Wish you knew. // Stan Marsh x Male Reader

4) Oh

Sparks shoot through your body like ribbons of light, color exploding behind your eyes and your very breath feels like it's been stolen by the boy in front of you.

His lips-, god- they're a little chapped, but they're warm and pressed to yours. You can smell the detergent from his shirt and the earthy scent that clings to him.

But what are you doing?

Immediately you jerk away from him, your eyes wide and the only thing keeping you from fully freaking out is the weed that's present enough to keep you feeling heavy enough to stay grounded.

"Wh-"

"I'm so sorry. I- Oh my god. That was like- super fucking uncalled for, shit dude- Did i-? Oh fuck." You twist the material of your pants in your fist, your other hand placed on the floor behind you, ready to prop you up and start your escape.

Stan reaches out and takes hold of your shoulder, you draw in a sharp breath and meet his eyes.

His gaze is panicked, as if he's just as startled as you are, and for good reason, you've just kissed him! What about Wendy?

"We aren't together anymore."

"What?" Your shoulder tingles where his touch is.

"We broke up last week, um.. Something about she needs to focus on herself, w-we usually get back together but-..."

You swallow dryly. He seems uncertain too, and slowly he leans forward again, both of you slowly walk the line of mistake and purpose, pushing the boundaries of what can be written off and forgotten.

"I.. I really don't think we'll.."

Realization seeps into your mind, dripping like honey. You hesitantly lift your hand to place on his cheek, pushing further to card into his hair.

"Can i..?-" He says.

  You finally manage words. "Please."

Drawn together like a knot, your lips meeting once more, but deliberate this time. His hand moves from your shoulder down your arm, his other finding itself on your thigh and you can't help but flush from all the attention.

His head tilts to deepen the kiss, your lips part ever so slightly and he immediately takes the invitation.

Oxygen runs low, but neither of you want to pull away. A mix of tangled hands and arms, pulling and holding, you don't even realize when he's fallen back on the floor with you atop him, his hands firmly placed on your hips and yours in his black hair.

In the flurry of clicking teeth and shallow gasps between every half-second of space, you feel his hand tap you, and it's enough to make you pull back. The only sound in the room is both of your labored breathing, ragged and frantic. It feels like there's fog in your head, your eyes locked together before you notice the redness of his lips, the result of your far too intense make out.

But neither of you are complaining, of course.

He exhales shakily, and at once he soaks in the sight above him. Your form seated on his lap, his hands pressed securely on your thighs, the faint scent of weed and you around him. Through the fog mirrored in his mind and his surroundings, two words surface from his thoughts. Woah, shit.

"Wow. Woah."

You both are slightly frozen now, unsure of whether it's okay to continue. How truly genuinely far can you take this before it's too much? Before it isn't okay?

Stan swallows down his anxieties, figuring that if there's anytime to have a conversation, it's right now.

"Was that.. fine..?"