south_park_kink_meme (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
south_park_kink_meme) wrote2022-07-20 03:24 pm
south_park_kink_meme) wrote2022-07-20 03:24 pm
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!
- Prompts can be filled any number of times; one fill does not close out the prompt!
- There's a kink meme Twitter account that tweets when prompts are filled and shares updates/news, and a tumblr where you can submit prompts as well
- 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!
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!
- Prompts can be filled any number of times; one fill does not close out the prompt!
- There's a kink meme Twitter account that tweets when prompts are filled and shares updates/news, and a tumblr where you can submit prompts as well
- 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!
tweek/kyle exhibitionism
(Anonymous) 2023-02-19 03:42 pm (UTC)(link)Re: tweek/kyle exhibitionism - Fill
(Anonymous) 2023-05-08 02:18 am (UTC)(link)----
Hockey seems to be the only thing that can quell the chaos of Tweek’s mind these days.
Baseball bores him to tears and football has too many starts and stops; basketball makes him want to tear his hair out every time their sneakers squeal against the shiny floor. His school doesn’t host any other sports besides those, unless he wants to give competitive badminton a go. Which he doesn’t.
But hockey is nice. It’s fast, it’s quick, it’s exciting. Players get slammed against the side walls so hard it vibrates the uncomfortable plastic chair he’s in. Sometimes blood splashes against the ice and sends a thrill up Tweek’s spine. He thinks he saw a guy lose a tooth once.
Tweek likes to pretend being here is a show of school spirit, too. It’s not like he engages in extracurricular activities otherwise—he goes to class, he returns to his dorm and ignores his roommate. He also patronizes the on-campus cafe. Does that count? Probably not.
Today Tweek feels he’s not just supporting his school, but also a friend… or whatever he is to him. While it isn’t far-fetched that one of his old classmates from South Park would wind up at his college, he still hadn’t expected it—he certainly wouldn’t seek them out. Imagine his surprise when last week the announcer disappointingly declared “another foul from Broflovski” over the noise of the game. Tweek normally tunes him out, but that commentary buzzed loud and clear in in ears.
Sure enough, when the game ended, Kyle Broflovski was one of the first to rip off his helmet in relief. Broflovski is not a common surname, especially coupled with that fiery red hair. Even from a distance Tweek knew that had to be his old classmate down on the ice.
It’s not a sport he’d ever put Kyle in himself. Tweek recalls him being on the basketball team in high school. He’s tall and lean, too weedy for hockey, Tweek thinks, but then again, what does he know? He couldn’t tell you the rules of the game if you asked, so it goes without saying he can’t describe the body type of an average hockey player.
Kyle is speedy though, and aggressive. He seems to take pleasure in checking his opponents, pinning them against the barrier with surprising strength. It makes Tweek’s fingers twitch to watch, like playing invisible keys on a piano.
There’s about twenty minutes left in the game. Most of the stadium had cleared out once it became obvious their team was going to lose, and badly, leaving only a few bored stragglers and supportive friends—like Tweek.
A man who Tweek can only assume is the coach calls Kyle over to yell at him. Kyle shouts back, as he does, tears off his helmet to show his beet red face, and stalks away from the rink towards the locker room.
He waits a few minutes. And then he follows.
He can’t say why, all he can say is that he’s shocked by how easy it is for him to access said locker room. There’s nobody guarding it, no key card or code he needs to get in, just two doors that lead to a dim room that reeks of musk and artificial snow.
Eh, well, these guys aren’t professionals.
The first thing Tweek hears is a loud metallic bang punctuated by a string of swears that nearly has him climbing out of his skin. He slinks behind the end of a row of lockers, cheek pressed against the cold metal as he listens to the huff of Kyle’s heavy, erratic breathing.
And then silence. They’re both holding their breath now. Tweek hears his heart pounding in his skull. What possessed him to come here again?
“Who’s there?” Kyle calls out, and Tweek wonders if he can hear his heartbeat, too. He grasps his chest as if that will stop the noise no one else can hear.
“I can see your fucking hair, dude. Is that you, Simms?”
Oh. Tweek’s eyes roll up. His messy mane of blond isn’t completely hidden by the lockers, peeking out just enough that Kyle can see him. He hears feet pad against the cement over to him, just barely sees the hand that reaches out to grab him by the hair and pull him into the spotlight before he can reveal himself on his own.
His only thought is how relieved he is that Kyle changed into his street clothes and took his skates off. One of the few topics Tweek researched after going to his first game was ice skate injuries.
“What the fuck?” Kyle drags his head up to get a good look at him, surprise etched on his thick brows, digging creases into his forehead. “Tweek?”
“Ghh—yeah, hi? Kyle?” He lets out a hiss through clenched teeth. Kyle is straining his neck at an uncomfortable angle on top of the hair he’s fisting, though Tweek doesn’t hate it, necessarily. Still hurts though.
“What the hell are you doing here?” he asks, glancing around the locker room for any sign of his teammates. He doesn’t let go.
“I go to school here, too, man!”
“That doesn’t explain why you’re in the fucking locker room, dude.”
Tweek supposes he’s right. “I don’t know! I started coming to games a few weeks ago and then last week they said your name and—” Kyle twists his fingers tighter, craning Tweek’s neck back. “Agh! Kyle! You’re hurting me!”
The sudden loss of force holding him up causes Tweek to stumble over his feet and hit the floor with a whine. “You seem, mmm, angry,” he says once he composes himself.
“I am angry. My coach is being an unreasonable fucking dick and now your creepy ass is stalking me at my games.”
“What? I’m not stalking you!”
“You were hiding behind the lockers listening to me breathe. That sounds a lot like stalking to me.”
Kyle has always been a bit full of himself, Tweek thinks. Constantly under the impression that people are obsessed with him when the truth is he’s just a hothead covered in bright, flashing buttons that are easy to find and even easier to press.
Tweek lifts his head to defend himself, but nearly collides nose-first with the obvious erection straining Kyle’s sweatpants when he does. Okay, so maybe the rage is something Kyle gets off on. Pounding other men into a bloody pulp on the ice gets him hot and hell, Tweek can relate to that. It’s what forces him out of his dorm to come to these games. Shameful masturbation fodder for the past few weeks in the dead of night while his roommate is asleep.
He can’t stop staring at it. Kyle can’t stop staring at him. It’s a heavy weight. Tweek can feel his hazel eyes bore through his skull, sink in his gut, spread heat between his thighs.
Settling back on his haunches, Tweek looks up at him with a hint of a smile. “Do you need, mmh, help with that?”
Kyle doesn’t say anything at first, just keeps glaring with narrowed eyes. And then, in one smooth motion, he steps out of his pants and presents himself to Tweek. “Yeah, I guess I do.”
Well, it’s certainly not what Tweek expected to happen when he walked into the locker room. But then again, what did he expect to happen, really? He leans forward to take a tentative lick at Kyle’s cockhead, peering up at him while he does. He’s met with the same sour face that doesn’t flinch even when his tongue meets his sensitive skin.
Kyle’s a decent size, and he meticulously maintains the thick red pubes that frame his dick because of course he does. Tweek chuckles to himself as he takes the tip of his cock into his mouth and feels angry fingers curl into his hair again.
“What the hell are you laughing at, spaz?” Kyle growls, shoving forward. His cock bumps the back of Tweek’s throat and he squeaks in surprise, somehow suppressing the need to gag while he adjusts to the intrusion.
Kyle doesn’t wait. He uses his grip on Tweek’s hair as leverage to fuck into his mouth—hard, fast, furious thrusts that refuse to give him the opportunity to show off his tonguework. At least Kyle seems to like the startled, choked moans that vibrate against him each time he hits his throat. “I guess I shouldn’t be surprised by how well you can take a dick,” Kyle idly muses, “Craig must’ve trained you well.”
Oh, Tweek doesn’t like that. There is absolutely no reason to bring up Craig except to be cruel. His jaw tightens, threatens to clamp down, but Kyle manages to pop his dick out just in time and turns away to dig something out of his duffel bag on the floor. “D-don’t bring up Craig,” Tweek says to his back.
“Hit a nerve?” Kyle straightens up. There’s a small black tube of what Tweek assumes—hopes—is lube in his hand. So he just carries that around with his hockey supplies? “Don’t forget you’re the one who stalked me, Tweek. I don’t have to be nice to you.”
“I wasn’t stalking you!” Tweek shouts back. Somewhere in the back of his mind he tries to recall how many minutes are left in the game. Kyle doesn’t seem concerned about getting caught by his teammates, because he’s reaching under Tweek’s armpits to hoist him up and press him against a locker with clear intentions.
He reaches around his waist to loosen the button of his jeans, unzips his fly, and lets them fall down Tweek’s thin hips. His boxers follow. “Fuck, man, seriously? Right here?! Right now?!” Tweek cries when he hears Kyle flick open the top of the lube bottle, as if dropping his pants wasn’t signal enough.
“Where else? I’m not going to show you were I live.”
“Ghh, Jesus, Kyle! I’m not fucking stalking you-ah!” A cold, slick finger slips past his hole. He didn’t even have the decency to warm it up first.
A second finger meets the first. Kyle curls them in then straightens them out, exploring the space until h e rubs up against the spot that makes Tweek whimper, body going slack against the frigid metal door. He grunts as Tweek writhes and moans, and his free hand presses firmly against his back to keep him pinned against the locker. “Quit moving around so much.”
His breath paints the metal with condensation. Fogging up and vanishing with each ragged breath, his cheek painfully smashed against the door. Kyle keep s fingering without reprieve, hitting his prostate again and again until Tweek’s mind goes fuzzy.
And just like that, Kyle pulls out of him. He hears the snap of the bottle cap again, a quiet groan, and then feels the head of Kyle’s dick pressing against his ass. There’s no question of if he’s ready, just the rock of Kyle’s hips pushing his cock in bit by bit until he hilts inside him. His lack of courtesy comes as no surprise to Tweek now.
Warm puffs of air tickle the fine hairs on the back of Tweek’s neck to stand. Kyle doesn’t kiss him there, doesn’t lick or nip, but the intimacy of him pressed so close while buried deep inside is enough to ignite a fondness Tweek hasn’t felt in quite some time. For a fleeting moment, his heart swells. It’s ruined when Kyle slams into him hard enough that he yelps.
Tweek wrenches his trapped arm free from where it was uncomfortably held between his chest and the locker to paw at his own neglected cock. Precome leaks down his thumb. He uses it to stroke himself, until a sudden slamming of doors halts both his movement and his breathing.
The room floods with the sound of metal skates scraping against the floor and locker doors banging open; heavy bags of equipment being shoved to the ground. Shadows loom ever closer, stretching against the cement; low, disappointed voices muttering to each other as they approach.
Kyle’s hand flies up to cover Tweek’s mouth. He presses him close against his chest, dick still buried in his ass, and quickly guides them backwards towards another set of lockers shrouded by a changing stall with no regard to how Tweek stumbles over the jeans and boxers still pooled around his feet.
Other players fill the space. “Where’s Broflovski?” someone asks. A locker slams shut. “Dunno. Maybe he bailed after Coach reamed him.”
“He didn’t ream me,” Kyle scoffs under his breath. He spits in his hand and reaches around to stroke Tweek’s dick to keep him hard. His other hand stays tightly clasped around his mouth.
A furious presence fills the room. Tweek can’t see him, but he knows he’s there even before he makes himself known by shouting, “Where the fuck is Broflovski?”
There’s a beat of silence. When nobody answers, Coach lets out a growl of frustration. “Never fucking mind. What the hell happened out there? Where were your fucking heads at?”
The palatable anger in his ranting and raving and berating of his team has Tweek shaking. A whimper eeks from his throat, swallowed up by his own mouth because Kyle will barely let him fucking breathe. He can almost hear him roll his eyes. “You’re fine, Tweek.”
Between the fear of being caught, Kyle’s halfhearted stroking, and the way his dick is resting at an angle that does nothing for him, Tweek is surprised he’s still hard at all.
Re: tweek/kyle exhibitionism - Fill 2/2
(Anonymous) 2023-05-08 02:23 am (UTC)(link)At least it feels good now. Kyle’s spit has dried up and his palm catches against his skin but actually, it’s not so bad. Almost pleasurable. Tweek moans into his hand—a genuine moan, not another nervous whimper. Kyle doesn’t moan, he notices. Just huffs of air against his neck like a bull, an occasional grunt when he shoves his dick in too hard.
“Seriously, Broflovski? Coach is out here ripping us a new one and you’re back here getting hole?”
Tweek does let out a cry then, straining to get a look at the strange voice. One of his teammates is leaning against the changing stall door, arms folded across his broad muscular chest. Now *he* looks like a hockey player should.
“You’re welcome to join,” Kyle says and drops his hand from Tweek’s mouth. “Isn’t that right, Tweek?”
He finds he likes that idea, actually—a big fat cock in his mouth while Kyle fucks him raw. He’s shoved onto a nearby bench then, bony knees painfully hitting the wood. Kyle’s teammate approaches them and Tweek looks up to lazily nod his head. A thin line of drool runs down his chin, which the guy thumbs away for him. Surprisingly tender.
“Eager,” is all he says as he unzips his fly and tugs his jeans down enough to pull his cock out, then kneels on the bench before Tweek. Kyle pauses behind him so Tweek can easily wrap his lips around the other man. He tongues the tip, pressing into the slit to taste him.
Thick fingers scratch against his scalp and Tweek takes him further, inching down slowly, slowly until Kyle thrusts into him and forces his teammate’s dick to hit the back of his throat. Tweek gags and gasps for air, but the guy has a grip on his hair now and Kyle is fucking relentlessly behind him.
The pair find a rhythm that works, rocking into Tweek’s mouth and ass in unison, like good teammates should. He moans and whines around the cock invading his throat, no longer anxious of his volume. If there are any other players left in the locker room, they either can’t hear or don’t care about what’s going on in their secluded corner.
Kyle’s fingers dig into his hips, nails cutting crescents into his skin. They’ll leave bruises, but when was the last time Tweek’s been fucked so good he leaves with mementos? The thought forces him to swallow, a lewd slurp echoing off the frigid walls of the room.
The other guy’s hold tightens, his breathing heavy, and he yanks Tweek forward on his cock, spilling hot come down his throat and making sure he swallows every last drop. Tweek chokes, but it comes out as a pathetic gurgling whimper and when he finally pulls out of his mouth, it all starts running down his chin, splattering on the bench beneath him.
He notices that he doesn’t help wipe it away this time.
Quietly, Kyle’s teammate tucks himself back into his jeans, zips up, and nods his head. “Thanks, Broflovski.”
Kyle, apparently, has stamina for days. He’s still not done and Tweek can no longer keep himself upright, his head pressed against the bench while his quaking thighs barely manage to heft his ass in the air.
“Can you touch me?” he asks—pleads, really, his head turned to the side just enough that he hopes Kyle can hear him. He just catches Kyle’s judgmental stare, but it’s not long before he hears him spit into his palm and there’s slick friction on his dick again.
It takes almost nothing for Tweek to come thick stripes down his own chest, crying out, trying to pull away because now it’s all too much. Too much pleasure, too much pressure—he’s spent and he’s tired but Kyle doesn’t stop.
He wraps his arms around Tweek’s middle, pulling him in close, keeping him there until finally, fucking finally, Kyle hits his peak, the only sound out of his mouth a near silent “mmph.” Tweek drops down on the bench when Kyle pulls out, huffing and panting with his arms uselessly dangling over the edge. “Put your fucking pants on before somebody sees you,” Kyle tells him.
“Are you kid— what?!” They nearly got caught by Kyle’s entire fucking team and his coach, and *now* he’s worried about somebody seeing him? When he looks behind his shoulder he catches Kyle chuckling behind his hand, the way he has ever since they were kids. “You’re such a dick, ugh!”
“And you’re a stalker, so I guess we’re even.” Kyle hops a few times to make sure his sweatpants are secure around his waist, then rounds the corner to pack the rest of his bag.
Tweek finally finds the strength to move and to, yes, pull his jeans back up, and joins Kyle at his locker.
“Same time next week?” Kyle asks, slinging his bag over his shoulder.
“During your game? Again?! Are you planning to get benched?”
“I never plan to get benched, but it usually happens.” They make their way to the double doors, Kyle using his palm to hold one open for Tweek.
He must take too long to decipher Kyle’s intentions, because he sighs and goes through himself, letting it shut in Tweek’s face. Fucking asshole. He can’t believe he’s actually considering Kyle’s proposal. To come back here and be treated like entertainment, a fucktoy, an object. Shushed and hidden like a dirty secret.
As he leaves the locker room and crosses through the darkened stadium, he wonders if he can talk Kyle into bringing more guys into it next week.