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Ghostface, or Danny as you’d come to know, has become a rather large pillar in your life since your last encounter.
Showing up to your apartment periodically, or inviting you to his place, which was essentially just a glorified cardboard box in the woods.
You tended to decline going to his place, claiming you didn’t have the time to drive out or you were too busy.
So instead he took to just showing up on your couch, no matter how many times you fixed the locks on your window he always managed to find a way to get back in.
After about two weeks of him just breaking the lock to get in you just left it alone, giving him free reign to come and go as he pleased.
Of course that was dangerous, letting a known killer into your apartment whenever he pleased, but you couldn’t care less.
Especially now that it’s cooling down outside, the trees changing from green to shades of honey golds and vibrant reds, molting their leaves and slowly covering the ground in piles upon piles of yellow and orange, you’d feel bad if you just left him out in the cold.
In recent weeks though, he’s been more interested in snooping through your stuff rather than sitting on your couch and watching movies.
You don’t care all that much, anything that you’d rather him not find is kept up high where he can’t quite reach it, so you don’t bother trying to get him to stop.
He hasn’t been around in a few days though, your apartments been rather quiet without his blaring TV shows and constant bugging.
It’s a nice silence, not having to worry about him suddenly showing up to ask question after question.
With his absence, you decided you could probably have a nice smoke sesh without him interrupting.
You had your stuff laid out on the coffee table in no time, a pack of rolling paper, a grinder, the weed itself, and a few miscellaneous things, like a bottle of your soda of choice, a few snacks, the remote, all scattered about the table as well.
It didn’t take more than a few minutes to get a nice, thick joint rolled and ready, holding it between your lips you went to grab your lighter, you fumbled for a moment before sighing in minor frustration at the fact you left your lighter in your room.
You slide off the couch, trudging your way to your room to snatch your lighter off your nightstand.
As you were walking back though you paused at the end of the hallway, sitting on your couch was Danny, tapping his hands against his thighs, watching you with his head lolled to the side against the back of the couch, you could practically feel his stupid grin behind his mask and you roll your eyes.
“You know you’re not allowed on my couch till you shower.” You say, crossing your arms and leaning against the wall, lazily watching him and waiting for a response.
He groans and gets off your couch, begrudgingly walking to your bathroom and shutting the door, you sigh in content and walk to the couch, falling into it with a thud and leaning back, resting your feet on the coffee table and grabbing your unlit joint, holding it between your lips and flicking the lighter, the small orange flame singeing the amateur roll, you pull the smoke into your lungs and hold it, enjoying the feeling.
You exhale as you listen to the shower, the smoke evaporating in a plume, the smell lingering.
He doesn’t take long in the shower, he never does, but it’s enough to grant him access to the couch again.
When he comes back out he’s not wearing his cloak anymore, but rather some of the spare clothes you keep in a drawer in the bathroom for him.
You started keeping clothes for him after the first time you forced him to shower and his clothes were practically stuck to him with dirt and grime.
The clothes he’s wearing now are simple comfy clothes, the mask still on, nothing to pay much mind too.
He comes and flops down on the couch next to you, reaching over you to snatch the remote.
You track him with your eyes, taking a slow drag as he turns on the TV to watch one of his stupid shows.
When you exhale again you notice him staring at you, watching you take the joint between your lips and pull in smoke, the tip flicking a brighter orange for the split moment you breathed in.
When you notice him staring you pull the joint from your lips and hold it to him, a silent offer.
He takes it from you, pulling up his mask only slightly to reveal pale, scarred lips that part when he brings your joint up, pulling the smoke in and coughing a little.
It’s not his first time smoking, you know that, but you also know he’s got a low lung capacity.
“You really shouldn’t take such a large hit when you know you can’t handle it.” Just a comment, a mocking joke you know he won’t take seriously, but you feel better telling him anyway.
He doesn’t say anything, taking another hit and looking you spitefully in the eyes as he does, only to double over coughing into his hand, you reach over to him, taking the joint from him and taking your own hit. Gently patting him on the back as he practically coughs his lungs out.
You roll your eyes at him as he continues coughing.
Eventually you get sick of it and just toss him your soda.
He takes it and he’s fine for a moment, only small coughs now as he watches you take a smaller slower drag and lean back on the couch, kicking your feet up onto the table, turning your attention to whatever dumb show he put on.
He follows your lead and leans back on the couch too, enjoying as the slow buzz kicks in.
Taking large hits like that tends to have it kick in quicker, especially if you’re a lightweight.
It’s a pleasant feeling, by the time the episode was finished it’d definitely kicked in for the both of you.
He was stone still on your couch, if you could see under the mask he’d no doubt be staring slack jawed at a universe in which you can’t see.
Every so often he’d tremble or twitch and you’d glance at him and smile stupidly.
Halfway through the next episode and halfway through the second joint, he shifted closer to you, placing a slightly shaky hand on your thigh.
It’s not a harsh grab or for anything other than to stabilize himself.
He whines and you glance at him out of the corner of your eye, he squeezes your thigh a bit and you put a bit more focus on him.
He lifts his hips slightly, grinding into the seam on his pants.
Small little movements that you probably wouldn’t have noticed if he wasn’t so noisy.
You shift slowly and move to straddle him, placing almost your full weight on his thighs and he pauses with a small whine he does his best to stifle.
He grinds up into you as his hands shoot to your waist.
You grind down on him and rest one hand on his chest, toying with him through the thin fabric of his shirt. He whines and pushes into your touch ever so slightly.
You smile down at him and tilt his face up to you, gently lifting the mask only enough to expose his mouth.
He lets you lazily guide his face upwards.
You take a quick drag from the nearly finished joint and lean down to press a heavy kiss to his parted lips, your nose bumping the plastic of his mask, he whines Into it and rolls his hips into you, you slowly exhale the smoke into his mouth, a small amount falling from where your lips connect.
He almost moans Into the kiss, squeezing your hips as he trembles.
He’s hard under you, rocking his clothed cock into you.
You give him a stupid grin when you pull back, snuffing the joint on the ashtray on the table behind you.
He exhales the smoke you pushed into his lungs with a small whine.
He leans his head back against the couch after a moment, chest heaving.
His throat bobs as he swallows the built up saliva in his mouth
He sits like this for a moment with you on top of him before you notice the damp patch where his dick is, or was, rutting against you.
You lift yourself up slightly and glance down, seeing the wet spot that’s much too big to just be precum, you look back up at him and notice the deep blush spread on from his cheeks and down to his clavicle, disappearing under his light gray shirt as he shifts trying to refocus your attention and you grin, rolling your hips down and sliding your hands under his shirt and resting them on his pecs.
The fabric bunches on your arms and gives you a good full view of his slightly pudgy abdomen, happy trail leading from below his waistband all the way up and connecting to his chest hair.
He whimpers with the movement and bucks into you, despite his sensitivity.
His hands squeeze your hips as yours toy with the silver bars through his nipples.
He sighs with your touch, pushing his chest into your hands as you tug on one of the small bars.
After a long moment of him grinding up into you and you toying with his piercings, you slide off his lap to kick your pajama pants off easier, you bump the backs of your knees against the coffee table when you stand, knocked off kilter with the sudden movement and the dizziness of almost too much weed.
You hiss and take a small step forward, hands shooting forward to balance yourself, once you’re steady you kick your pants away, getting back on the couch to continue straddling him.
You lean back and lift your hips off him, reaching down to pull his pants and boxers down to about his mid-thighs, tucking the waistband under his balls.
He whines at the cool air hitting him from the window he left cracked, gently shifting his hips up, aiming for friction against your thigh.
You shift forward, lining yourself up with him and sliding down, his hands shoot to grip on your hips and he shakes, the sudden movement all too quick for him.
He cums with a pathetic mewl-like sound. His cum leaking from you and smearing on his thighs.
He whines and squeezes your hips harder, knee-jerking when you rise and slide back down.
He chokes out a sob with each downward movement, shaking with the stimulation that’s far too much for him, especially with the added sensitivity of the weed and previous orgasms.
You rock down, ass pressed to his thighs.
You sigh at the feeling of him, slightly uncomfortable with the cooling cum on your inner thighs, prevented from crusting by the seemingly endless flow of slick from him.
He squeezes the life out of your via your hips, dull nails dug into the flesh of your flank, head tossed back on the couch.
small damp wisps of ginger hair peek out from where the fabric of his mask no longer hides.
Spit pools in his mouth, drooling out when he hangs his mouth open in a broken sob or whine, twisting to buck both into and away from the constant stimulation, senses heightened and sensitive with the Cannabis.
He’s flagging in you, but not going fully soft.
You reach around you to grab one of your pre-rolls from earlier off the coffee table, having to lift up off him slightly, he grips you with a hushed whimper, trying to pull you down and off fully at the same time, before you turn around and slam back down, reveling in his sob of pleasure morphing into mild pain.
You light the joint, leaning forward and off of him slightly, grabbing his hair and the black fabric of his bask in a fist, yanking his head back and exhaling smoke into his lungs, he yelps, the mild sting making him twitch.
letting your eyes fall closed you pull back and watch him huff with lazily lidded eyes, watching the smoke leave in puffs as he heaves, squirming under you.
After a moment of just resting with his dick in you, you shift up and slam back down, taking in his pathetic mewls and sobs, the wet squelching sounds of his cock sliding in with each slam down adding to the crude ambiance.
His grip on your hips shakes and falters, desperately trying to steer away from a rapidly approaching climax he wasn’t sure he could take.
The stretch of him is nice, eventually you do have to brace yourself with a hand on his chest when the effort of keeping his rather thick cock from going fully soft until you’ve had your full.
Your fingertips brush ribs, thumbing over the silver barbell on his nipple, causing him to jerk, twitching in you.
You take a slow hit from the joint, letting the smoke rest in your lungs before blowing it out.
You reach back and snuff the joint in the ashtray, leaning forward and pressing down as far as possible, his tip bullying against your sweet spot, you angle yourself to hit it better with a huff on contentment.
You lazily rest your head against his shoulder, listening to his shaky breathing and rapid heartbeat, partly drowned by his soft whines and desperate sobs.
Your hands rest over his chest, a mockery of the first time, pulling barbells and reveling in the small twitches and jerks he gives, a small grin on your face before you sink your teeth into his neck, he gives a pained yelp and grips you tighter, pulsing as he cums, seems that was what did him in.
You raise up when he can’t seem to formulate more than half garbled sounds of mild pain, letting his last two orgasms leak from you, dripping back onto him and sticking to your thighs, leaving a wet mess to deal with later.
His now mostly soft cock rests on his gut, shirt falling back over it slightly, leaving a damp stain that would never come out.
You stretch out a little as you slip off his thighs, moving to stand and get a quick shower in before going back to lay on the couch.
When you come back he’s practically passed out on your couch, pants still around his thighs head limp against the back of the couch, he shivers ever once in awhile, breathing hard, either greened out or so fucked out he can’t think.
You elect to ignore it and flop back down on the couch, going back to whatever show had been on previously.