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!


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

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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

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- 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!


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Comments

Re: Tweek/Craig, ABO, overstimulation

[(Anonymous)]

different anon, 1/?, but probably 2-3 parts


As Tweek tries to knock the teas off the top shelf of Tolkien's kitchen cupboard with a ladle, he hears his friends in the other room lower their voices. He can't make out what they're saying in their hushed tones. Sometimes he's not sure they are his friends anymore. He has other concerns, though.

Chief among them is the horrible stomachache that's plagued him for days. Tolkien noticed he was clutching at his stomach and probably making irritating pained sounds, and pointedly informed him about the ginger tea in the cupboard. He assumes they wanted to get rid of him so they could talk about Craig's situation.

It's not like Tweek wants to hear about it anyway. Maybe a small masochistic part of him does, but mostly he just resents them treating him like a child. Like he isn't one of them. If he's not, that's fine, but why still invite him? To shoo him away when they have important man business to discuss? It's not like Clyde's really one of them either, but he isn't a receptacle. Tweek is, now, and a faulty one at that. No one should even know but it's a small town. People talk.


With a huff Tweek sets down the ladle and climbs up on the counter. He stands up and sees the ginger tea way in the back of the cupboard. He could never have reached it from the floor. A wave of pain hits him hard and his head swims but he manages to grab onto the cupboard door, yelping at that lurch in his gut from having almost fallen.

“You good, dude?” Clyde bellows from the other room.

"Nnnh, yeah!" he yells back.

He boils the water and clenches his jaw when hears them laugh. It might not be about him—nothing is anymore, and that’s fine. When the kettle whistles, he pours the boiling water into the large mug and sets the kettle back down. He breathes in slowly for four counts, holds for four, and releases for four. He keeps at that for a minute, just til the cup doesn't burn too badly for him to touch, and returns to the living room.

When he comes back into the room, Craig is trailing off, “—don’t really wanna talk about it,” and Tolkien flashes Tweek a tight-lipped smile.

Tolkien asks if he’s feeling better and Tweek replies he isn’t. He hasn’t even had any of the tea—how would he be feeling better already? They talk about Clyde’s community college plans around him and he drinks his ginger tea before it’s cooled, spacing out to escape his discomfort. Why do they keep inviting him?

Since that day at the doctor’s, Tweek has gotten quite good at spacing out, thinking about nothing, and finding much time has passed when he comes to. It probably helps that no one cares to even pretend to engage him.

When he snaps out of it this time, Tolkien and Clyde are getting set up on the couch to play video games. Implicitly, Tweek knows he isn’t invited but that’s fine. He has other plans. His bedroom ceiling isn’t going to stare at itself for the next several hours.


"Need a ride?" Craig offers, his tone bored and flat like usual, as they make their way to the front door.

“Mnnh,” Tweek says, with a jerky sort of nod. He really does need one—he’s not allowed to walk home alone after dark anymore. Even though he doesn’t smell, his size is a dead giveaway as to his status. Still, it’s uncomfortable to have to ask, to have to be at Craig’s mercy.

They walk out to his car wordlessly. He forces himself to settle into the passenger’s seat, to unclench his jaw and muscles. It smells like Kyle and that makes Tweek want to throw up, but he doesn't. He's good instead. He can take this reality, the one in which Craig is with Kyle and they're going to move away together soon.

He can't bear to ask how Craig really feels about that. He doesn't want to hear if he's looking forward to it, which makes him feel like a bad friend. He wouldn't know how to deal with it if he's not, which makes him a bad friend.

Eventually Tweek manages to tune out Kyle’s scent. Why can he pick it out so clearly all of a sudden? It doesn’t smell nice to him. It smells like sour milk. Maybe it’s like buttermilk and fresh laundry to Craig. He’s not going to ask. They don’t talk about him. They don’t talk about anything anymore.

Craig’s scent comes through strongly on its own. It just smells like him, the way Craig has always smelled to him—like the comforting familiarity of his bedroom, and all those times he would wrap an arm around Tweek’s shoulders drunk and Tweek would nestle into his armpit. It reminds him of the way Craig would only laugh and smile like that for Tweek. He would look at Tweek like he was something special.

Craig doesn’t look at him at all anymore. Tweek is nothing special after all. It makes him want to cry now, that smell, that reminder of having had something so precious only to lose it before it was truly his. He doesn’t, though. He keeps any confirmation of those feelings safe and locked away. His only remaining source of dignity is that he has never said the words aloud.


Craig chokes on his breath. “Dude, are you okay?”

“Mhm,” Tweek murmurs in a strained voice.

“You don’t smell okay.”

“Hngh, great! Sorry I smell bad.”

He’s acting childish. He can’t smell anything through his shallow breaths, but he’s sure he does smell bad. He’s soaked through with sweat, he notices suddenly, but he’s shivering and his nipples form hard peaks beneath his damp button down. Then in turn he’s much too hot, and dizzy.

“Not bad. You smell distressed.”

“Huh?” Tweek asks, disoriented.

Craig shouldn’t be able to smell his feelings. It doesn’t make any sense. His head is fuzzy.


He focuses on that Craig scent again, allows himself the indulgence of fantasies of their past. They’re too tinged with the bitterness of the present to dwell upon much these days, but he desperately needs an escape. He thinks about that one time he woke up after they’d fallen asleep together on the couch, Craig’s arm wrapped tightly around his chest, throbbing cock pressed flush against his ass. Craig had woken up a few short minutes after Tweek and withdrew with a sleepily mumbled, “Sorry.”

But what if he hadn’t? What if instead he’d pulled down Tweek’s pajama pants and fucked him raw right there on the living room couch, grinding into his ass deep, making him come over and over where the Tuckers watched TV, marking up his neck like he hungered for Tweek as much as Tweek did him?

What if Clyde and Tolkien hadn’t come back in the room the time they were play-wrestling and Craig had him pinned, and he could feel the pulse of his cock, the heat coming off of it? He'd wanted it pressed against him so badly, wanted Craig to rip him open and tear up his insides.

He thinks about Craig fucking him in front of all their friends, bending him over the coffee table at Tolkien's house where they had ignored him, making him take his big cock on the floor of the dining room as the Tuckers and the Broflovskis hammered out the details of the arrangement. He thinks about Craig’s arm across his throat, his teeth in his neck, cock stuffed all the way inside Tweek's virgin ass—being dominated, being marked up, being owned. To hell with decorum and dowries and the dread that mounts within him each and every day.


Suddenly there’s a horrible wetness emanating from between his legs; his pants are sopping wet and uncomfortable and he can feel it seeping into the car seat.

“Something’s wrong, I think—I think I’m bleeding!”

“Not blood,” Craig grits out. He pulls up beside his own house, bringing the car to a stop, and rolls his window down, gulping down the fresh air. Craig does look at him now—he looks at him like he's an unpredictable dog of a friend.

Tweek can’t look down, he refuses—looking will make this real instead of a fucking nightmare from which he might wake. How terrible, to be falling apart like this, gushing at his very seams in front of Craig, who he’d hoped might remember him fondly.

Breath coming shallow now, Tweek runs his fingers through the liquid that's accumulated between his legs and brings his fingers to his face. It's clear and viscous, and he can hear Craig's heavy breathing, see that look in his eye that says, "Don't you fucking dare."

"What, hngh—sweet Jesus—what do I do?!”

“Don’t you have, you know, like, toys?”

Tweek laughs bitterly. “No, of course not—why would they bother buying me toys?”

“You should just be ready.”

Tweek’s bottom lip begins trembling of its own accord and his eyes prickle in that way that precedes tears falling. He rubs his eyes harshly to preempt it.

“They thought I’d never, angh—‘cause of the drugs,” he chokes out.

Then without warning, he’s sobbing and Craig tries to pull his fingers away from his eyes. He’s going to win because he’s bigger and stronger, but Tweek is determined and humiliated by his biology, so he puts up a fight.

“Tweek, for fuck’s sake—” Craig finally manages to pry his fingers up, “I have spare toys you can have, okay?”

“Gah, I don’t want Kyle’s fucking used sex toys!”

“Kyle never—my stupid mom got them for me. Just take them so you don’t hurt yourself!”

“Hah, hurt myself?”

“Yeah, you have to”—Craig sighs—“if you don’t get mated, you’re supposed to use those toys, the ones that," he hesitates, "that inflate like a real knot.”

Tweek gapes at him in horror.

“I don’t want that!” he shrieks, nausea spiking. “Please, ngh—oh God, Craig! Please don’t make me do that!”

“I’m not making you,” he grumbles, but they both know that’s a lie. Craig can’t even look at him.

“I’m just gonna get them. Then I’ll drive you home. Okay?”


Home, where his parents are. They’ll know right away. They’ll probably auction off his virginity and leave him to suffer in his heat til whichever old creep buys it arrives. He’s kept all his feelings of dread and pain and abandonment down for so long but this thought is simply too much to bear, and it all comes pouring out in the form of the stomach bile he now spews down his shirt.

"Oh, fuck," Craig groans. He grabs some fast food napkins from the backseat and presses them to Tweek's chest and stomach to sop it up. They absorb the liquid right away, so it's just Craig's hands on him, and he shivers and whines at his touch. It should be disgusting, Craig getting the contents of Tweek's stomach all over his hands, but he's touching him so gently, so hesitantly, it makes Tweek's whole body burn and pulse with need.

When he looks up, Craig is panting, his pupils fat, staring at Tweek's body, and then Craig looks up too, and seems to consciously pull himself away. He gathers up all the soiled napkins in a wad and opens the car door.

“Craig,” Tweek hisses, and Craig looks back at him.

“You’ll be fine. Just, don’t open your door. Not for anyone. Okay?”

“Ngh,” Tweek groans, thumping his head back on the seat.

Craig’s words don’t reassure him like they used to. Why should they? He’s going to go and forget all about Tweek.

He still can’t believe Craig’s just going to leave him here now, though. He’s hot and shivering, drenched in his own fluids, and Craig abruptly removes his jacket and drapes it over Tweek. The smell makes Tweek’s head swim, and he's startled when the car door slams closed. The doors click locked and Tweek is left alone.

Re: Tweek/Craig, ABO, overstimulation

[(Anonymous)]

2/

“Tweek.” A knock on the window and Tweek jolts with a screech.

It’s Kenny. He’s staring, his brow furrowed, and Tweek shrinks under his searching gaze.

“Tweek, you’re really sick—where’s Craig?”

Nowadays Kenny speaks low and gravelly like his childhood superhero persona. It’s not an act—his voice truly got deeper—but it freaks Tweek out. It’s like talking to a different person.

“He just—he had to get something!” Tweek squeaks out.

“What’s he getting? He just left you here?” Kenny sounds—and smells— angry.

Tweek feels compelled to obey and tell him everything, but he knows it’s because of pheromones and Kenny’s tone. He blinks up at him owlishly and tugs at his hair. How would he even explain the situation? He has no idea where Kenny stands on any of this.

“Tweek, you can talk to me. This is serious. Your shirt’s soaked. You probably have a high fever.”

“Augh, I’m fine, man, just please—”

“Get the fuck off my car.”


Tweek groans as Craig’s low rumbling voice makes him tremble in fear, and yet also triggers another gush of slick. Tweek’s losing his mind at how stupid and perverse and self-sabotaging his body is. Not yours—he’s not yours!

“What the fuck is that, Craig—toys? You think toys are gonna cut it at this point?”

“It’s none of your business—what are you even doing here anyway?”

“Smelled someone in distress. Why haven't you at least scented him yet? He's sick,” Kenny says gruffly.

"Can't. He's not my mate."

It's not like Tweek wasn't already painfully aware of that fact, but hearing Craig say it so matter-of-fact like that is a gut punch he didn't need.

“You don't have to be his mate—I scent Kyle all the time, and you know full well who his mate is.”

“I'm not gonna argue this shit with you anymore." Tweek can't follow the subtext here but he knows he's missing something. Maybe Kenny wants Kyle as his mate? "Fuckin’ fighting with me is making it worse. So leave.”

“I’m not leaving until you agree to help him. This is fucking serious, Craig.”

“I am helping.”

“With toys?”

Craig says nothing, and Tweek’s heart sinks. That must be the plan, and Kenny thinks he can’t do it. Is Craig right? Is he physically strong enough? Kenny seems so convinced he’s not. He scoffs at Craig.

“At least clean him up before you drop him off at my place if you’re not gonna be a fucking man and take care of him yourself,” Kenny spits disrespectfully, like Craig is a scuff mark on an otherwise pristine shoe.

The moment is so tense, and Tweek watches with wide eyes from his seat. They’re fighting over him.


And in fact after a few moments of tense silence, Craig suddenly decks Kenny, the impact leaving a horrible cracking sound in its wake. Kenny goes down and Tweek scrambles to unlock the car so he can get out and check on him.

Seconds after leaving the car, though, he groans and his legs wobble, and he has to lean back against the car to hold himself upright. They both smell so strongly of aggression and possessiveness. He doesn’t belong to either of them, but Kenny was implying one of them has to mate him and he’ll do it if Craig doesn’t step up.

Like he’s some little fucktoy to be used and tossed aside. Tweek hates himself for how badly he wants even just that. Ideally from Craig, but he needs this pain to stop no matter what. Craig isn’t his, he’s not Craig’s, Craig has someone. He’s so mad at the thought of Kenny having him, though.

He doesn’t want you but he won’t let Kenny have you— he wants you to die.

He tries to breathe through that panic-inducing thought, tries to push it down with everything else. It’s all bubbling up from his stomach, like he might puke again.

Kenny coughs and manages to get back on his feet. “You fucking smell that, right? You have to help him, Craig. Just be a fucking person for once in your life.”

After Kenny’s hobbled off, Craig takes a minute to slowly breathe, til the harsh musk of his anger subsides. Then he heads straight for Tweek, tucking the sex toys' plastic packaging in the back of his pants.


“Ngh, Craig, why did you do that?”

“Not gonna let Kenny turn you into one of his whores,” Craig spits.

When Craig picks him up bridal-style, Tweek melts into his chest, the strong scent of him making his head swim.

“Not a whore," he manages to mumble through his daze, and Craig sighs, carrying him over the threshold and locking the door behind them. “He was trying to help, man. I—I need help.”

“I’m helping you,” Craig says firmly, holding Tweek tighter as he climbs the stairs.

“Urgh, he said those wouldn’t work, Craig!”

“Kenny doesn’t know everything!” he snarls back.

Tweek flinches and drops his gaze, hormonally compelled to follow the implicit order to shut up and accept what Craig has chosen for him, but it hurts because Kenny’s probably right. If he’s too weak to do this to himself properly, then Craig is just tormenting him with his scent for no reason.

They reach the bathroom and Craig lays Tweek down on the bathmat, turns to fiddle with the knobs, and tells him, quietly, “Get undressed. I’ll get the bath ready.” He clears his throat and asks, “You’ll be okay in there alone, right?”

Tweek would love to be able to say yes, because he’s disgusting, his own stomach acid having soaked through his shirt, slick still oozing from between his legs onto the Tuckers’ bathmat, tears and snot adorning his face.

He wipes those at least and mumbles back, “Agh, I’m dizzy.”

“Alright,” Craig says tightly. Tweek wonders if Kenny’s words are the only reason he doesn’t tell Tweek, “Tough shit.”


He doesn’t add to Craig's burden by telling him he’s struggling to take off his clothes because his hands are so shaky, his muscles so weak. He just keeps fumbling with his shirt buttons. He manages to get them all undone and wiggles his shoulders and arms out of soaked button down. His head swims when he stands to undo the button on his jeans. He’s hard and Craig’s going to see him. He's going to see all of him.

Tweek goes to pull down his boxers and loses his balance. Craig catches him from under his armpits, then scoops him up from under his knees with one arm, the other bracing his mid-back. He carries him over to the bath where the water is running.

He places him in the tub and removes his boxers gently from his feet. Tweek can see his own slick glistening on Craig’s right forearm. He watches Craig rinse it off under the running water, breathing slowly and deliberately. Then he turns to Tweek and tells him, “I’m gonna get you water and a cup to rinse you off with. Okay?”

Tweek nods bleary-eyed. Craig looks over Tweek’s huddled, naked form in the empty tub, then averts his gaze and goes. Tweek shakily reaches for the running faucet with arms outstretched, cupping his hands to collect water in them. He rinses his face with it. The temperature is perfect.


Craig knows exactly what he needs, sometimes. Maybe he knows all the time and chooses to deny Tweek. That must be it, but he doesn’t know why. Because he doesn’t want him, because Tweek doesn’t deserve it, because Tweek hadn’t been good enough. They’re all options. He knows he does want him a little, or at least used to—

Craig comes back in, ice water in a large nalgene with a straw in one hand, plastic cup in the other.

“Just gonna rinse you and then I’ll let you soak,” he says huskily, then he clears his throat and kneels beside the tub.

He fills the cup with the running lukewarm water and pours it down Tweek’s chest, then lathers a wet washcloth with soap and starts washing Tweek’s chest. The scrape of the cheap terrycloth over his nipples feels so good he can barely contain his moans. They come out in long, drawn-out Nnnhs. Craig’s big hand controlling the washcloth drifts lower, but Tweek has his knees pulled up tight, and the dirty soapy water is collecting in his lap.

“Tweek,” Craig says flatly.

“Hrngh, what?”

He knows what. Craig doesn’t even have to say it. He just makes a face like he knows Tweek knows.


Tweek lowers his legs a little. He’s so hard, slick essentially pouring down the drain so long as Craig refrains from filling him up. His whole body quivers at the shame of it. It’s humiliating having Craig see him like this.

“Tweek,” Craig says, soft admonishment evident in his voice, and Tweek extends his legs the rest of the way immediately, not wanting to talk about it, covering his face with his hands because he’s crying for some reason. He feels like he might throw up again, and drops his head back on the bathtub rim. It hurts, bouncing against the ceramic to the rhythm of the sobs that wrack his body.

Craig pours a few cups of water down Tweek’s chest, washing all traces the soapy water down the drain. Tweek spaces out, trying to leave his body, until he notices the water level rising around him.

“Tweek,” Craig says, “it’s okay. You’re okay,” and Tweek cries harder because he most certainly is not okay; he is on the verge of puking again, all over himself in the Tuckers’ bathtub.


“C’mere,” Craig murmurs, pulling him up by the back of his head and leaning in to press his lips to his neck. Tweek realizes what’s happening only moments before—Craig is scenting him, just like Kenny said to do.

It feels so right, Craig sucking on that sensitive gland—Tweek keens, loud and desperate, fingers curling into Craig’s hair to hold his head there. But Craig is stronger, and he pulls back after a few moments, teeth scraping the gland as he withdraws, panting.

Craig stares at him intently, the icy gray-blue of his eyes barely visible around his blown pupils. Tweek stares back into them, then at Craig’s parted lips, and before he can even think, Craig’s mouth is on his, hungrily sucking, and Tweek kisses back automatically, an empty vessel waiting to be filled up with his love.

Every nerve in Tweek’s body is on fire, his nipples hardening into tight little buds near-painfully, hard cock straining against his stomach, his slick filling up the tub as Craig licks into his mouth in deliberate strokes. Tweek moans into Craig's back, sucking on his tongue, running his fingers through his thick hair, pulling him in closer.

They kiss like they’re speaking a language they invented together. I want, I want, I want, Tweek’s kisses say. Craig’s say, I know.

As long as they’re kissing, Craig is his. Tweek wants it to last forever, but he runs out of breath too soon and has to part with a gasp, dropping his head on the back rim of the tub again.


With Tweek's chest heaving and heart pounding, Craig braces a hand at his mid-back and kisses down the side of his neck. Tweek shivers and cries out when Craig stops to trace his sensitive gland with his tongue, then he kisses his way down Tweek’s chest til he reaches a nipple. When he sucks it into his mouth, Tweek's whole body attempts to jerk him away from the stimulation but Craig hold him firm in his grip.

The sounds Craig's pulling from Tweek's chest should embarrass Tweek but it feels too good for him to care. Every rough suck shoots straight to his dick, and the electrical pleasure shoots through to his fingers and toes. He'd never known his nipples were this sensitive. What's more, Craig chose this—Craig is sucking and biting his left nipple of his own accord. He dips a hand between Tweek's legs, not touching him, but the movement of the water against Tweek's slippery wet, needy hole stimulates him, and he whines at the tease of it all.

Craig shushes him and brings that hand back up to paint his right nipple with slick-saturated water. He leans in to suck that one too, drinking up Tweek's slick and groaning as if hungry for more. Tweek feels like he could come from the visual alone and certainly from the stimulation of his nipples if Craig keeps this up. He's already leaking pre-cum, and his hole body pulses in time with his cock. As Craig torments the left one between his thumb and finger, he grazes the right with his teeth between torturously slow, teasing sucks.

“Craig,” Tweek breathes out involuntarily, the name pouring out of his mouth like honey.

Somehow this breaks the spell. Craig remembers who he is and what he's supposed to be doing here. His hands jerk away from Tweek's body and he forces himself to unlatch from his nipple; Tweek whines at the loss. It's obvious Craig's been affected by all this—his eyes are glassy, pupils black like he's on something, he's panting heavily. A blush adorns his large roman nose, his ears, his high cheekbones. He's so beautiful and he's not Tweek's.

“I gotta—gonna go get stuff for. Nest,” he sputters out.

Then he pulls the bath stopper, and all but bolts out of the room, leaving Tweek with a throbbing hard-on, slick pouring out of his ass, and overstimulated, saliva-slicked nipples that sting from the cold air.

Re: Tweek/Craig, ABO, overstimulation

[(Anonymous)]

3/4


Tweek whines in the back of his throat over the state he’s been left in. His body is burning and he can still taste Craig in his mouth. Once the water drains entirely, it’s evident his slick has left a residue behind on his skin, not to mention the bathtub. He turns the water on again and tries to at least rinse his legs but the water turns cold quickly and new slick keeps coming, hot and viscous, dripping down his legs. There’s no point.

With some effort he manages to turn the water off and snatch up the towel from the metal bar above the tub. Wrapping the towel around himself gingerly, he leans back against the back of the tub. He’s more acutely aware of how hot his body is in this towel, the hardness of his cock and nipples more apparent with the towel pressing them down. The bottom is already drenched from fresh slick and Tweek reaches down for the bottle of ice water Craig left by the side of the tub, takes a sip, and then holds it to his burning cheeks for some relief.

It doesn’t work. He’s so full of lust, all he can do is imagine Craig taking him right now, being in Craig’s bed with his face pressed into the pillow to muffle his screams as Craig hoists his hips up high and plows into him hard, over and over. Tweek knows from that one time on the couch (and, if he’s honest, from locker room sightings) that it’s bigger than most, Craig’s cock. He imagines struggling to take it, and Craig forcing it in him.

He has goosebumps and his nipples actually hurt thinking about what it would be like to suck it down deep in his throat. He wonders what his cum tastes like. He imagines trying to sit astride it, lowering himself slowly as Craig sucks on his nipples again and tells him he’s being so good, such a good boy for his big alpha cock, bucking up into him wildly as Tweek cries at the newness of the sensations. None of this is helping the situation at hand—in fact the slick situation is out of control at present.

Craig liked the taste of it. Tweek wonders if he would lap at his entrance, drinking his slick down. How would Craig treat him? Would he be sexually generous, or more demanding? Either sounds appealing to Tweek, but he imagines Craig being more comfortable giving. He imagines sucking Craig's cock while sitting on his face, his slick dripping from Craig's chin.

When Craig comes back in the bathroom, he stumbles and lets out a, “Fuck,” apparently deeply affected by Tweek's delirious lust-scent. Gathering himself, Craig resumes his mission—scooping Tweek up like before, with one arm under his back, and the other under his butt, right where it’s damp.

“Jesus, Tweek,” he hisses.

“Mnnh, sorry,” Tweek mumbles dazedly. He isn’t, really, because he’s not in control of this. It’s like apologizing for a sneeze. He feels a bit bad it’s so protracted and sticky, maybe, but it's not like he chose this.

Leaning against Craig’s chest, Tweek can feel Craig’s labored breaths. Tweek clings around his neck like a monkey and closes his eyes, focusing on his comforting scent. If he focuses on the way Craig smells and the actions he’s taken rather than his words, he can imagine Craig wants him back.


In short order, Craig deposits him in his bed where he’s piled up some clothes. Most are Craig’s and a few are Tweek’s that he’d lent Craig over the past few years—a scarf, some socks, a gym shirt from that time Craig spilled lasagna all over his shirt. The shirt had been too short on Craig and Tweek was distracted all day looking at that strip of visible skin just above Craig’s waistband, the coarse black hair that seemed so foreign and enticing to Tweek.

Still much too hot, Tweek takes off his towel, struggling to pull it out from under him and he hands it to Craig who watches half-lidded, breathing heavily. Then he covers himself with one of Craig’s oversized flannels. It smells so good, Tweek can’t help but moan softly as he hugs it against his body. When he opens his eyes, Craig is hovering, but takes a step back once their eyes meet.

“I’m gonna—put on laundry. And shower. Here, uh—” Craig opens the plastic casing for the sex toys and sets them on his bedside table. “—just, please. I know you can do it.”

“Craig,” Tweek pleads, “nnnh, what if I can’t?”

“Please just try.” Tweek must be looking pretty pitiful because he adds, “I’ll come check on you. Okay?”


Nodding, Tweek lets out an unsteady breath, and Craig is out the door in seconds flat. Tweek is burning up and his stomach feels sick again. Trying to calm himself down, he nestles into the pile of hoodies and flannels and inhales. It smells like Craig. He just left Tweek in a pile of his clothes, in his bed, which Tweek is now drenching with his slick. That has to mean something, that Craig would acknowledge how much Tweek wants to mate with him, that he would indulge it. Maybe he only did it because he had no other choice.

Not wanting to disobey Craig, Tweek unclasps the plastic clamshell casing around the sex toys. He takes the narrowest one, accidentally nudging a button on the side. A fake knot swells at the base of the toy, and Tweek shrieks and drops it. With trembling hands, he picks it up again and strikes that button. The knot deflates and Tweek shudders, trying to banish the thought of it from his mind. An artificial knot—why does he find that so horrific?

And yet he promised Craig he'd try, and only the base inflates, so he rubs the head of the toy in his slick. He presses it to his entrance with unsteady hands, imagining Craig above him since his scent is all around him, but it's too obvious an illusion. Craig is not made of silicon. He’s not cold and sterile, and he’s not held by the shakiest set of fingers on the planet. Kyle hadn’t needed a toy; he’s probably had the real deal—Craig, Tweek’s Craig. The thought hurts, and pressing the silicon substitute against his slick entrance hurts. He doesn’t want this. This isn’t fair at all.


He persists, though, pushing though his body won't unclench for something it doesn't want, and is in fact repelled by. And he cries in pain at the fruitless endeavor. He moans helplessly at his predicament, but when he opens his eyes, there's Craig—all traces of his intoxicating pheromones washed away—standing in the doorway, utterly frozen.

“Craig,” Tweek cries, limply dropping the toy. “Craig, please.”

His sight is blurred but he can make out Craig panting heavily, the outline of his hard cock in his sweatpants, his lustful scent rising. He braces himself with an arm against the door frame.

“Tweek,” he croaks.

“Mmh, please, man, agh—I need you,” Tweek breathes out weakly.


Tweek sees it in his eyes, the urgency—something in him snaps, and Craig lunges forward towards him.

He sobs in relief as Craig climbs over him, sucking and licking at his neck, right where he needs it. The nausea and the pain abate right away, but slick keeps pouring out of him, and he moans, body curling up into Craig of its own accord, his desperation mounting. Even though he’s so weak, his shaky hands go for Craig’s waistband. He manages to get his pants down while Craig yanks his shirt over his head, and then it’s just Craig in his black briefs—his Craig, all for him.

Tweek can’t even breathe when he grabs for it, rubbing up the length of the shaft with both hands. It’s big and hot and pulsating for him and only him. The groan Craig emits makes the slick come even heavier. There’s a damp spot at his tip in his briefs like he’s been leaking just thinking about fucking Tweek to oblivion. Craig shudders when Tweek touches his thumb to the wet spot, then licks it, moaning at the heady, salty taste. Craig pulls off his briefs, eyes fixed on Tweek's mouth. For his part, Tweek can only stare at Craig's hard, naked cock with longing, a sense of surreality washing over him.

It’s going to happen, it’s finally going to happen, and Tweek needs it so badly, more than he’s ever needed anything. To a point, just Craig’s presence was enough. Tweek cries for it now, for all the years Craig wasn’t fucking him, and for the reality of it happening now being too good to be believed. He needs him more than he needs to breathe; he can’t breathe, choking on his ragged sobs.

“Don’t cry—God. Please don’t cry,” Craig says lowly, and he leans down to kiss Tweek.
Just like in the tub, it’s like their mouths were made to mesh together this way. He tastes like completion, fulfillment. He tastes like he belongs to Tweek. Their kisses, in unison, say, Yes, now. When Craig slots himself between Tweek's legs, Tweek wraps his legs around his lower back, drenching him in his slick without even meaning to.

He’s being tender with Tweek, kissing down his chest as if he needs foreplay right now. Craig's cock merely rests against him, but he can feel and smell that Craig needs inside him just as much as he needs it.

“Hnngh, Craig, please—just put your dick in me already, I’m so wet,” he rasps.

At the command, Craig snarls, and Tweek moans meekly when that show of dominance causes more still to gush out of him.

Craig pushes his legs up and he grabs hold of them from under his knees instinctively, like he was born for this, born to take Craig’s cock. It looks like so much to take, he has no idea how it’s going to fit, but he can’t stand the thought of it being outside his body a second longer. He wants to be full, so full of Craig that he’ll never leave again.

He groans as Craig drags it up and down his slick-drenched entrance and his hips instinctively try to rock him down onto it. Finally, impatient, he grabs at his fat cock and positions it at his sopping wet hole. Craig bends down over him, and Tweek whines when this presses the tip into his entrance, just a bit.

“Relax. Relax, baby,” Craig says.

Tweek whimpers at the petname and cries sharply as Craig begins pressing in in earnest, groaning. It’s so much bigger than the toy he couldn’t penetrate himself with, but Craig is doing the work of pushing his way inside of him, and Tweek wants him inside, so he obeys; he relaxes, attempting to breathe through the stretch. It’s still hard to take. He grits his teeth and exhales hard through his nose.

“Doing so good, baby," Craig says in a strained voice, and he pushes in further with a grunt. By now Tweek's taken him past the head. He whimpers as his hole spasms around it, but then he wills himself to relax, to submit, to allow himself to be opened up. He spreads his legs wider and moans at how good it suddenly begins to feel, which Craig seems to sense, because he presses in further.

Tweek can tell Craig is taking it slow for him, but they're both barely hanging on to their rationality, and he doesn't need its slow right now. A few inches in and he's drooling, unable to focus his eyes. Between animalistic grunts, Craig manages to choke out, “You okay?”

“Hnngh, yeah,” Tweek whines, nearly delirious, “give it to me, Craig—please, man, ah—I need your whole cock!”

Craig growls and leans in further to kiss Tweek which he readily accepts, then he slams himself the rest of the way inside, swallowing down Tweek’s scream.

They're both trembling and Craig sucks on Tweek's tongue and moans, keeping still, waiting for him to adjust. Craig's inside him so deep; he’s being stretched wider than he ever thought possible, and it feels so good, so freeing, he feels complete. He never wants Craig to leave and his muscles hug him tightly from the inside.

"Fuck, ah—you feel so fucking good,” Craig grits out.

He doesn’t move in or out but begins grinding, swiveling his hips and Tweek squeaks and cries sharply with every little pivot.

He’s so overstimulated, his head falls back on the pillow and he feels Craig shift, then suddenly his nipples are being sucked and tweaked hard. He’s quivering and quaking around the length of Craig inside him and Craig starts circling his hips up and out and around. Tweek can feel the rumbling of Craig’s growls in his own chest reverberating through his own chest where Craig sucks and nips at him.

All the stimulation is overwhelming in the best way possible. His body is just a vessel for pleasure, his mind is focused on their present deeds and nothing else, and most amazingly of all, Craig seems to be in the same position he is. He knows Craig is overwhelmed by the pleasure, too. His scent is the strongest Tweek's ever smelled it, and then Craig starts fucking him in earnest, pulling almost all the way out and then slamming back in over and over.


He's not taking it slow anymore and as he roughly fucks Tweek into the mattress, white starts to flash behind Tweek's eyes, and his legs begin to quake from the pressure of the hot bliss slowly spreading out from his center.

"You gonna come?" Craig asks in his ear, voice low and amused, almost mocking.

"Yeah, nnh—yes!" he squeaks out pathetically. "Please, Craig, augh—I need it!"

"You can come as much as you want but I'm not gonna stop til I knot you. Think you can take it?"

"Hnngh—make me," Tweek spits, suddenly wanting the struggle even knowing how badly he'll lose. He wants to put up a fight while he inevitably climaxes over and over on Craig's big alpha dick. Craig made him wait so long for this and he's not just going to lie there and take it while Craig marvels at how easy he was.

"Yeah," Craig hisses, sitting upright and pulling Tweek's legs up on his shoulders. "Yeah, I'll make you." He brutally pounds into Tweek in this position, balls slapping against Tweek's ass audibly with every harsh thrust. Tweek wails, his body attempting to squirm away from the savage treatment, but Craig holds him in place by his hips and watches with an expression of smug pleasure as Tweek struggles to keep his eyes open.

He's screeching and the flashing behind his eyes consumes him wholly when Craig pushes Tweek's feet beside his head and fucks into him hard, face hovering just over him, watching.

"Come on, Tweek, hah—come on my cock," he coaxes sweetly. Tweek obeys; he comes untouched on Craig's cock, clenching down firmly, quivering all around him as his muscles spasm throughout his whole body, the climax so intense it almost burns.

Once the worst of his spasms have subsided, Craig pulls all the way out with a groan, leaving Tweek empty, shaking and gasping.

“On your hands and knees,” he commands, voice husky and deep.

Re: Tweek/Craig, ABO, overstimulation

[(Anonymous)]

4/4


Tweek wants so badly to comply, but his limbs are trembling too hard. After a few moments of watching him struggle, Craig flips Tweek over onto his stomach. Tweek feels thumbs spreading his cheeks apart, and whines when he isn’t filled up shortly thereafter, even though he’s still shaking with oversensitivity. But then something hot and wet and flexible begins lapping at his entrance, and he cries out in surprise.

He knows what’s happening—it’s just like he’d fantasized—but he needs to reach back and grab a fistful of Craig’s thick hair to confirm he is in fact licking Tweek’s ass, moaning softly as he drinks down his slick. Craig soothes him with his tongue and tells him, “Fuck, you taste so good,” and then Tweek yelps when he jams his tongue inside. “Ungh, you scream and shake just like I always imagined.”

“You—mnnh—you thought about this?” Tweek gasps out as Craig prods in and out of him with his tongue.

Craig snorts. “Are you serious?” He gets back to it right away, pressing in and licking and sucking in turn, so all Tweek can do is moan in the affirmative.

“Tweek…” He pauses his onslaught to nip lightly at the flesh of Tweek's ass. “I think about you every time I jack off.”

“Hngh? Since, ah, since when?”

He can feel Craig snickering as he continues to lap up his slick. “Since I started jacking off, stupid.”

“Fuck, Craig,” he whines. Gripping Craig's hair, Tweek begins fucking himself backwards on his probing tongue. “Are you serious?”

When Craig hums in the affirmative, Tweek can feel the rumbling of his voice inside his body. He'll have to save working through the implications of what Craig's just said for later, because he can't think at all right now. Craig wraps his arms around Tweek's upper thighs and takes charge by jamming his tongue in and out, over and over. His moans pour into Tweek just as Tweek's slick pours into his mouth, and it's too much for Tweek to take. He doesn't want to come on Craig's tongue, not when they both need him to knot to be satisfied.

"Please, Craig, hnngh—fuck me, fuck me please," he begs pitifully.

“I am fucking you,” Craig says, and he resumes.

“With your cock! Fuck, please, just—put it back in, Craig, angh!”


Craig withdraws his tongue immediately and, just like Tweek had fantasized, hoists his hips up high and forces his cock back inside, groaning and pushing Tweek’s face down into the pillow. Tweek presses it in there himself to muffle his cries, wrapping his arms around it for good measure, and he allows Craig to hold him up by the hips as he slams his cock in and out in rapid succession.

He tries to rock back against Craig in time with his harsh thrusts forward, but Craig’s gripping his hips too tightly. All he can do is tilt his pelvis up and back to meet him and wail at the intensity of it.

His balls slap against Tweek’s ass like before. He’s fucking into him so hard and Tweek’s so sensitive from having come already that he lets out a sharp cry each time Craig forces his cock all the way in. His ass clamps around it involuntarily, like he’s trying to push Craig out, and he’s sobbing at this point—when did that start?

Craig leans over him and kisses his neck. “I’m not hurting you, am I?” he pants in his ear, slowing his pace.

“Nnnh," Tweek manages to get out, "don’t stop!” and Craig bites his ear and starts pounding hard again.


“You feel that?” he hisses.

“Hnngh,” Tweek whimpers. The base of Craig's dick is starting to expand.

“Mmnh, gonna knot you. Gonna come all up in your guts,” he grits out, pulling Tweek back by the hips each time he thrusts forward now. The rough treatment and the nasty appeal of his words set Tweek off again. His hips attempt to tip him forward and away from Craig's pulsating, thickening cock and he utters a string of soft, whiny pleas. His whole body convulses beneath Craig, around him. He comes with a shriek, vision blinking out and toes curling as his muscles tense and spasm around Craig's cock.

"You came again?" Craig says, sounding awed. "I'm—ah—almost there. Get on top facing me; it'll be better to be knotted that way."

"Agh, I—I can’t, Craig."

“Come on. Just try, babe. I'll help you,” he says sweetly. When he pulls his throbbing cock out of Tweek, they both groan at the loss. Tweek is the most oversensitive he's ever been in his life, but his body knows he needs his alpha's knot, his cum, to provide and receive his release.

With Craig's help, Tweek sits astride him and pulls him back inside with a low whine. Craig leans back against his pillows, dragging Tweek with him, and Tweek groans at the ache of being moved with Craig's length buried deep inside him. Holding onto his shoulders like this gives Tweek some leverage to ride him, but his legs shake so badly as he attempts to bounce himself up and down on Craig’s swollen, twitching cock.

“Look at you,” Craig says, clearly pleased. “You’re all fucked out. I did that to you.”

“Hngnh, yeah I know. I was there.”

“Oh, were you now?” he teases, voice strained, and he starts bucking up into Tweek hard. His knot grows rapidly and it both burns, stretching to accommodate the swelling of Craig's already oversized cock, and rubs up against his sweet spot constantly now. His eyes cross, rolled back in his head, and he moans and cries at the thought of the aggressive pleasure of relief striking him once again. Every little movement makes that warmth in his belly build and spread yet again. He's really going to come three times in the time it takes Craig to come once.

And Craig can tell. "Are you fucking serious?" he asks huskily as Tweek chokes on his sobs and quivers all around him again. "How are you even real?"

Tweek's head tips forward onto one of Craig's shoulders and he digs his fingernails into the flesh of his upper back. Craig growls at the pain, and buries his face in Tweek's neck, nipping and licking at his scent gland again. His teeth come to the fore suddenly, and they scrape at the gland. Tweek moans as Craig's knot expands to the point that he can no longer pull out of Tweek's body. He just keeps rocking deeper inside him and then pulling back, rubbing up against Tweek's entrance from the other side.

It feels so strange and so satisfying, to be so full, and when Craig pulls himself off of Tweek's neck gland and instead sinks his teeth in the flesh at the crook of Tweek's neck, he starts going off inside Tweek. He takes Tweek's dick in hand and jerks him off as he groans and empties his massive load deep inside of him.

"Nnnh," Tweek moans, feeling his sore muscles trembling around the fat imposition of Craig's cock for the third time and his hips thrust him forward in Craig's grip against his will. He's so achy and tired, but the sense of fullness from Craig's knot and his hot cum still shooting deep into his guts, just like Craig had promised, drags him over the edge alongside Craig, whimpering and twitching.

Craig kneads the flesh of his ass as his orgasm tapers off, the warmth in Tweek's belly lasting this time because it's real—the product of Craig's own release. He's so weak, but Craig was right: this position was best to be knotted in. Tweek is able to drape his limp form over Craig, who's just as much a sweaty, panting mess as he is.

"Did so good, babe," Craig says sleepily, nosing along Tweek's damp hairline.

He lifts Tweek's chin from his shoulder and leans down to kiss him. Tweek is so tired and out of breath but he kisses back deeply until he can't breathe at all. Then he breaks away gasping for air and presses his face back into the crook of Craig's neck. In mere minutes, he manages to fall asleep, hole pulsing around the fat cock lodged within him and Craig's hand cradling the back of his head.


The ringing of Craig’s phone rouses him. He catches sight of the screen. The contact name is “The ol' ball and chain.” Tweek nestles into Craig’s chest, feigning continued sleep. He doesn’t want to think about Kyle right now, but that must be Kyle.

“Craig.” And it is. And he sounds pissed.

“Yup.” Craig pauses. “This is Craig.”

“Just talked to Kenny.”

“And?”

“You had one job, Craig. What was your one job?”

Craig sighs deeply. “Don’t fuck Tweek.” Tweek jolts at the mention of his name and then hisses at the pull of Craig's knot within him.

“That’s right, Craig. Your one job was 'Don’t fuck Tweek.' Seems like a pretty easy job. Kenny isn’t inside of Tweek right now!”

“Not like he didn’t try,” Craig grumbles, pouting lightly.

“Kenny would’ve just used the toys on him! He has some self-control!”

Craig scoffs dismissively. Tweek hears Kyle sighing dramatically on the other end.

“Did you mark him?”

“I don’t—I don’t think so?”

“Give the phone to Tweek,” he demands.

Craig complies, handing the phone to Tweek. He hitches him up by the waist and kisses his cheek softly.

“Uh, hello?” Tweek asks, agitated despite Craig's tenderness.

What the fuck is going on? Is Kyle going to chew him out? This is just like that weird moment with Kenny outside—Tweek is left in the dark yet again about something.

“Tweek, calm down. I just need some information and then I’ll let you go. Craig’s useless right now. More than usual, I mean. Your heat probably triggered a rut. Did he bite your neck?”

“Uhh, a little—you’re not—agh—you’re not mad, dude? How come you’re not mad?”

“Oh no, I’m livid! Me and Craig are scamming my parents for the fucking dowry. We were gonna split it down the middle and go our separate ways, but if he broke the skin on that gland, there’s no way it’ll work now.”

Tweek rubs along his neck where Craig had latched on, whimpering at his own touch. When he pulls his hand back, there’s no blood or anything.

“Geh, I don’t think he broke the skin.”

“Alright, that’s good. His parents are at mine for dinner and more negotiations, I guess. I can go stall them, but if—”

“Wait, ergh—so you’re not with Craig… at all?”

"No, dude. I'm with Stan. He's a beta and you know how my parents are. I tried to get them to go for Kenny, but you know. He's poor."

“Craig!” Tweek hisses. Craig makes a dumb, drowsy noise in response. “Why would you let me believe you were actually with Kyle this whole time?”

Kyle's voice rings out, even though Tweek hadn't been talking to him. "I told him not to tell you, but I'm not responsible for the way he chose to execute it. How was it you were going to tell him again, Craig?"

Craig rolls his eyes. Tweek smacks him on the shoulder. "What the fuck was your plan? Huh, Craig!?"


Craig scratches the back of his neck and avoids Tweek's gaze, but it's very difficult to look casual with your inflated cock buried deep inside the person before you demanding answers. "Was just gonna... sorta kidnap you after work?" he offers up weakly.

In his anger, Tweek's hips rock forward and back involuntarily and he hisses, "You didn't think I might be upset you'd abandoned me?"

"Abandoned is kinda harsh and anyway I did it for you. So we could have a life together." Craig grunts and throws his head back on the pillow as Tweek's hips rock harder of their own volition. His hands come up to grip them.

Hurting both from the feelings he'd been stewing in for months and from the soreness of his ass which his needy omega body has obviously chosen to disregard, Tweek sniffles. "I thought you were gonna forget about me."

"I could never forget you, Tweek," Craig says, sitting up so he can fuck Tweek back properly, and kiss his face and chest, let his tongue lave his nipples, already littered with hickeys, and whisper into his skin over and over again, I love you, I love you, I love you.

On the other end of the phone, Kyle hangs up with an indignant, "Ugh." What a terrible call, making a deal with Craig Tucker, that huge, pathetic sap over Tweek Tweak. They'd almost fully executed their plan, though, so he texts Kenny to go over there and ventilate the house, maybe see if he could pry those two apart or at least get them to a secondary fuck location. And as he makes his way downstairs to contrive some issue to discuss with the assembled set of parents, he prays that one of them was smart enough to remember a goddamn condom.