ago, and he's quickly softening from the tension. Stan moans sadly, reaches to cup it tenderly. "We'll make it work," he promises. Kyle still looks kind of cautious, so Stan shifts back down to settle between his thighs. "Dude, I don't care if you laugh. I promise I won't take it personally. Just try and bear through it." He pumps Kyle's cock leisurely, flashing him another grin. "It won't tickle as much when you're closer." Kyle still looks unconvinced, so Stan ducks his head, licking a long stripe up the side of his shaft. From this angle, he has the best view of Kyle's eyes, becoming hazy with arousal once more as he stares him down. "I dunno, dude, maybe try lean into it a bit? Maybe that'll make it better."

"Lean into it how?" He asks. Stan tilts his head so that his cheek is pressed to Kyle's thigh, catches his eye. "Oh, no. No, no, Stan, don't you- nohoho!" He bucks like a bull when Stan buries his face in the crease of his thigh, nibbling at the thin skin there. "You asshole! No! Stop it!!"

Kyle's laughter is infectious, forced as it may be, and Stan finds himself laughing along. He pins Kyle's hips down, peppers kisses up the inside of his thigh. When he reaches Kyle's cock, he laps the head into his mouth and suckles it, and Kyle's giggles turn to gasps and taper off into a breathy moan that makes his own dick throb. He's still pinning Kyle's hips to the bed, and he can feel him struggling to buck up further into his mouth.

"Stan," he gasps, one hand flying down to tangle in dark hair. Stan loves making Kyle feel good, but he also likes being a little shit, and he pulls back with a wet pop before his teeth find Kyle's hips, the slight softness of his belly. The hand in his hair tugs, and Kyle honest to god squeals, his legs kicking where they're pinned under Stan's torso. "You're so mehehean! Stan!!" He's still discreetly trying to rub himself off against him, smearing pre-come against his collarbone. Stan takes pity on him, finally, shifting back down to take Kyle in his mouth entirely. His hands are still gripping Kyle's hips, squeezing, and Kyle lets out this hiccupy, breathy laugh-moan as he comes. Stan swallows every last drop, his tongue flattened against the bottom of Kyle's softening head in his mouth. Kyle whimpers, overstimulated and sensitive, and Stan lets him go. His own hardness is leaking against the sheets, but he's patient, watching with a hungry glint in his eye as Kyle catches his breath.

"Okay," he finally breathes, head dropping back onto the pillow. Stan admires the way his adams apple bobs as he swallows, the flush high in his cheeks. "So that. Wasn't the worst, I'll admit."

Stan's hand settles back on his thigh, relishing in the way it jumps. "They say you get more sensitive after you come."

"Touch me and you're dead."

Not late - writing takes time! Some kink memes even go on for years. Thank you for sharing this sweet fill <3

The boys remeasure their dingdongs in college because they were prepubescent the first time around. This time they will account for growth spurts and growers v. showers by means of a fluffer. Fluffer/boys can be whoever you desire and things can escalate as much as you like

Hungry Craig and Kenny crash a fancy party and eat sushi off Tweek's naked body. They eat it all up then spitroast him

As a witch, Tweek has taken a number of lesser spirits as familiars for various spells and work. This is his first time seeking out a more powerful spirit to forge a more permanent bond. Non of his mentors ever mentioned these kinds of side effects from the spell!

Craig is an astronaut who, due to an accident, has been lost in space for almost three hour. Resigned to a cold and lonely death, he reflects on his boring life, family and friends, all this until something bright snaps him out of his thoughts, a small bubble of light floats hastily in front of his face, he manages to catch it and is amazed. because of this warm little humanoid creature that trembles, cry and snuggles in his hands in panic.

"Oh..."

Maybe this little star will save his life?

An insecure Tweek asks her husband if he still finds him attractive, Craig of course has no self control and is determined to show her husband what he does to lil' Craig.

After seeing a cute blonde walking in the woods, Craig the hungry big bad wolf decides to hunt him down. After intercepting him, extracting information from him, and tricking him, Craig gains the upper hand.
He is very determined to devour the cute little riding hood, but maybe he will bounce him off his knot first.

Edited 2022-08-30 20:01 (UTC)

[11/?]

The source of all the pain and strife can be traced to the same source. It’s insidious and bewildering, and despite being such an innocuous thing it boasts a stranglehold over not only Tweek but Craig as well. Out in the open yet concealed in plain sight, Craig knows everything comes down to the overactive hormonal gland that swells and throbs under the delicate skin of Tweek’s pale neck. His hand crawls up the length of Tweek’s abdomen. Their breath rises and falls together evenly, but it’s heavy and desperate as though each gulp of air might not be enough oxygen. Craig moves slowly, intentionally. He can feel Tweek’s throat against the side of his cheek. He can feel it each time he swallows. It’s a trifling movement, meaningless at face value. But Craig hones in on it anyway. Nothing is insignificant right now, and this is especially so when the heat begins pooling deep and low inside him all over again. Tweek’s chest trembles beneath his hand. The beating of his heart fires steadily against Craig’s palm like a piston in an engine. Craig doesn’t stop to relish in that feeling, even though the simple notion of Tweek’s heart slamming into his ribs like that as a direct result of his touch affects him. His hand skates through the small handful of hairs that litter the center of Tweek’s chest and finally comes to rest under his jaw.

He breathes in deeply, letting the dizzying aroma flood his mind and innervate his actions. His hand lingers softly over Tweek’s throat. It’s near his own face now, which stays curled into the gentle crook of his omega’s neck. He’s close enough to bite. The temptation is so strong. Craig rests his arm over Tweek’s chest. It’s neither slight nor broad– it fits nicely beneath him. They’re closer than before, and it’s by Craig’s design. Even so, he craves more proximity. His second arm coils beneath the other body in his bed and wraps tightly around it. He pulls Tweek’s entire being closer until their torsos are flush and his cock feels squeezed tightly into the small of Tweek’s back. A bit of pooling sweat lingers there and slicks the underside of Craig’s shaft. It’s good but it’s not good enough. Still, for the time being, he’ll take it. He doesn’t thrust at all– he doesn’t have to. Tweek has already begun squirming again. With a few intentional puffs of breath along Tweek’s heating skin, Craig presses the tips of his fingers into Tweek’s supple throat. He savors the bob of his adam’s apple as Tweek feebly gulps and revels in the little squeaks and moans the new pressure draws out of him. He pushes his digits a little deeper into the flesh beneath them.

“It’s going to be okay, Tweek,” Craig promises.

It’s a promise to Tweek, but it’s also a promise to himself. Everything is going to be okay. Tweek tries to nod in understanding, but Craig’s grip is a bit too tight. He can only squirm.

“We’re going to get you through this,” Craig continues in a low, husky voice. “This is all new to you. That must feel so scary.”

“Mmnph… ‘m not scared,” Tweek grunts out just to be contrary.

Craig releases a depraved sort of growl into the shoulder below his chin. Tweek can be as brave in the face of natural terror all he likes. Craig pushes his hips forward in one forceful shove until the compression on his throbbing cock is almost painful. He holds Tweek’s body close to his own and leaves him no room to wriggle free.

“Do you feel that?” Craig rasps.

“Ahhh, Craig…”

It was a yes or no question and Tweek hasn’t answered properly.

“Answer me,” Craig rasps out the demand.

“Y…yes…”

He grinds harder, just for good measure. He holds Tweek’s jaw in place and makes it perfectly clear that escaping the grip is not an option. His cock throbs into the small of Tweek’s back, harsh and pulsating with a vigorous need.

“Good,” Craig affirms rather than praises.

He nudges the side of Tweek’s throat with his nose and exhales a hot breath that warms the flesh. His hands start to roam from their stranglehold but it’s still apparent that Tweek won’t be squirming away any time soon. From his body language, though, there’s little chance that he’d be trying to be anywhere else anyway. One of Craig’s hands slides down the length of Tweek’s torso yet again. His blunt nails rake lightly along the heated skin. He moves slowly and strategically, just so he can draw out the sensation of Tweek’s body heaving beneath his hand. Finally, in time, he comes to rest along the jut of Tweek’s hip. He holds his grip there, urging the body under his power to softly rock against him. It’s a minuscule movement but it’s everything. There’s just enough friction against his swollen cock and just enough motion between them to simulate the rolling sensation of copulation.

“I could fuck you right now,” Craig states, and it earns him a shuddery little gasp that rocks Tweek’s body back into his own.

So much is woven into that simple phrase. It’s an observation, first and foremost. He absolutely and without a doubt could plunge himself rather easily into Tweek’s slick, inviting hole. It’s also an offering– something of a polite suggestion, in a twisted way. The notion is almost as if to suggest Tweek may need some assistance and the only thing in the entire world that could help is Craig’s throbbing dick. More than even just these things, it’s a threat. Very little could possibly stop Craig if he decides right here and now to fuck deeply into him. But most of all and beyond all these things, it’s a warning. It’s a reminder that Tweek should not take this situation lightly. Craig needs him to know that this option sits plainly on the table. He could absolutely fuck Tweek right now.

“Mmmm, please… please…” Tweek manages to squeak out between breathy whines.

“No,” Craig speaks firmly from his chest, even though his voice isn’t above a whisper. “You don’t want that.”

His actions belie his words, though, and Craig pushes his cock harder into Tweek’s spine. The oozing slick from between Tweek’s legs leaks in a continuous river of vulgar fluids and slathers itself all over the tops of Craig’s thighs as they rock against each other. It’s so fucking hard to resist. His dick feels like it might burst if he doesn’t get some kind of relief so he uselessly grinds it with a bit more purpose. He’s desperate for any sort of friction even though he knows this won’t be good enough. Craig can tell he’s likely bruising Tweek’s hips but he retains his white-knuckled grip and rolls their bodies together in the same uneasy but repetitive motion.

“I do,” Tweek insists. “I do, Craig… Augh, help me… Please, you have to help me…!”

This breaks something in Craig. Deep from his belly, a grisly sound begins to emerge. It grows with his frustration until it resounds in a husky throttle and he can feel his teeth bared. Craig roughly yanks Tweek and flips him over onto his back. In a swift motion, he pins him into the mattress and holds him down by the shoulder as he looms above him. Tweek’s face contorts in a messy array of emotions, ranging all the way from a surprised sort of terror to a warped glimmer of excitement and greed. Craig’s chest heaves under the stress of resistance. He can feel the spittle that dots his lips and the weight of his dick between his legs feels heavier than ever with anticipation. He snarls down at Tweek, torn between holding true to his word and giving in to his nature. He wants to bite into Tweek’s neck and feel the soft skin against his teeth. He wants to thrust hard and fast into Tweek’s tight, velvety hole. He wants to feel the way he knows Tweek’s body would writhe and bend to his every whim. He wants to taste the salt on his skin and listen to the breathy gasps for air and see the way their bodies could so readily latch onto one another. He wants to smell the bouquet of pheromones and the stench of dirty, filthy, unencumbered sex. But he can’t do any of that. So instead he trembles above Tweek’s slim, sculpted form and dominates him in the only way left remaining.

“Can’t you see I’m fucking helping you?!” Craig booms at him.

Tweek flinches, but it’s hard to tell if that’s in response of just his natural state. Craig doubles down and forces his shoulders harder into the soft pile of fabrics. A few gurgles slip out of Tweek and he squirms uncomfortably but otherwise doesn’t resist. Craig’s muscles clench and burn throughout all his limbs. He can feel himself fading fast. Tweek is exactly where every fiber of his body tells him he needs him. His body acts of its own volition and his terrible, angry cock instinctually aligns itself with Tweek’s pulsing hole. It’s so soft, so impossibly wet and warm and their bodies both mutually beg and plead and cry out for merciful relief. Craig’s knees threaten to give out on him. The overwhelming and gratifying sensation of Tweek’s slippery fluids flooding all over his head makes his vision blur and his breath hitch.

“Please, Craig… please…!” Tweek’s eyes are entirely out of focus and it’s more than apparent he’s hardly cognizant of what he’s saying. “Just fuck me, hrngh, god, fuck me…!”

Rather than encourage him to proceed, this manages to snap Craig out of the lustful stupor enough to nearly get a grasp on reality again. He’s still so riddled with hormones and frustration, though. He growls and slams Tweek’s body again. One hand finds its way back to Tweek’s neck and squeezes it there. Not enough to bring him bodily harm, but enough to command and force him to shut the fuck up.

“You can’t fucking say that, Tweek!” Craig grits out and pushes into his windpipe. “Don’t you fucking get it? If you say that, I’ll fucking do it! Do you even hear yourself?!”

Tweek’s hands scramble to wrap themselves feebly around Craig’s wrist. Tears from strain form in the corners of his eyes and Craig can feel him struggling. The part of Craig that can still feel any amount of human decency is hit with a nauseous wave of guilt. He relinquishes his chokehold and leans back. The hand that once threatened to steal the opportunity for oxygen from Tweek rises upwards and he drags it across his face.

“God damn it,” he hisses while Tweek gasps for air. “You made me go and lose control of my goddamn emotions.”

Tweek splutters and moans, then wipes his drool off on the back of his wrist. His expression is like an oil slick– it’s impossible to get a solid read on its finite qualities. It distorts with every breath he takes, warping from furious to frightened to compliant to confused. Finally, he catches his breath and speaks.

“You’re an asshole, Craig,” Tweek informs him plainly.

And it’s true. Craig entirely agrees with the assessment. He won’t refute it, but it still stings in its validity. He grunts, hoping that it signals neither assent nor rebuttal. He sits back on his heels just to pull away from the temptation of Tweek’s body. But despite that and despite Craig’s uncouth behavior, Tweek bends his knees and angles his hips up towards Craig. The mouth-watering aroma wafts around Craig and he can’t help but lick his lips and let the hungry dribbles of saliva pool in his mouth. He struggles to gulp it down.

“Yeah, well… you’re out of control,” Craig snips back.

Even though he’s just berated Tweek, Craig lets his arms drape lazily around Tweek’s legs and presses them tight against his own torso. His fingertips trace idle lines along the musculature and cause the fine hairs there to stand on end. Tweek’s hips rotate in a quivering jitter, sneaking ever closer to the heat between Craig’s thighs as if he has no sense of authority over his own body.

“Urgh, you said you’d help me,” Tweek whines, back to his frantic state and all former transgressions clearly forgotten at the moment.

“I did say that,” Craig agrees because it is factually correct.

Giving Tweek what he’s asking for, though, has the terrifying possibility of ruining both their lives. He kneads the taut flesh in his hands as he fumbles through his possibilities. Focusing on deliberate breathing continues to be the only way to retain his sensibility, so Craig works diligently to maintain even, calculated aspirations. He wants so desperately to soothe Tweek. He wants in an equally desperate measure to throw it all away and ravish him until neither of them can walk or think or function beyond the vulgarity. The whole situation is so entirely unfair. He can’t even properly articulate his paltry woes since he’s so tunnel-visioned. Craig finds his thoughts wandering back to earlier in the day when he held Tweek close to him.

“I, angh, please, Craig… I need this to stop,” Tweek pleads in earnest.

There’s no heat behind the words. It’s a genuine, vulnerable cry for help. Something sharp pokes at Craig between his ribs and swells into something that manages to feel like it’s both crushing and bubbling over until it overwhelms him entirely. He doesn’t wholly recognize it at first, but it’s affection and sympathy and weakness all wound up into a clumsy package.

“Oh, honey…” he croons tenderly and dips his head towards Tweek’s knees. “You need relief.”

“I do… Augh, Craig, I do…”

Craig hums and presses a wet kiss to the inside of one of those creamy, trembling thighs. The pheromones are so strong Craig can’t resist the urge to sink his teeth into the flesh. He feels so light-headed but he works on instinct alone so his state of mind feels almost irrelevant. With only the slightest struggle, he’s able to hold back enough to merely graze his teeth over the sumptuous, salty flesh. His back arches and his eyes roll back while Tweek’s hips begin to buck a bit more erratically again. He’s not sure what in the hell is possessing him to work his tongue as he does, but he laves it lower and lower in a series of wet ribbons until his nose finds itself just below Tweek’s balls. He heaves a shaky exhale hotly against Tweek’s drenched opening and drinks in the luscious aroma of pheromones and sex and the piquant notes that mark it distinctly as Tweek. Craig urges those tense legs to fall further open and whispers a delicate promise softly into the flood.

“I’m going to take care of you.”

Craig and Tweek are brothers who don't really get along, often getting into physical fights. One day during an especially bad one Craig pins Tweek down and things turn sexual. blood, bruising Tweek fighting back, noncon optional

They can also all be girls!!!

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Page 13 of 27

South Park Kink Meme

Re: Craig/Tweek, molesting, noncon, public, chikan

Re: Craig/Tweek, extreme temperature play, consort, sacrifice

Re: Craig/Tweek, extreme temperature play, consort, sacrifice

creek, edgeplay

Cartman/Damien/Pip, temperature play, sadomasochism, pyromania

Tweek/Craig, oviposition, mpreg

creek/kyman, foursome, dirty talk, fighting/blood

Tweek/Craig, Xenophilia

Professor Chaos/Mysterion, electricity play, bondage

Re: Tweek/Craig, ABO, overstimulation

Re: Craig/Kenny Cum Swalloing

Re: Tweek/Craig, ABO, overstimulation

craig/tweek, auralism

Bebe/Henrietta, overstimulation to the point of pain

Re: Kyle & tickling

Re: Kyle & tickling

Everyone (plus or minus whomever) - group, blowjob/handjob

Craig/Tweek/Kenny, nantaimori

witch!tweek/familiar!craig, familiar bonding ritual, orgasm through psychic/magical bonds

(Craig/Lil' chibi-Star Tweek) Meeting, snuggling, falling in love.

(Post Covid Dom Craig/Sub Tweek) Body worship, Married sex, dry orgasm, overstimulation.

(Big Bad Wolf Craig/Little Riding Hood Tweek) Rape fantansy, Rimming, hard sex, Knoting, creampie.

Re: Tweek/Craig, ABO, overstimulation

Craig/Tweek incest, hate fucking

Re: fem!Tweek/Craig/Christophe/Kenny, gang rape, nonconsensual bondage and filming, breast whipping