A/N: This story is NOT for those who are easily disturbed or upset. This story is intended to be very morbid and macabre and will contain subjects that most of the population find upsetting. In case you're wondering, these subjects will be along the lines of: stalking, torture, morbid/macabre love, death, suicide, rape and so on, so forth. If any of these subjects upset you, PLEASE do not read this fanfic!

If, however, you enjoy reading something that may disturb your mind slightly, then please continue.

Also, I may forget to update it on , but the LJ version will be updated as soon as the next chapter is written. On top of that, some of what is written will be edited out before published here because of it's extremely mature content. If you'd like to read the unedited LJ version, you can find it at my LJ at: ienvy[dot]livejournal[dot]com

Like Pinning Butterflies is based off of 'The Horror of Our Love' by Ludo.

I'm a killer

Cold and wrathful

Silent Sleeper

I've been inside your bedroom

Craig thinks that Tweek would look wonderful with red blood dripping down along his frail, white chest. Craig thinks that it would look even better if it were Tweek's own blood and if it were pouring from a neck wound, maybe just near the jugular, but not deep enough to kill him. Oh, no, he wouldn't want to kill Tweek, especially not in such a mundane, overused way to take a life. Tweek deserves better, Craig knows that. Tweek deserves someone like Craig, who would love and care for him like no other possibly could.

Craig can see Tweek laying asleep in his bed, can see as the blonde's chest rises and falls, heavy with sleep. Craig can imagine watching as he creeps over, Tweek giving the faintest of twitches when he hears Craig. But he wouldn't wake up, oh no, and Craig would take the chance to slide his hand across Tweek's soft face, moving to slide over his mouth and nose. And though Tweek would wake, panic and struggle desperately for release, Craig would keep his hand pressed firmly over those thin lips, refusing to let him utter a single sound. And, eventually, Tweek would slacken against Craig's grip and his eyes would roll into the back of his head and he would fall back against the sheets. But Craig wouldn't kill him, not then. He would save that for later, if it were necessary.

The dark-haired male opens his eyes against the heat in the room and stares in a daze at the blonde he had been watching all day. Slowly, he lets out a sigh that he had been holding back ever since he had started to fantasize.

Craig Tucker is sick.

And Craig Tucker is madly in love.


The classroom is hot. The stale, dry air filters in from outside and drapes itself over the students like some heavy, shared burden. No one can concentrate on the words that stumble from their teacher's lips, which only add more hot air into the room. The entire class, save for the teacher, is stagnant. Even a cough is enough to make someone break out in a sweat.

And in this hot, heavy atmosphere, he feels the paranoia spinning out of control. Tweek glances nervously to the side, staring at Craig with wide, green eyes that tremble in place inside of his skull, eyelids threatening to snap shut but never actually doing so, as if afraid he may miss something.

Craig's gaze never once falters, it just stares ahead at Tweek - even, still and strangely predatory. He looks like a wolf, waiting patiently in sheepskin for his fellow sheep to drop their guards before he attacks and rips them into a bloody massacre. The blue-grey eyes never leave Tweek and even when he looks back to the front, he can still feel that cool, emotionless gaze on the side of his cheek, watching and waiting – waiting for what?! The fact that he doesn't know is scaring him and Tweek really doubts he'll be able to concentrate now.


Craig Tucker doesn't find peanut butter and honey sandwiches at all appetizing, but he brings it for lunch anyways. He knows it's Tweek's favorite, he asked the day before. He offers to share it with Tweek at lunch, hoping that it will bribe the other into liking him again, or at least get him to start sitting with Craig again. But Tweek refuses, flustered and nervous, and Craig watches with stilled eyes as Tweek scurries off. The rage that flares when he sees Tweek go to sit with those jerks is not expected, but he is not very surprised. Not much can surprise Craig.

Those jerks don't deserve his Tweek. He watches with cool disinterest as Kyle and Stan talk with Tweek, watches as Tweek laughs nervously at something Cartman says and watches as Kenny leans over to press his fingers against Tweek's forehead and push his hair out of his eyes. The peanut butter forms into a solid lump inside of his mouth and he has to struggle to swallow it, his appetite lost. The remainder of his lunch falls with a heavy, distant thud onto his lunch bag and he stands up quickly to throw it away, his expression not betraying the rage boiling slowly inside of him as he passes in front of the table.

How come he couldn't make Tweek blush like that?

It was decided then. He knows what he has to do, now. And as he watches the sandwich tumble into the pile of slowly growing trash, Craig Tucker knows that no one will ever have Tweek, especially if he can't.