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!

- 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!

Comments

Re: Stan/Kyle - size difference (1/2)

[(Anonymous)]

here you go!!

“Come on!” Kyle shouts from across the rink, the blades of his ice skates skidding along the ice. He skates gracefully, with rhythm, moving to an invisible beat; faced with him, Stan feels like a big oaf. “Put your hips into it!”

Stan stumbles after him, keeping up only due to his longer legs; in the technical sense, Kyle is a much more skilled skater. He’s lithe and quick, trained for sharp movements and fancy jumps, the hallmark traits of an advanced figure skater. As a hockey player, Stan’s less concerned with grace and more concerned with force; unfortunately, in his recent games, that hadn’t been enough. That was why his hockey coach hired Kyle, who claimed to be trained in teaching hockey players to move quick on their feet; Stan had doubted him at first, offended by the implication that he needed work, but he realized now that it had been a good decision.

Mostly because he got to stare at Kyle’s perky ass as he skated.

Throughout the hours Stan’s spent skating behind Kyle, he’s discovered that he really does have an incredible ass, but that’s not the only feature he finds appealing about him; he’s petite, barely coming up to Stan’s shoulder, slim and slender and very proportional. Stan wasn’t surprised by how small he was - he had heard in the past that smaller people made better figure skaters - but he was surprised by how much he liked it. And how much he liked being that big oaf on the ice.

“I am!” Stan grunts, pushing forward with his blades, his hamstrings straining and aching. He tries to mimic Kyle’s movements, but nearly trips over himself; he rights himself before he slams down and loses a tooth. By the time he gets within ten feet of Kyle again, he’s panting, and he slows to a near stop, resting his hands on his knees. Kyle effortlessly spins around, skidding to a stop.

“Maybe we should be done for the day.” he offers, and Stan nods rapidly; the chill in the rink hasn’t been enough to stop him from sweating through his thick jersey.

“Good plan.” he pants, and Kyle laughs, like something about this charms him; Stan feels a familiar flutter in his chest, and he straightens himself up as Kyle approaches him. He looks like something you’d see in a dream, pretty and delicate-looking, and Stan blinks a few times as he extends his hand. Stan reaches out to take it; his fingers are thick and long compared to Kyle’s. He interlaces them automatically; Kyle smiles at him.

“You need a shower.” Kyle notes, beginning to pull him along and off the rink; Stan lets him guide him along. Stan’s sure he weighs at least 50% more than Kyle, but Kyle pulls him along with ease, assisted by the slick ice. “You stink of sweat.”

“Who’s fault is that?” Stan asks, and Kyle snickers. He lets go of Stan’s hand once they’ve stepped off the ice, and Stan misses it immediately; he sits down to take off his skates so he has something to do, mostly so he doesn’t reach out to try and take it again. He can enclose Kyle’s whole hand in one of his own, and subconsciously, that thought always sends a little shiver through him; maybe because he starts wondering what else of Kyle’s he could hold fully in one hand. He fumbles with the laces, distracted, until Kyle kneels down to help, having already gotten both of his skates back. Stan sits back, feeling kind of like an idiot.

“You’re off your game today,” Kyle observes, glancing up at him. He pulls the double knot free on one of Stan’s skates, tugging it off his foot and setting it off to the side. He doesn’t even look down as he frees the second knot; Stan can’t help but consider potential other usages of Kyle’s dexterous fingers. “Is something up?”

“No,” Stan lies, lifting his foot to let Kyle pull the second skate off. He stands up in his socks, taking the skates from the floor, picking up Kyle’s with his other hand. “Just having an off day, I guess.”

Kyle eyes him disbelievingly, but doesn’t question him. He heads towards the locker room, and Stan watches his ass shake in the spandex of his uniform; it’s like his figure skating teacher was hand-picked to torture him, to make his concentration ten times difficult than it would otherwise be. He’s gotten better at being graceful on the ice, but he’s gotten worse at everything else; Stan loves hockey, loves the thrill of the game, but the thrill of chasing Kyle down is so much better than chasing down a puck.

“Okay. Just tell me if there’s anything I can do to help,” Kyle says, opening up the door to the locker room. “You’re not going to improve much if you’re not focused.”

“I know,” Stan says. “I’ve got it, Kyle. Seriously.”

“I know! I know you do. I just really want the best for you. That’s all.” Kyle squeezes Stan’s shoulder, and Stan’s extremely aware of how small his hand is compared to Stan’s broad shoulders, his neatly filed nails a sharp contrast to Stan’s dirtied jersey. He longs for Kyle as soon as he pulls away to head to his locker, and he watches as he fingers at the lock. Something stirs in Stan, and he swallows.

“I’m going to go shower,” Stan announces, mostly to get away from Kyle before he risks popping a boner, and he tugs his towel from his own locker, tossing it over his shoulder. Kyle glances back at him. “Thanks for today.”

“Oh, I’m not leaving yet,” Kyle assures, and Stan notices then that he’s holding his own towel - shit. He’s going to shower too? Usually Kyle goes home right after their training sessions, complaining about the nastiness of locker room showers, and Stan struggles to think of why today might be an exception. “The hot water in my place is fucked. I’m showering here until it’s fixed.”

“Oh. Kay.” Stan says, like the idea of seeing Kyle nude, stripping out of his tight costume, isn’t making his brain go absolutely haywire. “I have extra shower shoes if you need them.”

“Yours probably wouldn’t fit me,” Kyle teases, and Stan most certainly doesn’t think about their size difference again, until he does. “Besides. I brought my own. But I appreciate it. You’re sweet.” he tugs off his socks and slips on his shower shoes, turning on his heel, and Stan blinks a few times; by the time he opens his eyes again, feeling a little more composed, Kyle’s disappeared behind the shower curtain. Stan takes a deep breath, releases it through his mouth, and goes to the second shower on the left to strip free of his clothing.

Stan’s slow-creeping arousal has just started to stabilize when he hears Kyle’s voice.

“This shower isn’t working.” Kyle peeks his head out past the curtains, a towel wrapped around him; it can cover his nipples and still fall nearly to his knees, which Stan finds way too cute. Stan’s so distracted by his outfit that when he opens his mouth, nothing comes out, and he has to close it to mentally reset before speaking.

“It’s not working?” he asks dumbly. Kyle snorts.

“Yes. I mean, the water won’t turn on.” He pauses, shifting between his feet. “Do you mind if I share your shower? Just for today?”

Stan stares at him, unable to believe that he actually asked that; Kyle hurries to make amends.

“You don’t have to, obviously! I can handle cold water at home if you need me to. I just thought I’d ask-”

“No, I mean. Of course I don’t mind.” Stan cuts him off, too quickly to seem natural. “You can come in. Just, uh. I’m already naked. So keep that in mind.”

“I would be shocked if you weren’t naked,” Kyle says, a little dryly, and Stan’s embarrassed once again. He pulls his head back into the shower and thinks of his naked grandma, determined to keep his cock soft; the thought is gross, but maybe not gross enough to overwhelm how fucking hot Kyle is when he drops his towel.

He’s imagined how Kyle looks naked hundreds of times by now, at least ten times per day on the ice, but it doesn’t live up to how he actually looks. When he lets his towel fall, Stan’s struck silent; with his uniform on, he’s the cutest person Stan’s ever seen. Without it, he has to be the cutest person anyone's ever seen. His slender, freckled shoulders lead down to a slim waist and wider hips; his thighs are a little thick, muscled from skating, and his cock is cute and proportional. Stan was right; he could probably hold most of it in one hand. He doesn’t realize his eyes are subconsciously wandering until he sees redness gathering on Kyle’s upper chest; when he looks up, he realizes that he’s blushing.

“My eyes are up here.” Kyle says, and now Stan’s the one who’s blushing. He stumbles back in the shower to let Kyle in; it’s a fairly small shower, but Kyle doesn’t add that much mass to it, compared to Stan. Stan pretends to laugh, high-pitched and awkward.

“You need to borrow my shampoo?” Stan asks, trying to change the topic. Kyle shakes his head.

“It’ll fuck up my hair.” Kyle explains, and Stan nods, like he knows anything about maintaining curly hair. “And I have my own body wash. You just might need to help me get my back.”

“Right.” Stan says, like this isn’t giving him heart palpitations. “Sure. I’ve got you. Just let me know when.” he brings his hands up to his hair to pull water through it, as casually as possible, and soon realizes this is a terrible mistake; within the minute Kyle’s been in the shower, he’s gotten half hard, and if he doesn’t cover up, Kyle’s going to get an eyeful. He turns around immediately, and he’s only halfway into thinking about naked grandmas again when Kyle, in all of his bad-timing glory, calls for him again.

“Okay. You can get my back now.” Kyle snaps his fingers, and Stan turns around, slowly, reluctantly; Kyle pushes the container of body wash into his hand, and Stan grips it like he has a vendetta against it. “Just be gentle. I’m sensitive.”

Stan’s cock throbs.

“Right.” he says again, because there’s nothing else to say. How the hell does he respond to something like that? He uncaps the body wash and pours some out into his hand, rubbing his palms together. He presses both of them against Kyle’s skinny back, who shudders for a moment before stilling; Stan would be happy to die doing this, and he probably will, if Kyle happens to glance back. His half-hardness has evolved into full hardness, thick and heavy and straining towards Kyle’s plump ass.

He chooses not to focus on Kyle’s ass, and instead works on slathering body wash all over his back; he has a feeling hands aren’t the most efficient way to do this, but he’s not about to complain. Kyle lets out a shaky little sigh, and Stan watches in slow motion as Kyle steps back, as his cock bumps against his ass.

Kyle stops immediately. Stan wonders how he’s going to explain losing his trainer to his coach. He’s just about to start spilling apologies when Kyle presses back against him, and Stan groans.

“I didn’t say to stop,” Kyle says, and Stan lets out a loud puff of air; his cock is dragging against the base of his spine, sliding between Kyle’s ass cheeks, and he looks so small in front of him; Stan wants to see how that small, slender body can take his cock more than ever. He presses a little harder on Kyle’s back, and Kyle moans; he arches back, subconsciously causing Stan’s cock to slip along his skin. The light friction of Kyle’s soft skin against his cockhead is driving Stan crazy, his self control starting to fail him. Kyle notices. He turns around, pressing his hands to Stan’s chest. “I have other ideas for how you could use that body wash.” he breathes.

Re: Stan/Kyle - size difference (2/2)

[(Anonymous)]

Stan leans down and kisses him immediately. Kyle’s lips are soft and vaguely cherry-tasting, implying he put on chapstick before this. Stan sucks gently on his lower lip, and Kyle parts his lips without hesitation; his hands slide up from Stan’s pecs to squeeze at his biceps, pushing their bodies closer together. Stan wants to touch him all over, his hands slipping down his body, squeezing at his small waist and then his ass; Kyle moans, wantonly.

“Come on,” Kyle breathes, and Stan fumbles with the body wash, lost for words; he pours more out onto his fingers, and Kyle hikes his leg up. Stan catches it, his fingers wrapping around his thigh, and when he catches Kyle watching him with lustful, hungry eyes, he has to wonder if he’s dreaming. He pushes two of his fingers between Kyle’s ass cheeks, and he feels his hole tense against his fingertips before relaxing; he starts off by only pushing one in, sure that two wouldn’t fit without proper prep.

Even with just one finger, Kyle is tight; he’s breathing slowly, heavily, and Stan briefly worries that he’s hurting him. He opens his mouth to ask, and Kyle shakes his head, like he’s reading his mind; he bears down on Stan’s finger, forcing his knuckle past his rim, and Stan absolutely aches to feel that on his cock. Stan needs to kiss him, his free hand tightening on his thigh, and he leans in once more to nip at his lower lip; Kyle responds eagerly, and Stan feels him lose a little more of his tenseness. He sighs as Stan’s second finger prods at his hole, his tongue dragging along Stan’s, and he nods against him; Stan pulls away from the kiss, resting their foreheads together as his second finger slides inside.

Neither of them are talking, but Stan doesn’t mind; he knows what Kyle’s feeling, what he wants by the way his body moves around him. Their heavy breaths are the only sound in the shower, beyond the pounding of the hot water against the floor; for once, Stan couldn’t care less about wasting water. His fingers prod inside of Kyle, eliciting little moans and pants, and when his fingertips curl against his prostate, Kyle’s head thumps forward against Stan’s shoulder.

“Oh my God,” Kyle breathes, his eyes shutting; Stan is inclined to agree. Kyle’s cock is leaking precome, smearing against Stan’s abs, and Stan wants to take hold of him but doesn’t; when he tries, Kyle snarls almost animalistically at him. “Don’t touch,” he wheezes. “It’s better if you don’t.”

Stan manages to fit a third finger into him, and Kyle bites down on Stan’s shoulder, hard; Stan’s hips jerk upwards unconsciously, and he needs to be inside of Kyle now, now, now. He pulls out his fingers, listens to the audible ‘pop’ as his knuckles pull past his rim, and he nearly drops the body wash in his desperation to get more out. “Get up against the wall.” Stan says, his voice choked; Kyle practically lunges for it, pushing his back up against the tile.

“I don’t have any condoms,” Kyle breathes. “But I’m clean.”

Stan doesn’t know him that well, but he trusts him completely nonetheless; besides, the idea of a barrier being between him and Kyle’s tightness is agonizing. “So am I.” he says, and Kyle nods quickly.

“Then get over here.” Kyle gestures with his fingers for Stan to approach, and Stan does, feeling entranced by him; he slicks his cock up with body wash, smearing it over his shaft. Right now, pressed against the wall, Kyle looks better than ever; his pale skin is pinkening from the hot water, and he looks so small and vulnerable. Stan just wants to press his body against him, wants to cover him up so thoroughly that nobody can ever look at him again.

So he does.

Stan picks him up effortlessly, Kyle’s body just as light as he might have expected, and he pins him up against the wall; Kyle’s thighs wrap around his waist, his ankles hooking into his lower back. He presses his chest against Kyle’s smaller one, and Kyle moans, lowly; Stan wonders if he’s getting off to the size difference as much as Stan is.

“Come on,” Kyle urges, and he lifts his hips; Stan’s hands tighten on them, nearly able to encircle Kyle’s waist with his hands. He only lets go of his waist with one hand to wrap it around his own cock, guiding it towards Kyle’s hole; he waits for Kyle’s little nod before pushing into him, slow and unyielding.

Kyle’s nails dig into Stan’s back, but Stan doesn’t care, can barely feel it; he could be bleeding and he still wouldn’t feel it. Kyle’s unbelievably tight, unbelievably hot, and Stan needs him ridiculously badly. Kyle muffles his noises into Stan’s shoulder, and Stan wishes that he wouldn’t, but he’s far more focused on getting as deep as he can before he tries to pull him away. The process of fitting his whole cock into Kyle is slow going, and he has to stop every inch or two to let Kyle take a breath, but then he exhales and they continue, and Stan is in absolute heaven.

He bottoms out, and Kyle shudders, looking wrecked; he peels his eyes open, and Stan feels like he could stare into them forever.

“You can move,” Kyle whispers, and Stan feels like he’s been waiting his whole life to hear those words. He starts to pull out, and Kyle’s toes curl, he pushes in, and Kyle’s responding cry is absolute music to Stan’s ears. The angle is a little weird, but that’s okay; Stan has no trouble manhandling Kyle’s smaller body, lifting him up when necessary and guiding him further down onto his cock, encouraging him to take him so much deeper. Kyle moves his hips when he can, meeting Stan’s thrusts, and Stan kisses him over and over, sloppily and uncoordinated.

Everything about Kyle is wonderful, perfect, handsome - he babbles messily as Stan pounds him, and Stan drinks up every noise. Kyle doesn’t say that he’s close - if Stan had to guess, it’s because he just can’t get the words out - but he implies it, with the way his feet start scrabbling on Stan’s back, the way he rocks almost frantically against him. Stan twists his hips, tries to target his spot, and Kyle comes instantly, spilling onto Stan’s stomach.

Having succeeded with making Kyle come, Stan grips Kyle’s waist and pounds into him, wildly, animalistically, with no rhyme or rhythm. Kyle moans and whines, overstimulated, and Stan comes within minutes, filling him up; Kyle’s arms wrap around Stan’s neck, squeezing their bodies together. By the time he’s finished, Stan’s muscles ache, both from skating and from sex, but it’s a good kind of ache; the kind he’ll cherish tonight when he thinks back on this moment. He has a feeling Kyle’s aching more.

He pulls out, and come drips from Kyle; Stan holds an arm under his knees, carrying him bridal style under the water. Kyle closes his eyes, and the water pours down onto them, washing their mess away; Stan kisses all over Kyle’s face without even thinking about it, his lips pressing on his eyelids, his nose, his lips.

“We should probably get out.” Stan whispers against Kyle’s lips after a few minutes of that, holding each other and lazily making out, and Kyle nods, slowly opening his eyes. They stumble out of the shower together, and Stan wraps Kyle in his towel; Kyle gazes up at him the whole time, something like awe in his expression.

“Do you… need me to drive you home?” he asks once they’re both dressed, even though he knows Kyle has a car of his own.

“I’ve got it,” Kyle assures Stan, a small, charmed smile on his face. He reaches to pull Stan down by the collar of his shirt, kissing him; Stan responds eagerly, and feels lost when Kyle lets him go, stepping back. He turns towards the door of the locker room, giving Stan a little wave. “I’ll see you in a few days, okay?”

“Okay,” Stan responds, meekly. He feels a little like a lost, adoring puppy as Kyle heads out the door, and he waves five seconds too late; Kyle’s already gone. He stares at the door for another extended minute before turning to grab his gear from his locker, unsure how he’s supposed to wait even another day to see Kyle again.

…

The next day, when Stan goes to take a shower after practice, he finds the one on the right works perfectly.

Re: Stan/Kyle - size difference (2/2)

[(Anonymous)]

the ending oh my god it’s perfect