bunny @filthyybunnyy - Tumblr Blog

In the Weeds

Summary: Stan finds you, out of your element, at a party. To ease your anxiety, he offers to smoke with you. Turns out, smoking makes you horny.

Stan Marsh x Fem!Reader

Word Count: 4.2k

Warnings: aged up!!!!! age not specified, but they have graduated high school!! NSFW, Virgin!Reader, unprotected sex, pull out method, pretty stereotypical, weed smoking, Stan is tipsy, a few uses of Y/N, unmentioned but mutual feelings, Stan is very sweet, probably ooc, dry humping, they are friends, Stan begs a little bit, "just the tip", partially clothed sex (shirt/dress), somewhat premature ejaculation, not proofread

A/N: first time posting on this account... very scared. i hope you enjoy!

It’s a stereotypical house party. A living room full of teenagers, spilling into the kitchen, where red Solo cups full of alcohol are being passed out to anyone who crosses the threshold. Music is blaring so loud it’s a miracle anyone can hear the person next to them. Maybe it’s because everyone is making out, standing so close that any words are spoken directly into their partner’s ear, no room left for whatever song is playing to worm its way in. Those who aren’t making out are playing beer pong, dancing, or just screaming at each other to be heard from a foot away.

And then there’s you.

Unfamiliar with this kind of party, you’re standing around looking like an undercover cop. The dress you’re wearing is the only one of its style you own, a short, revealing dress. You were freezing on the short walk over, goosebumps all over your arms and legs from the Colorado cold. Sure, plenty of other girls are wearing revealing outfits too, but there’s something in the way you carry yourself that makes it obvious you’re new to this. You’re holding your arms close to yourself, standing with your legs pressed together, your feet shifting every few seconds to change the distribution of your weight. And to get some pressure off your toes. Those heels are just awful.

Stan doesn’t need to analyze the way you’re standing to know you feel awkward, though. He knows because he knows you, has known you for basically your entire lives. He knows you don’t like this kind of party because he knows the kinds of parties you do like: slumber parties with your girl friends, going to the mall with them and their boyfriends, going to Kyle’s or Cartman’s and watching awful “boy” movies with Stan’s friend group. You tend to be more of a small get-together kind of girl. Stan likes that about you.

So why are you even here tonight? Surely there isn’t a boy you’re meant to meet up with. Hopefully there isn’t.

A couple skirts by you, grabbing at each other as they head up the stairs to the bedrooms that are supposed to be off limits, but the host is too drunk to notice. Your eyes get wide, like a frightened deer. Stan downs the rest of the alcohol in his plastic cup and heads over to rescue you from the oncoming headlights.

“Fancy seeing you here.” He grins, joining you with your back against the stair banister. You visibly relax when you realize it’s him next to you and not some random guy.

“Stan,” You smile back. You stop hugging yourself to tug down your dress, only to pull it back up when you realize it shows off more of your chest that way. You’re stuck between showing off the area where your thighs meet your butt or showing off more cleavage. You can’t decide which is worse. “Hi. I hate it here.”

“I can tell,” He clearly did not put as much effort into his appearance as you did, wearing a t-shirt, flannel, and a pair of baggy jeans. He takes the flannel off and hands it to you, trying to appear casual about it. Of course, he wants you to feel comfortable, but the true reasoning behind the chivalrous act is that he just doesn’t want you to catch him staring at your boobs. “I could’ve told you you’d hate it. Why’d you even come?”

You gratefully accept his flannel and quickly put it on, feeling comfort in being swallowed by it, having your figure hidden by the fabric. And the lingering scent of his cologne. “I don’t know. I guess I was hoping to get drunk or something, but now that I’m here, I would rather die than be drunk around these people.”

“Drinking is overrated,” Says the guy who’s definitely tipsy, literally still holding a cup with droplets of vodka inside. “What you need is some weed.”

You snort. “Yeah, right. I’d get so anxious.”

“Nah, dude. Y’know what indica is?” Obviously, by the look on your face, you do not. “Okay. There’s three main types of weed, yeah? Sativa, indica, and hybrid. You feel sativa more in your head. But you feel indica in your body. It relaxes all your muscles and calms you down. It’d probably make you sleepy.”

“That doesn’t sound too bad, I guess… I didn’t know there were different kinds.”

“Yeah. You should let me get you high sometime.”

“Okay.”

That surprises him. He expected you to need more convincing. “Yeah? Okay?” He smiles, leaning down towards you. “Did I hear you wrong?”

You laugh, hit his arm, and move your mouth closer to his ear. “I said ‘okay.’”

He turns his head towards you, and you’re so close that your noses bump. “Okay. Bet. Let’s go upstairs.”

“Right now?” You look around anxiously, like you’re expecting every head in the building to be looking at the two of you, judging you for your inexperience and your sins. Instead, not a single person is so much as glancing your way.

You follow Stan upstairs, into what seems to be the guest bedroom, judging by the bland decorations. The sheets are a little ruffled and you worry this might have been the scene of another couple’s sexcapade. Stan assures you it’s probably fine, and you both sit down.

You’re surprised that he just keeps a joint on him, but maybe this is normal for stoners. You wouldn’t know, after all. After taking a moment to show off his cool lighter, he lights the end of the joint and takes a long, obviously well-practiced hit. And a couple of smaller ones after that.

There’s a weird feeling in your gut. Excitement, nerves, a little fear. More than anything, you want to impress Stan. You know you have a bit of a reputation for being a goody two-shoes. If you can prove that you can handle a little weed, maybe he’ll think you’re really cool and fall in love with you or something. That’s the hope, anyway.

When he passes the joint over to you, he starts explaining how to take a hit of it. But you ignore his directions, instead copying what you watched him do, inhaling far too much for your first time. His eyes get wide, and he takes the joint away from you like you’re a bad little kid.

“Dude! What the hell-” He wants to lecture you for it, but you start coughing. Sympathy overtakes him. With a sigh, he begins rubbing your back. “That was way too much for you. That’s gonna hit you like a train. You want me to get you some water?”

You’re tearing up. “Will you? I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be sorry,” Stan brushes your hair out of your face with one hand while the other stubs out the joint. “Stay right here, okay? I’m gonna get you a drink.”

Embarrassment washes over you as soon as he’s gone. You stare down at the carpet, trying your best to ignore the torn part of a condom wrapper inches away from your feet, and swear at yourself in your head. It feels like Stan is gone forever, but maybe it’s because the weed starts to hit you. Time feels like it elapses at a fraction of its normal speed, like the whole world has stretched out in front of you like Rainbow Road.

Stan returns with a red Solo cup full of water. He can tell right away from your hazy eyes that your terrible idea has begun taking effect.

“Jesus Christ, dude…” He gently lifts your chin and holds the cup to your mouth, very slowly tipping it to give you water. “That was so stupid.”

You frown once he pulls the cup away, still staring down at the ground. “I didn’t mean to.”

He crouches down and starts to carefully undo the buckle of your shoe. You’re a little embarrassed to let him touch your feet, but you allow it, watching him take one shoe off and then the other. He toes his own, much more beat-up, shoes off as well.

“You should lay down.”

You would normally reject this idea. You aren’t necessarily a germophobe, but you don’t love the idea of lying down on some random person’s bed, especially when it’s likely someone had sex on it not long ago. But you feel very heavy and, honestly, lying down feels like a really good idea right now, circumstances be damned.

Stan lies next to you, which makes you feel better about the situation. At least you aren’t the only one being unhygienic. You have someone to commiserate with.

“You feeling okay?” He whispers. You’re glad he doesn’t say it any louder, because you swear you can feel the sound of his voice bouncing off your eardrums. Everything feels so much more intense.

“Mhm,” You look at him, feeling like you’re one with the bed. He’s propped up on his elbow, looking down at you, and you’re curled up on your side, your hands tucked into your neck like a t-rex. “Just… droopy.”

“I bet.” He peels your hands away from your neck and straightens your wrists out. No cramps allowed here.

But the feeling of his hands is intensified, too. Your eyebrows furrow in genuine surprise as you feel tingling shoot up your tendons, creating fireworks and goosebumps across your body.

Stan, ever the observer, notices this reaction. He does not, however, realize it’s because of him. He tucks your hair behind your ear, moving it away from your sweaty hairline. “You okay?”

You take a shaky breath. “Yeah… I like how it feels…”

“Oh, good,” He smiles warmly, soothingly thumbing your jaw, still unaware of the connection between his touch and your responses. It finally dawns on him when your lips part ever so slightly, the tiniest, quietest little mewl escaping from within. “Oh.”

Warmth floods your face, and you quickly turn away, rolling onto your back and looking up at the ceiling to escape his judgment. But there is no judgment. And Stan is blushing, too. He also flops onto his back, and for a moment, the two of you are silent, both staring up at the popcorn ceiling.

“I guess it does make everything feel funny, huh?” Stan mumbles. You remember he’s high, too. You’re not the only one feeling tingly; you’re just the only one who isn’t used to it. He’s able to hide it.

“Y-Yeah.”

“But you like how it feels?” He turns his head towards you.

Bravely, you meet his eyes. “Yeah.”

“Good,” He looks at his hand for a moment before setting it on your arm. That’s not the intended destination, though. Slowly, he moves it down, dragging his fingertips down until he’s reached the end of your arm, and then he puts his hand on your waist. “Good…”

You’re breathing a lot harder than you thought you were. All of a sudden, you’re very aware of every movement you make, every rise and fall of your chest. You’re also very warm. “I need to- I need to take this jacket off…”

It takes you a moment to actually sit up, and then it takes another to clumsily pull your arms out of his flannel and take it off. You ball it up and toss it to the foot of the bed.

Stan is once again aware of your boobs. He doesn’t have the wherewithal to avert his gaze this time, unashamedly ogling your cleavage.

“Jesus, Y/N,” He exhales as you lie back down, on your side again, which only forces your boobs closer together. “You have to wear stuff like this more often.”

“Stan,” You huff, putting your hand over your chest. “You’re a freak.”

He laughs. “Sorry.”

You stare at his nose, unable to look him in the eye again. Not that it matters, anyway, since he’s staring at your tits.

Your bodies aren’t the only things feeling heavy, as the atmosphere of the entire room has changed. The tension has increased tenfold. Stan is red in the face and breathing just as hard as you are, if not even harder. This surprises you, because surely he’s able to control himself better than you are, since he’s an experienced smoker. Yet, somehow, he seems more affected.

“You look so good.” He practically groans, squeezing your waist.

“Stan.” You whisper disapprovingly.

“Don’t say my name like that,” He slowly moves his hand upwards. He lifts it, letting it hover over your boob, not wanting to cross any more lines than he already has. “You’re beautiful.”

You want to lecture him, but you can feel the heat radiating from his palm, just inches away from you. After a moment, you let your own hand fall away, revealing yourself to him again, a silent permission.

And, oh, Stan takes full advantage of it. He gropes at one of your tits, groaning aloud as he squeezes and appreciates it in all of its glory. It doesn’t take long for him to bring his other hand up to touch the other one.

“Oh, my God,” He grunts, inching his whole body closer to you. He temporarily releases you so he can set his hand on the back of your head, gently pulling you closer as well. “Fuck, dude.”

“Stan,” You whimper, trembling, twitching as he presses his forehead against yours. As soon as he’s sure you won’t pull away, he returns his hand to your chest. “Everything feels funny.”

“I know,” He almost purrs, pressing his face closer, rubbing his nose against yours. Seemingly unable to make up his mind, he returns his hand to your head, threading his fingers through your hair. His grip on you is firm, but gentle. “Fuck, I know. I’m gonna kiss you.”

You open your mouth to protest, even though you want nothing more than for him to kiss you, but he doesn’t give you a chance. Always true to his word, he presses his lips against yours, softly at first. You make a little noise, and something changes, the imaginary elastic between the two of you suddenly snapping. He pulls your head closer and kisses you more passionately, tilting his head to the side and moving his mouth against yours.

It’s pretty obvious to him that you’re inexperienced. He can sense the hesitation, feel the clumsiness, taste the innocence. It only makes him more excited.

You bring a shaky hand up to touch his shoulder, digging your nails into his t-shirt. He releases your hair so his hand can wander down to your ass, grabbing a handful, pulling you in closer. His hips are suddenly flush with yours, and one of your legs is lifted to rest over his. He’s on top of you in seconds, held up on one elbow, holding you firmly in place below him as he slowly grinds his hips against yours.

“Fuck, sorry,” Stan whispers, disconnecting your lips so he can nose at your neck. “Can’t help myself.”

“S’okay,” You slur, wrapping your arm around his neck. “You’re hard already…”

He kisses your neck through his laughter. “Mhm… That’s what you do to me.”

The implication of that sentence is too much for you to comprehend right now. This is the first time anything even remotely like this has happened between the two of you, but the way he says it makes it seem like this is something he deals with a lot. Have you really had this effect on him for so long without noticing? Has he been wanting you as badly as you’ve been wanting him this whole time?

You feel like he deserves to know he does the same to you. And your brain is too fuzzy to prevent you from spilling it. “I’m wet, too… W-Well, you’re not wet, so I guess it’s not too, but I-”

“Shh.” He kisses you again, only for a moment, and then he returns to the crook of your neck, biting down where it meets your shoulder. Your gasp is the best thing he’s ever heard. “Oh, I know…”

The cockiness of his tone makes you squirm beneath him, clumsily rocking your hips against his. He huffs into your skin. For a while, neither of you speaks, only breathes and whimpers as you rub against each other. At some point, Stan kisses you again, easing his tongue past your lips.

It’s not enough. Nothing could be enough when you’re both on cloud nine, fuzzy and trembling and desperate. Groping at each other like a pair of virgins. Only one of you is one, though, although Stan can’t seem to recall any other girl he’s ever been with. They all blend into one, one “other” that means nothing to him, less than nothing now that he has you. He can’t remember how to proceed. Stopping what’s already happening seems like a crime, even if it’s for the purpose of escalating into something even better.

But the throbbing in Stan’s jeans is only getting worse with every moment. And he worries that once your high wears off, you may not want to continue. He has to do something, or his chance to stake his claim on you could pass, and he’s not sure when he’ll get another.

“I wanna fuck you so bad,” He confesses, trying to ignore the way his dick twitches from his own words. Just the very idea of feeling you around him is almost too much. “Please, God, Y/N, let me fuck you…”

It’s a very daunting proposition. Girls in high school would talk about their experiences with Stan, and they all had good things to say, but he wasn’t exactly known for being the most gentle. Losing your virginity to Stan sounds great, but you’re a little worried he might… Well, break you.

“I… um…” You sputter for a moment, speechless, caught in an internal battle. Stan could cry.

“Fuck, please,” He’s never had to beg for sex before. He’s not that kind of guy. If a girl doesn’t want him, he moves on. He’s always been too proud to beg, and he never wants anyone to feel pressured anyway. Of course, if you really didn’t want to, he wouldn’t force you. But if it’s just nerves you’re feeling, he will do anything to make them go away. The idea of leaving this room without experiencing the inside of you makes him feel crazy. “Just- Just a little? I’ll just put the tip in, I swear…”

You’re pretty sure there’s supposed to be a bit more lead-up to penetration than this - Fingering, at least. But you’re also pretty sure that the making out and dry humping have gotten you more than wet enough to accommodate any stretch. And the idea of waiting any longer has you feeling a little crazy, too.

As soon as you give the slightest hint of a nod, Stan is sitting up. He takes his belt off so fast, you can hear the wind whistle. He leaves his jeans unbuttoned and unzipped, instead turning his attention to you. He pushes your dress up to your waist, smiles to himself at your safety shorts beneath, and then tugs them down your legs. Instead of a thong or something equally as suggestive as your dress, he finds a very plain pair of white cotton underwear. There’s a little bow on the front of them. It makes him even harder than a lacy thong would’ve.

“God, you’re so cute…” He murmurs, eyes fixed on the wet spot covering the fabric, momentarily distracted enough that he has to press his thumb against it. The little moan that escapes you snaps him back into the moment, and he quickly removes your underwear.

He’s distracted for another long moment, admiring your pussy, and then the aching in his boxers wakes him up again. He stands up so he can take his jeans and boxers off, keeping his eyes on you, watching you squirm in nervousness and anticipation. He doesn’t get back on the bed when he’s done, instead standing at the side of it, grabbing your legs and pulling you to the edge.

Immediately, he starts sliding himself between your folds, coating his dick in your wetness. You both whine at the feeling, shivers shooting up your spines.

“Stan…”

“Okay- I know,” He leans down so he can look at your face. “Just the tip, right?”

You take your bottom lip between your teeth and nod. Stan looks down at your lap to line himself up with your entrance. He can already feel the heat radiating from inside you.

“Jesus Christ,” He sets his hand on the side of your head, stroking your cheek with his thumb, watching your every micro-reaction as he slowly eases inside you, just a couple of inches. “Shit…”

“Oh, God,” You gasp, squeezing your eyes shut. “Stan…”

He gives you a moment - Only a moment - And then he pulls out to the very last centimeter before pushing back in. You pretend not to notice that he goes the slightest bit deeper.

“Fuck, you feel so fucking good,” He groans, grabbing a handful of your hair. He doesn’t pull or anything; he just needs something to hold on to. “Can I fuck you? Please?”

“S’gonna hurt…” You whimper, grabbing his hair, too.

“No, no, it won’t. I promise,” He kisses the corner of your mouth. “I’ll go slow.”

Again, the only affirmation he needs is a slight nod. Slowly, very slowly, he creates a rhythm, pulling out and pushing in over and over and over. When he’s finally all the way inside you, your hips flush against his, you both are panting.

“So big…”

“Yeah?” He sloppily kisses along your jaw, even more out of it than you are. You’re amazed he’s even able to stand. “Jesus, dude… You’re killing me.”

Once he’s sure you’re used to the size of him, he begins properly fucking you. Rougher than before, though maybe not quite as rough as he’d like. Even as out of his mind as he is, he doesn’t want to hurt you. It’s your first time.

He’ll pull out slowly just to thrust back in all at once, taking your breath away every time. He starts to tug your hair, pulling your head back so he can nip at your neck, mouthing at every inch of your skin. When this isn’t enough for him anymore, he lifts your legs up onto his shoulders and folds your knees to your chest. This really lets him have at it, pounding into you more recklessly, gripping your thigh to keep you in place.

You’re mesmerized by the sight of him, with his cheek pressed against your knee and his sweaty hair hanging over his forehead. You’re a little disappointed he still has his shirt on, but it’s a little hard to focus on that when he’s fucking you into some random person’s mattress.

You feel yourself teetering on the edge. It already feels much more intense than any orgasm you’ve given yourself in the past - You’re unsure if it’s because of the weed or the fact it’s Stan giving it to you. Maybe a combination of the two. Probably that.

Right as you feel yourself starting to reach that peak, Stan pulls out of you. You don’t even have time to pout before you feel him twitch and watch cum spurt onto your stomach. You look from the white puddles to his face. He looks guilty, maybe even like he’s about to cry.

“I’m so sorry,” He says it gravely, like he’s just killed one of your loved ones. “I- This has never happened to me before…”

“I-It’s okay.” You lift your shaky legs off of his shoulders.

“Wait, hey- What are you doing?” He sets his hands on your inner thighs, prying them apart again. “I still wanna make you come.”

You almost tell him he doesn’t have to, but his thumb is on your clit before you can even open your mouth. It’s like your body immediately returns to the state it was in right before he pulled out, bringing you right back to the edge. It’s not quite as intense as it was when he was inside you, but it’s still a lot more than what you’re used to. He expertly circles your clit, his thumb covered in your wetness.

“You’re so beautiful,” He kisses you, gently and, dare you say, lovingly. There’s real admiration in his voice. “So fucking beautiful. I’m so lucky you let me do this.”

“Oh- Stan-”

“I know, baby,” He purrs, peppering kisses across your face like freckles. “You’re gonna come for me. God, I wish I could feel it around my cock…”

You blush like a Victorian woman, scandalized by his crudeness. Not scandalized enough not to do as he said, immediately feeling a wave of pleasure wash over you, making you cry out his name and grab helplessly at him. You clutch at his shirt, his arm, his hair - Wherever you can reach. All the while, he coos at you, shushes your cries, kisses your face.

“Stan!” You yelp, shoving his hand away when the stimulation becomes too much.

“Sorry,” He smiles boyishly, staring down at you with a gleam in his eye that quickly disappears. “I hope that made up for… I can’t believe I came that fast.”

“It’s really okay,” You murmur, and now your eyes sparkle, glowing from the inside out when he leans down and kisses your forehead. “We can try again.”

Again. He likes the sound of that.

Maybe it wasn’t just the weed that made you want him.

Trending Blogs

Recently Viewed Blogs

bunny