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.

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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: Craig/Clyde, food kink? , eating food off of skin

[(Anonymous)]

(Had to split this into two parts due to length! Here's part 1/2 :)

---

Clyde is spread out flat on his back on Craig Tucker’s desk. He recently got promoted to having his own office, positioned on the 12th story of the Dunder Mifflin company building which towers above the rest of downtown Denver. Craig was pleased, but not as much as Clyde had been. He’s been planning this prank for months, but always knew there was no way he could pull this off if he tried it in the main office, cramped amongst the cubicles. Craig is just apathetic enough to put up with Clyde’s bullshit. The rest of their colleagues? Not so much.

From this position, Clyde can’t see much aside from the styrofoam-tiled ceiling above him. To his left, his vision of the door is obscured by Craig’s high-backed leather office chair, which he didn’t have the foresight to move before he arranged himself in this delicate display. To the right, through the giant set of windows, dots of light that prick the darkness wink back at him, as if the whole city is in on the joke.

Clyde tries to twist his neck to get a view of the clock. Craig is meant to be meeting him here at six-thirty, lured by Clyde’s promise of dinner and assistance on putting together Craig’s financial reports. It’s six thirty-three now, which means traffic must be bad. Craig’s a meticulous timekeeper, but he still operates on the presumption that rush hour will be as mild here as it was back in South Park. It never is.

Clyde registers Craig’s presence the moment that he finally arrives. Not because he can hear the door hinges squeak or anything like that—much like Clyde’s body right now, this fancy-ass building is well-oiled. Clyde knows that his best buddy is here because he can hear the deep, world-weary sigh that he lets loose.

Clyde bites his lip, fighting back a laugh. “Hey!” he chokes out.

Craig doesn’t say anything. He approaches the desk with heavy footsteps, until he’s standing above Clyde with his hands on his hips. “Are you fucking for real?” He’s wearing his work uniform, the full suit-and-tie getup.

Clyde, on the other hand, is wearing nothing at all. He’s spread out stark naked on the desktop. Arranged across his form is a mutli-coloured array of sushi, trailing downwards from his chest. A bed of rice noodles has been arranged over his nether regions. Gotta maintain his modesty, of course.

Clyde’s grinning so hard that his cheeks ache. “Bone-apple-teeth.”

“It’s bon—” Craig interrupts his knee-jerk correction with another exasperated grimace. “I don’t know why I bother.” He scans the work of art spread out before him with a disgruntled expression. “Jesus, Clyde, I can’t believe you’ve done this.”

“You mentioned just the other day that you had a hankering for sushi!” Clyde says, as if this somehow excuses anyone of it. “I thought you’d appreciate it. A thoughtful gift to an old buddy of mine.”

“Oh, yeah,” Craig says flatly. “Gratitude. That’s the current emotion that I’m experiencing.”

“One point for me in our epic prank war,” Clyde snickers to himself. “Ready to declare me the winner yet?”

“There is no prank war!” Craig groans in frustration. “There’s never been a prank war! It’s just you causing minor inconveniences in my daily life and me having to pick up after you whilst you crack up as if what you’ve done is even remotely funny.”

“Oh come on, my pranks are hilarious!” Clyde cranes his neck up a little to glare at him, careful not to dislodge any of the food. “My last one was a classic.”

Craig rolls his eyes. “Office references haven’t been funny since 2016, Clyde, even I know that.”

“That—the Jell-O stapler stunt was iconic!” Clyde splutters.

“Yeah, whatever,” Craig mutters. He sits down heavily in his chair and pops his briefcase underneath the desk. “You’re going to have to move, by the way. You might be able to get away with slacking, but I actually have to do my job.”

“No can do, buddy,” Clyde says, with remorse that is entirely unconvincing. “If I move, all this sushi’ll roll right off my body. Ha!” He snorts to himself. “Sushi roll. Get it? Like a sushi roll!”

“I get it.”

“Because that’s a type of--”

“Clyde, I get the joke.”

“Then why aren’t you laughing?”

“Because it isn’t funny. It isn’t fucking funny. None of this is fucking funny.” Craig sucks his teeth, and rolls his shoulders back, pushing hard enough that Clyde can hear his neck crack. “Alright,” he says, in a tone of great resignation, “where’d you put the chopsticks?”

“Huh?” Clyde looks at him blankly.

“Chopsticks,” Craig says slowly, overexaggerating his enunciation. “You know, the wooden stick-shaped utensils that--”

“I know what chopsticks are, Craig.”

“Clever boy.” Craig gives him a patronising smile. “Now, where’d you put them?”

“I didn’t bring any.”

“What, did you expect me to just eat this off you with my fingers?” Craig wrinkles his nose. “I don’t wanna get them sticky, man, that’ll feel totally gross.”

“I, uh.” Clyde frowns, struggling to process this unanticipated development. “I wasn’t expecting you to eat this off me at all, actually.”

“Well, I’m hungry. I didn’t eat dinner because you assured me that you ‘had dinner covered,’” he says, quoting the text Clyde sent him, “and that I ‘didn’t need to worry about it,’ because I could ‘just eat it at the office.’”

Clyde scoffs. “That was obviously an excuse.”

“Well, I don’t care what your reasoning was. I’m still hungry.”

There’s a tense silence in which the pair of them glower at each other. Craig’s pupils look massive, although perhaps that’s just the low lighting, the way it makes his dark brown irises blend into the black centres. Then, Craig leans over, and eats a piece of sushi right off of Clyde’s stomach.

“Dude!” Clyde squawks. “What the hell?”

Craig says nothing, taking his time chewing. After an elongated pause, he says, “I’m having my dinner.”

“What, right off of my naked body?” Clyde exclaims.

“Yep.” Craig says flatly. “Don’t start pearl-clutching, man, that was your call, not mine. I only bothered coming back to the office because you promised me free food. I don’t care what it’s served on, so long as I can eat it.”

“That’s so fucking weird, man,” Clyde mumbles.

Craig bends down and bites another piece of sushi off of him. For a fraction of a second, Clyde feels Craig’s lips ghost over his skin as they close around the morsel. He flinches and waits for Craig to swallow and reply.

“You’re calling me weird?” Craig raises his eyebrows. “I’m not the one who stripped naked in his colleague's office and set up sushi all over himself.”

“I didn’t do that part,” Clyde says. “I tried, but I couldn’t get it to stay in place ‘cause I kept having to wiggle around so I could see properly.”

“So how’d you do it?”

“I called in Jimmy, he helped.”

“Jimmy?” Craig tuts. “Jimmy enabled this madness?”

Clyde smirks. “He sure did. And he thought it was funny, so there!”

Craig shakes his head. “I thought better of him.”

“Did you?”

He pauses. “Well… no. It’s not at all hard to believe that he’d do that, actually.” He bends down and plucks a third piece off with his teeth, this one resting right in the centre of Clyde’s chest. “I have to say,” he says, with a mouthful of food, “I never expected you to get so innovative in your absurdity.”

“Nyotaimori is an ancient and well-respected Japanese tradition!” Clyde clamours. “The Try-Guys did a video on it and everything!”

“Well, then I’ll have to add ‘cultural appropriation’ onto my long list of complaints in my email to HR about you.”

Clyde’s eyes go wide. “You—you’re not gonna report me! You wouldn’t do that!”

“Wouldn’t I?” Craig smirks. He lowers his head, parts his lips, and licks a piece of sushi right off of Clyde’s nipple.

Clyde takes in a sharp breath. “Craig.”

“Clyde.” Craig chews, the corners of his mouth still turned up. There are some traces of soya sauce left behind. Craig’s tongue snakes out of his mouth.

Clyde gasps as he feels Craig begin to lap at his nipple. His back twitches into an arch reflexively, until Craig places a firm hand on his soft stomach and presses him back down. “Stay still,” he instructs. “You’ll fuck up my aim.”

“Aim?” Clyde splutters. “What is it exactly you’re aiming for?”

“My food,” Craig says. “Ideally, I’d like it in my mouth, not smeared further across your body.” He stands up from his chair. For a moment, Clyde thinks he might be about to storm out of the room, but instead he simply leans further over Clyde’s chest so that he can gain better access to the other side. Clyde catches a whiff of his cologne as he does so, a subtle mint musk.

Craig nibbles the sushi off of Clyde’s other nipple, allowing his teeth to gently graze his skin. He’s just about able to hold back a moan, but he can’t stop himself from fidgeting beneath him. Underneath the layers of noodles and sushi, his dick twitches. Uh oh.