hey, it’s j

Your mind generates an image of your roommate, Oscar. He’s not the typical definition of a hunk, with his fluffy hoodies and pale skin, but there’s something about his Australian accent and piercing brown eyes that draws you in, much like a moth to a flame. The one time you had walked in on him changing, and caught a glimpse of his toned stomach hadn’t hurt either. 

“Your roommate, huh?” Ghostface, or Ghostie, as you’d nicknamed him in your head, mused. 

You give a short nod. “Don’t kill Oscar though,” you say casually, as if you’re talking about the weather. “It’s hard to find a good roommate, and I do need to split rent.” 

The relaxed demeanor with which you speak seems to catch the masked man off guard. Most times, when he shows up in someone’s room, they’re screaming or trying to fight back before he stabs them. You’re an outlier, it seems. 

“Seems like I need to be jealous, then.” Ghostface’s tone takes on a lighter, more joking tone, as if he’s restraining a laugh underneath the voice changer. “I’ve been out here killing all these men that you weren’t interested in anyway- seems like I should’ve gone for your roommate.” 

You shoot a dry glare directly at the eyes of his mask. “No, Ghostie. I like my roommate. He knows how to use a dishwasher.” 

“Perhaps I should’ve been looking at places to rent instead of committing serial killings,” Ghostface muses, his tone thoughtful. 

“Probably,” you respond, tilting your head. “But then I would never have met Oscar.” 

“I’m starting to get jealous.” The man behind the mask states flatly. 

Your eyes narrow, and you pull a knife out from under your pillow, waving it in the direction of the lurking figure. “The whole masked, dark robes, mass murder vibe is hot, but if you lay a hand on Oscar I will end you.” 

“I’m not even in a robe,” he comments, gesturing to the black t-shirt he’s wearing, leaving his delicious biceps on display for your eyes to feast on. “So you like him more than me, is that it? Maybe I should kill him.”

Before you know it, you’ve sprung into motion, pushing the man clad in black into the wall. Your knife is poised at his throat. A smug smirk spreads across your lips when he lets out a choked sound. 

“Not a chance,” you tell the man you have pinned against your bedroom wall. “I don’t want to pay rent by myself.”

“How romantic,” your intruder quips, though his breath is short- probably from the knife pressed into his neck, just short of breaking skin. “See, I came here for you.” 

You can’t keep the pretense of disinterest any longer. Try as you may, and as much as you’re crushing on your roommate, you aren't immune to the allure of a tall, dark, mysterious figure. Especially when jealousy seems to get him bloodthirsty. That just adds to the attraction. 

You pull the knife away from his throat, trailing the sharp tip up his jaw and hooking it underneath his mask. He stays completely still underneath your touch, save for a single, sharp breath. 

“Who’s the romantic now?” You say slyly, pausing your movements. “You came to comfort silly little me, after you murdered all of my potential dates. I’d call that the pinnacle of romance.” 

“Don’t.” 

“Don’t what?” You ask innocently, fluttering your lashes up at him. “Don’t take off the mask? I deserve a Valentine’s gift after all. You didn’t even bring me flowers.” 

“If you take it off, I’d have to kill you.” The low voice is gravely serious for the first time since he’s entered your room. “It would be such a waste, after I came all this way for you. I even rented out a room just to be close to you.” 

Now that you’re this close to the mask, you’re able to zone in on more details. You spy a scratch on the left cheek, and you feel a tingle of recognition in the back of your mind. Your own Ghostface mask had the exact same scratch from your first kill. It even has that little slant that yours has. 

The scratch. The flirting. The renting. 

“I don’t think you will.” You say with a sudden burst of confidence, lifting the mask off ever so slightly with the tip of the knife. “Don’t move. If my hunch is correct, then I don’t want to damage your pretty face, Piastri.” 

All you get in response is silence. 

Your sureness in your hunch slowly fades away from the lack of response. Maybe it had been stupid to assume that the hard body you had pressed against the wall, who had committed dozens of killings, was actually your sweet, awkward roommate with a cutting sense of humor. 

When your hold on the knife falters for just a second, the man you have pinned jumps into action, grabbing your wrist and jerking it so you let go of the knife. It clatters to the ground beside the pair of you. Your wrists are now both pinned above your head by one of his hands- hands that you’d stared at during your previous encounters with the masked killer. 

“Really, talking about another man on Valentine’s day?” Ghostface teases, leering at you behind the mask. 

You can’t lie to yourself. The sudden power shift had your thighs tensing. You weren’t a delicate flower by any definition- your kill tally was way higher than his. Whether or not he was Oscar, he was your successor to the Ghostface mask. You were the original. You shouldn’t be so easily overpowered- and the fact that this man was so easily able to do so took your breath away. 

“I don’t think I am,” you say softly, a small smile creeping up your cheeks. You’re sure you look positively deranged, but you can’t bring yourself to care. “Take off the mask? It is Valentine’s day after all. Also, that’s mine. You’re stealing.” 

“We’ve both committed murders in the double digits, and you’re concerned about stealing?” 

Your first response is a laugh- he does have a point. After the dozens of killings you had committed, theft should be the least of your concerns. Your next response is to grin even wider when you realize that the voice modulator had been turned off, revealing the Australian accent you had come to know and love. 

After what seems like ages, a pale, veiny hand pulls the mask off.

“Jealous of yourself, really?” Your words come out breathy, your pupils dilating as Oscar’s brown eyes are revealed. His face is so close to yours that you can feel his breath on your face. There’s an unsettling gleam in his eyes that only serves to draw you in further. “You could’ve just asked me out, you know.”

“What can I say?” Oscar says, tightening his grip on your wrists, still pinned above your head. “I like to delve into womens’ interests. It just so happened that yours was murder.”

Warmth blooms in your chest. 

“I’ve never had a man take interest in my hobbies,” you say softly, sincerely touched. “That’s the nicest thing anyone has ever done for me.” 

“I only planned on doing it once,” Oscar admits with a short laugh, a lock of brown hair falling into his eyes. “When your stupid ex-boyfriend cheated on you. I didn’t even bother to buy a mask- I just borrowed yours. I didn’t expect to love it.”

Something about Oscar’s words catches your attention. 

“He was your first kill?” You ask him, your eyes widening. You start to squirm in his grasp, feeling a familiar heat starting to build between your thighs. Your cheeks start to tingle, and you’re sure that your face is tinged pink. 

Oscar nods, his jaw tightening. 

Your eyes track the movement, another wave of arousal washing over your body. 

“That’s fucking sexy.” You admit, your voice taking on a sultry tone. You shift your legs, trying to get some friction where you need it most. 

Your roommate isn’t blind to your motions, and he shakes his head. “Tsk, you’re a greedy one. Let me take care of that.” 

Then Oscar’s lips are on yours.

He kisses like he kills, precise with his movements, every little motion calculated to draw out the most sounds from you, his hand releasing your wrists to cup your face, his other hand grasping onto your waist. There’s a desperation in the way he holds you, as if you’re sand that might slip through his fingers if he’s not careful. 

You had always admired the way your successor had executed his kills- always either through a clean cut of the throat, or a perfectly aimed stab to the heart. Never more than one. As you reciprocate Oscar’s kiss fervently, winding your hands in his hair, he bites your lower lip, causing you to let out a needy moan as his tongue dances with yours. 

You could lose yourself in kissing Oscar, much like he’s lost himself in his obsession for you, doing the most fucked up things in the name of love.

He can’t seem to get enough of you. He ravages your mouth with a passion, as if possessing you through your liplock. 

“Jump,” Oscar says into your mouth, his voice taking on something akin to a growl. His hand drifts down from your waist to your ass, and you comply with his demand, wrapping your legs around his waist, easily supporting your weight. 

Oscar’s other hand moves from your face to your back, pulling you even closer to him. Your hold on his hair tightens, and he lets out a filthy groan.

You don’t notice that he’s moving the pair of you away from the wall- until he settles the pair of you on the bed, him on top of you, kissing down your jawline gently. 

“Fuck, that feels good.” 

Your words are met with a sly smile from Oscar.

Unabridged version goes live on Patreon on 13 February, 11PM SGT.

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