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Chapter Text

"I woke up mourning,
I woke up dead today,
I aged a thousand years or more."

—Angels Fuck & Devils Kiss
Jack Off Jill

The Winter River cemetery was still and bright, lit brilliantly by a beaming full moon. There was no need to use the flashlight she had taken with her on this late night trek to read Adam and Barbara's matching headstones, with their identical dates of death and epitaphs:

Not even in death did they part. Taken too soon from a world too cruel.

Jane Butterfield may have been a righteous bitch, but at least she had given them a decent burial. The bare minimum, as far as Lydia was concerned. The Maitlands liked it alright, at least. Nevertheless, the knowledge that their spiritless corpses were rotting far beneath the ground and out of sight from what was going to occur in the necropolis this night did nothing to assuage Lydia's sudden guilt.

They didn't need to see this. She moved several rows down, closer to an opulent mausoleum that belonged to a Mister Bartholomew Brewster III. It was built of precious stones and metal, a ghastly, morbid show of wealth that likely could have fed the entire town for a month rather than housed this decaying, useless body. To each their own. Knowing what she knew about the Brewsters, Bart probably would have wanted it this way. Moonbeams bounced off the tomb brightly enough to make it a palace among this city of the dead, a shining beacon of affluence and abundance that outshined its stone and wooden subjects. As though its inhabitant was more important— more valuable— than the others.

Disgusting. This whole town and everyone in it was disgusting. More than the town, the whole world. It's not like New York was any better. There had to be more than this. There just had to be. Absolute in her conviction now, Lydia quit her pacing and aimed her sullen face skyward for one last search, thinking maybe she would find the answer she was looking for among the stars. She did not. Plan B it was, then.

"Betelgeuse… Betelgeuse… Betelgeuse…"

Opposed to popular belief, one could, in fact, get tired of a tomb. Most would assume that anyone housed within would be without presence enough to truly appreciate their entombment. Most people were flat wrong.

Trapped was his least favorite state of being. He'd decided this centuries ago, back when his own house arrest was in effect and he'd been able to leave the small, cramped, disgusting dirt-floored house where he'd died. It was then that he realized he never wanted to be trapped again. He couldn't allow it.

And yet here he was, back 6 feet under in a cramped grave thanks to two pottery barn idiots and a little girl who didn't understand true horror.

He paced the length of it nearly constantly these days. With nothing else to do but watch his mold grow he'd had plenty of time to stew on exactly what he'd like to do if he ever got his hands around that pretty pale neck of hers. There seemed to be conflicting opinions on that particular idea, originating in different parts of his moldering corpse he passed off for a body.

Just then, something brought him to a stop. "Oh.. ho ho. You got no idea what you're doin'." That's one.

He stretched his arms over his head, adjusting the lapels of his signature suit, preparing for an entrance. That's two.

"I'm comin' babe." Three.

As soon as the last syllable of his name hissed past her lips, a swell of dark clouds formed above, shielding her from the brilliant nocturnal light that illuminated all of her poor choices. It was dark as death now. The wind howled and thunder rolled, drawing a tingle of excitement up her spine. He was coming. He was pissed.

Suddenly, a blinding bolt of unnaturally green lightning came down from the abyss to strike the jewel-bedecked golden cross that topped Bart's grave, and Lydia jumped despite herself. As sure as she was that she wanted what he had to give her, animal instinct couldn't be helped. The entire mausoleum quivered, rattling the dirt and surrounding graves so violently she was sure the corpses below would waken. The marble gateway cracked with the lightning, and with a heavy kick from the other side, the hunk of stone was easily shot clear across the way, knocking several tombstones as it went. This made Lydia cringe more than the inevitable appearance of the striped monster that emerged from the tomb shortly after; foul and grimacing, just as molded and repugnant as she remembered.

Would he do it? She wasn't sure what options she had left if he wouldn't. Game face on, Lydia proceeded with the show before he could take over, well aware of his penchant for theatrics.

"I'm not sorry," she lied, her soft, feminine voice taking on a metallic edge that seemed wrong on such a young, sweet thing, "and I'd do it all over again if I had to. You're gross, and ugly, and old, and I wouldn't marry you if you were the last man on Earth, alive or dead."

The proverbial noose was tightening with each unwarranted insult, each mean-spirited barb. It physically pained her to be so outwardly cruel to another person, especially someone she had wronged. Lydia remembered how he pushed her out of the way of the sandworm's hungry teeth when he could have just as easily taken her with him. She was being awful. He didn't deserve this. He deserved her down on her knees begging his forgiveness.

Maybe he would be willing to take an apology after she was dead.

"So there," she finished, crossing her arms childishly as though she had reached the pinnacle of some great argument and made her point beyond a shadow of a doubt. "Oh yeah, and your suit looks dumb."

"Lydia Deetz... as I…You know. Nevermind on that one actually, babes." His smile was lecherous as he climbed from the tomb, taking his sweet time in approaching the young woman. He couldn't help but rake his eyes over his would-be bride. She was such a pretty little thing. And there was that lovely throat he'd thought so much about down in his decrepit cell.

He watched as she spoke, not really processing the words until she'd made it through all she wanted to say. His head tilted off to one side, nearly flat to his shoulder as he stared, now only feet from her.

"Is that so? This suit? Huh… " He snapped his fingers and the burgundy velvet of their wedding day replaced the black and white. It had gaping holes ripped into it where the damn worm had sunk its teeth into him.

He knew this girl. Had watched her every day for months from his model of Winter River as she studied in the attic. This girl… his Lydia… didn't have a mean bone in her little lithe body. Then it hit him. She was working an angle.

"Now why would you disturb a guy's eternal rest just to call him up and degrade him! That's not nice, kitten…. Talk to me. What's wrong, eh?" He reached for her on instinct, ready to wrap a hand around that little neck and squeeze, if she didn't move out of the way fast enough.

No. No, no no no no, this was all wrong. He wasn't supposed to still want to marry her. Why would he want that?! She sucked! She was scrawny, short, far, far too pale, and a backstabbing liar to boot. She was supposed to be dead by now, damnit! That large, calloused hand came for her, but this time she was able to tamper the instinctual impulse to flee. It landed firm on the column of her throat, easily encompassing the expanse of milky flesh there. He didn't squeeze, but the ragged claws that tipped each of his filthy digits did dig in right up to the precipice of pain, giving Lydia the impression that there was still hope for her plan.

She glared right into those wild jade eyes, attempting with all she had to muster true malice for him— but the passion fell flat.

"I won't say 'I do'," she muttered quickly, craning to meet his gaze under his superior height, "and there aren't any witnesses." There. Maybe that would get any crazy ideas out of his head.

What's wrong? Everything, she wanted to shout, to crumble the stone walls that held in her wealth of tumultuous emotions just as surely as he had crumbled Bart's tomb, to spill her black little heart out all over that equally tacky suit and let him just carry it all. He could probably take it better than her anyway. But she didn't, because she knew he didn't care, and it would only make her look stupider than she already felt. Instead, she fed him more lies.

"Nothing." Her throat shuddered beneath his grasp as she swallowed the acrid taste of deceit away. "I just—"

The facade faltered. His eyes were so feral, so intense. Lydia was a terrible liar, and currently, it felt as though he was seeing right through her. Dedicated to the cause, she pushed through the uncertainty to give it another shot. He was already in position. Strangulation wasn't the worst way to go.

"I just really… really fucking hate you and wanted you to know."

Ah.. there she was. Pale, soft and warm, her pulse sounded under his thumb in an intoxicating way, the grin on his face spreading further as she sputtered in his hold.

"There's witnesses all around us, sweetheart. Don't know why you're pretendin' you can't see 'em little medium mine~"

He hummed softly and tilted his head one way and the other as he looked at her, his hand just tight enough that if she tried to look down the sharp talon of his thumb may make contact with her jugular. He raised an eyebrow as his inspection continued.

"You hate me that much, huh? Well, then I suppose you were hopin' for… what? That I'd kill ya?" His hand tightened where it sat on the column of pale flesh he'd spent so much time thinking… No. Not now.

His eyes flickered from her own over her body. He had time now that he hadn't before. Out here in the graveyard, there was no one to stop him from taking his fill of her soft curves and…

"Ooh. Ya've you always had these, baby? Or are ya showin' off for me?" His free hand quickly came up to caress her right breast, his long tongue rolling out of his mouth to wet his lips. "Bad news, kitten. I ain't gonna kill you. Got a better plan…"

A cold fear washed over her as his words registered, that filthy hand groping indulgently over the top of her shapeless black gown. Lydia had never feared him before. Not in the way she should have, the way Adam and Barbara would have liked her to. In an instant, her poorly constructed bluff of nastiness shattered. She went very, very still, icy countenance softening and twisting into one that begged for mercy.

"Don't—" she choked without any help from him, barely audible. Please don't. Not that. Anything but that. Fight or flight instincts were at war with one another, but neither saw fruition. He found her nipple beneath the lightweight, shadowy cotton, the sensitive bit of flesh having quickly been drawn to its peak by his frosty touch. Then, he pinched, making her flinch back and cry out involuntarily, forcing the palm around her throat to squeeze to keep her in place.

"I'm sorry!" She shrieked in sudden panic, all pretense dropped, finally giving him the apology he deserved. "I didn't mean it! You're right, I just wanted you to kill me. Please… please just kill me. Don't— please stop—"

Sharp green eyes flew to her face as she went still in his hands. Suddenly the confidence she'd been trying to put on had vanished entirely, leaving her once again nothing but a scared little girl.

Unlucky, really.

He liked scared little girls.

A hissing chuckle left him as the sounds of her panicking picked up in earnest, his thumb rubbing slowly over her pulse as it quickened.

"Well if you aren't the prettiest little thing, babes." Neediest, tastiest… His mind supplied. The grin on his face only grew, and he leaned close, breathing in the scent of her hungrily.

"Ya know most dames'd kill to get me alone like this. You're lucky, little girl. But not that lucky." He pressed a filthy kiss to her temple, holding her even closer. "'M not quite sure I'm ready to accept your apology, kitten.." The hand on her throat loosened, his thumb coming up to trace over her full lower lip. "Do better."

Icy pink lips trembled beneath his caress, and unable to stop herself her tongue darted out to dampen them once he was done. The remnant of his touch tasted like tobacco, like the cigars she stole from her father on the occasion. It was obscenely comforting, as was that profanely soft kiss. Pretty. What an ugly little lie. She wasn't pretty. Then again, Lydia wasn't about to debate the fact with this moldering, bug-eating fiend who was hard-pressed to meet anyone's standards of attractiveness, no matter how low.

He pulled her forward by the throat until their fronts were flush, thankfully deigning to leave her more delicate bits alone for the time being. Whether this was a move of his own choosing or acquiescence to her begging was unclear. Eager to sate the savage beast while he was in a somewhat agreeable mood, Lydia obeyed the gruff order with swiftness.

"I'm sorry," she repeated, whimpering, tears rising unbidden to kiss the thick layer of dark lashes that bordered her overly large eyes. "I was wrong. We were all wrong. You kept up your end of the deal and I didn't— and— and it was so fucked up what happened to you. But— but Adam and Barb thought they were right, and they're—" Adult. Authority. Conveniently absent from her life to keep her from making mistakes like this. "What could I do?"

The poltergeist's unfortunate fate never sat right with Lydia, but the subject of it was off-limits in the Deetz-Maitland household. Lydia was never allowed to voice her feelings on the event and process it normally, share her opinion and receive others in return. It was no wonder that guilt was allowed to fester in the back of her ravaged mind until it came to a head. In truth, Lydia knew that Betelgeuse was well within his rights to take whatever he wanted from her. Deals with the dead were not meant to be broken. But for her to call him and berate him? Try to manipulate him into bending to her selfish, suicidal whims?

She was the worst. Tears fell harder and Lydia swallowed the awful, embarrassing sob that wanted to escape, eyes clenching shut to avoid facing his judgment head-on.

"I'm so sorry," she parroted once more, feeling very much like a broken, useless record that should just be thrown away already. "I'm sorry."

Oh, now she was going to cry. How sweet. His eyes never left her as she broke down in his hold. The mention of the Maitlands made him growl, low in his throat.

"They're fuckin' idiots is what they are, Lyds. But you know that now, don'cha?"

What could I do? Her sweet, soft voice was going straight to his head. What could she do? She could hold up her end of the deal. She could have said 'I do' all that much quicker and get him the fuck out of his damned prison. Could have blushed and cried on their wedding night… like she was doing now… But she hadn't done any of it. Not a bit.

His head tilted as he studied her crying. He was used to tears of fear. He thrived on them. This was somehow different. She was being honestly, overwhelmingly repentant. But she hadn't truly paid, now had she? The monster deep in his chest clawed at him to get to her. Hurt her. Make her feel his rage.

But he tamped it down, instead putting a painful grip to her chin and tilting her face to look at her.

"I'll forgive ya, kitten. We're engaged after all… don't wanna start off a marriage on the wrong foot. But rest assured… You'll make all this bullshit up to me. Sooner or later."

They're not, she wanted to defend the absent Maitlands, but held her tongue. They were imperfect, like everyone else in the world, but Betelgeuse had the right to hate them as much as she had the right to hate Claire Brewster. This logic didn't do anything to dampen the sudden fire that lit up her tearful gaze. The punishing grip on her chin made her wince, but she didn't dare fight him.

Engaged.

Fuck.

How had this backfired so poorly? Lydia had never entertained the idea that he would still desire her for a bride. It was such a foreign concept. No one, not anyone ever— with the exception of her current company— had ever shown any sort of romantic interest in her. She was ignored and shelved and pushed aside by the general breathing populace. It was easier to pretend she didn't exist than to acknowledge the off-putting aura she was apparently born with. He was powerful enough, right? He could muscle anyone into this position, really. Why her?

"You don't understand," she attempted to reason, reject the assumed proposal without outright rejecting him. "I have to die. It's important. If… if I marry you, will you kill me then? You can do it however you want, dealer's choice, I don't care."

Offering her spited fiancé the right to take her out the slow and painful way if he so chose probably wasn't wise, but Betelgeuse was going to do whatever he wanted anyway.

"That gets you what you want, right? Isn't that enough?"

"It's important that I die!" He mocked her in her own voice. "Toots, everyone thinks it's important to die. They all think their lives are this big deal! That they're changing the course of history! Bullshit." His free hand was creeping toward her, sliding onto her waist almost tenderly.

He licked his lips, fully invading her space now. "But I still don't get it… why do you wanna die so bad? Teenaged angst? Daddy was mean to you and you hate your step-mama? Hmm?" He snickered, tightening his hand at her hip until he was sure it would leave bruises on the pretty white skin beneath her dress.

"If you're really that desperate to strike up a deal… then fine. If you marry me I'll be the one to do you in. But you just remember that it's gonna happen on my terms, princess. That means however I want…" He licked up her jaw, nipping at the soft, supple, sweet skin behind her ear. "When I want."

"No," she bit back bitterly, pulling legitimate attitude with him at his insulting derision that she had come to this morbid conclusion of her life for an escape from common adolescent drama. "You don't know me," she spat, glaring through the quickly drying remnants of her tears. "You don't know anything about me."

Lydia never labored under any delusions that she was special. Just strange, which was an entirely different thing. If she were in a less dismal mood, she might have been willing to disclose her motivations to the filthy ghoul, but this wasn't the case. She was even less amenable once his grip on her hip tightened with bruising force and he came to sample a taste of the goods. A shock of something pooled in her belly, warm and not entirely unpleasant. A sharp gasp penetrated the air courtesy of the molested girl.

This kind of attention was similarly foreign to her. She'd never even experienced a first kiss, much less anything as advanced as he likely had in mind. This was the price she had to pay. He wanted his consummation, and really, it was a fair stipend considering what she had done to him. Could she pay? Could she actually go through with it? Did she have a choice?

"Deal," she finalized, cringing away from his coarse, moss-besotted complexion as it brushed along her baby soft flesh. "However you want. Whenever you want."

Would he marry her here tonight? Right there in the cemetery? That would be best. The sooner this was over, the sooner she could reach the other side and access to the information she needed.

Oh ho! That got her going. He liked a little bit of fight in his women. He hummed, cheek to cheek with the young woman that would soon very soon be his wife. "Deal~" He grinned a moss-covered and decaying smile, the hand on her waist sliding to the small of her back.

He could tell from her reactions that his little kitten was all but untouched. As much as she was disgusted he could see her pressing into him, her soft gasp was like a trigger being pulled. He held her to him, the hem of her skirt jerking up with nothing more than a wink so that he could press closer still, one thigh slipping between hers.

"Can't wait for the weddin' night, Lyds… you're gonna be so good for me. Ain'tcha?" He nipped at her jaw, keeping her tight against him as he worked down her neck.

As much as he'd like to rush the wedding and get to the good part, he knew that there was bureaucracy to go through. More red tape than the first time, even, seeing as she'd technically performed a jailbreak by calling him here. Still, he made a mental list of everything that needed doing before they could really seal the deal.

"Well then, shall we hit the courthouse? Or you wanna spend the night first? I got a real nice grave with our names on it, wifey."

Everything he was doing made her want to crawl out of her skin in anxiety. Her flesh was stuck in a seemingly permanent flush, her pulse fluttering rapidly beneath his grimy teeth. To be fair, it wasn't necessarily him that garnered her revulsion so much as the act itself. The thought of letting another man take her like that— holding her down, grunting, thrusting, pain— brought a rush of acidic bile up her throat to kiss her tonsils before she managed to swallow it down.

"Sure," she conceded weakly to his assumption that she would be good, once the words registered. The longer he held her like this, pawing and squeezing and taking little tastes, the more her mind worked at separating from her body. The way it had taught itself to in moments such as this.

"I won't be any good," she warned in a last ditch effort at dissuading him of the idea. Her lifeless gaze— as though the deed was done already, the bargain fulfilled— was locked passed his mass of matted white-blonde hair on Bart's demolished mausoleum, focusing intently on each minute, detestable detail. It was preferable to paying attention to the way his thick leg had rudely shoved its way between hers. The hand keeping her steady at the small of her back pulling until she was off balance and had to grip the lapels of his maroon tux for purchase, her most sensitive place nestled firmly against his thigh.

"You'd be better off with someone—" anyone "— else."

The witching hour was upon them. Lydia, with her flair for the dramatics, had considered this the most appropriate time to summon the harbinger. She had fantasized of how her father and Delia would awaken to find her gone, how the news of her mangled corpse being discovered amongst the lathe of tombstones would spread like wildfire, how they would mourn her for a week or two at most before upending their roots and moving past this morbid chapter of their lives called "parenthood." Would she ever see them again? Unlikely. Her closet sadist reveled that they might never find her body and the mystery would haunt them. It wasn't as though Lydia would.

"The courthouse. Tonight. As soon as possible." Just get it over with.

"Hey! Old dogs can learn new tricks. And you're barely a pup." He left her with one last nip to her ear, his hands each taking hold of her pert ass. "Mm. That's nice, Lyds…"

Something was off here. He could see it in her eyes. She was drifting, trying to leave the situation so that he could just… take her. How thoughtful. Where the fuck'd she learn to do that? He bristled at the thought of another man's hands on his wife. Well. They didn't need to worry about that anymore, now did they.

In a flash, they were no longer standing in the graveyard. In fact, they didn't seem to be in Winter River at all, but rather a seedy Neitherworld city. Left and right strip joints and brothels lined the street on either side of a tiny Vegas-style chapel. WEDDINGS. FUNERALS. DIVORCES. was plastered across the door.

Betel turned to his bride with a smile. "Now don't go diss-associatin' on me now, beautiful… Doncha wanna remember this day for the rest of your life?"

He pulled her back into his arms, less driven now, merely keeping his hands on her. He wasn't lost on the way that the ghouls around him had all turned to look at the breather. She was his dammit. He had to make that clear, obviously.

With a disorienting flash, her stomach bottomed out and they were gone from one necropolis to another. Bewildered, she clung to him from the sudden change, vision adjusting from the pitch black of the shadowy cemetery to this neon-lit strip of life. If it weren't for the strangely colored sky and the many deceased inhabitants littering the street, Lydia could have mistaken it for any other sleazy corner of the living realm.

This was the Neitherworld! Adam and Barbara always refused to tell her anything about it when she asked, fearful of her suicidal tendencies, but they weren't here to stop this. Lips parted and eyes alight with wonder, she would have drifted away from him mindlessly to sate her fascination, were it not for the heavy arm slung around her shoulders keeping her petite stature anchored to his side.

Doncha wanna remember this day for the rest of your life?

Not at all, but Lydia was done insulting him for now. As he steered her toward a chapel, robbing her of all the enchantingly morbid sights and sounds— a mermaid sitting in a kiddie pool on the corner of the street, waving a wet cardboard sign with prices that had blurred with the water had the majority of her attention— they were both distracted by the call of a curvaceous, horned red-headed prostitute. She waved down at them enthusiastically from the balcony of a nearby brothel, a lit cigarette resting between her claws and a toothy grin widening her fanged mouth.

"Hey, BJ! It's two-for-one night! Why don'cha bring yer lil friend up here so I can show her what a good time is supposed to look like?" After cackling madly at her own joke, she took a more thorough look at the girl and her expression shifted into one of a more dubious nature. "You look a lil lost, sweetie. A little young, too. BJ, I didn't know you were babysittin' these days. How cute."

Lydia's wonderment sparked an odd warm feeling in his chest. If nothing else at least she was having a good time looking around. His arm stayed firmly around her as he headed for the chapel, determined not to let eyes linger on his girl for too long.

As they passed Dante's a familiar voice called out and he grimaced at Lydia before turning to greet the she-demon, hands out in his signature showman's style.

"Trix~! You are the sweetest! Thanks for the invite but uh…. This here. Is actually my fiancee." His arm wrapped around her waist, pulling her to stand in front of him. "Hey! She's legal. For my time, anyway." He cackled and kept them moving, the smile fading as soon as they were out of sight. "Listen Lyds. That right there is why you never wanna work at Dante's. Those girls'd ruin you… and that's my job."

In moments they were arriving at the chapel where a thin, badly bruised priest was waiting at the front of the hall. "Here we go, kitten. Take two!"

He was quick to pull them away from the hooker who may or may not have been interested in her wellbeing. As if the woman— whom he was obviously familiar with— could do anything for her. This was always how it was supposed to go, wasn't it? A part of her had always known she would find herself back here, in his arms, ready to tie the knot and fulfill the bargain. Try as she might to escape her fate, this was inevitable.

It would all be over soon.

On a chilled dark night in the midst of Autumn, Lydia Elisabeta Deetz would be wed to the poltergeist Betelgeuse in a seedy chapel on the downtown Neitherworld strip. Even the chapel was compelling to the ensnared Lydia, though it was only marginally different from one that could be found in the living world. Everything was just a bit darker here. The neon red hearts that decorated the walls boasted crossed bones behind them, a romantic parody of skull n' bones. Photos of married couples past lined the wall. Lydia recognized the prostitute from earlier in an obscenely white gown, drunk off her ass, arm strung around two clowns, both of which appeared to be the groom. Wild.

Would he throw her into another dress? Like last time? Lydia didn't really care one way or another, though she supposed tradition had its values.

As he watched her explore he pulled the priest aside and filled him in that he wanted the shortest version of the rights he could manage. His little black kitten was floating around the room in such a way that he couldn't take his eyes off of her. Neither could he deny the lack of emotion behind her eyes. She really thought he would do her in.

He sighed and snapped his fingers, replacing his shredded tuxedo with a brand new one, this one a classic black with his striped shirt underneath. He snapped again to get his girl a dress. He could admit that the red had been a bit much last time. This was much more tasteful. Suddenly draped in scarlet satin and tulle he couldn't help but lick his lips at the sight of her. Where the dress was tight against her it did a fantastic job showing off her curves. He couldn't recall them being there before. That one of the joys of women her age. They only got sexier with time. He let out a low whistle, going to collect her as the priest reassumed his position.

"This'n's better, huh? Much much better…" He ran his hand up her arm, grinning. "You ready to do this right, sweet cheeks?" His hand quickly changed course, coming down onto her ass firmly. "God damn, this better be fast. You got no idea what you're doin' Lyds…."

The gown was mermaid in style, with thin spaghetti straps, an extravagant tulle skirt that flared out at the knees, and an audaciously cut neckline that dipped down to just above her navel. Her length of sable hair was left to hang down and flow about her waist. Pale cheeks flooded with blood when she looked down at herself and realized just how much skin was showing. While she had no doubt the dress was beautiful, she knew that she was not and that it was wrong for her.

Betelgeuse seemed happy enough, collecting her to his side and running his hands along her as though he already owned her. Didn't he, though? He was right. She didn't have any idea what she was doing. What was her plan after this was all over? After she had the information she needed and was loose on the Neitherworld with no one and nothing to her name? Maybe she could find Adam and Barbara again.

They would be disgusted if they knew. Best not think of them right now. She ignored his inquiries as to her thoughts on whether this wedding was better than the other, having no answer for him. He didn't really want one, anyway. A wedding is a wedding.

"Ready as I'll ever be," she imparted tonelessly, gaze focused stonily ahead as they approached the altar and the awaiting priest.

"Are we ready to proceed?"

Chapter Text

"We're sick like animals,
We play pretend,
You're just a cannibal,
And I'm afraid I won't get out alive,
No, I won't sleep tonight."

—Animals
Neon Trees/Chase Holfeider

He couldn't help the way his hands roamed over her. She was gorgeous. He wanted her. Desperately. But then again he had for quite some time. Adam's model had seen things at Lydia's hand that no hobbyist ever wanted to know.

He pressed a kiss to her neck gently. "You look incredible, Lydia… I'm a lucky sonofa I tell ya…" He guided her to the aisle and started toward the priest. "You bet your ass! Make this fox my wife already so I can ravage 'er." He was all but bouncing on his feet. Freedom was coming his way. And through all of it he'd have his perfect Lydia at his side. There was nowhere else for her to be after all.

The service was extremely short. Not much past "Do you"s and before he knew it he was looking into those deep, dark chocolate eyes of hers and saying 'I do'.

"And you…. Lydia Deetz… do you take this man to be your husband?"

He watched her closely, worried she might try to back out again. He held her tightly by the waist, making sure she couldn't budge if she wanted to. He waited patiently but damn it why was she taking so long. Maybe it was just him.

His kiss to her neck barely even registered. There were no vows, no "Dearly beloved's". Every formality was swept aside just as irresponsibly as Lydia was brushing aside the nagging voice of reason telling her to call his name and put an end to all this nonsense. Despite the dispassionate brusqueness of the ceremony, it seemed to drag and drag for an eternity. Each syllable fell achingly slow from the priest's dark, bloodless lips, not quite hitting her ears right. Did Betelgeuse just say "I do" to her? He was looking at her and talking, but what he was saying seemed… unimportant.

Then, there was silence. Everyone was staring. Was she supposed to do something? What did they want?

"I… I do?" She offered hesitantly, giving the only line that made sense. It appeared to satisfy. Father No Name rolled his eyes, as if bored and exasperated by the entire experience, before moving on with the finale.

"By the power vested in me, I now pronounce you man and wife. You may kiss the bride."

Here, Lydia tensed all over— never mind that he'd had his hands on her all night. Kissing was different. Intimate. Special. She wasn't ready, didn't want to give over this last piece of herself. The pale pink line of her mouth shuddered as though she might cry again, but her eyes remained dry. No more tears, not now. He could have them later.

Holy shit she did it. He couldn't remember the last time he was this genuinely happy. Nevermind that his bride was shivering beside him as she said her 'I do'. He was officially a married man! Lydia Deetz was his wife. His long reptilian tongue darted across his lips as he turned to her, pulling her in tight against him.

"Deal's a deal, sweetheart. Pleasure workin' with ya."

He didn't hesitate, simply pulled her in by the back of her neck, crushing his lips to hers. She was so warm. So sweet. His hand at the back of her skull held her tightly in place, pulling at long dark tresses as he thoroughly staked his claim on his wife. After a moment he remembered that breathers had to… well. Breathe. He pulled away from her, a thin trail of saliva connecting them as he grinned.

"God damn, baby girl. You're gonna be a handful, huh? Worth it."

He took her hand and made for the door, already eager to find a place for them to be alone. Hundreds of filthy ideas were filtering through his mind.

This wasn't a kiss. This couldn't be what normal kissing was like with normal boys. This was mouth fucking. His tongue was long and thick, almost too big for the space it was trying to occupy, slithering and knotting around her own, crowding behind her teeth and tickling at the back of her throat. At least he didn't taste too terrible. There was that familiar flavor of sweet tobacco, as well as notes of dark liquor and something else she would probably never have a name for.

Just as she was beginning to get light-headed from lack of oxygen, he parted from her, having left her lips puffy, slick with saliva, and bruised.

Gonna be a handful, huh?

He was talking like he thought they'd be together for a while. That was no good. How long did he intend on keeping her as his whore before fulfilling his end of the bargain? The unnatural warmth in her gut that Lydia wasn't quite mature enough to have a name for subsided to make way for dread as he pulled her along from the chapel impatiently.

"I'm tired," she informed matter-of-factly, in case he'd forgotten that she was only human and subject to human follies. His energy levels were shooting through the roof, the ghoul taken with impatience and glee and victory. She simply wouldn't be able to keep up with him. "Where are we going?"

"Tired? You don't wanna go an' celebrate?" He smirked, leaning close as his voice dropped low and he purred into her ear. "Or you just wanna celebrate somewhere private?"

He pulled her back against him before blinking them to a hotel nearby. One of the more reputable.

"Don't worry, don't worry babes. I'm not about to keep you up all night. Just most of it." He waved to the doorman who let them in with a roll of his eyes. "I know a guy." He explained, leaning down to talk to her on her level. There was a woman behind the front desk who staggered backward at the sight of him, quickly gathering a key and tossing it his way.

"Mr. Juice." She greeted. He beamed at her, Lydia still pressed to his side.

"Hey there, Doris. You go ahead and tell the boss I'm here for my honeymoon, huh?"

Room key in hand he couldn't get Lydia upstair fast enough. He urged her on with pinches and wandering hands, finally stopping his tirade when they were safely inside the hotel room. He licked his lips, locking the door behind them and looking her over.

"You outta keep that dress, kitten. Ya look like sin on wheels." He approached her steadily, smirking to himself. "Now… come to daddy…"

Just as she had all night long, Lydia allowed him to muscle her this way and that until they were alone in the honeymoon suite. The time had come for her to pay the piper. By unfortunate accident, she found herself standing at the foot of the bed as he made quick work of closing the distance between her and the locked door. Frozen in sudden terror as the reality of what was about to happen seemed to finally click, Lydia was incapable of doing little more than trembling in the inappropriate, uncomfortable tall heels he'd conjured for her.

"I-it's pretty," she complimented the gown tremulously as he approached, thinking he might be inclined to be kinder to her if she flattered his choices. In truth, she had no intention of ever wearing it again. Clawed hands came to grasp her hips almost gently, and Lydia could feel his gaze burning down at her though she wasn't brave enough to meet it, instead focusing on the swell of his Adam's apple at the center of his thick throat.

"I'm not—" she began to warn him once more, pale hands clutching at the watery crimson silk that coated her thighs, "— I don't know how to do this."

The confession came small and pathetic, a painful whimper poisoning the air of the lavishly decorated room. She knew he fucked his way through the whorehouse of thumbelinas, as well as countless other bordellos she didn't know anything about. His expectations were sure to be astronomical. She didn't have wide hips or bountiful breasts like those women. She wasn't informed or experienced. She wasn't anything special or valuable. What was he possibly hoping to gain from a romp with her? What if she didn't— couldn't— live up to his fantasies? Would he get mad? The prospect sent another shot of cold terror down her spine.

"Please don't hurt me."

"I don't know how to do this."

Oh, his poor virginal bride. He really didn't know where the terror she possessed for him came from. After all, through everything that happened in Winter River, he'd never once harmed a hair on her head. And it was such pretty hair too.

He pressed his cheek to it now, carefully resting his head atop hers.

"Please don't hurt me."

"Oh, kitten… hey. It's alright… I gotcha. Listen, I got a lot of stuff I'm into but we're gonna start nice 'n easy. Okay?" The last thing he wanted now that their souls were bound was her running for the hills. That wouldn't be fun for anyone involved.

He ran one grubby hand up her neck to caress her face, smiling down at her. He was about ready to bust out of those tux pants but it could wait. His wife looked so miserable. He could fix that. In a moment he was lifting her, his arms around her thighs as he headed for the bed.

"As absolutely banging' as you look, Lyds… let's get you outta that dress so Daddy can get atcha." He settled her at the edge of the mattress and dropped to one knee. Carefully, almost reverently he lifted one foot and undid the straps holding her shoe on. He grunted when he realized just how tall they were.

"Sorry baby…. these must be murder on you." He frowned when found a small bubble where the shoe has worn at the top of her foot. Suddenly something else hit him and he looked up at her with a scowl. "Hey, that bitch Claire Brewster ran you off your bike… shit, I forgot about your ankle… you okay? I don't got anything for it but I could find somethin' if it's buggin you…"

Naively, Lydia had hoped on a shaky whim that he would allow her to keep the dress on for the deed and preserve a bit of her dignity, but no. Stupid. He wanted the full experience and Lydia wouldn't begrudge him for that. Still, she remained stiff and unsure as he hefted her up to carry her the short distance to the bed before setting her down surprisingly gently on the thick comforter.

This was a nice hotel. Not the nicest she'd ever stayed at, but nicer than anything she would have expected from him. The bed was large— King— and the blankets and pillows soft and clean— visibly— and smattered with rose petals just as deep and crimson as her too-beautiful gown. Tasteful, eerie art lined the rich violet walls, and Lydia could glimpse what looked like a sizeable jacuzzi in the bathroom next door. Despite the moderate decadence, she still felt cheap and dirty. Fortunately, Betelgeuse's initial impatience seemed tempered for the time being. Internally, she was still cowering at the idea of stripping to nothing and allowing another to view her sickly, sallow, bony body, but his unassumingly gentle handling was working at calming her frayed nerves. Maybe she would luck out and he would lose interest at the sight of her.

Ever rigid and awkward, her sweaty palms grasped at the luxurious blanket as he set about removing her heels, one at a time. Did he just say Claire Brewster?

"How do you know Claire?"

She snapped to attention, having already begun the process of disassociating out of habit and against his wishes. Suddenly, the incident he was referencing came back in a flash. It was years ago before she ever met the Maitlands and knew for certain that the house on the hill was haunted. New to Miss Shannon's School for Girls, it didn't take her long to amass enemies simply for being herself. Nothing out of the ordinary for Lydia. Claire had thought it very funny to run her off the road when she was biking home one day, causing her to take a tumble that gave her a nasty sprain to the ankle and a deep cut on her knee that left an ugly scar.

Reliving the event, she remembered how she walked home limping that day, trudged up to her safe haven of the attic— neither her father or Delia noticing anything was amiss— and sobbed silently into the Maitlands' dusty old couch until mental, emotional, and physical exhaustion took her out. He saw that? How? What else did he see?

"The model…" She breathed out in a whisper of realization, finally connecting the dots. He was there the whole time. Quite abruptly, his motivations took a sharp turn in Lydia's mind. She had always assumed his proposal was an impromptu effort at escape, a desperate man jumping through an open window— not an elaborate plot he'd dwelled on for months. Maybe she was jumping the gun. She didn't know enough yet to be making any bold conclusions.

"That was years ago," she mumbled distractedly, still filtering through the many nights she'd spent up late in the attic, trying to remember what other horrifyingly embarrassing, private things he might have seen. "It healed."

Oh God, he watched her belting Evanescence, didn't he?

Years ago. Ah, shit. He'd just given himself away royally. He was happy to see here eyes clear when they landed on him but he found he couldn't respond much past a grunt and a "Well I bet she's still a bitch."

His hands had found purchase on her petite frame now, and rubbed soothingly—he hoped— over her calf as she puzzled it out. He brought her ankle up gently, pressing a kiss to the outer edge where he could still remember the massive bruising that had occurred. Another on her shin, for where he'd watched Delia take tweezers to her road rash. A third over the scar on her knee.

His poor perfect princess. He made a mental vow then and there that he was never going to watch her bleed again at someone else's hand.

Lydia was distracted from her past musings when he began trailing terribly soft kisses up her calf, drawing up the exorbitant skirt of her gown as he went.

"She is."

Lydia thought to confirm his suspicions several beats later, her grip on the blanket tightening the further he traveled up her leg. He was being so calm, so gentle, so— dare she even think it— sweet. Yet, her heart continued to pound in an unrelenting rhythm, so loud and fierce she was sure he could hear it. Gooseflesh popped up wherever he went, aroused by his icy touch. Once those chapped, filthy lips found the fleshier, fatter expanse of her thigh, her legs clenched in defiance of higher reasoning. Wild jade eyes cut to her sharply, dark with unspoken threat. You have a deal, Lydia. After sucking in and letting out a deep, shuddering breath, she was able to force the tendons there to go lax.

"I'm sorry," she repeated for the umpteenth time, letting her eyes drift shut in hopes that in the absence of sight, she could find some semblance of tranquility. It wasn't fair. He was being so nice when he really didn't have to be. Why couldn't she just behave?

Betelguese frowned up at her when her legs shut on him. He could chalk it up to instinct but it rubbed him the wrong way anyhow. He nipped at the soft, creamy flesh of her inner thigh, soothing the sting with a lathe of his tongue over the spot.

"You nervous, baby? Maybe I can help you… relax." He reaches for the other leg, caressing his way up to push her thighs apart. As her panties came into view he couldn't help but growl, advancing on her hungrily. "Damn. Look at you…" in a blink of his eyes the wedding gown was gone, leaving her in nothing but the tight black lace he'd summoned for her and a garter—she was a bride after all— in his signature stripes.

He licked his lips, advancing on her in an instant. "God damn Lydia, I'm the luckiest groom in history I think." He brought his mouth to her collar bone, mouthing over her delicate skin. He could feel her heart pounding in her chest. What a turn on.

"Hey—"

She objected out of instinct once the dress evaporated into nothing, before remembering that she really didn't have a dog in that fight. Thin, pale arms flew up to cover her chest and her legs curled inward, covering as much of herself as she possibly could.

Skinny bitch. Gross. Vampire. Emaciated. Disgusting. Dead.

All the foul phrases she could ever remember being thrown out about her body— plus a couple her creative mind supplemented— rushed through her in an instant. Most were courtesy of mean-spirited girls in the locker room at school and past classmates. Others came from family. The kind of words Betelgeuse supplied might have been spoken to her once long ago, in a whispering male voice late at night, the voice of someone who had snuck into her bedroom after her mother had fallen into a deep sleep…

Frozen, wet kisses came to dapple along her collar bone and she gasped at the sensation, eyelids fluttering open. He advanced on her, pushing his larger form up onto the bed until she had no choice but to lay back and let him take over. Taking advantage of the legs he worked so delicately at spreading, he nestled himself comfortably between them until something thick and hard was pressed up between the crux of her thighs. He was still entirely dressed, down to his shoes, while she was practically bare.

It's almost over. It isn't real, Lydia. Just go somewhere else.

His hands were worshipful as they trailed over her, pausing to caress her lovely little breasts as he worked south. He could see on her face that she was starting to fade away again and he remedied this by nipping harshly at one firm nipple.

"Hey. Eyes on me, kitten."

She was so soft. Everywhere his fingers touched was warm and giving, taking the pressure of his fingers and bouncing back. It was incredible. "I'm gonna make you feel real good, Lyds… just bear with me."

His journey over her body came to an end between her thighs where he breathed deeply, mouthing over the black lace gently.

"Mm. You good to go, babes? Or need a little more… encouragement?" His long tongue rolled out of his mouth as he winked at her.

That nip jarred her from the illusion she was trying desperately to construct. It was one that placed her far away and long ago from here, back in the kitchenette with the Maitlands playing a game of spades that even her father had found time to join in on. She was winning. Not anymore. Clearly, she wasn't allowed to be anywhere but right here, right where her husband wanted her.

Oh God, he was her husband. She was married. This was real. All that had been shoved aside in favor of completing her imperative mission suddenly hit with violent impact, unable to be ignored or forgotten when she could see and feel and hear him taking his fill of her. When he found his way between her legs to kiss her through her panties, she was suddenly aware of the unbearable liquid heat that had pooled in her belly under his attention and beyond her notice. The shock of such a cold, wet tongue rolling over her hottest, sweetest placed— covered or not— was far too much. She moaned, breathy and soft and worlds out of her league.

"I don't know," she mumbled at his question, creamy, delicate thighs quivering on either side of his gruesome head, "I don't know."

She was so sweet, shivering and moaning for him. That moan could raise the dead all on its own, he was certain. He grinned up at her, immensely pleased to have those sweet, wide eyes focused on him. "Let Daddy check ya out, sweetness."

He carefully pulled the black lace from her body, muttering praise and pressing kisses to her stomach and hips as he worked. With nothing between them now, he couldn't help the low growl that came from him. "God damn, Lyds… Look at you." He ran his hands up her sides, his fingers catching on her ribs before he was working back down. He licked his lips, bending in to take his first taste of his sweet wife.

She was delicious.

His wife. He could hardly believe he was here now. That she had said the vow and was all his. How many times had he dreamed about being between these silky thighs? He could remember the very first time he'd seen them peek past the blue plaid of her school uniform.

He groaned, sliding his hands under her ass to hold her closer. "Mmm. Almost, princess…. Let me… just let me first." He laved his tongue over her hot core, his fingers digging into the soft flesh of her ass as he set to work.

"W-wait—"

Something was wrong. This couldn't be right. She was going to shatter. The shocking contrast of that icy tongue lathing over her pulsating, molten core was equal parts amazing and unbearable. Lydia was no stranger to touching herself, but it was always done in a practical, anatomical way that failed to bring her to the elusive "orgasm" she'd heard so much about. Eventually, she stopped trying. Nothing her own hands had ever done was even in the same realm as the sensations he was capable of inflicting.

That fire in her belly was building hotter and hotter, threatening to incinerate her from the inside out. Then, it exploded. With an incomprehensible shriek that vaguely sounded like his name, her entire body arched like a strung tight bow and those quivering thighs closed tight around his crusty cheeks to trap him in place— as if he had any desire to leave. A burst of blinding white light detonated across her vision as she moved on pure animal instinct, undulating her hips like a seasoned whore to ride out her peak.

Very slowly, color and shadow dappled back in, allowing her to sight the smug countenance of her smirking husband between her thighs, the bottom half of his face glistening.

"Was… was that…?"

Betel had quickly decided that he could spend the rest of eternity eating out Lydia Deetz. The way she shook and whimpered was intoxicating. He has a strong suspicion that no man had ever been where he now had the pleasure of being. He wouldn't have it any other way.

He was determined to bring his girl as much pleasure as he possibly could before the night was through. After all, if this was her first time he wanted her to have fun. He could get his kicks for the next fifty years if he wanted to. His long, serpentine tongue moved in circles and jabs, his lips closing over her tiny button as he worked to bring her over the edge. He could feel her getting close, had to put his hands on her hips to keep her down as it approached.

Then, suddenly, finally, he heard the sound he'd been waiting for since the moment he'd laid eyes on her in that dark attic so long ago. He wished he could watch her fall apart, but her legs held him in place as she rode out her orgasm. All he could do was kiss her through it, laving up the taste of her climax. What a hardship.

When he was able to he sat up to grin at her, fully aware that he was soaked to the collar of his shirt now.

"Was… was that?"

"Hmm? Oh. My god. Kitten don't tell me you've never come before. What have you been doin' to this pretty pussy without me?"

"No," she panted out the truth, still catching her breath. He did not appear to be having the same issue. "I've never…" done anything like this.

The lie trailed off before it could fully form. No, she had never experienced the kind of euphoria he had just doled out, but she wasn't some sacrificial virgin either. She was damaged goods, prime to be used and thrown away yet again.

"I tried," she confessed whispishly as crawled his way up her body once more, landing wet kisses here and there as he went, "but… I just couldn't."

The gift of her first orgasm had earned him this tidbit of information. He hadn't mocked or hurt her yet, discounting his roughish toying with her in the cemetery— which she earned after baiting him like that. Maybe this would be… okay. Flush, lax, and damp, still coming down from the aftershocks of such an intense peak, she lay prone and pliable for him as he took his time in mapping out the careful lines of her body until he was positioned above her once more, even going as far as to wrap her still-shaking legs about his waist without any direction from him at all. She was learning.

"At the chapel, uhm…" She was so exposed and vulnerable, in almost every way. His attention had left her feeling warm and open in a way that was alien to the chronically detached Lydia. He deserved to know this too, right? Why not? "That was my first kiss."

He was still reveling in being the source of her first orgasm when he really tuned in to what she was saying. He frowned softly, kissing up thigh, to her hip and on, carefully covering her lithe body with his own. He smiled when she wrapped her shivering legs around him, and he chuckled softly.

"Well, it's an honor to be the first to getcha there, baby… hopin' to be the last too. You're mine." He tilted his head at the confession of her first kiss and raised an eyebrow. "Really? Huh… that. Makes no goddamn sense to me. You're so fuckin' gorgeous.. I'm amazed you ain't got a boyfriend topside." He brought his lips to her throat, sucking gently at the perspiration that had gathered there during her climax. His hands ran up the backs of her thighs, slowly cataloging as much of her pale flesh as his fingertips could find.

He was hard as a rock in the pants of his tux, but he didn't want to spook his wife now. Not when he was so close to finally having her fully. He settled, snapping his fingers and banishing his jacket, shirt, and pants, leaving him in nothing but his dirty striped boxers.

"You feel so good against me, kitten. You ready for round two? Please Please Please?" He grinned at her, stretching his arms over his head in preparation for the rest of the night ahead of them.

He knew he wasn't the most conventionally attractive man. And certainly not in the eyes of a living teenager, but he was rather proud of his toned upper body. He hoped that Lydia would feel the same.

Mine. He would still want her after she was a corpse like him? This wasn't a part of their deal. Lydia never agreed to any prolonged relationships of that nature. As it was, what little fight she maintained had been seduced out of her. What could she do? Argue with him? Tell him 'No, you're going to kill me and let me go off on my own and never contact me again as per the implied terms of our half-assed verbal contract'? Something told her a declaration of that nature would only get her burnt in the end.

It could wait. There were more pressing matters to deal with, such as the half-naked man kneeling over her. The sizable tent in his dingy boxers was intimidating enough, but then he stretched, flexing thickly muscled arms and broad shoulders as he went. The color in her cheeks deepened. Smoldering embers of arousal— she could now name that feeling now with a tad more confidence— reignited with a vengeance.

By no means was he an Adonis, but he was undeniably big and male. Even without all those otherworldly tricks and talents, he could overpower her and take what he wanted in an instant. But he hadn't done that. He had given her nothing but diligent patience and shocking gentility, manners and sweetness she hadn't thought him capable of. With this revelation, Lydia gave her permission; wide-eyed and whispering, a seed of her earlier fear returning as the finale was upon them.

"Y-yeah. Okay."

Oh hello…

He watched, pleased as a spark of arousal crossed her face. He grinned, leaning back over her to kiss her gently.

"Atta girl…. You're gonna be so fuckin' good. I can tell." He pulled her hips closer still, letting his clothed erection slide over her firmly.

"You gonna help me out here, baby?" His tongue lolled out of his mouth, his cock twitching at the promise of hot, tight, wet that was yet to come. He was aware suddenly of just how small she was. With her legs wrapped around him firmly, he had no trouble sliding a hand under her shoulders and sitting her up. Much better. From here he could reach her pert tits without compromising his cock, which pressed into her mound hungrily, starting to leave a damp spot on the grimy cotton.

He mouthed over her nipple, unable to keep his mouth off of any part of her for more than a few moments. Her taste was addicting.

"Come on, baby… Daddy's lil' friend's real excited to meet you…" Impatient, he didn't wait for her to try and get them off. He banished his filthy underwear and suddenly the head of his cock was sliding along her labia, making him bite out a curse.

"Goddamn… you're so wet, baby…."

Those muscles weren't just for looks. As easily as slinging a rag, he pulled up to meet him with naught but just one of those bulky arms. Lydia, in turn, laced thinner, weaker arms around his thick neck for equilibrium. That round, hairy gut was pressed firmly against her own flat tummy now, the wiry hair there tickling and scratching not unpleasantly. Supporting herself now, those meaty hooks of his were free to slide down her back beneath the curtain of her hair until they came to grasp a buttock each; squeezing, kneading, controlling where she would go next by those soft, fleshy reigns.

She hadn't seen it unclothed yet, but she could feel the swell of his girth sliding along her slick folds, searching while he growled sinful things to her. Daddy, daddy, daddy… He sure liked to call himself that. Did he expect her to do the same at some point? Never. She would die first. Fortunately, or unfortunately, that could likely be arranged. Glossy and slippery from her secretions, it wasn't long before the blunt, fat tip of his cock found its goal.

"Ah!"

A sharp, torturous cry pierced through the air as it impaled her, no barrier in its path to slow his penetration. Clenching internal muscles pulsated all around him, squeezing, choking the invading hunk of flesh. It hurt! Lydia barely managed to swallow the whimpers that followed her outburst, face buried against the hollow of his neck as fresh tears balled at the corner of her eyes. Black-painted nails dug into the mottled flesh of his back leaving little crescent-moon shaped indents, and her legs tightened into a vice around him. Each and every muscle was strung taut with stress, the girl having no choice but to cling to the source of her agony and search his embrace for yet another shred of comfort— if he had any left to spare.

He was more than happy to simply rock against her a while, appreciating how she held onto him and he could go about touching her as he liked. With so much of her now touching him, he felt as though he might be melting. Sex with dead chicks nearly never included the heat or the slick slide of sweat as he was feeling now. It was absolutely intoxicating.

As his rhythm stuttered a moment he cursed when the head of his cock was suddenly inside her.

"Oops… hold on baby girl, I gotcha, I gotcha… It's okay…" He shifted them again, settling himself flat on the bed and pulling her hips to him, slowly, until she was straddling him and slowing sinking onto him with assistance from gravity. He was idly aware that she was crying again, but he couldn't tear his eyes away from where her thighs were trembling as he pressed into her.

She was incredibly tight, but that was all that seemed to be in his way as he guided her steadily all the way to the root.

"Shit. That's good, Lyds… very very nice…" He knew that now that he was in, it'd take a herd of wild sandworms to pull him away. He rolled his hips slowly, growling at the tight pull of her around him.

As each centimeter sunk deeper into her unyielding flesh at his careful insistence, Lydia let loose tiny pitiful, anguished sounds muffled behind a bit lip. She couldn't even hide her despair against his throat anymore, firm hands at the nip of her waist keeping her seated upright on his rigid cock so that he had a spectacular view of every inch of her. He was far, far too big for her and her body was letting her know in no uncertain terms. Just when she thought it was deep as it was going to go, his hips arched at the same time that the grip on her waist tightened and pulled down, forcing the last obscenely thick inch or so to stretch her clinching opening wide for him.

Now, he was fully lodged within her. Snow-white hands curled into the wealth of moss-infested hair that coated his chest to give her purchase. For long, aching moments she kept very still, willing her tensed muscles to please just relax. This would be so much easier if she could just relax. Betelgeuse appeared content to continue roving those filthy mitts of his over every bit of skin he could reach; thighs to ass, up her back and around the front to her breasts, down her tummy and over her hips, then back to her thighs to start the process all over again.

He was so reverent, savoring each touch with unquestionable hunger. Gorgeous. Pretty. Beautiful. Mine. He really, truly believed the lies he'd been spouting all night. He wasn't just saying what he thought would make her spread her legs faster. She wasn't ugly— not to him. That much was obvious to the tormented girl. This wasn't so bad, was it? She could do better than this measly display, couldn't she? She owed him.

Determined to prove herself, she used her clasp on his chest as leverage to shift her hips up, withdrawing his throbbing, drenched cock just the slightest bit. It was not a simple task. Her vacuous insides sucked powerfully in protest, dropping her back onto him with a slap, and an injured cry she wasn't quite able to muffle. Then, she did it again, and again, until that stretching ache began to twist and evolve into a good hurt. The change reflected in a subtle but distinctive shift in the timbre of the sounds crawling up her throat.

He was stunned into near- silence, the only sounds coming from him soft grunts as he fought to keep himself still. Don't move asshole, you'll hurt her. He was already hurting her, but he knew that it would pass. He could make it pass.

His hands shook slightly as they trailed over her soft skin. He was awed by the sight of her above him. Surely she'd call it off any minute. She was so tight how was it possible?

Then she moved. His breath caught in his throat, a strangled moan leaving him as she started to bounce in his lap. His hands once more found purchase on the firm muscle of her ass. "Fuck!" His head slammed into the mattress, his jaw tending as he resisted just pounding up into the tight heat.

And then the sounds. There was a change there, and his eyes flew open to meet it. He watched her for a moment longer before his resolve snapped and he was bracing his feet on the bed, only to pull her onto him harder, faster. Well and truly fucking her.

"God, you're good… you're so good, Lydia…. fuck look at ya takin' my cock like a fuckin professional."

"Ah—!" SLAP "Be—" SLAP "Betel—" SLAP "It's too much!"

Lydia may have been on top, but she was far from in control of the situation. He was savage, bouncing her off his groin and pulling her down to meet him with brutal, single-minded intent. Every time that fat, violating cock pounded into the slick, gripping confines of her body, deep, aching pangs reverberated throughout her middle, quickly followed by a balming rush of pleasure that almost made up for it. Ferocious snaps of his hips kept her on the precipice of delirium, incapable of speaking or thinking in any way that could be deemed coherent. She wanted him to stop— did she, though?— but was aware that such a greedy request would only be ignored or mocked. Still, he needed to know.

"Too big!"

Very quickly, a fine misting of sweat came to coat her waxen flesh amid the assault. Snowy breasts with rosy pink peaks the same shade as her lips — both of which had darkened from their usual icy coloring from all his attention— bounced with each thrust, providing further temptation to the lust-deranged ghoul. She had released her hold on his rotting chest hair, instead arching back to dig short nails into his thighs for stability. Similarly, his longer, ragged claws had rooted themselves stubbornly into her hips. Whenever she inspected her reflection next, she would find ten perfectly matching finger-print shaped bruises spanning the expanse of those curves.

"I can't—" she stumbled over his incessant pounding and shook her head in disagreement, making the ends of her long hair brush the tops of his thighs. Her cheeks were damp with what could have been sweet or tears, it wasn't quite clear. That scorching pressure was pooling inside again, much more rapidly and worrisome than before. Oh God, what if his plan was to fuck her to death? It was within his right, as per the terms of their agreement. He probably could if he wanted to.

"I can't!"

"Come on Lyds–" SLAP "You can take it"–SLAP "Fuck, babes you feel so good!"

He was very quickly losing himself in the sight and feeling of her being tossed about by his rough movements. Those soft white breasts bounced hypnotically and he couldn't help but lean forward to suck a mark there– he could do that, he realized with Lydia. She would bruise for him beautifully– as his pace steadied into its abusive rhythm.

"Too big! I can't—"

"Y'already are, babes! Come on… you're doin' great… Jesus, you're perfect." He sat up part way, effectively pulling her even deeper onto him. A change in angle never hurt anything. He busied himself with leaving marks across her collar and neck, one becoming a rather aggressive biting into her flesh, just so he could see where he'd claimed her come morning.

His hips never stopped, but now at least he could feel more of her hot core rubbing against him. He didn't bother reaching down to help her out any. If she couldn't come from this alone she was going to have a rather rude awakening from here on in. He could feel his balls drawing up and growled. He wasn't ready for this to be over just yet, but what could he do. "Fuck, Lyds…. gonna come baby…"

Her cries came sharper and more disjointed as he drew up to feast on her neck, forcing the fat tip of his girth to nudge firmly at the limitations of her inner parts. When grimy teeth sunk in for a bite— branding her as his own— he simultaneously gifted her with a particularly savage thrust that pushed her harder into his mouth. The sudden acute pain there made her shriek and served to distract from everything happening down below. He must have broken skin.

… gonna come, baby…

Could he get her pregnant? The bizarre, terrifying possibility only just now occurred to Lydia, causing her to make a distressed noise and suddenly buck as if she might actually get away. It was a fruitless, short-lived effort that only spurred him on. He growled low into the broken skin still caught between his teeth and his thrusts turned more shallow, quicker, and harder, less of him leaving her on each withdrawal, working hard at opening up that tight little body for him. The violent increase in intensity was enough. Without warning, yet another climax was wrenched from her. Hot, slick muscles clinging snug around every inch of that wide, defiling cock fluttered and pulsated, coating it with a viscous cream that proved her body's pleasure— even if her mind was still at war with itself.

This seemed to have an effect on the poltergeist. Whether he could impregnate her or not was evidently irrelevant to him, as he was keen on rooting his cock as deep as it could go to lathe her womb with seed, once more marking his territory. He hugged her tight in his lap, using both of those impressively muscled arms to hold her in place for her breeding. Finally, the ending upon them and two forceful orgasms pulled from the troubled girl, she was able to relax under his abuse; go limp to his biting and thrusting and take it the way he insisted she could.

As he drew nearer he started to babble, muttering about how good, and tight, and beautiful she was. How she was his and he was gonna take care of her best he could. The nearer they drew the thinner his filter became.

He clung to her tightly, his hips pressing into her thighs as hard as they could. He mouthed over the now bleeding bite mark, circling his hips in an attempt to get even closer to her.

Suddenly she was coming again, and he couldn't help the low growl that was ripped from him. He managed a few more deep thrusts before he was following her over the edge, her name leaving his lips like a curse as he filled her.

He wasn't done. Not by a long shot. As she went limp in his arms he carefully slid out of her tight, wet heat, laying her on her back in the center of her bed.

"You're so good, babe… so good for me. Just relax, kitten let me take care of ya." He pulled her thighs up over his hips, pressing back into her with a groan. "You know what they said, doncha? Third times the charm."

What the hell was he talking about? He was going on about her like a man in love. Surely, he didn't say things like this to any of his whores. Initial animalistic lust sated, he was calming, but clearly still ready for more. Very careful, he proceeded to lay her out flat on her back before rejoining with her, pushing gently into her sore, cum-drenched opening, causing her to wince and excess of his essence to drip out onto the blankets beneath them.

Just relax. Let me take care of you.

Easier said than done, but Lydia was in a better position now to comply than before. She may not have been well-versed in the realm of sexual exploits, but she knew enough to know that this wasn't normal either. Male ejaculation generally marked the end of intercourse. She definitely expected a second round judging by how… enthusiastic he was, but not this soon. Not for the first time that night, she worried on how long he would keep her here like this.

Even though the logical side of her knew his sweet words and pretty promises were little more than ridiculous, filthy lies, allowing herself to fantasize that they were true made this easier. She was beautiful. She was his. He would take care of her. There wasn't anything to worry about.

"Is it… am I really that good?"

Winded and wide-eyed, she huffed her self-conscious beg for validation up to the poltergeist heaving over her, humping at a much more indulgent, leisurely pace. After all, if she was going to be a whore, she'd prefer to at least be a good was just settling into a comfortable, leisurely pace when she his eyes met hers and he had to pause.

Is it… am I really that good?

"Best I ever had, princess… promise. Would I lie to you?" He grinned at his little joke, letting his hands rake up her thighs to hold her close. "Want me to tell you again?" He leaned down press a kiss to her lips firmly. "You, Lydia Deetz-Geuse are the most beautiful woman I've ever seen… and you know that's sayin' somethin'." Another kiss, this time at her jaw as he resumed his slow, steady thrusts.

"Knew you were the one the first time I saw you… up in the Maitland's attic. You saw me when nobody else would, baby girl…that touches a guy… ya know?" He grinned down at her, hoping the words were sticking with her. "And then there's all this… I mean look atcha… all thin, curvy woman… How was I supposed t'resist you struttin' around in that school uniform? Huh?"

He continued his steady, slow kisses down her jaw and to her neck, then her collar, careful of the wound he'd inflicted on her. It occurred to him that she really didn't see it. Didn't see how beautiful she was inside and out. Well, he could fix that.

Note to Beetlegeuse… install a full-length mirror.

Oh! His hips swung against her, hitting deep, but she didn't feel any of the burning pain from before. Just a pleasant stretch, like getting a particularly bothersome itch scratched. Oh. This was much better. This must be what "love-making" was. Lydia was floating beneath him, drunk on the affection he was positively drowning her in. Maybe being his whore-wife wouldn't be so bad. She could bear this. At least, until he got sick of her and slit her throat or whatever. Hopefully, it would be something benign and quick like that.

This seemed like such a silly thing to be afraid of now that she was here; housing his cock and cum, sweat-slicked thighs wrapped about his waist of her own volition, wavering from the lingering intoxication of several intense orgasms while he worked diligently at bringing her to a third. Her eyelids fluttered closed intermittently as he pushed against her, filling her with more and more and more. This time, it was done out of an inability to process sight along with all of the other dizzying sensations he was doling out. Her breath hitched with each gentle, icy kiss, little hums of content and gasps of pleasure falling soft on his greasy ears.

Mrs. Lydia Deetz-Geuse

That was interesting to hear out loud. He was very, very good at this, most likely due to centuries of practice. When he returned to her lips, she found herself opening easily to him, returning his kisses curiously and with undisciplined passion. She was a fully active participant now, rather than dragging along on the coattails of his desire, just doing her part to fulfill the bargain.

"Ah— fuck—" His pace increased just so, wet slapping accompanying as his heavy sack came to smack her with each slow, weighty thrust. "I'm gonna— oh, oh oh oh, yes!"

"That's it, baby…. Fuck.." He dug his long nails into her thighs, loving the way she was opening up for him so readily. The soft sounds coming from her were like a drug, muddling his brain until all he could focus on was Hot, Tight, Wet, Lydia! He thrived on the messy, inexperienced kisses she gave him, eagerly sliding his long tongue into her mouth, nearly down her throat.

He growled at the feeling of her inner walls starting to tighten around his cock, the squeeze almost unbearable. She was so tiny. The slick glide of their combined come was a pleasant contrast to how they'd begun, and he knew before the night was done he'd have to taste them mingling together. But now… now she was close again.

He grinned against her skin, mouthing at the soft mound to his right.

"That's good, Princess… come on… Come for me, Lyds…." He slid one hand between them, his thumb quickly finding and sliding over her clit. He worked her in slow circles, his thrusts picking up in tempo and voraciousness, chasing his own orgasm. "Come on, kitten…. Fuck… Come for daddy…"

Ever obedient, she shattered apart upon his command. Melodious cries staccatoed by his pounding cock filled the room as she emphatically soaked the blankets beneath them, arms and legs wrapped tight around his beastly form to anchor herself. This one seemed to drag on for longer than the others, internal muscles squeezing hellishly tight before releasing, over and over again in a tortuous rhythm.

"No more," she begged in between thrusts once the rippling waves of euphoria began to weaken, pulling weakly at the hand between her legs to remove any pressure from her poor clit. This was wonderful, awful torture. How many orgasms did he intend on wrenching from her before the night was through? "Please!— Just you— Just worry about you— I can't do it anymore—"

"Oh, fuck yes…" He worked her through her orgasm, watching her fall apart through hooded eyes. He was soaked from their coupling and he all but slipped out of her on the withdrawl. When she shooed his hand away he brought it to her thigh, his thrusts slowing to a steady rocking.

He was panting, though he had no breath to lose, and he found that he couldn't tear his eyes off of her face, still recovering from the throws of her extended orgasm and couldn't take it any longer. He growled low in his throat, taking her ankles in his hands and bending her legs toward the headboard. He knew she was bendy– after all, he'd watched her put her legs behind her head for much less fun reasons.

The change of position made her impossibly tighter and he took it to his advantage, pounding into her with short, deep thrusts.

"Fuck, baby…. I'm gonna…. again… Shit. Gonna fill you up, baby girl…" Good to his word, it wasn't even thirty seconds later that he was letting out a sharp yell and emptying into her, watching as his come bubbled back on him, dripping out of her obscenely.

"Oh– that is pretty…"

He found no resistance when he gathered up her ankles to stretch them up above her head and pin her like that, forming a tight, compact little V-shape that he could fuck into at his leisure. It was as though each and every muscle was dedicated to pushing him out, but he wasn't about to go. Betelgeuse rose to the challenge enthusiastically, shoving his hungry cock down that choking, wet tunnel of muscle with forceful abandon until it was all too much and he was filling her up with endless ropes of cum again.

Finally, with a throaty groan, he rolled off of her, lying breathless at her side— much the same as she— like the dirty old man he really was. Lydia was fading in and out, quite thoroughly ravaged, but she was still cognizant of the click of a lighter and the acrid scent of tobacco filling the air.

"Lemme," she murmured after a moment, reaching over to steal the last half of his cigarette without any permission whatsoever. Fortunately, Betelgeuse was in a giving mood. The nicotine rushed her system deliciously, and she sighed out a stream of blue-white smoke serenely. For the time being, things were peaceful.

"So are you, like… free now? For good?" She broke the silence once the cherry hit the filter, wincing as she leaned over to stub it out in the ashtray on her nightstand and the motion pulled an abused muscle. "No more Bloody Mary deal?"

Best fuck ever. He contentedly rolled off of her, settling in on his side, facing her. He conjured a cigarette and lit it, taking a deep drag while he watched her come down. She really was something, even–no. Especially all fucked out. When she reached for the smoke he gave it to her easily, raising one eyebrow.

"Didn't know you smoke, babe. Aren'tcha a bit young for that shit?" He simply conjured another, taking another drag and letting the smoke run out his nose.

At her questioning he smirked, settling on his back and tucking his hands behind his head. "Mmm. It would certainly seem so. 'cept you. When I was lookin' it all up it said that 'The Living Party' – tha's you, babes– would still be able to call the deceased. Me. So I guess I'm at your beck and call, kitten." He was unwilling to tell her the rest of the deal. She'd be pissed if she knew he'd never uphold his end of their deal.

"So… how's it feel to be a consummated wife, Lyds?"

Lydia leveled him with an unflinching deadpan at the borderline insulting implication that she was too young to smoke. It was true, but where did he get off?

"Oh, so I'm too young for smoking, but sleeping with you is perfectly acceptable, is that right?"

As much as he liked to call himself Daddy— and as much as she secretly loved the forbidden thrill it gave her— he was not her father and she wasn't about to take it lying down if he thought he was going to be telling her what she could and couldn't do. She would take other things lying down, apparently, but not that.

"Huh," she muttered at the revelation that she could still call him to and fro. Interesting. "So… if I wanted to put you back… I could." This inspired a terrible glower and snarl from the previously calm ghost, but Lydia was frustratingly unintimidated. She actually laughed, a head of mussed raven hair falling back onto the pillow as though he had just told a very funny joke. "I'll take that as a yes. Don't worry. I probably won't. Not if you don't give me a reason to."

"So… how's it feel to be a consummated wife, Lyds?"

"It feels like I got hit by a truck," she breathed, eyes closing and stretching out to help alleviate the kinks in her abused muscles. "But then the driver got out and offered me some really good drugs, so it wasn't that bad."

He chuckled at the glower he received in response to the jab at her age.

"Well, clearly you're old enough for that… and besides fucking me isn't gonna ruin your lungs." Despite the mock protests, he took the butt from her cigarette and conjured another, slipping it into her fingers easily.

He watched her think a moment, loving how he could see her ideas light on her face before she voiced them. Damn. Okay. Maybe not that one. He absolutely would not be put back anytime soon, thanks. "You little bitch. It's not nice to poke the beast, you know." He reached over to pinch her side gently, almost playful. He loved the soft rollicking sound of her laugh. He made a mental note to make her laugh more often.

"Mmm. Glad you're not in too much pain, Lyds. I could always try to fix it for ya, but… something tells me you're tappin' out for tonight." He winked, letting his tongue roll out of his mouth in case the message wasn't clear. "Mm. I could rub your back for ya… it's gonna hurt like hell come morning." He moved a bit closer, nearly leaning over her again. She was like a dreal like this, splayed out in bed, her hair flowing over the stark white of the linens and a smoking cigarette in her lithe fingers. He took a mental snapshot to file away for later.

Something was nagging at him, and looking her over it only increased his curiosity. She was far from the first virgin he'd deflowered, but there was one difference here. He hesitated before asking, his hand coming to rub slowly up and down her thigh.

"I didn' make ya bleed… did I?"

"Oh no," she decried blandly with mock horror before taking a rebellious puff of her new smoke. "Not lung cancer. Anything but lung cancer."

What he said was true, she was fading. The first thing she wanted to do whenever she awoke was try out that jacuzzi. It would have to wait. She'd probably collapse to the ground if she tried to stand any time soon. His playful pinch drew out her laughter until her belly twinged in discomfort and the tittering ended.

"I'm so sleeepyy—" she agreed with his assessment, yawning wide at the end of her sentence and passing the cigarette off to him. "Maybe later."

Yes, this would be just fine. She would stay here with him in this hotel room until he tired of her— or couldn't pay the bill— and then let him take her life. These pristine sheets that had seen her take so much pleasure would make an adequate final resting place. Idly, tiredly, she mused about what might happen to her soul if she died in the Neitherworld. There was no mention of such an occurrence in the handbook.

Alas, this was a problem for another day. Her husband came to lean over her, petting along her thigh and asking silly questions she didn't know the answer to.

"I dunno," she slurred, half asleep, eyes shut, "it's not like I'm a virgin or anything."

She didn't seem cognizant of her slip. Sluggishly, she trailed a hand between her thighs to gather some of the residual juices leaking from her onto her fingers, then took effort to crack her eyes open and investigate. A flash of bright red tinged the thicker white bodily fluids pink. Just as casually, she swiped her hands clean on the blanket and then turned to face him, curling into a comfortable ball.

"Yep," she answered simply, as if he hadn't been watching the entire display with a hawkish gaze. "Go figure. For a minute there, I thought you were just going to fuck me until I died. That wouldn't be that bad I guess, but I think I'd prefer something quicker if you don't mind."

He frowned at the blurted admission, his eyes going dark. Someone else had touched his wife. Had had her. He growled low in his throat, pulling her tighter against him.

"Nah? Tell me about it…"

He watched her investigate the fluids still dripping from her and his heart gave a strange twinge when he saw that her fingers came away pink. He gladly wrapped her up in his arms as she faced him, pulling to rest her head on his chest. He didn't know if she'd stay there, but it was worth a shot.

For a minute there, I thought you were just going to fuck me until I died.

"Wow, high praise, babe. But uh… no. Thought I'd keep ya around a while longer if it's all the same to you."

He let his hand rub in slow circles, starting at her shoulders and traveling to the small of her back before repeating. He pressed his face into her dark hair, lost in thought. She'd been so cautious with him in the beginning, acting as though she'd never had sex in her life. This combined with the instinctual disassociation and the way she'd blurted out that she wasn't a virgin all added up to an image Beetlegeuse didn't want to consider. He looked down at his wife, a creature in his chest clawing at the surface. She hadn't just been fucked by someone else. Someone had attacked her. His grip tightened until his fingers were digging into her back, thoughts of how to find and murder the asshole rampaging through his mind.

"Tell me about it…"

"There's nothing to talk about."

Her voice took on an edge, despite its sleepy quality. Lydia avoided the subject expertly, shutting down any potential further questioning in case he was thinking about it. It wasn't any of his goddamn business, and it definitely wasn't appropriate pillow talk. She was beginning to fall in and out of consciousness in his comfortable embrace— he was an excellent cuddle— on the verge of sleep when those ragged nails started digging into her again.

"Ow," she muttered, frowning, and pinched his nipple in retaliation. "Stop that."

Lydia had already come to the conclusion that he was intending to milk this free-sex cow for all it was worth. Whatever. The crush he had on her was sure to whither with time. Hopefully sooner rather than later. There was someone out there who needed her more than he did.

He jumped out of his enraged thinking when she pinched at his nipple, the action surprising him enough to get a chuckle out, his hands softening and resuming their massage of her back.

"Sorry, kitten. Just thinkin' through some stuff."

He couldn't remember the last time he'd actually slept next to a woman. If he had ever, it was surely one of the Inferno girls who hadn't had the heart to kick him out when he came crawling, drunk off his ass and depressed.

He remembered one such occurrence. He'd been laying with one of the girls after a rousing game of doctor when she'd asked him about Lydia. He was a talkative guy, after all, and nearly anyon who'd listen got an earful about his hot piece topside. But it had caught him off guard when she'd asked if she was looking for work. Even then the thought of any other man touching her was repulsive.

He made a note to go and see the girls soon. Bring the wife along, maybe. His hand quickly abandoned her back, coming up to stroke through her hair as he held her.

"You should go to sleep, baby."

"Okay," she murmured her ascent, nestled snug to his chest seemingly without a care in the world. She was already more than halfway there, the burdens of the living realm left behind in the cemetery. No more Delia, no more Claire Brewster, no more Miss Shannon's School for Bitches. No need to worry about that five-thousand-word essay on the French Revolution that she hadn't even put a dent in. The only pressing concern she had at the moment was making sure that her surprisingly attentive husband was happy in hopes he would give her a quick, painless demise. He was certainly acting like he was happy, so that job was done for now, but Lydia held no illusions that he wouldn't require more sating in the near future.

He may have roughed her up good for a minute there, but the entire experience was undeniably intense and fulfilling. Where she had begun the night a fragile, wilting flower, she now felt much more like the content, purring kitten he kept comparing her to. A sudden rush of affection and gratitude flooded through her right at the threshold of sleep, and Lydia was too far gone to be wary of it. Sex, after all, was famously good at tricking young girls into experiencing false emotions— or so she had read.

"Thank you," she hushed softly on the way to dreamland, momentarily beholden to his insidious charms. "For not making that terrible. It means a lot to me."

Whether his reply hit her ears or not was indeterminable. Small feminine snores were already crawling up her throat to fill the air with proof of her descent into oblivion.

Chapter Text

"You sway when you walk,
Yeah, you move as smooth as you talk,
but you ain't got no soul;
A slave to the show."

—Keep it Coming
The Letters

Watching his wife doze in his arms, he found, was one of the few things in his afterlife that made him feel warm and fuzzy all over. The others including watching new arrivals get sucked into random sinkholes and that thing Trixie did with her tongue.

When he was sure she was asleep, he slid out from under her carefully, settling her against the multitude of pillows and pressing a kiss to her cheek. "Sleep well, kitten… daddy's got a to-do list." He snapped at his signature stripes returned as he slipped out the door to go and take care of a few of Lydia's tormentors.

But first, he was hitting up the jeweler he'd seen up the street on the way into the hotel. He couldn't believe he'd forgotten a ring of all things. Serious oversight on his part.

He moseyed in, shooting the shopkeeper a look and watching him scramble back against the wall. He loved that. He wandered the cases, jumping over to let himself in when he found the one he wanted. He pocketed the ring after tucking it into a box and saluted the terrified jeweler on his way out of the door.

"Thanks, hermano! She's gonna love it."

Now, topside. In a flash, he was standing back where Lydia had summoned him. He grinned, feeling the familiar rush of power that he hadn't in years. Fuck Juno and her limitations. This was gonna be great.

His first stop was Miss Shannon's. He strolled in casual as he could be, much to the matron's shock and disgust. He ignored her sputtering in favor of letting himself into the hallway— really. Locks couldn't do anything these days— and whistling as he walked past baffled girls, all hastily stepping away from him. Bimbos. There was only one Miss Shannon's girl for him.

"Oh, say Shannon." He turned to her, enjoying the color she was starting to turn as she realized that her fingers wouldn't move to call the police. "Ya know where I can find Claire Brewster?"

Lydia dozed on for an indeterminable amount of time, ignorant of her husband's nefarious dealings in the living realm. She awoke tucked gently with care beneath the blankets she'd passed out on top of, the area between her legs raw and slick with remnants of the previous night's activities. Betelgeuse was gone. There weren't any windows, and even if there were the bizarre melting shades of the Neitherworld sky would keep her from being able to discern the time.

"Betel…?"

Remembering she still had the ability to do so, she began to call out for him before stopping herself. He would come back eventually. Besides, this was an excellent opportunity to take advantage of that jacuzzi she'd been eyeing. Mistreated muscles screamed in protest as she crawled from bed and made her way next door to explore with careful baby steps. There weren't any mirrors that she could see, so there would be no fully assessing the damage until later. However, she could feel that the vicious bite on her neck was inflamed, hot to the touch, and looking down she saw a trail of hickeys along her chest and bruises around her hips and inner thighs, the latter smeared with drying crusts of blood and cum.

Red light flooded the bathroom, similar to her darkroom. The familiarity was comforting in such an alien environment. She made quick work of filling the deep, porcelain tub with steaming water as hot as she could stand it, a generous glob of soap that smelled like vanilla bean, and a handful of rose petals from a glass bowl on the counter— the same kind that had been spread so disgustingly romantically across their honeymoon bed. This might be her last bath as a living girl, so it seemed appropriate to make it an indulgent, decadent one.

She hissed slipping into the tub, before eventually settling and sighing in contentment as the milky waters worked at easing her ache away. Playing with the little knobs that ran along the edge of the tub turned the jets on full blast, and then Lydia was truly in bliss. The only thing that could possibly improve her morning is some food. Maybe a joint. Was there even food safe for her consumption down here?

Confident that she was alone, Lydia allowed herself to hum idly as she played in the bubbles until the notes creeping up her throat solidified, taking shape and forming words.

"Cold, dark sea,
Wrapping its arms around me,
Pulling me down to the deep.
All eyes on me.

I pushed you away,
Although, I wished you could stay.
So many words left unsaid,
But I'm all out of breath.

So, go, go, go,
Get out of here.
Go away,
Get out of here."

Well, that was easy. Beetlegeuse straightened the sleeves of his jacket, giving one last look to the blonde passed out in the middle of the school's hallway. That bleeding from her skull probably wasn't a good sign, but who gave a shit. Certainly not him.

He checked one of his many watches, deciding he'd been away long enough. He could deal with Charles and Delia another day. He snapped his way back into the hotel room, momentarily worried to find the bed empty before he heard his wife's soft voice coming from the bathroom.

He smiled, walking silently until he could lean against the doorframe and listen. She really did have a beautiful voice, though he was hard-pressed to find anything about his wife that wasn't absolutely gorgeous.

"Hope you're not tellin' me to go, babes. I broughtcha a present and everything." He smiled, holding up a polaroid between his fingers. The photo depicted Claire Brewster, eyes rolled back in terror as she fell to the ground. "Well. Two presents. But start here."

The next verse was abruptly cut off by Betelgeuse making his presence known. Consequently, she squeaked, jumped, and splashed in an embarrassing display of humility. Neck craned all the way back to meet his much taller form, her eyes were wide and cheeks rosy for reasons other than the steam wafting from the bath. He wasn't supposed to hear that!

"No," she flustered indignantly, sinking deep into the tub in mortification, hoping that it might just swallow her whole. "It's just a song… presents?"

This worked to draw her back up just a bit, wet fingers reaching for the polaroid he was flourishing. Everyone liked presents. However, what she saw depicted in the photo inspired equal part feelings of horror and validation. Claire Brewster. A scared Claire Brewster.

"This is Claire…"

She stated the obvious, still piecing the scene together. Oh no. He went back without her. He went back because of her. He thought she wanted this. Struck with dread once everything clicked, Lydia regarded him with sudden alarm. He was a killer, she knew. Their wedding night, part I, saw him shoot Sarah and Maxie Dean through the living room ceiling. Their bodies were found washed up on the banks of the Winter River the next day, bloated and broken.

"What did you do?" There was a facet of heartbreak in her panicked query, crushing guilt already beginning to seep in. This was all her fault. Betelgeuse couldn't be blamed. She should have known better than to leave him unattended. "Betelgeuse, what did you do?! Oh, tell me you didn't hurt her, please tell me you didn't hurt her—!"

He settled himself comfortably at the edge of the tub beside her. There was no way in hell he'd actually get in, but this was close enough. He passed her the picture with a self-satisfied smirk.

This is Claire…

"Sure is, kitten. I went and paid her a little visit. Reminded her that it's not nice to make fun of people. Or run them off the road."

He frowned slightly as her face paled. He thought for sure this would be a good thing. Everyone liked a little revenge. Everyone except, it seemed, his wife.

"She'll be fine. Prob'ly have nightmares for a while, but she's fine." He didn't know that for sure, of course, but what were the chances of Lydia really finding out her fate. "Baby, I did this for you. I need you to understand that nobody gets to hurt you now. Well. 'Cept me. But still… Bitch got what was coming to her."

He reached out to run a hand through her damp hair. "Why are you upset? You didn't scare her, I did. My choice. My problem. Not yours, princess."

Ah. That was a relief. As long as the bottle-blonde bully wasn't injured or dead, everything else was fair game.

"I thought… I thought you might have killed her. Like the Deans," she added in explanation for her sudden upset, calming under his gentle petting. "Be—" Again, she found herself cutting off his name. It had already been said it once, and she didn't want to send him back— to where? She wasn't sure— by accident.

"Living people don't like me. I don't have any friends. Claire? She's just a dime a dozen. Before her, it was Stacy taking pictures of me in the locker room and spreading them around to everyone in school. Before her, it was Brock telling everyone that I torture small animals and sell blowjobs under the bleachers for ten bucks a pop. Before him, it was my freshman English teacher making me read my poems in front of the entire class and then letting them all pick apart everything wrong with them. And that's just in the last three years. This… isn't anything new to me. I can't have you going after everyone who gives me a hard time. It's impossible. You'll never get them all, it doesn't solve anything, and I don't like it."

She passed the polaroid back off to him, having finished garnering all the pleasure it could possibly give her.

"I appreciate the thought, I guess, but you'd be better off just killing me now. Save yourself the work."

The more he heard the angrier he got. How dare they all go after Lydia? She hadn't done anything wrong in her life, except maybe marrying him.

He took the picture and banished it in a flash of flame. "You're underestimating me, baby. I could go round up every one of 'me right now." He leaned down to pull her into a rough kiss, tugging on her hair.

"I'm not done with you… you know the deal, kitten. It's how I want, when I want. You don't get to go makin' me feel guilty for keeping you alive. You got a lot of life left in ya. Might as well live it."

He sighed and released her, sitting up and pulling the small velvet box out of his pants pocket and set it on the edge of the tub near her.

"Just…. here. This is your their present."

"I'm not trying to make you feel guilty," she argued as he pulled away from such a harsh kiss, the reminder that it was his way or nothing rushed out against her lips in an angry whisper. "Just being logical."

What was her life when stacked up against everyone's who had ever hurt her? Worthless, that's what. She watched with increasing curiosity as he settled that ring-shaped velvet box at the edge of the tub.

He didn't.

After drying her hands on a nearby towel, she carefully cracked the box open to peek, already knowing what she would find before she did so. He did— and then some. It was beautiful. It had a slim silver band with intricate, stylized twists around the gem inset. The stone wasn't terribly large but would appear so on a hand as small as hers. It appeared black at first glance, but when she twisted it this way and that she could see shocks of vibrant emerald green splintered throughout, pulsating, almost alive.

"Oh, B," she sighed in adoration of the trinket, eyes glazing over with warmth as she took in every exquisite detail. It still lay in the box, the girl not quite bold enough to go ahead and put it on the right finger. "I can't— You didn't have to— This looks expensive. You can take it back if you want, after—" you put me out of my misery "—… after."

He relaxed a bit as she admired the ring. "Looks even better on, or so I'm told. You want me to do it?"

He laid on the edge of the tub, stretched out on his side and supporting his head on one hand to watch her.

At the objection on price, he scoffed, waving her off with a grimace. "After what? You can take the ethereal copy with you." He reached for her hand, bringing it to his lips to kiss over her fingers. "Besides, that's a real special stone. Probably won't let ya take it off once it's on. It's got a little extra juice on it if you know what I mean. Couldn't pawn it even if I wanted to."

He took the ring from her, gently slipping it onto her left-hand ring finger before she could protest. "Wouldn't want it back anyway… it's yours, Lyds. All yours. Okay?"

"Okay…"

Feeling very small and overwhelmed, she curled the ring-bearing hand up against her collarbone, shrinking in on herself just so. Accepting gifts never came easily to her, and this was no exception. This crush of his was more serious than she thought. A little extra juice.

"Does it do anything?" She didn't even try to take it off and test his theory, and she wouldn't— not while he was watching, anyway. The bubbles in her bath were beginning to clear, the water cooling. Suddenly, her stomach lurched unpleasantly, reminding her that she wasn't dead yet and still needed mortal sustenance.

"Uhm," she began to inform him of her needs, embarrassed by her human deficiencies, "if you want to keep me alive, I need living people stuff; food, water."

The temptation to add clothes to her list of requirements was strong, but she knew he'd probably see right through it. There wasn't anything in the beautiful hotel room for her to wear, aside from the discarded thong that had landed obscenely around the door handle when he slipped it off her last night. Knowing Betelgeuse, he'd probably just prefer to keep her naked.

Does it do anything?

"Well, I can't exactly be right beside ya, babes. This'll just let me know if you need me without you havin' to call me." He shrugged nonchalantly, as if the gesture was something he'd do for anyone. It absolutely wasn't, but he'd pretend. He had a rep to maintain.

"It's got a little bit of protection in there too… to keep the assholes off of ya. Shouldn't let anyone touch ya that you don't want touchin' ya." Except me of course.

He chuckled at her growling stomach, snapping his fingers. On the table across the room was suddenly filled with all kinds of delicious smelling breakfast foods that he remembered her eating back in Winter River. As for the nakedness… as tempted as he was to leave her that way, he decided she'd be more comfortable with at least something covering her up. He shrugged out of his striped jacket, laying it over a chair and grabbing a fluffy towel from the stack on the bathroom counter.

"Here, baby… Dry off and get some food. You're not goin' out that way. Starvin's too nasty even for me."

Starving did sound like a pretty awful way to go, but that hadn't stopped Lydia from musing about whether or not a prolonged hunger strike would count as suicide. He would probably just force feed her if she tried, and that food smelled entirely too good to pass up. After pulling the plug, she carefully stood from the lukewarm water and stepped out into the towel and his open arms, feeling very much like a child at the closing of bath time. The heat had dulled most of the residual ache from the night before, but she still limped slightly on her way to the little table, the towel wrapped about her shoulders like a blanket.

She drew her legs up to sit Indian style on the chair that held his jacket, then dug in. There was a variety of fruit, pancakes, warm syrup and bacon, as well as a pitcher of freshly squeezed orange juice. Betelgeuse, lacking an appetite for mortal fares of this nature, kicked off his boots, loosened his tie, and got comfortable in the very center of the bed before turning the yet-to-be-used television onto a random channel; Neitherworld's Funniest Home Fatalities.

This whole scenario was surreal. It was almost like they had run away together and were now hiding out from the authorities— i.e. anyone who would not like to see them married.

"Adam and Barbara live here now," she offered up without any provocation, swirling a strawberry in a pool of syrup and watching with hesitant hilarity as a young man slipped on the rubber ducky in his shower stall and flailed comedically all over his bathroom— right before falling and cracking his skull open on the counter. That killed the ghost of a smile starting to form on her lips.

"Their caseworker gave them the option a couple of months ago. Called it a reward for… uhm… the whole you situation."

The swiftness with which they accepted Juno's proposal stung, but Lydia understood. She didn't want to be stuck in that house any more than they did.

He was happy to wrap her up in his arms a moment before pressing a kiss to her forehead and sending her off to eat. He climbed into the bed with a grunt, flopping onto his back and scratching his belly leisurely. He was starting to get into the show– he loved watching idiots die doing idiot things– when she spoke up from the table.

He narrowed his eyes at the mention of the Maitlands. "Do they. Huh." He was far from pleased with them. The fact that they'd left Lydia alone to deal with everything her life had entailed didn't endear them to him at all. Maybe they should be next on his visitations list.

Called it a reward for… uhm… the whole you situation.

"Oooh. I'm a situation now. That's a promotion from incident. Guess I'll take it." He watched her for a moment, seeing the pain that flashed across her face as some moron on TV ate shit. He flipped it off, sitting up a bit and rolling up the sleeves of his shirt. "You wanna go see 'em, huh? I'll take ya. But I ain't stickin' around to play happy family. Sorry, kitten."

"No," she denied his offer to visit Mr. and Mrs. Maitland bluntly, mouth pulled in a dour frown. "Not with you, anyway. Maybe after…"

Aside from the obvious reasons she didn't want to see them with the despised poltergeist in tow, the memory of their departure was still too raw. Lydia only knew it was Juno who had come to retrieve them because of second-hand briefing. She was at school when the decrepit spirit showed up to offer her deceased guardians the generous pardon from their probationary haunting period. It was a limited time offer. They were gone before she even had the chance to say goodbye.

"How long are we going to stay here?" She asked, pushing her plate away to signify that she was done. For the first time since their deal had been struck, a possibility occurred to her that hadn't before. If he was willing to take her to visit the Maitlands… maybe he would be willing to do something else.

"I want to die… because I need to check on someone." There were other more serious aspects that had led to this decision as well, but this had been the nail in the coffin. "It just seemed more likely you would kill me than do me a favor, so that's why I didn't ask. But… if you take me to check on this person… then I guess I don't need to die. Unless you want to kill me. Deal's a deal."

Ah, so that was it. He sat up, beckoning to her. "If that's all you're waitin' on, then come here and ask me, sweetness. Don't know until you ask." One eyebrow raised, he patted his lap.

"We're gonna stay here for another night, I think. I got somethin' in the works for after that, but I'm gonna need some input. But for now, why don't you tell me who it's so important for you to see that you wanted me to off you…" He pulled her into him as she approached, careful in the way he settled her on his thigh that he wouldn't jostle her too much.

"Sorry about the soreness, princess… is it too bad? I could try to find somethin' but I gotta say… I kinda like seein' what I did to ya." He pressed a kiss to the sore, red bite mark he'd left, gently rubbing his hand up her thigh.

Hesitantly, cautious of further ravaging to her already thoroughly abused body, she tip-toed his way on wobbly legs until she was within grabbing distance. Without preamble, he settled her on his lap with a sense of ownership and entitlement, kissing and pawing and making false apologies about the state of things, as it were.

"I'm fine," she denied his offer to balm her lingering pain, unsure what he could do other than score her some painkillers, and she wasn't in bad enough shape to need something like that.

"It's… my mom." Her voice cracked at the confession, and she ducked her head down until her chin kissed her collar bone, pulling the plush towel tighter around her. "She OD'd a couple of weeks ago. Right after Adam and Barb took off. Heroin. The mortuary report was inconclusive. They think it was an accident, but— but she was an experienced user."

Lydia was struggling desperately not to release any more tears— they were so dreadfully embarrassing, an intolerable sign of weakness to display such a thing to a being this powerful— but the fight was hopeless.

"I need to know if it was on purpose. If she's… in that office." The Maitlands may have denied her any other information about the Neitherworld, but they were cautious enough to warn her about the Waiting Room and its system of caseworkers. "I need to."

Well shit. He frowned, shaking his head. "Lemme get this clear… you want me to take you to the waiting room to see if your mom overdid it on purpose? Lyds… I ain't gonna do that."

He sighed, his hold on her tightening just a little. "Listen, some people spend years waiting to be seen, and even after that the ones who… if it wasn't an accident she'll be up to her ass in training. Now's not the time to seek her out. Okay?"

He could tell already that his answer wasn't going to be good enough. He'd had no idea that her biological mother was even still around. He'd never as much as heard about her.

"What's her name, maybe I can look her up for ya. Without you goin' to the waiting room." He shuddered at the thought. His wife was too good, too pure to be stuck in there with the likes of them. If he could help it she'd never end up there.

I ain't gonna do that.

Suddenly, all that bashfulness and crippling embarrassment she was harboring over exposing such a private part of herself to him twisted and burned into something else entirely. Her head snapped up, honey eyes wild and alight with rage. If his arm hadn't tightened so heavily around her middle, she would have been on her feet already.

"Let go!"

He did not. She couldn't struggle too hard or she'd loosen the towel, and he didn't deserve to touch her or see any of her, not one fucking bit. The thigh he was caressing jolted in protest, her knee jutting out to kick off his hand. Unfortunately, the motion only made her cringe and squeal in sudden pain as she upset something inside of her, forcing a tear or two down her cheek. His hand remained in place on her thigh, undeterred.

"You promised!" She cried out childishly, knowing it wasn't true. "If you won't do it, then kill me already so I can do it myself! If you're lying about that too, then I'll just wait until you leave me alone and slit my wrists! I don't care!" She brawled uselessly, damp raven hair slapping him in the face as she attempted to break free of his iron grasp. "Betelgeuse, Betelgeuse, Betel—!"

Shit. He held onto her as she started to squirm, a deep scowl coming over him. "Lyds… baby come on, think about it. Be reasonable with me a second!

As she jerked away from him and clearly twisted something inside of herself he sighed. "Kitten you're gonna hurt yourself… It'll be okay."

This clearly wasn't working. She started screaming about ending herself when he wasn't looking and he started to get angry, but the nail in her coffin was the gratuitous B words she started to spout.

He growled and clapped a hand over her mouth firmly. "God damn, Lydia! Listen for a second. You're acting like a fuckin' child!" He turned them, hauling her all the way onto the bed and pressing her down.

"The waiting room isn't a good place, Princess. It's where souls go when they don't know what to do. You know exactly what you're doin'… obviously. Y'know it's actually painful when ya try to banish me like that." He was panting, stubborn pain settling in his ribs like a heart attack. "Jesus. Don't you get it? You're too good for that place. Just wait a few weeks until I can find out where she's assigned. Then I'll take ya to see her if I think ya both deserve it. Deal?"

For a brief moment, he was able to calm her furious bucking and wrestling— that was only hurting her and wasn't getting her anywhere— with the knowledge that banishing him was painful. Lydia may have been on the suicidal side of things, but she wasn't a sadist. Then, he kept talking, going on to explain that he would be the decider on whether or not she and her mother deserved to see one another. Fire and brimstone burned through her molten gaze, liquid rage flowing rapidly through her veins in a hot rush. Viciously, she took a bite out of the palm covering her mouth, harder even than he had bit her, only spitting out the coarse flesh once he made a move to stop muffling her speech.

"Fuck you!" How dare he! She was incensed by his pure pluck, his sheer hubris. Who the fuck did he think he was? "I'm not your kitten. I'm not your princess. I'm not your baby. I'm not yours. I wish I'd never met you! I hate you!"

Maybe if she pissed him off enough he would lose his temper and take her out in a fit of passion— the original plan. Aside from her mother-related woes, her heart hurt for reasons beyond her comprehension. She had made a whore of herself, all for nothing. He was never going to help her.

"Take me back to that street," she demanded through coursing tears and gritted teeth, pulling stubbornly at a ring that refused to come off, just like he said it wouldn't. "And take your stupid ring back. I want a divorce."

"OW! You little bitch!" He shook his hand where she'd bit him, thankful that he didn't have to deal with blood which would surely be running from the wound if he were alive. He was seeing red. The more she spoke the deeper she dug herself into his rage. He growled viciously, gripping her arms and pressing her into the bed roughly.

"Take you back, huh? What're you gonna do there, Lydia? Huh? Gonna go join Trixie and the other whores?" He was in her face now. "I'm not takin' shit back, little girl! You're mine. Thought I proved that to ya last night. Need a review?"

His hand came to her throat, pressing her into the pillows. "You can hate me all you want, Lyds because guess what?" He leaned down until he could hiss his words directly into her ear. "I love ya to bits, Lydia... you're all mine as of last night. And I don't fuckin' share." His hand wandered her body, her towel having come loose in their struggle.

He pressed his fingers into the bruises on her hip where he'd gripped her the night before. "If you really wanna be a whore that bad, Lyds… I can treat ya like one. But you're not leavin' this room without me." He tugged off his tie, setting it over her throat as he moved to straddle her. "You just try those B words, babes and see what happens."

"Why not?!" She wailed back in response to his suggestions she join the other whores, still fighting a useless fight. He was bigger and stronger, and even if she was in peak physical condition she never stood a chance. Her flushed, aching body arched and contended beneath his every step of the way, blunt, white teeth gnashing out whenever he made the mistake of coming within biting distance.

"Might as well—" kick, buck, scratch "I'd rather fuck a thousand—" Her knee jutted toward his crotch, but he was able to pin it down before it could make any kind of painful contact, "Gross— dead— old men— every single day for the REST OF MY LIFE than spend another fucking second married to YOU!"

She was feral, a wounded viper reduced to little more than pure, unfiltered rage and pain. However, it wasn't long until all the vitriol and hostility burned out. Without anywhere to go or any targets willing to take it, it fizzled, leaving only soul-crushing despair behind. Lydia eventually went limp beneath him, sobbing brokenly.

"Let me go," she begged in an awful way, voice quivering, body trembling and sweating from over-exertion. Whether she was requesting he release her literally or figuratively was unclear. Probably both. Physical ache plagued her as well, but it paled in comparison to the unbearable pangs in her chest.

"You don't love me." Nobody loved her, not even Adam and Barbara, though they certainly put up a convincing act. "You don't know what love is. You're a liar."

All he could do was let her work out her rage. He refused to do her actual harm, in spite of the way she was lashing out and biting at him. He winced as her knee came for his bits, but easily pinned it with his own before she could take him out.

I'd rather fuck a thousand gross dead old men every day for the REST OF MY LIFE than spend another fucking second married to YOU!

Ouch. He glowered down at her, still silent as she tossed and bucked under him. He had a strange ache in his chest that he couldn't quite place.

He was panting, the actual effort of holding her had been next to nothing, but he hated seeing her like this. He'd seen this anger before, released on anything she could get her hands on in the attic back at the Maitland's. He knew how long she could kick and scream, how long it would take her seething, vengeful anger to leave her. It was one of the many things that drew him to her in the first place.

Finally after several minutes of raging and tossing she went limp, collapsing into the bed beneath them.

As she spat out a line about him not knowing what love is, he lowered himself to press his body weight onto her, his hands gentling where they held her.

"You're right. I'm a liar and a cheat and a bastard and whatever else you wanna call me right now… But Lyds… come on. I get it… you're pissed at me. You're not even gonna hear me out? That's not like you." He pressed a kiss to her cheek, then her neck, keeping her pressed beneath him. "You aren't a whore, Lydia. And you're not a junkie or a lawyer or any of the other horrible people that wanna get their hands on a breather like you just to spite death. I'm not walkin' you into a lion's den like the waiting room. I won't do it."

The sweet words and gentle touches only confused her further, making tears fall fatter down her cheeks and onto the bedding. No matter what she said or how badly she wanted it to be true or how much he deserved it, she couldn't hate him. Not really. Lydia wasn't capable of hate.

"But— but—" she hiccuped and sniffled, speech catching on her grief, "I have to."

No one cared about Mother except her. She didn't have anyone, not down here and definitely not up above. This was all Lydia's fault. Would it have been that hard to give her a call every once in a while? Take the effort to visit? Why didn't Betelgeuse understand?

"Her name is N-Natalya," she eventually stuttered out, turned away from his affectionate attention as best she could. It was too nice, too comforting. She didn't deserve it. "Natalya Volkov. She's in her thirties, and she has hair like mine."

Hopefully, that was enough. Slowly but surely calming, Lydia was able to recognize that this was likely the only route to go for the information she wanted. Thanks to that stupid, emotional outburst, Betelgeuse probably wasn't going to leave her alone with anything sharp until she could prove her sanity.

"You don't have to do anything, babes…" He sighed as she turned away from him. He settled for wrapping his arm around her waist, spooned in behind her.

"I'll put out some feelers. See if I can find her… okay?" He rubbed his hand over her arm, silky smooth fabric seemingly flowing from his fingers until she was wrapped in a soft silk robe, the same deep red as her wedding gown.

"I'm sorry I blew up atcha…. You know I don't wanna hurt you… doncha?" He kissed her shoulder gently, tugging her closer still. "I just… I don't want someone to get too big for their britches and try to take ya from me. That's all."

"Okay," she agreed, drained, as if she had any other choice than the one he offered— the one he didn't have to offer. Then, he went on to apologize so softly in that whiskey-stained baritone, using his magic to lovingly wrap her shivering form up in soft, red silk.

You know I don't wanna hurt you…

"Liar," she huffed without malice at his insistence that he 'didn't want to hurt her.' "You bit me."

She was aware that she was being nit-picky, but her foul mood had yet to completely fade. There was a difference and she knew it. This was what she wanted, right? And she didn't even have to die. Why then, did she still feel an overwhelming urge to just curl up and die?

"I'm sorry."

She was being crazy, making suicide threats and lashing out at him like that when he was just trying to help her. Then again, he was being equally crazy making bold declarations of love and acting like anyone out there would ever be interested in her. Hadn't he been paying attention?

"I'm just… going through a lot."

You bit me.

"Well, heat of the moment is a little different, Lyds. You should see my back. You got me as good as I did you."

He continued his slow petting, hoping to soothe her at least a bit. He pressed a kiss to her neck gently, his hand sliding from her arm to her thigh.

I'm just… I'm going through a lot.

"I know… I know, princess. Well. I know some, at least." He nuzzled into her, his mind filing through everything he knew about his bride. It was a lot for anyone. Even more for a teenager. "Tell me how to help. Other than find your mom. It's on my to-do list. Promise. What else?"

"Bring her back to life," she suggested numbly, well aware that this was a skill beyond even his reach. "Turn back time. Keep her away from the needle. Maybe talk my dad into marrying her. Stop her from meeting—"

The last was cut off abruptly. Betelgeuse didn't need to know everything. Suddenly, an idea occurred to her and she turned in his arms to meet him head-on.

"I've never been drunk before. I've had a drink or two, but not like that. I want to get drunk. Can we get drunk?"

His heart panged painfully in his chest. He couldn't do any of that. He wished he could, but there wasn't a way.

Instead of voicing his inability he simply continued his gentle touches to her thigh, approaching her hip and carefully avoiding the places he knew would only make her angry again.

He was startled when she suddenly turned in his hold, chuckling softly at her request. "Well. I can't get drunk. But I'll drink with ya until you are." She was a funny girl, his wife.

He knew logically that he shouldn't encourage her working through her problems with alcohol but he was beyond caring. If she wanted it and he could achieve it, it was hers. "What do you like? You wanna go out or drink here?"

"I don't know… I've only ever had whiskey and beer." Stolen from her father and Adam, a cure for boredom and an outlet for teenage rebellion. Her face pinched at the memory of the foul taste. "But it was gross. Wine seems like it would taste good. Maybe a margarita? Bloody Mary's sound cool. What's in a Bloody Mary?"

The prospect of exploring the Neitherworld further was certainly attractive, but Lydia wasn't in any condition to be walking up and down streets or navigating clubs and bars. Not to mention she felt safe here— obscenely so— in this cozy hotel room with her husband who "loved" her and wanted to help her. The outside world wasn't so kind. Betelgeuse was charismatic enough, he probably would have preferred to go out gallivanting, so Lydia went on to very meekly make her stance known.

"Is it okay if we just stay here? I don't want to be around people… but we can go out... if you want."

"Beer and Whiskey? Strange choices, baby." He waved a hand and the nightstand was suddenly littered with glasses of all shapes and sizes. He sat up to be able to reach.

He handed her the first glass, filled with a soft pink liquid. "Here. It's rosé. Sweeter than some other wines… I think you'll like it."

He settled in, tucking in one leg and snagging himself a short round glass. "Scotch is my drink of choice. Closest to the stuff I drank way back. Know what I mean?"

"I'm happy to stay in. Get some rest, hang out in our underwear." Keep all the dead assholes down here from seeing you and getting any ideas. He snapped again and his clothes disappeared save his ratty green and black striped boxers. He gave her a wink before turning to their array of drinks and started naming them.

"Here's your margarita, this is a daiquiri. Same thing but rum, not tequila. We got a red and a white wine, a Cosmopolitan, and this is a Bee's Knees. Lemonade, honey, and gin. Good shit."

Chapter Text

"Hey, little girl is your daddy home?
Did he go away and leave you all alone?
I got a bad desire..."

—I'm On Fire
Bruce Springsteen

Her husband was, apparently, a talented mixologist. He provided her with drink after drink after drink until she was good and sloshed. Some she downed very quickly— probably too quickly— due to how purely delicious they were. Others she took naught but a sip from before moving on. Bloody Mary's were delicious AND cool-sounding, but she only nursed half the glass away before downing three large shots in a row of something called a "Jolly Green Giant." There was sour sugar on the rim, and it tasted like a green apple jolly rancher. Betelgeuse seemed content to sip at a bottomless glass of scotch, dirty. The man knew what he liked, she would give him that.

Inhibitions were fading. Her head was fuzzy and warm, and whatever discomfort was left over from her "deflowering" had numbed to a point that it might as well have been nonexistent.

"I dun see why you want out so bad, Beej." This was the nickname drunken Lydia had taken to calling him without any permission or agreement whatsoever. She had to call him something, and he hadn't objected yet. "Everything up there is boring n' dumb. There are mermaids here! MERMAIDS! You saw that mermaid, right? Jesus fucking Christ, that's crazy. You're crazy!"

She dissolved into laughter so strong and hearty that the pretty, silky robe he dressed her in started to slip from one of her shoulders, fully exposing the marking bite he'd left on her. It looked large and angry on someone as small and delicate as Lydia.

"But it's okay—" she reassured him at the end of her intoxicated bout of giggles. "We're all mad here. I'm mad, you're mad—"

Again, she fell into laughter, falling back messily onto the mussed bedding in a way that made her air-dried mass of raven curls splay about wildly, as though she had just told a very funny joke.

Watching Lydia slowly get intoxicated was definitely being filed away in the category of things to do more often. She had a surprisingly high tolerance for someone her size, he had to give her that.

He sipped at his scotch contentedly, answering questions and juicing up refills when she asked for them. He made a note that she loved JGG's and that she as happier with sweeter, fruitier drinks. If they were going to spend eternity together he might as well know her drink order.

Then the giggles set in. He couldn't help but chuckle along as she laughed over everything she could think of.

There are mermaids here! MERMAIDS!

"Yeah, baby I've seen the mermaid. Not all she seems, I guarantee ya."

He watched as her robe slipped off one shoulder, in severe danger of revealing one of her soft, lily-white tits and his eyes fixed on the bite mark he'd left the night before. He knew, logically, that he had to watch it. Make sure it didn't get infected. But the rest of him was screaming with pride at just how thoroughly he'd marked her as his.

She fell back into the bedding, rolling with laughter and he joined her, her laughter contagious. He set his glass down and made his way onto the bed, climbing over her, but leaving room for her to object.

"Alright there, Alice… settle down. You have one too many 'Drink Me's? How ya feelin' kitten?"

"I feel good," she purred, smiling and stretching out beneath him with closed eyes before they opened back up and registered how very close he was. She remained unfazed. Her vision was swimming, making his outline double, then triple, then rejoin rapidly. Curiously, she frowned and lifted a searching hand to come pick at a bit of moss congealed near his mouth.

"How come you look like that? Adam and Barbara never got all Night of the Living Dead, and they've been dead for… two years? Three? I dunno… I guess you're like… really, really old, though, right?"

Quite suddenly, it occurred to her that he didn't know anything about her. Not really. Now seemed as appropriate a time as any to infodump.

"I'm sixteen. My birthday is March 8th. I'm a Pisces. My favorite food is Thai, my favorite color is black, I'm a cat person, and I prefer coffee to tea, but tea is still good. I don't have a favorite movie, there's too many. But I like horror. It's the same with music. Too much to pick a favorite, but I like rock and metal."

Satisfied that he now knew everything he needed to know about her ever, she poked him right in the nose as he loomed over her silly, smiling form.

"There. Now you know enough about me to be able to say you love me." Yet again, she laughed, little balls of moisture gathering at the corners of her eyes. "You're so crazy."

He smiled down at her as she stretched out, a sweet little purr leaving her.

I feel  good .

He grinned, ready to hear that sweet little sound again. "I bet you do, babes… want me to make it even better?" He leaned down to kiss her but was stopped by the hand at the corner of his mouth.

"Oh. I dunno, babes. Maybe it's 'cause I've been around forever. Maybe it's 'cause I was just buried in dirt. No coffin." He shrugged. "I don't know, don't care,"

Suddenly she started spouting off facts about herself. Several he already knew from back in Winter River, but he let her tell him anyway, smirking down at her as she went on her tirade.

There. Now you know enough about me to be able to say you love me.

"Well if that's all it takes…"He chuckled, leaning down and finally taking a kiss from her laughing mouth. "You're right… I am crazy. Crazy 'bout you."

He thought for a moment before deciding that she hadn't told him anything too serious and he could return the favor.

"I died at 41. Old for my time. Year was 14som'. No idea when my birthday was, but I think some time in October. My favorite normal people food is shepherd's pie. Favorite color's red. Only drink coffee strong enough to raise the dead. Oh, and I am totally in love with this hot little mortal. You might know her. Name's Lydia?"

He ran his hands down her sides, his mind racing with the things he'd learned about his sweet little wife over the last day.

"Say… Lyds. I wanted to ask you about uh… last night. Couldn't help but notice you didn't uh… have anything in my way down there. So to speak."

"I knew it," she exclaimed, dazed honey eyes narrowed on him as though she had him all figured out. "You're a Leo."

He hit all the definitive marks; fierce, arrogant, and stubborn, with a flair for dramatics that easily rivaled her own. That he was physically older than her father at the time of his death was hardly a surprise, but daunting all the same. Luckily, alcohol had left Lydia fearless and without the hindrances of propriety. He wasn't scary. He was silly.

Oh, and I am totally in love with this hot little mortal. You might know her. Name's Lydia?

Every time he reiterated his love for her made her feel warm and fuzzy— but maybe that was just the alcohol. Lydia couldn't tell the difference anymore.

"You don't love me," she giggled some more, still picking at bits of moss on him here and there. It was everywhere. Despite boasting the visage of a rotting corpse, he was solid and stable like a breathing man, and he didn't taste foul like his appearance might lead one to believe. It was all purely cosmetic. "You just have a crush."

Couldn't help but notice you didn't uh… have anything in my way down there.

The drunken girl regarded him with furrowed brows, not quite understanding what he was trying to get at, until comprehension dawned.

"What are you… oh! That…"

Even this many drinks deep, Lydia was able to recognize that he was asking about something that she never talked about. Not with her parents, not with Adam and Barbara, and most certainly not with any friends— not that she had any.

"Same old story. You've prolly heard it a hundred times. Mommy's boyfriend touched me at night. Boo hoo hoo." She laughed again, the light-hearted sound far, far too isolated from the sheer evil of the scene she was painting for him. "It's all very sad, I know. I should probably be in therapy or something… Whatever."

"Hey! You don't know. Maybe it's much more 'n a crush. I did marry ya after all, kitten." He teased, enjoying the lighthearted way she laughed and giggled over his confessions.

When her face fell and she started to tell him about her lack of maidenhead he frowned, listening closely.

Same old story? Absolutely not. He pressed closer, a scowl coming over him. "Your mom's boyfriend? What'd'ya mean by touched ya? He had to have done more'n that."

He could feel his proverbial blood begin to boil. How could her mother allow that? This was only solidifying his decision to seek the woman out on his own first. It sounded to him like she might need a little reminder that her daughter was a treasure, not a toy.

He rubbed easy, slow circles onto her hip as she spoke, brushing her robe aside to get to her skin.

"Whatever he did I wanna know. You gonna tell me?" He was making a mental list. Charles and Delia, her mother, this asshole that had hurt Lydia when she was small. Too small to know what was happening, from the sounds of it. They'd all get what was coming to them sooner or later.

The ghoul had kept his hands on her for so much of the night that she didn't even notice when crimson silk slipped aside to allow him full sight and trespass of her flesh, the loose knot on the flimsy thing falling loose.

"Ha," she derided sharply, gaze unfocused and far away. "You'd be better off asking what he didn't do. Shorter list."

The boogeyman's name hadn't passed her lips in many years, and she wasn't about to let it slip now, not that Lydia would even remember this conversation come morning.

"Mommy liked her drugs, and he always made sure to give her enough to keep her out. I don't… remember much…" she trailed off, a look of severe concentration falling over her features as though she was trying very hard to summon the heinous details Betelgeuse was asking for.

"He made me touch him… with my hands, and my mouth…. He did… what you did last night…" A bit of clarity returned to her, long enough for sweet Lydia to reassure one monster that he wasn't like the other. "But it wasn't the same," she rushed, caressing his cheek as though afraid she had hurt his feelings. "We have a deal. I'm grown up. I was little back then."

Horrible giggles took her again, but these lacked any of the warmth or joy of her previous inebriated outbursts.

"Mom loved him so much. He used to bring me toys and treats and she thought it was so cute— that he was such a good 'Dad.' By the time they arrested her, she was so fucked in the head I don't know if she ever knew the truth. I guess I can ask her soon, huh?"

Anger boiled under his skin. Come on baby, gimme a name so I can destroy the bastard! But she didn't. She simply fell into more giggles.

He pushed his anger aside in favor of a new determination. He was going to make sure that he replaced every awful memory with a new, more pleasant one.

"We do have a deal. But I hoped you liked it too… didn't ya feel good last night?"

He dropped his lips on to her collar bone, kissing gently as his hands found her thighs. "I wanna make you feel real good, kitten… wanna make sure you never gotta think about that asshole again. Can y'let me do that for ya?"

"I think I liked it," she murmured, falling into that look of severe concentration again— remembering— before plush, cold lips started mouthing along her collarbone. Her lashes fluttered and countenance smoothed, pale rosebud lips forming a perfect little "o" shape.

"Y-yeah… felt good…"

What were they just talking about? The past several minutes were a blur, the girl incapable of holding onto any concept for too long in her current state. Ragged claws drew searching lines up the outside of her thighs, her husband's intent perfectly clear, and Lydia lost interest completely in trying to dwell on the past. There were much more interesting things to focus on in the now.

"I wanna make you feel real good, kitten… wanna make sure you never gotta think about that asshole again. Can y'let me do that for ya?"

"Who?" The ends of his wiry hair brushed just below her chin, making her titter and arch away from the tickling sensation, unwittingly lifting the bounty of her bared breasts that much closer to his mouth. "You're so crazy,Beej…"

Who?

Oh, that was nice. He chuckled against her skin, mouthing across her chest until he found the soft pebbled flesh of her nipple. He sucked at it firmly, his hands slipping under her to hold onto her plump rear.

"Mmm. True. But I have no doubts out can keep up with my crazy, princess…"

His lips wandered to her other side, lazily circling his tongue over her before carrying on, mouthing in the valley between her breasts and down over her firm stomach until he reached what he was really looking for.

"You good with this again? Maybe you should tell me what you wanna try… this is all about you, gorgeous." Except the parts that are about me. He reached for his crotch, tugging at it to relieve some of the pressure gathered there, but not making any moves to withdraw his aching cock. Even as drunk as she was, he wanted to make sure she felt good before anything else.

He laved his tongue over her belly teasingly, nipping at her pale skin just hard enough for her to feel. "Tell ol' Beej what you want, Lyds…"

"I'm not crazy," she pouted in hypocritical indignation, idly pawing through his rotten mass of hair as he suckled and nibbled all across her chest. Why would he call her that? "You're crazy."

"Princess" was a similarly ridiculous thing to call her, but Lydia would let it fly. Clearly, pet names were non-negotiable in this deal of theirs. With patient, gentle motions that thinly veiled a more adamant hunger, he mapped out the sweeping contours of her body with gentle, open-mouthed kisses that made her shiver and burn all at once. When he paused just above the apex of her thighs to lathe and nip across her lower belly, reiterating that this was about her and what she wanted, Lydia's already fuzzy mind blanked.

It wasn't as though she hadn't wandered across the internet and discovered pornography before. She was at the very least aware of the semantics of sex and various kinks, but by no means could she be called educated. Rougher scenes titillated her; tied up, blindfolded girls getting their long, pretty hair pulled by hulking masculine figures, all the while feeding them droves of thick, veiny cock as they abused their helpless forms. However, drunk and shy as she was, Lydia didn't have the proper words to convey her curiosity about such depictions to the perverted ghoul at her service.

While it was true that his brutish handling scared her at first, and absolutely left her sore— practically invalid— Lydia had found it satisfying that she had been able to give him that kind of joy. It shot up her tragic ego, helped to chip away at the iron-clad concept others had worked hard at carving into her psyche over the years; that she was disgusting boy-repellant, that no one would ever want her, that she should just give up hope and spare the rest of humanity her existence. His pleasure was her pleasure. What she may or may not have wanted paled in comparison to the validation of giving him what he wanted.

"I like…" she hesitated, thinking, and he took the opportunity to scrape his teeth carefully across a sensitive bit of flesh just below her ribs, a happy growl building in his chest. The sound of it warmed her almost as much as the sensual gesture. "I like… making you happy… when you smile and call me pretty… I like that…"

He grinned against her soft skin as she thought over his question. He could see that there was a lot happening in that mind of her, but nothing made it out of her mouth, only the soft, murmured words about making him happy.

He chuckled darkly, sliding up to sit between her thighs. "Mmm. Well, you're gonna get that, kitten. Because you're fuckin' gorgeous. Never had nobody like you, sweetness." He pulled her hips roughly, all but slamming her core against him as he rolled his hips, making sure she could feel what she was doing to him. "How's this for happy?"

He had an idea, then, and a sickening grin spread over his face. "Hmm. Here's a thought, baby." He gently guided her onto her front, pulling the tie of her robe free and bringing her hands up to the small of her back. With a nudge, he had her on her knees, her ass invitingly up in the air on full display. He wrapped the silky tie around her wrists, weaving them between her hands and tying them off, placing an end in each of her hands.

"There we go, beautiful… if ya pull nice 'n hard the knot should come loose. How's that feel? Too tight?" He didn't really care, his hands already roaming her body again. His fingers trailed down the edges of her ribcage, into the soft flesh of her waist and onward until he was caressing her ass, one cheek in each hand.

"You are…. so fuckin' sexy, Lyds… Jesus." His hand came down sharply on one side, the slap sound it made echoing in the room pleasantly. "I'm gonna tear you up, sweet girl…."

Lydia allowed him to position her to his liking with little direction necessary, no objection to be found as he weaved the long ribbon of silk in a complicated pattern around her wrists to keep her bound. She was intrigued, to say the least. How did he know? Did he read her mind? She couldn't remember ever watching porn up in the attic back when he was spying on her, but maybe she did? Maybe this was one of those things he alluded to being "into" and this was all pure coincidence.

"No' too tight," she disclosed shakily, half of her burning face plastered into the bedding without use of her arms to push her up. The short robe slipped down over her deeply arched back, leaving her smooth, unmarked backside entirely bare for his perusal. The plush, soft padding of her inner thighs was marked dark purple from his ruthlessly rutting hips the previous night, but the swell of her lily white ass was a blank canvas ready to be painted.

Though it shouldn't have, the first slap disarmed her, making her mewl at the sharp, not entirely unpleasant sting. Almost immediately, a red imprint in the shape of his hand began to surge and make itself seen. Unwittingly, her fingers flexed, releasing the ends of the knot to her salvation, but Lydia wasn't worried. He would stop if she wanted him to. Probably. She was so wobbly from alcohol intake that he had to spread her knees wider to make sure she didn't topple off to the side, in doing so revealing the hot, pink slit between her thighs that was the object of his fascination. A short, soft tuft of raven curls coated the area, marking her youth.

Then, he did it again, on the opposite cheek this time, the plump flesh jiggling under the heavy weight of his palm. And again. And again. Over and over, alternating sides and increasing in furor until her backside was almost as red as her robe and hot to the touch, confused, twisted cries of pain and pleasure falling from her lips with each slap. Consequently, that little pink opening— tight and inflamed from the abuse it endured during her "deflowering"— quivered and dripped, a thin stream of arousal leaking down over her bruised inner thighs.

One last time, his arm swung through the air to land a hearty smack to her right cheek, making her shriek and writhe, but he didn't repeat the motion, instead rubbing his chilled, calloused hands across the mistreated flesh indulgently, as if proud of his work.

"Ahhh," she hissed at the sensation, features pinched in a combination of confusing sensations. The hyper contrast was almost painful but much more than that it was soothing, like a mother kissing a scraped knee. "No more," she begged when his hand retreated, robbing her of the nice, good touch. "Hurts."

"What a good girl, you are baby…. Look at you, all spread out for me." His hand connected with her soft flesh repeatedly, his cock jumping at the way her flesh jerked and jiggled under his abuse. Her soft white skin went from pink to rose and straight to a bright red that made him eager to see the bruising it would leave behind.

No more… Hurts.

He pulled his hands away from her ass, looking over his handiwork discerningly. One more. His hand connected with the underside of her left cheek, hard enough to rock her hips forward and he snickered, his hand rubbing soothingly over the angry flesh.

His fingers worked inward, sliding over her dripping core and teasing over her slit. He licked his lips, shifting to where he was sure she could see him before licking his fingers hungrily. "Mmm. Delicious." He grinned down at her, catching sight of the fact that she'd lost the ends of her ties. Oops! So much for freeing herself.

He slipped out of his boxers, taking hold of himself and stroking firmly. He tangled his hand in her long, dark hair and pulled, sitting her up and tipping her head back obscenely. "I think it's time to learn a new skill, sugar. You ready?"

The world spun, tilting on its axis as he took firm grip of the hair at the base of her neck and pulled, further and further, until her knees spread obscenely wide to accommodate her, her abused ass was seated on the soles of her feet, and her mouth was level with the burgeoning tip of his cock, slowly pumping into his fist and already leaking for her. Thick, dark lashes fluttered while she tried to stabilize her vision, arching and pressing her elbows into the mattress for balance.

He had complete control. The only way that fat cock would be breaching her lips was if he pressed forward and gave it to her. She couldn't grab hold of him, draw her head any nearer or farther. In an odd way, his overwhelming dominance was a source of comfort. She didn't have to worry about whether or not she was doing anything wrong, moving too fast or too slow. If every move was up to him, she couldn't make any mistakes or suffer any consequences.

You ready?

Rather than giving a verbal answer, she stretched as far as she possibly could, forcing the fist in her hair to pull and send a shot of pleasure down her spine, and extended her short, pink human tongue to kiss very lightly against him and catch a drop of precum. She could do this. It was okay. Eager for more of that addictive, growling praise, she lashed her scorching tongue against him again, only to fall just short of hitting her goal and only tasting air. That probably looked dumb. Stupid. Embarrassed, she flushed dark and frowned, closing her eyes to his impending teasing.

That sweet pink tongue flickering out to touch the tip of his cock made him shiver, his eyes going dark where he looked down at her, arching back so deliciously. "Fuck. Y'look so pretty like this, Lydia… Just can' get enough can ya?"

Her little tongue flickered out again and he pulled back, watching as she laved at the air, her eagerness making his cock twitch excitedly.

The rush of power that having her like this gave him was addicting. Her pretty shoulders were arched back, the effort of holding herself up without her hands making her body taught. He licked his lips, his hand pulling tighter at her encouragement and bringing the tip of his cock to her pink lips.

He ran the leaking head over her lips, keeping his hold on her hair firm. "Your pretty lips're gonna look so good wrapped around my cock, princess… go ahead. Show me what you can do."

Well. Lydia didn't know what she could do, so it looked like they were both about to find out. Soft and tentative, she parted her cum-slicked lips to let his fat head fall heavily into her mouth. His flavor was salty, with just a tinge of sweetness that Lydia didn't mind at all. For a split-second, she was thrown back years and years ago, to a dark night and a locked room so very different from this one.

It's like a popsicle, Lyddie… You just lick it a little… Mm… Just like that…

Unfortunately, it was not like a popsicle. This one was, though. It was cold on her tongue, just like the rest of him, and the precum leaking from him in a seemingly constant flow burst deliciously across her tastebuds. "No teeth!" SLAP! The harsh, fuzzy memory kept her suckling at him gently, using her tongue and soft cheek muscles to manipulate the rigid girth away from her molars. His was so big and her mouth was so tiny, he was only just barely able to fit the first inch of the shaft past his bulging head into the searing cavern of her mouth.

When it came nudging at the back of her throat, rather than gag, Lydia swallowed, making her cushiony cheek muscles go taut and tight around him, his fat, leaking momentarily blocking her airways as it nestled comfortably between her tonsils. Then, she released, panting and sucking in air around the thick obstruction.

"MMmmf—!" A tiny, distressed noise was muffled around his girth as the girl tried her best to accommodate him. Judging by the happy, beastly noises he was emitting, she wasn't doing too terrible of a job.

The sensation of her plush lips around him sent him into a headspin. He growled as she took him in, one hand sliding to the back of her neck to help support her. "Fuck, that's good…" Her gentle sucking did little to dissuade him from taking as he desired.

He eased himself deeper, testing just how deep she could take him and was pleased to find that she didn't gag as the fleshy head of his cock met the smooth muscle at the back of her throat. He cursed, tugging at her hair just hard enough to keep her present. It wouldn't do for her to slip on him now.

She pulled away to breathe and he praised her, running his hand through her dark hair and murmuring about how good she felt around him. He couldn't help himself for long, though and quickly had his length shoved back into her throat, groaning loudly. "Jesus, Lyds… that's my good girl.. you're doin' real good, princess… little further…" He pressed at the back of her head, rolling his hips against her face slowly.

Satisfied, he tightened his hand back into her hair, using his handhold there to guide her back and forth, bobbing into his lap at a leisurely pace. "Now… now'm gonna fuck your throat, kitten." Good to his word, his pace increased, the tight squeeze of her around him only spurring him on.

Lydia was intimidated, to say the least, but grateful for the warning. It gave her the notice necessary to relax her throat and allow his length to pop past that tight ring of muscle the next time he drew her head back onto him. He wasn't moving at all, settled quite comfortably and bobbing her head at his leisure— practically using her as a sex doll. Lydia didn't mind. She felt so useful and loved and beautiful, never mind that everything was spinning again, most likely from oxygen deprivation as well as intoxication.

Why did she hate those nicknames of his again? She couldn't recall. Grunting and eager, he fed more and more of that dripping cock down her throat, until her jaw was stretched wide around the meaty base, silken lips pressed tight to the growth of mossy, white-blonde pubic hair that feathered his groin. That heavy sack of his was drawn up tight to rest against her nose and forehead. He stayed there for just a moment, huffing like a breather, savoring the sensation of every centimeter of his cock wrapped up in the tight, soft, beautiful heat of her mouth and throat.

In an attempt to adjust to the foreign choking sensation, she swallowed again, able to feel every ridge and bump as she went. He groaned, and then he was gone, lost in the euphoria of the infernal warm pleasure her mouth provided. In an instant, he was gripping either side of her head with both hands and pulling her back and forth along him furiously, from root to tip. He couldn't last long like this— and neither could she, in truth— fucking his beautiful, inexperienced, teenage wife's throat as eagerly as he would her pussy, and her just taking it like a "good girl."

It wasn't long before he lodged himself as deep as he could go, released her head, and grasped her nearby tits instead, squeezing painfully tight as he busted thick ropes of cum down her throat.

As the head of his cock popped past the tight ring of muscles in her throat, he moaned, his hand coming to her throat where he could feel his cock moving under her pale skin. He was doomed to a short finish from the start, the mere sight of her bent over herself and stuffed on his cock making his balls draw up in anticipation.

As he fell over the edge he cursed, pulling and squeezing at her little tits, his hips jerking him in and out of her throat, he grunted. "Good girl.. fuck, that's it. Good girl…" He stayed there a long moment until he could feel her throat start to struggle and squirm in desperate need of air. He carefully withdrew himself, helping her straighten out as oxygen returned to her system.

"There we go, princess…. wasn't that good? Sure as hell's good for me." He pressed his lips to her neck, easily sealing himself against her back. Still hard, his cock rubbed teasingly at her still-red ass, his hands roaming from her tits to her hips and back before settling on her thighs, one thumb rubbing slow circles over her clit. Her bound hands bumped against the sensitive head of his cock, making it jump excitedly against her smooth skin.

"Mmm… look at you. All soaked just from suckin' me off? You really are a dream, angel… Let Daddy take care o'ya… " He nipped at her shoulder gently, rocking against her harder. "What's our record… let's see… you got three last night, right? Oh, we can beat that… easy."

Lydia was gasping and red-faced, still choking down remnants of his cum as he sat her upright and pulled her against him to murmur praise at her neck, kissing and stroking, that thick cock rutting up rudely between her glowing ass cheeks.

Wasn't that good?

"You taste like whip cream… I did okay…?" She panted, still recovering from the experience and searching for validation. "I didn't bite you?"

For some reason, it was imperative that she knew she didn't accidentally maim the already dead man— who seemed perfectly content and uninjured as he continued to molest her, whispering gutturally low and stroking the sopping area between her thighs. Her words slurred, and if he weren't propping her up she likely would have toppled over and face planted, not that he would have complained. His promise— threat— to beat the previous night's record, however, made her whine and shake her head in protest.

"Nuh-uh," she objected half-heartedly, working her sweat-slicked body against him contrarily, running on instinct and inebriated gumption. "Three's too much."

Lydia was hard-pressed to remember much, but she remembered how intense their previous romp had been, how dedicated he was to bringing her to completion multiple times. Was this some sort of pride thing? She was likely to shatter to pieces if he pressed her any further than that.

You taste like whipped cream...

He chuckled, the outburst surprisingly innocent and playful considering the events that had just transpired.

I did okay? I didn't bite you?

"What? No, baby… you did just perfect. I'm impressed that you didn't gag… you did real good, kitten." He continued his mouth's exploration of her back, his fingers teasing over the tight entrance of her pussy. As she objected to his plans to beat the previous night's record he simply chuckled.

It was cute that she thought she got to choose. He could leave her overworked and oversensitive if he wanted to. And oh, did he want to.

One thick, grimy finger worked its way into her, making him groan against her skin at how tight she still was. "Goodness… you're soaked, little girl… You want daddy to do something about this? Hmm? You know you do… I'll make you feel so good."

He shifted his hips, letting his cock slide between her legs and tease over her swollen lips slowly, his finger still working within her. "Say it… tell me you want it…"

"Uhmm… ah— ah—"

His initial intrusion, slow and gentle as it truly was, stung just a bit but not so much as to overpower the delicious, pleasurable stretch. Blindly, she tugged at her bound arms, wishing to wrap them back around his neck for further purchase, only to remember that they were, in fact, bound. Alcohol was funny like that. She couldn't hold on to any concept for too long, wouldn't even be able to hold herself upright without his assistance. How did she end up tied up like this? Did she let him? She must have. It's what made the most sense. If not, she'd be angrier… right?

In either case, the most pressing matter at the moment was his meaty finger sliding in and out of her entrance ever-so-slowly, gently fucking her abused pussy. His cock was there too; pressing and pushing just behind his hand, waiting its turn.

Say it… tell me you want it…

Would obeying him make that torturous ache go away? Or would he only make it worse? Still, she couldn't deny that she did want it. Pushing her hips back onto his thrusting hand as best she could with her hindrances wasn't enough. She needed something more. Something bigger and thicker.

"Please…" She begged, a head of mussed raven hair falling back against his shoulder as she bounced just so on his finger. "Please give it to me. I wannit."

He growled, his finger pressing deeper still as she begged him for his cock. He could get used to this. "Good girl… here we go, sweetness."

His finger pulled away from her tight hole in favor of gripping her hip. He put his other hand to the back of her neck, pushing until she bent at the waist. He kept her hips back against him, groaning as he took in the smooth expanse of her back. He hiked her hips up, putting her back in the position they'd started in and teased the head of his cock over her, barely pressing in before moving on again.

He grinned, licking his lips as he watched his cock leak precum onto her hungrily. "Little more, kitten… go ahead and beg for me. What do you say when you want something, princess?" He wrapped her long hair slowly around his hand, fully prepared to use it to his advantage. "Come on. Beg."

"I already did!" She whined petulantly into the blanket, tossing her head to whip her copious hair out of her face. "You're not nice…"

Why was he being so mean? Didn't she do what she was supposed to do? Why wasn't it good enough? Keening desperately, she pushed her hips back against him until his drooling cock was in danger of pressing into her tight, wet heat prematurely.

"Pleeeeaaaasseee," she drawled with a put upon dramaticism, pouting and fluttering her lashes in a girlish way— very much like a cartoon female using her feminine wiles to get her way. "Pretty, pretty please with sugar on top?"

He grimaced at her overdone begging, one hand coming down on her ass roughly. Theone tangled in her hair pulled, roughly, until her back arched. "Naughty thing… You can do better than that. But it can wait." He mouthed over her neck gently. "I can always just make ya beg for me t'stop…"

He grinned, tugging at her long dark locks and he slid into her slowly. He cursed, his head falling back. "Goddamn, you're tight…How are ya still so tight?" He pressed until he was inside her to the root, circling his hips against her sore ass roughly.

"I'm gonna getcha to call me Daddy, you know… I'm gonna have you screamin' it soon enough, babe…"

A lovely little shriek filled the air when his palm came down, inflicting another cruel slap to her heated backside. She probably could beg better than that, but who could say? Certainly not Lydia, who was given everything she ever asked for without second thought from her father and Delia. She never did ask for much. Begging just wasn't a skill yet in her repertoire.

"Oh, Beej! OH— oh God—"

Stubborn to a fault— or maybe just fucked oblivious, there was no telling— his poor, ravaged wife had yet to give him what he asked for. The "D" word. "Baby," she uttered on a powerful lunge of his hips that swung his sack into her thighs so hard her bruises throbbed, and still she didn't give it up. That fist in her hair curled and pulled until she thought her neck would snap, and still, her lips defaulted, giving him a choked;

"Betel— geuse—"

He growled, his hold on her tightening. "Not what I asked for, little girl." She was being contrary on purpose and it wouldn't stand.

His hips pounding against her, his hand flew to her mouth as his name slipped past. "Ah ah ah… don' wanna ruin the fun, princess." He nibbled at the back of her neck a moment before adjusting his grip, his hand now on her bound wrists as he picked up the pace.

Holding her tight, his hips moved at full pace, soft grunts and groans leaving him as he worked her over, her face pressed into the mattress. "Come on baby…. you know you wanna…" His thumb snuck down to circle her clit, driving her onward. When he felt she was starting to get close he pulled away completely and waited until she really wanted it thrust back in.

He maintained this pattern of denial for quite some time. The look on her face as he pounded into her into the bed. "Come on, kitten… just one. Ones all I need, Lyds… fuckin' hell… you feel so good, baby. Come for daddy…"

"FUCK!"

What did he want from her!? He was a madman, attacking her relentlessly with savage thrusts that made her scream for him, long strings of barely intelligible shrieks that sounded like a combination of his name and naughty words a good girl like Lydia ought not to be saying. Finally, he showed mercy, growling out the word that had been escaping her, the word he so clearly wanted.

Come for Daddy….

It was so obvious, she immediately felt like the silliest, stupidest girl in the world and went to work overcompensating.

"Daddy!" She pled, breathless, each muscle wound up tight, aching for her impending release. "Please— oh please, please, please, Daddy—! Make me come, Daddy! I— fuck— God— daddy— AH!"

This did the trick. He abandoned her clit entirely, drawing a pitiful mewl up that come-slicked throat. He found better use in digging his claws into her hips so hard it would leave a set of bruises to counter the angle of the ones she earned the previous night. His other hand remained tangled at the base of her skull, pulling tight and to the side, until her neck and shoulders were just as tightly wound as the rest of her body. Firmly anchored, he pressed the entirety of his superior weight forward over her, crushing her into the mattress, and took up a punishing, supernatural pace. Each quick, powerful thrust hit deep within her, until a hot gush of arousal burst forth from her, soaking the area where they were joined, his continued furious fucking making the liquid drip down each of their thighs.

All the while, she repeated "Daddy" like a sacred mantra, beginning with a series of siren shrieks that calmed to euphoric whispers as her orgasm subsided and body surrendered, going limp to his mistreatment.

There it was.

He growled as she screamed for him, his hands tight in her skin as he worked her through her orgasm. The rush of her coming was like a drug. As her screams died down he couldn't help but tighten his hand in her hair, keeping her tight against him.

"Good girl, Lydia…. fuck you're so good." His hips didn't stop, beating out a brutal pace of shallow, deep thrusts. "Fuck, princess… I'm gonna cum."

Good to his word he rocked forward, nearly toppling them as he thrust a few last especially rough times. He moaned her name as he tipped over the edge, lathing his tongue over her neck as he shot rope after rope of cum into her. "Fuck, Lyds….."

As the night proceeded, the pretty silk ribbon Betelgeuse used to bind her had tightened the harder she struggled. It wouldn't leave any marks too bad, just several thin lashes of pink round those itty bitty snow-white wrists. However, with her neck and shoulders stiff, hands numbing, and a thick cock embedded deep as it could go inside of her to lathe her womb with a fresh wash of cold, dead seed— Lydia was beginning to feel very uncomfortable indeed.

There was finally a moment of stillness where she could attempt to make sense of the world around her and catch a breath. The ghoul was heaving over her as if on the verge of a heart attack, that round, hairy gut pushing her subjugated arms awkwardly into her sweaty back. She still wore the robe, but all the vigorous fucking had bunched it up into a thin scrap that only covered her biceps and shoulder blades.

"I don't," she panted, shifting pitifully beneath his oafish form, "I don't… wannabe… tied up anymore…"

He was seeing stars as he emptied inside her, bent over her back as his hips stilled their stuttering thrusts.

He groaned and pressed his forehead to the nape of her neck as he caught his breath. Why did he have to catch his breath?

He had little time to dwell on it however, with his sweet, tiny wife squirming beneath him. He pushed himself off of her with a grunt, easing himself from her sore, dripping cunt.

I don't wanna be tied up anymore.

"Sorry, princess… my bad." He carefully I did the silk binding her wrists, pulling them one at a time to his mouth. He kissed over the red marks her bondage had left, rubbing his thumb over her soft skin.

"You did so good, Lydia… thank you. This was… y'didn't have t'let me do that to ya."

As soon as she was freed, Lydia collapsed into a pile of perfectly fucked wife, only vaguely aware of him turning and tending to her. Her back, neck, shoulders, and backside were especially aching, making her long for another soak in that jacuzzi. Tomorrow. It was too hot. A light sheen of sweat coated that alabaster flesh, dappled rosy and violet in places to record where he had touched. Lydia didn't want to wear the robe anymore, but couldn't possibly summon the wherewithal to peel it off.

Did he just say "thank you"?

"Beej," his nickname rolled off her tongue slow and saccharine, honey eyes closed and breaths deep, the girl already half gone from the waking realm, "you're welcome. I didn' know you had manners." Soft, breathless giggles with a musical lilt jostled her chest. "Dun worry. I won' tell anyone."

He stuck his tongue out at her playfully, pinching her side playfully. "Hey, stop talkin' shit. I ain't got any manners and you know it." He settled in on his side beside her, his hand wandering over her pale, incandescent skin. "But really. How ya feelin'? You wanna 'Nother drink?"

He continued his gentle petting, mentally taking stock of where was the most beaten up and therefore off-limits for the time being. He didn't want to hurt her permanently, after all.

He chuckled softly at the way she splayed out, her robe barely clinging to her now. He banished it swiftly, rolling to lay half-way on top of her, mouthing gently at her neck. "You were so good, kitten… I can't get over how good ya are for me… I'm the luckiest bastard in existence."

"Noo…" She moaned when he pinched her very ticklish ribs, arching away weakly only to be quickly calmed by his gentle petting. "I don' think… I shouldn' drink anymore…"

He was going to be a bad influence on her. Touch starved, more than ready to accept the affection he had to give in the wake of such animalistic brutality, she hugged him gently when he came to taste her throat and growl sweet things in her ear. His mouth was still so hungry as he kept at her, lathing that bite from their first time. As if attempting to soothe a savage beast, she flattened her palm along the top of his mess of wild, moss-ridden hair, mimicking the way he was plying his claws at the base of her neck.

"M'tired… I can' … Please no more… Too much…"

He was pleased to feel her dainty hand in his hair, his lips growing slightly more hungry before she was pulling at him.

Too much…

He pulled away with a sigh, giving up on his continued adoration of all things Lydia's body.

He flopped onto his back, pulling her closer with one arm and scratching at his round, heavy stomach with the other. "Right, right, right… sorry, kitten. Daddy jus' can't get enough o'ya." He ran his fingers through her hair, flipping the television on with a nod of his head. "Get some rest, sweet girl, tomorrow we gotta find us a house. I got some ideas, but since… you know. You gotta live there too…"

He shrugged. This was one of those kind, loving things he found himself doing far too often with his little human wife. "Anyway. It'll be a good time if nothin' else."

Chapter Text

"Another bride, another June,
Another sunny honeymoon,
Another season, another reason,
For makin' whoopee,"

—Makin' Whoopee
Eddie Cantor

If Lydia thought she felt like a traffic incident before, now she was positively roadkill. She awoke with a pounding headache that gave her sudden sympathy for Delia's alleged migraines. All at once, many alarming things became clear to her. She was naked. There were new aches in addition to the ones that had been inflicted on their wedding night, part II. She was plastered to her equally naked husband's side while he watched TV and smoked a cigarette, a crystal ashtray resting on his round gut.

"Oh—"

It was suddenly imperative that she get up. Her stomach lurched terribly, and with great effort, she pushed his arm out of the way, stumbled to her feet, and rushed to the bathroom to throw her guts up into the toilet. The upchuck was acidic and awful, forcing reflexive tears down her cheeks. By the time she was nearly done she was on her knees, straining with thin, overstressed arms to hold her hair back and heave up the very last of it.

What the fuck happened last night? Last she remembered she was furious at him for being a huge, enormous dick about her mom, and then they were drinking. Because she wanted to drink. She remembered laughing, and awful musings that he was very handsome actually, and— oh, God everything hurt!—

and… not being able to use her arms…

The bathroom was cold, and once the remnants of the night were emptied into the toilet, Lydia shakily pulled the flush, then collapsed to the floor; a shivering mess of sick.

Betelgeuse had been more than content to watch his wife sleep, idly running his fingers through her long dark hair as he smoked and thought over their time together.

As excited as she'd been when they started, he could already hear the rage that was going to come at him for taking advantage of her. He rolled his eyes, lighting another smoke. The fourth so far.

Suddenly she was stirring, a soft groan leaving her before she was darting from the bed and making for the bathroom. He could hear her emptying her stomach and winced, setting his ashtray aside and summoning a cold bottle of water and a damp, cool towel before he followed her into her porcelain throne room.

"Aw, sugar… I was hopin' you'd get away without this part." He knelt beside her, carefully lifting her hair to lay the cold towel onto the back of her neck and setting the water nearby before settling in with his cigarette.

"So. What do we remember?"

First, she cleared the taste of bile and regurgitated alcohol from her mouth with a swish of the bottle, then tossed back a little more than half of it for good measure.

"We were fighting," she sniffled, too physically wiped out to combat his help, or even process if she should. "I was really, really mad at you. But then we started drinking, and…" After that, she couldn't feel anything at all. "It's all fuzzy. I know— I know we had sex."

This was intoned emotionlessly, aside from the misery that was leaking into her voice for outside reasons. Was this what a hangover was supposed to be? This was torture! She was never going to drink ever again! That Betelgeuse had taken advantage of her intoxicated state was hardly a surprise. She knew what she was getting into, putting herself in his clutches like that. He couldn't be blamed, really.

"You don't have to kill me anymore," she bemoaned, hugging herself into a fetal position on the bathroom floor, her tear-stained cheek caught in his gruff palm. "I'm dying."

He couldn't quite stifle the sputtering laugh that left her at her dramatics.

I'm dying.

"You're not. It just feels like that."He carefully rubbed his thumb over her cheek, waving a hand and setting the tap on the bathtub to filling it with warm water. When it was mostly full he lifted his pathetic bride and lowered her into the water, hissing when his arms were submerged to the elbow.

"Drink your water and sit here a while. You'll feel better." He snapped, summoning another bottle of water and an ancient looking silver coffee pot, steam pouring out of the spout. "How do you take your coffee, babes? Black like your soul?"

He pressed a kiss to her head, handing her the cup and settling on the floor nearby. "You know I ain't this soft with everyone. You oughta count your blessings, Lyds." Another cigarette appeared between his fingers, a carefully stoic expression on his face.

He wasn't quite sure what it was about this girl that made him so… gentle. He was a cold-hearted man, a killer and a vagrant and nothing–he'd thought– was ever going to change that. And then Lydia Deetz happened.

Seeing her incapacitated like this reminded him of the times in Winter River when she'd curled up by the space heater in her favorite armchair, nursing wintertime sniffles and sneezes. He hadn't wanted to go to her then. What had changed?

Lydia wasn't accustomed to being taken care of. Even Adam and Barbara's attempts at parenting were often brushed off and disregarded. Nor was Delia was about to step into the shoes of motherhood that fully, leaving Lydia to make her own chicken noodle soup and cups of tea when she was under the weather. Adulthood was thrust upon her from a very young age, leaving her quite adept at caring for herself. Had Betelgeuse not been there, she would have moaned and groaned on the cold tile for several minutes longer before dragging herself to the bath to wallow in agony.

"Sweet and creamy," she informed, pouting, holding her cup out for him to add cream and sugar, "I'm not a stereotype."

She toyed with the jets until they were bubbling pleasantly, but not so loud as to force either of them to have to speak up.

"You know I ain't this soft with everyone. You oughta count your blessings, Lyds."

"I know," she agreed, cupping her mug close to her chest behind her knees, regarding him with a strange mix of emotion. He really thought he loved her, didn't he? "I don't know why. But I know."

Obediently, he added cream and sugar with a wave of his hand. "Well, some stereotypes are true, baby."

He snorted, shaking his head. "Yeah, I dunno either. But. Guess it's how it's gonna be."

He watched her closely from one half-closed eye, taking a drag of his cigarette as she soaked. There was the physical attraction, sure. She'd turned out to be everything his dark, dirty mind could want. But there was something deeper than that.

He thought back to when he had first reached out to her. After a night at Dante's, he'd been lounging, much like now, on the balcony of Trixie's room. He'd been thinking about her, about the Claire incident and about the Maitlands seemingly taking her under their wing when he'd been treated to his first close up look at her.

Are you a ghost too?

He smiled, shaking his head at the memory. "Ya know. You shouldn't talk to strangers… You're lucky that I turned out to be such a kind-hearted demon."

"Ha," she spat dryly into her coffee, glaring over the mug. "Kind. You're a jerk and a bully, and you don't have any manners."

She wasn't truly upset with him, but her myriad of ailments had left her in a foul mood and there was no doubting that he was the source of all of them. The coffee was delicious, with notes of hazelnut and a deep, refreshing flavor that brought color to her sallow cheeks. It was perfectly adjusted to her tastes. His magic really was useful when it wasn't dark and terrifying. What else could he do with it?

For now, he seemed content conjuring useless human things to sate her petty human problems.

"I wonder if my Dad and Delia have realized I'm gone yet. How much time has passed up there? I know it's different down here…"

He was snapped out of his memories when she mentioned her parents. He shrugged, chewing at the filter of his cigarette. Those two were still on his list of people to talk to.

"Shoulda been about a week, if I calculated right. I'm sure they know you're gone. But… I dunno why you care. Not like those two dipshits have done anything for you lately."

The cup of coffee refilled itself, staying topped off without the pot ever moving. Begrudgingly he turned to look at her. "I guess we could go see 'em. I need to have words with your father anyway… Might help me find your mom if I can get some more info out of ol' Chuck."

And it may be safest to leave her in Winter River while he looked. Having her in the Netherworld was dangerous. As soon as they left the little love nest they'd created she'd be the focus of attention. There were far too many souls looking for the same kind of out he'd found.

"Whatever you want, babe. I don't really care where we go. Just gotta make sure my little wifey's safe and comfy."

A whole week. Wow. This was good and solid, then. There's no way she'd be able to make up an entire week of missed schoolwork.

"What!?" Lydia was immediately removed from the state of calm he was trying to instill in her. "Nobody needs to see my parents! I don't, and you definitely don't! They don't need to know anything about this. As far as they're concerned, I'm kidnapped and-or dead and never coming back." A single firm nod punctuated her point with stubborn finality. "There's nothing my father could tell you that I can't, anyway."

He was right. They hadn't done anything for her lately and they weren't about to start.

I don't really care where we go. Just gotta make sure my little wifey's safe and comfy.

"You're really into this whole 'domestic' thing, huh?" Where had all this affection for her come from? What was it that he saw in her? Had he been harboring it all this time? Or was she just that good in bed? "Okay. I'll play. Don't have anything better to do. Are we going to live here or my world? I think it's cooler here and you're silly for wanting to leave at all."

He grimaced at her objection, his cigarette falling out of his hold as she nodded at him. Bossy. Cute.

He bristled at the suggestion that he was into this domestic thing. It's not like it was kink, he just enjoyed taking care of her...

And the thought of coming home to her at the end of the day...

And her taking care of the house that they shared...

Fuck, okay maybe it was a kink.

He ran a hand through his ratty hair, sighing softly. "Listen, little girl… you don't know what you're talkin' about." He poured himself a cup of coffee, sipping at it as he fixed her with a look.

"I figured we'd live here, yeah. I got nothin' up in the mortal realm and neither do you. We just gotta find a place. Hopefully, not one that connects to a haunted house on the other side. It can get annoying. Ghost tours and the like."

He took a good look at her, realizing for the first time that a lot had changed from their days in the attic. Her hair, for one, was longer than he'd ever seen it, and she was thinner, too. Nearly worryingly so. He could fix that, though. "Hey. How's the hangover? Need somethin' else?"

Lydia passed her mug off to him after drinking her fill with a politely murmured "thank you", then set about wetting and shampooing her hair. When he offered further assistance with her truthfully nasty hangover, Lydia took a moment to consider the question rather than just meekly dismissing it as propriety would normally have demanded of her. He could just make anything she asked for appear with a snap, couldn't he?

She waded closer his way, nibbling at her abused bottom lip and massaging conditioner into that swathe of dark, wet hair. "A couple aspirin… and a joint would be nice… if you can do that…?"

What could she get away with? Where was the line? Thus far, he had done nothing but encourage her bad behavior and tempt more.

"Please?"

His eyebrows shot up at her request, a smirk coming to his face. "Alright, now we're talking…"

He passed her what started as empty air between his fingers which was a burning joint by the time it met hers. "Start here, kitten."

He summoned the aspirin next. He was bad at pharmaceuticals, seeing as they weren't around when he was alive, but he managed.

He let her take a few deep drags before taking the joint back and taking his own hit. "So. You wanna tell me who introduced sweet little Lydia to drugs? I'm told this stuff's illegal up there."

Oh, this was The Good Stuff. Better than anything that had sullied her lungs before. She sucked the smoke in smooth and deep as he allowed, held it for several beats, then released, filling the room with a sour, dank scent.

"Friends at my old school. Well, not friends. Other losers I hung out with. Besides, Delia doesn't exactly hide her narcotics. Weed is low-key. She would be more upset if I found a dealer and didn't share their number with her. Winter River is dry."

She paused her speech to take another hit as his clawed fingers came to hold it for her, the petal soft skin of her lips kissing his callouses as he did so. A sweet color crept along her cheekbones and she had a passing memory of choking on his cock, these very same fingers running over her throat and lips as he spouted gravely praise in an endless loop. Lydia couldn't quite meet his eyes for the next moment or so while he assisted her in getting stoned. On the bright side, the green drug was certainly doing an excellent job chasing her terrible headache away.

"Just because something is illegal doesn't mean it's wrong."

He smirked as he listened to her speak. She thought she was so grown up and tough. It was cute.

It wasn't lost on him the way she blushed when he reached out for the blunt. He winked at her, licking his lips.

Just because something's illegal doesn't mean it's wrong.

"I think we've proved that, baby girl. I can only imagine the conniption Chuckie would have if he saw where you really are, kitten."

He passed the blunt back, his eyes steady on her face. Smoke curled out his nose, vanishing in the air like it had never existed.

"Is it helping? You've got more color. Like you feel better."

"Oh, my father would die if he could see me now."

The thought of it drew her mouth together with distaste. He deserved it. Lydia had not cut ties with the living realm on good terms.

"You've got more color. Like you feel better."

Betelgeuse probably wasn't accustomed to keeping humans alive, it suddenly occurred to her. He was in the bio-exorcism business, and she was likely his first human pet.

"I do," she half-truthed, and did in the last bit of their shared joint, crushing it into an ashtray he provided. She would spare him. In truth, her neck and shoulders were still incredibly stiff, her stomach lurched at the thought of food, and she could do with another nap, but that throbbing pain in her temples had all but disappeared, allowing her to think.

"Why…" There was a significant pause while thought out how best to phrase the question she wanted to ask. Meanwhile, That rosy color in her cheeks began to spread down her neck and she refused to meet his gaze. "Why was I tied up? I mean, I'm not mad or anything," she rushed out, head dipped back to rinse the slick of sweet-scented balm from her locks. The tops of her pert breasts were beginning to pink now. "I just, uhm, I don't remember…"

The way she blushed was absolutely delightful. He moved to lean on the edge of the tub, risking cleanliness to get closer to her. "Well. We were gettin' frisky and you offered to do whatever I wanted. So I tied ya up. Did ya like it? I liked it." He grinned lecherously, leaning his head in one hand.

"I'd do it again if ya let me. You look real pretty all helpless like that. 'Course you're always gorgeous but. There's just somethin' about it…"

Here she had been thinking it was perhaps a punishment for poor behavior. No wonder she wasn't more upset. She couldn't recall staying angry at him past when they started drinking, so his story held some merit. However, she turned a ravishing shade of scarlet at his citation that she had given him that kind of blanket permission to abuse her. Surely, he had misinterpreted something. The way he went on to detail how extremely appealing he found her tied and helpless like that did absolutely nothing to abate the speed of her pulse, that ever-spreading palate of pink and red across snowy, bruised flesh.

He was awfully close. When had he gotten that near? He looked like he wanted a kiss. She wanted to brush her teeth. So were they a couple-couple then? He seemed to think so. Bashfully, she ducked her chin down, bring a wet curtain of hair to slide across her cheek, guarding it against any potential kisses, and feigned sudden interest in the thin red marks around her wrists— barely anything and sure to fade.

"I guess I'd have to do it again sober to know for sure… I don't remember being upset."

"Well sober bondage can definitely be put on the agenda, babe. And anything else you wanna try. I know that beautiful mind of yours must have all kinds of dirty ambitions."

He made no move to kiss her, having taken the hint of her long hair falling over her face. Her sudden bashfulness made him laugh softly.

"So. You ready to go look at houses today? I picked out some real nice options."

He was ready to look at houses so soon? The mind was willing, but the body was weak. He was ready to go, go, go and she was barely functioning. Delicious coffee, an expertly rolled magic joint, and a nice hot bath had definitely put a dent in her stress, however. He was dutifully filling that initial promise to "take care of her."

"That sounds like fun. What kind of houses?"

He once alluded to living in a grave. Nothing he'd said to her since bringing her to this hotel room had given her any indication he meant anything less than to spoil her, though. Her fingers were beginning to prune. When she asked for one, he handed her a towel and assisted her in rising from the steaming waters. She needed the help. Otherwise, she would have been stuck in the tub. He really did a number on her.

Gently helping his wife from her bath water, he wrapped her in a fluffy towel, lifting her up into his arms so that she wouldn't have to walk.

"Well, most of 'em have copies in the mortal world. If we can get our hands on a mirror it'll be easy to go back and forth." He settled her at the edge of the bed carefully, waving a hand over himself to dress. His guide uniform was ill-fitting, the pants too short and the sleeves too long but he liked it. His guide hat was placed jauntily on Lydia's head. "I'll show ya around."

He settled next to her, his hand coming to the small of her back to rub firm circles into the tight muscles there. "Sorry bout this. Went a lil harder than I meant to."

Listening as he explained about "copies," she clung to him as he carried her back through to the bed she'd become intimately familiar with over the past few days.

"So… they exist in two places at once?" She remembered reading something that matched this description in the handbook; dual temporal perimeters. "There are mirrors everywhere up there."

Alone there were three in her bedroom at her parents' house, including her mother's antique vanity. Maybe Betelgeuse would be willing to snag it for her before Delia gave it to Goodwill. His hand was big and strong, kneading expertly across large swathes of skin with little effort, so when it came to massage at her back, creeping a delicious trail up her spine toward her shoulders, Lydia had little choice but to shudder and relax against him, her hold on the towel loosening.

"It's— it's okay…" she stuttered over answering as he worked into the muscles at the back of her neck, his meaty palm and long, thick fingers easily manipulating her. "It doesn't sound like I said 'no' or anything…"

"There may be plenty up there but they're illegal down here. Unless we can go snag one from your place we're going to be hard pressed to find one we can use."

He continued his massage, working up her back and to her neck, staying close. Her towel was slipping. But she was exhausted, so he reached down to gently tug it back up over her tits, his thumb rubbing firmly at the base of her head.

"Ya didn't. You actually seemed to like it a whole lot. You look so pretty on your knees… but I bet you knew that, didn'cha?"

Would she ever get used to his crass way of speaking? Probably not any time soon.

"There is one mirror I would rather not leave behind... if it's not a big deal to grab it."

Lydia rolled into the massage, ignoring his lusty, rhetorical question and taking a firmer hold of the towel when he pulled it up for her. His hat was huge on her. It tipped down over her eyes when she dipped her head with a powerful squeeze round the back of her neck that traveled up to the base of her skull, making her practically melt.

"I don't have anything to wear," she reminded him, ready to fall across his lap and go back to sleep.

Like that, without him ceasing the massage, she was dry and clothed. The dress he put her in was modest, yet not. It was short, black, made of lightweight cotton-like material, and just a bit too big for her, so it didn't quite hug her curves. The sleeves were long with a bell trim that would hide or display at her discretion the marks on her wrists, the bruises on her biceps. Her ring remained in clear sight at the sleeve's hem. The neckline, however, exposed the entirety of her throat, collarbone, and the tops of her shoulders, her hair styled into a loose, thick braid that would hang over the side of her throat opposite his marking bite.

No bra to go along with the ensemble. The most surprising facets of the outfit were probably the underwear and shoes. They were comfortable. The panties were soft and felt like they covered everything important— which her ass thanked him for— and the shoes were a good sturdy pair of combat boots extremely in line with her tastes. They felt cozy and like they may have been lined with fur. Of course, they fit perfectly.

The abrupt change in moisture levels and clothing was enough to distract Lydia from his expert massage. Looking down at herself— the dress was short enough to display the violet bruising between her thighs if one looked closely— she was simultaneously grateful and abashed. He expected her to go out with this much skin showing? The guide hat almost tipped off her head. Catching it, she returned her attention to him, ever-blushing.

"Beej—" where did that nickname come from? "I…?" She couldn't really ask him to make it more modest, could she? It wasn't that bad. It could have been worse. "Thank you."

"We can absolutely go get it, kitten. As soon as we know where we're livin'. I'd like to avoid takin' ya back to my grave… it's not exactly homey."

He took a moment to appreciate the way she was leaning into him, trying to keep his cool as her towel started to slide again.

I don't have anything to wear.

The situation was remedied with a wave of his hand, a smile coming to his face as he took in his handiwork. He was glad to see that his marks were still clearly visible… he didn't want anyone getting any ideas when they left this room.

He brushed her braid to the side, his fingers sliding into the edge of the dress to pull it further down her shoulders. His lips found the back of her neck, then her smooth shoulders. He relished in the warmth against his lips. It had been so long since he was warm.

He ran his hands down her arms to squeeze her hands gently. "Don't gotta thank me, Lyds. What are husbands for if not spoilin' their wives?"

Lydia was nowhere near accustomed to displaying this much of herself in public. Quite the opposite, in fact. But, it was comfortable and black, and she was impressed that he managed to conjure something so appropriate. She was half expecting a skintight cocktail dress and another pair of murderous heels. The gentle kisses peppered across the slope of her neck and shoulder, paired with yet another promise that he would spoil her dug in his point.

"Manners matter," she countered plainly, one of the phrases she often repeated to the small children she babysat on the occasion. It couldn't be said by anyone above or below that Lydia Deetz was rude. Pleases, Thank You's, and You're Welcome's would always be given when appropriate if it was up to her, as she demonstrated with aplomb last night. Contrarily, her husband seemed to revel in his barbarity.

While she would have liked to crawl back under the covers and succumb to a long, indulgent nap, Betelgeuse seemed so excited and happy. She didn't want to disappoint him. She could find the energy for this.

"I'm ready," she confirmed, readjusting the brim of his hat so that it wasn't falling over half her face. Despite her lingering lethargy, a form of excitement was swelling within her as well. It wasn't every day one got to explore the land of the dead with such an enthusiastic, knowledgable guide.

I'm ready.

He grinned, jumping up and rubbing his hands together excitedly. "Great! Let's go see my buddy, Paul. Great guy, great. He's gonna find us a real nice place, I just know it."

He tugged her gently by the hand until he could pull her in against him, transporting them without so much as a blink. They were outside a real estate office, the most normal looking business on the street which boasted such storefronts as FREDDY FORTESCUE'S EYE SCREAM PARLOR and YOU BURY IT WE BUY IT: CONSIGNMENT.

He took a moment to appreciate the woman in his arms. She really was something. As much as he liked the glimpses of pale skin that he was treated to as she walked, he'd first been drawn to her in the heavy black petticoats and layers she'd donned in the wake of them moving into the Maitlands'. He appreciated it when catching a look took work. Took him back to his good ol' living days.

He pulled open the door, waving her through with a flourish. Inside the shop was stunningly normal looking, save for the photos of happy customers that lined the walls, including a headless couple and a man who appeared to have been stretched on the rack. The wall above them boasted a plaque, reading "Accommodations readily available!"

Behind a desk in one corner a man with a permanent used-car-salesman smile rose from his seat, clasping his hands in front of him.

"Mr. Juice, it is such a pleasure to have you back here! This must be your beautiful young missus, I have to tell you, ma'am, I thought he was pullin' my leg when he came in here looking for a 'Family Home'." He put air quotes around the words, making Betel grumble behind her.

"Yeah, yeah. Just show her the places we picked, huh?"

"Oh, of course. Here we go, ma'am!" He produced a thick folder from thin air, handing it to Lydia and offering her a seat. "You just let ol' Paul know if there's anything that catches your eye!"

Lydia was mortified. Everywhere they walked there were eyes on her, and she had no doubt each of them were well aware of the fornicating she and her husband had been up to over the past couple days. Despite her subtle limp, the bite mark, scant visible bruising, and Betelgeuse's near overbearing possessive body language spelled it all out unequivocally clearly.

"Hello, Paul," she murmured demurely upon being introduced to their real estate agent, parroting the name Betelgeuse gave her and offering up a hand for him to shake as propriety demanded of her. "I'm Lydia."

"A lovely name for a lovely girl," he extolled cheerfully, brushing his lips across the back of her knuckles. The shock of direct contact with such warm, obviously living flesh showed clear on his face. Suddenly nervous, he glanced quickly back and forth between the ghoul and his wife before ultimately deciding it would be most wise to keep his mouth shut and continue on with their appointment. Hastily, he went about putting the desk between himself and the girl's hulking husband, sliding a phonebook across the way for her to peruse.

Each option was beautiful, lush, and far, far more extravagant than anything she was expecting Betelgeuse of all people to take a liking to. With parted lips and wide eyes, she flipped through property after property, mentally ooh'ing and ah'ing at the various sights. The first she looked over was a penthouse suite, with large, sweeping windows that would overlook a populated stretch of a city in the Neitherworld. As much as she was sure she would love looking down over the city like that, she kept on down the line. The modern feel turned her off, reminded her of Delia.

A dreary gothic castle atop a craggy cliff also kept her enraptured for long minutes. It stunningly matched her aesthetics, with its shadowy halls, stone walls, and towering ceilings. She was sure to capture amazing photos there. But… it was way too big. A place like that would be fun to visit, sure, but actually living there seemed exhausting.

Finally, she came upon the piece de resistance; a Victorian manor nestled snug in the midst of a woodland setting. A grand staircase led up to the large, two-door entrance, a parasitic growth of what looked like ivy extending up one side of the stately monument. Some corners of the house were rounded off from the outside, denoting the existence of a reading nook or some other strange, cozy corner. It was big, but only just on the cusp of too big, and appeared far removed from people… was that a pool in the backyard?

She gasped at the sight of it and the deal was sealed before she ever spoke.

"Oh! I like this one… is this okay? Is it in the right price range? What do you think? You have to live there, too."

He shot Paul a look over the desk that said to keep his mouth shut if he'd like to continue his afterlife. He ran his hand over her back as she looked through the houses he'd found. He was temporarily worried that she would choose the cliffside castle that he'd thrown in last minute to add an illusion of choice into this.

He'd spent several months before the Saturn incident lovingly restoring the house in the woods to the point that it would be livable for his lovely, mortal bride. The furniture was all new, some built by his own hand, and the walls were refinished with wallpapers that reflected Lydia at every turn.

It was perfect.

"What do you think? You have to live there, too."

He snorted. "Baby, I don't live anywhere. I'm dead. But it's nice. I like it just fine. We'll take it, Paul. No photos for the wall though. We don't want my Lydia's face spread all over. Now, do we?"

He had already come to visit Paul back when he'd purchased the house and its surrounding acreage, informing him that under no uncertain circumstances was anyone to find out that he'd married a living girl and was hiding her away in the woods.

Wow. When he put it that way…

He shook his head, putting a clawed finger to the page. "I trust that it comes furnished. Look at that bed, baby girl… won't that be nice?" He winked at her, his free hand snaking onto her thigh to squeeze firmly.

Lydia was, yet again, none the wiser that she'd been carefully manipulated through years of planning to make the decision she was making now. In all reality, if she hadn't called the poltergeist to make her suicidal deal, he would have come for her on his own. Eventually. Oblivious to all the hard work that had gone into shaping this dwelling exactly to her tastes, she roved over each picture with an admiring gaze, analyzing each detail that stuck out to her; stained glass windows, low hanging chandeliers, and crimson velvet carpeting rolled out over polished hardwood, the manor brimming with old-world decor that brought a spooky airs about the place.

The bed Betelgeuse so lewdly referred to— crowding her space, hunched over the back of her chair until his stubble scratched her cheek, bracing his heavy weight on her exposed thigh— looked positively sinful. It was large, looked to be King from the photo, and lay in an equally impressive carved frame of dark wood. The heavyset piece of furniture looked like it would take significant weight to rock, unlike the bed in the hotel they'd been sharing. An old-fashioned canopy veil was pulled back on either side of the mattress, and she saw drawstrings where it could be pulled shut and close off the bed from the rest of the world.

Parallel to the mattress was a massive fireplace where a large fur rug of indeterminable species was laid out in front of it. Maybe werewolf? Lydia wouldn't be able to tell without closer inspection.

Won't that be nice?

Betelgeuse was obviously suggesting fun of a carnal nature, which Lydia didn't exactly object to, but all the sight of the cozy room inspired in her was renewed desire for that coveted nap. It looked so comfy.

"Are you sure?"

She hesitated to close the book and pass it back Paul's way. This was all moving so quickly. They'd only been honeymooning for two nights and now he was prepared to move her into a "Family Home"— the implications of which were unsettling enough on their own. Lydia was stuck in one-night stand phase as far as her feelings for him were concerned, and he was already fully on board with the concept of eternal commitment. It was intimidating, to say the least.

"There were others. You didn't even look."

He leaned into as she looked through the photos. He was damn proud of this house. A lot of work and thought had been put into it, after all, and something within him was purring as she inspected his efforts.

There were others. You didn't even look.

"Sure I did. I picked all these out, remember? This'n's my favorite. Let's go get your…" He shot Paul a look. "…stuff and we can move in." He wasn't sure what was so important about this mirror, but it didn't matter. If she wanted it, she was gonna get it.

His hand gentled where it sat on her thigh. His thumb rubbing slow circles, he couldn't help but think of the alternatives to where they were now. His wife had been solidly suicidal. She was ready to risk eternal pencil-pushing just to find her deadbeat mother. Her mother who let her get… No. He wouldn't allow that. If she had appeared in the waiting room, he was certain that Juno would have contacted him. After all, she was the closest thing to a mother he'd ever had, live or dead, and had listened to him rage and cry after their failed marriage without complaint. He was relieved that she had called him before she reached that point. Pulling her back to her body would have been a pain in the ass.

His face darkened as Paul handed over two sets of ornate metal keys. He took both, pocketing them and gently pulling Lydia to her feet. He was glad that he didn't have to worry about it, now. She wasn't going anywhere for a long time. Immortality was a hell of a drug.

He pressed his lips to her temple gently, reveling in the tell-tale warmth of her life before he was transporting them, appearing in the attic where they had first met.

The whirling transportation to the attic felt abrupt and unplanned, so when Lydia pulled away from him and realized where they were, she was rightly distraught.

"I can't be here!" She repeated with alarm since he apparently hadn't heard her the first time. Then, she immediately quieted, fearful of being heard. "I told you that!"

Anxious, she rushed to the window to check the driveway, shoulders slumping in relief when she didn't sight any cars in the driveway. "They're not home."

Suddenly, a jingling sound was rapidly ascending the steps to the attic, followed by a light pit-pat and a desperate string of excitable meows! A sleek cat with lots and lots of black fur, bulbous yellow eyes, and a bell tied around his neck soon appeared around the corner. His big eyes grew wider upon landing on his mistress and he bypassed Betelgeuse entirely to launch himself into Lydia's arms with a sad little purr.

"Percy!" She called out sweetly, immediately hugging the little beast to her chest and nuzzling him back as he nuzzled her. Holding the warm little fuzzball against her almost made her cry. She'd left him behind. He deserved better than her. "You're so skinny. Have they been feeding you okay?" From the looks of things, they had not, which only served to make Lydia feel worse. How could she have been so selfish?

Wait… they were about to be moving into a house, weren't they? A big house, with lots of room for an animal as small and well-behaved as her Percy to slink about without bothering anyone. Betelgeuse had repeatedly said she could have whatever she wanted. Did he mean it? Would he put up with her cat? Probably best to beg.

"Can I take him with me, Beej? Pretty, pretty please?" She asked sweetly, with big eyes and a slight pout, really working the angle. The cat was snuggled up in her arms like a baby, its fuzzy muzzle lifted in a contented cat smile. "He's a good boy. He does his business outside and he doesn't scratch furniture— and he'll get rid of pests! He needs me. Delia doesn't like him. She's gonna give him away or throw him out, I just know it. Pleeeaase?"

"Thought you wanted your mirror. We're not staying, don't worry." He winced at the sound of the bell. That could only mean one thing.

The tiny black fuzz ball launched itself at Lydia and purred. He felt sick. It was standard knowledge that demons and ghosts didn't care for cats. Things that lurk in the shadows never like things that can see them lurking there.

Oh god. She was begging. Those big brown eyes were on him, her little lip pouted out. Keep it? He grimaced. Fuck.

"Uh… yeah. Sure. He can't really go outside in the netherworld though. Something will eat him. And he's not sleepin' in my bed. I'm the only one who gets to snuggle ya. Deal?"

He hesitantly reached out to pet Percy, making the cat hiss and swipe at him as he approached his mistress.

"Right. Let's get the fuck out of here. I'm already tired of looking at Adam and Bab's shit."

Lydia could tell from the disgusted sneer he aimed at Percy paired with his stubbornly crossed arms that this was taking a lot of concession on his part. It was probably just Stockholm Syndrome setting in, but something about his grumbled assent to letting her keep her kitty cat— followed by a list of ridiculous rules Lydia had no intention on enforcing— endeared her to the grumpy ghoul more than anything else he had yet to do. He seemed entirely inconvenienced, and still, he was allowing her this comfort. Another favor, another kindness he didn't have to provide. Because he "loved" her.

"Thank you," she imparted softly, rising to her tiptoes to brush a kiss across his cheekbone, the still-purring Percy momentarily squished between them for the gesture. Neither male seemed to mind too much. "My room is this way."

Still toting her beloved ball of fluff, she led the way downstairs and through the hall, checking as she went to see if anything was amiss in the wake of her disappearance. Everything looked the same. From her vantage over the ledge, she could see pizza boxes beginning to pile up on the dining room table. The door to her father's study was wide open, a half-drunk bottle of Jack in clear sight instead of tucked away somewhere his alcoholism would be more discrete.

Her bedroom appeared untouched at first glance; a crumpled school uniform tossed in the corner, sheets and blanket twisted about unmade. Closing the door behind them, she released Percy to free her arms, grabbed her backpack off the door handle to begin gathering things worth keeping, and gestured vaguely at the vanity. It was carved from dark cherry wood and looked like it would fit in beautifully with all the other furniture in the pictures she saw.

"That's it," she informed, stuffing several thick tomes into her bag— The Brothers Grimm: A Complete Book of Fairytales, Edgar Allan Poe's Complete Works, The Complete Works of Lewis Carroll. After snagging those, she moved onto her photo albums, frowning in consideration when realization dawned on her that they wouldn't all fit. She would have to minimize. "Can you move it?"

He was surprised, pleasantly, by the kiss to his cheek. He smiled softly as he followed her through the house. He had only been outside the attic a couple of times, and he found the house just as underwhelming as he remembered.

That is until they got to Lydia's room. He took his time looking around, taking in the posters and mess that denoted the bedroom of a teenaged girl. He watched her pack her things, sliding a subtle kick at the cat as he ducked under her bed.

"This's real cute, babe. Can't believe I haven't been here before." He slipped a hand onto the small of her back, tugging at her dress until she came closer. A glance at the vanity made it vanish, a smirk sitting on his face. "We can take whatever you want, baby. Just point me in the right direction."

His hand slid further until it was caressing her ass, his large hand taking up a lot of the real estate it was after. He squeezed gently, cautious of her marks from the night before. "You ever had a boy in here before? I'd be happy t'give ya the real teenage relationship experience."

Fortunately for Betelgeuse, Lydia missed his jab at Percy, too busy trying to stuff a thicker photo-album into her backpack, which was having none of it. Otherwise, she would have been much less agreeable to his sudden molestation of her. That hand came grabbing under her dress, making her "Oh—!" and drop her bag to the bed.

We can take whatever you want, baby. Just point me in the right direction.

It clutched just so, and despite his gentility, the touch made the flesh there simmer. She had a sudden, fuzzy memory of the previous night; bent over on her knees, the whistle of his hand flying through the air to land volleying smacks against the now bruised and welted flesh. So that's how that happened.

"No, I've never had a boy in here… but I dunno," she fluttered eyelashes flirtatiously over her shoulder at him, feeling quite daring indeed. This was kind of… kinky, wasn't it? She could afford to have a little fun. "My Daddy might be coming home any second now. He wouldn't be too happy to find his little princess all alone with a man twice her age. He might get mad."

Woah.

"You know this is rather naughty, Miss Deetz. Having a grown man into your room… alone… with the door closed. And all while your daddy is away. Very, very naughty. But that's just how I like ya."

He grinned at her playful attention, stepping in closer now that he knew she was on board. "But don't worry kitten… Your father may be out but your Daddy's right here and ready to play…"

He licked his lips before dropping them to her neck, nibbling and sucking along the length of it. His free hand slipped to her chest, squeezing roughly. He pulled her back against him, grinding into her.

He easily flipped the hem of her skirt up and over her ass, narrowing the space between them. "God, this is hot, Lyds. You gonna let me fuck ya on your childhood bed? Hmm?"

Why not? She didn't have anything to lose, not anymore. Besides, the man did just buy her a house. Knees weakening, she melted into him as he fixed himself against her back, pulling her onto him, clothed erection pressing insistently into her underwear, already busy at work adding new marks to the slope of her neck.

"Y-yeah," she stuttered under his attention, giving up the game, head lolling back to expose more of her throat to his suckling bites. "Just— Mmm, ah— come here."

She pulled him by the hand toward her bed, him following close behind, and bent over at the waist without any direction from him whatsoever. Impatiently, she shimmied the comfortable underthings down until they were clinging to her thighs, then braced herself bent over the edge of the mattress. His hands never left her all through the rushed process; petting, squeezing, assisting her in removing whatever was in the way.

"Make it fast," she requested, already short of breath with arousal. "I dunno how much time we have."

Make it fast.

"Ah ah, kitten. You know how this works. I don't think you get to make that call." He mouthed over the backs of her shoulders, rucking her skirt up into his hands to hold it at the small of her back. He hastily undid his fly, his cock already hellishly hard at the sight of her bent over her twin bed.

He slid his free hand down to tease his fingers across her core, testing both if she was ready and whether she was too sore to really do this. He was pleased to find her already dripping for him. "Mmm. That's nice… Hey, I've got an idea." He let go of her, climbing onto her bed and settling flat on his back. He patted his shoulders playfully. "Come here, baby I got you a seat."

He cackled, reaching for her hand. He didn't want her to get so sore she couldn't enjoy the new house or what he'd proclaimed as their honeymoon. Besides, he had a sinking suspicion that she was letting him hurt her on purpose. He really had to get her out of this whole suicidal thing.

Jerk! She flustered at him as he brushed off her request and went in a different direction altogether, crawling onto her bed like a fat cat and offering up his face as a chair. The sweet, painful stretch of his cock abusing her was something she had been looking forward to, thank you very much. Why was he turning her down? It went against everything she knew about him and was a mild blow to her confidence. That would be the last time she attempted taking charge with him. For a while, at least.

"Beej," she whined, miffed, but proceeded to shimmy her panties off down her legs and knee her way onto the bed anyway, "we don't have time for this."

The boots were left on, so she wouldn't have to relace them in a hurry. Careful not to kick or knee him, she crawled awkwardly up and over his waiting form until she was settled high on his chest, thighs on either side of his face. How was this supposed to work? He didn't expect her to just… sit on his face, did he? That didn't seem comfortable for anyone involved.

"How…?"

He grinned as she approached, his tongue lolling out of his mouth. Despite her objections on time, she didn't seem willing to fight him on this, which he appreciated. He liked it when she listened. Maybe more than he should.

He greedily took her ass back into his hands, pulling her closer, nearly off-balance.

How…?

"Jus' like this, babe… come and sit on Daddy's face." He guided her slowly downward until he could run his tongue over her. He growled softly at the taste of her, tightening his hold on her and setting to work. He closed his lips around her tiny clit for a moment before releasing it, slipping his tongue slowly between her lips from top to bottom.

Fuck she tasted good. He was fully prepared to devour her for as long as he was allowed. Fuck Charles and Fuck Delia. If they came home they'd get an eyeful of his hard cock and their daughter riding his face. He couldn't help but smirk at the thought.

"Ah— uuungh…"

Both palms were slapped flat against the wall as he took matters into his own hands, so to speak, and dragged her forward by her ass to partake of this meal properly. He was an expert, slipping that inhumanly long tongue all along her nether with indulgent slowness, gathering as much of her sweetness into his mouth as he could with each lathing swipe. As before, his natural chill was a shock to her system, but she acclimated quickly, coming to relish the cold, slimy sensation down below.

Forgetting himself a moment, he squeezed her ass hard, aggravating the raw skin there and inadvertently giving his wife the sweet touch of agony she was craving. She hissed, simultaneously rolling her hips down and back, encouraging his lips, tongue, and hands to keep on just. Like. That.

"Yesss," she breathed out softly, the soft "s" at the end intermingling beautifully with the wet, sucking sounds of his devouring of her. "More… mm… so good…"

Those rough, clawed hands continued to dig into her backside, kneading roughly, plying her with little bites of pain without adding more injuries to her collection. Her back arched to bring her closer to him, hips taking up a steady rhythm rolling into his mouth as she approached her peak. She reached back, searching until her palm met his burgeoning erection beneath his trousers. Unable to find his fly and too distracted to look, she settled for squeezing and rubbing at him over the fabric. Reciprocity was only polite.

He growled softly as she rocked into him. Sometime when they had more time and space he'd have to teach her how to ride his face properly. He kept his hands clawed into her ass, pressing just on the edge of too hard.

His long tongue teased at the edges of her entrance before pressing into her. He grunted softly, his eyes falling shut as she reached back to grope him through his pants. He rolled his hips into her hand, eager to get some sort of stimulation beyond her taste.

He curled and twisted his tongue within her, working to bring her to orgasm. His ears perked up when he heard a car pull into the driveway. He smirked against her, knowing there was no way her human ears had picked up the sound. He redoubled his efforts, sucking and nipping at her lips hungrily.

Lydia was far too gone in her carnal ambitions to notice the far off sounds of someone coming home. When a set of keys jingled as they unlocked the front door, she moaned with pleasure unbound, raven hair whipping as she tossed her head back.

"Did you hear that?" Delia Deetz questioned her destitute husband as they began ascending the steps, having spent yet another fruitless day at the police station. There was nothing. She was just gone, not a trace of her left except for a flashlight with dead batteries and her fingerprints found laying outside of a vandalize mausoleum.

"I didn't hear any—" He was cut off by the very young, very feminine cry echoing from his missing teenage daughter's bedroom. There was no not hearing that. Cautiously, they crept toward the shut door, zeroing in on each little noise. It couldn't be… Not her… Lydia would never…

"Oh, Beej!"

The girl on the other side of the door cried out with rapture, still massaging sweetly over his engorged cock and riding his tongue— which was practically a cock on its own— with the fervor of a horny hellcat. His mouth was greedy as ever, never stopping or slowing, only growing hungrier and more insatiable as they carried on. There was a distinct change in his pace somewhere along the way, though. Something had made him ravenous.

"I'm gonna— I'm gonna— AH!"

The door opened.

Chapter Text

"If I had a heart I could love you,
If I had a voice I would sing.
After the night when I wake up,
I'll see what tomorrow brings."

—If I Had a Heart
Fever Ray

His pace and fervor increased when he heard Charles and Delia downstairs. He worked her closer and closer, determined to make her cum before they were–

Oh. There it was.

Aaand Delia was screaming. Good.

He retracted himself from his wife and peered around her bare waist at her parents. "What's got into you, Delia? Never seen a woman get eaten out before?" He clicked his tongue, shaking his head slowly. "Do your fuckin' job, Charles."

Charles Deetz prided himself on being a calm man. But nothing… nothing got away with doing harm to his daughter while she was under his roof.

"LYDIA. Where have you been!" His voice bellowed through the small room, his eyes nearly bugging out of his head.

Betelgeuse politely tugged her skirt back down over her ass, patting it fondly as he sat up. "Well, as much fun as it is meeting the inlaws… I think we oughta get out of here. Agreed?" He snapped and they were suddenly in a very different bedroom.

Their bedroom was a wash of dark woods and reds. He really had outdone himself on this one. "Well. Not that that's out of the way." He went to lift her skirt again. He was stopped by a sharp, stinging slap to his hand. "Ow! Come on, kitten… you were so close!"

"No! No, you— stop that!"

Lydia scrambled off of him in a tizzy, rapidly assessing the change in scenery. Her vanity was fit perfectly in the corner next to a pair of French doors. This… was the house from the pictures. Their house. She recognized that fireplace, this bed. Now that she had a closer view, she could see that yes, the stuffed rug laid out in front of the furnace was a werewolf. Or at least, something werewolf-like.

"You knew they were coming!" She accused down at the stoic-faced poltergeist still lazing about the bed. He seemed completely unfazed, inspecting his ragged, filthy nails as though he was rather proud of them. "You did that on purpose!"

Cold fury tinged with betrayal flowed through her, all of her plans ruined. They were supposed to suffer. They were never, ever, ever supposed to find out what happened to her unless it was to learn of her death, and now that was all gone out the window. Now she was the one who looked stupid; showing her ass like that, running off with the ghost that nearly took them all out along with the house. It wasn't fair! They didn't get to know about this.

"No!" She denied him again, giving his wrist another sharp slap when he came reaching for her in the midst of her pacing. "No more sex! No more cutesy stuff! No nothing! I rescind my permission until further notice!"

He frowned when she moved away from him, setting about pacing the room. He had never seen her so angry. It was… strangely intimidating. "Lyds, I didn't! I swear I didn't hear 'em. I kinda had your thighs over my ears, so."

He reached for her only to be slapped away. He hissed, his eyebrows furrowing sharply.

No more sex! No more cutesy stuff! No nothing! I rescind my permission until further notice!

He scoffed. "That's cute. That you think you get to do that." He crossed his arms over his chest, watching her fume about the room. The room he'd decorated and painstakingly restored. For her. He sneered, not moving from his place on the bed.

"Hey. Quit the fuckin' pacing you're gonna ruin the carpet. Sit the fuck down and listen, will ya?"

He sat up, leaning against the headboard. "You got nothin' to be mad about. Your dad and Delia know you're fuckin' me. So what. For all they know you're dead, right? We were just gettin' nostalgic. I don't know why you're so pissed at me. I'm tryin' to give ya everything ya want!"

Liar. He did know and Lydia wasn't about to hear anything to the contrary. He was far, far, far too smug about the entire ordeal to not have had a hand in orchestrating it. Maybe he didn't plan it, but he let it happen which was as good as in Lydia's book. Unable to ignore a direct order in that authoritative tone, she seethed and plopped her sore backside down right on the mantle of the fireplace, arms crossed stiffly as she worked up into a tremendous fit.

She didn't even get off. Unfair.

So what? I'm tryin' to give ya everything ya want!

"So," she corrected imperiously, glaring at the stuffed were-rug, "they were supposed to be haunted by it. It was supposed to be a mystery. They were supposed to toss and turn at night. Lose sleep. Think about it for the rest of their fucking lives until the not knowing tore them up inside— and now it's all ruined!"

This was the best case scenario. In reality, she doubted she was ever that important to any of her parental figures, biological or step-in. The reminder that he was trying his best— never mind that his best was falling miserably flat— made her drop her face into her palms with a frustrated sigh. Maybe she was being unreasonable. It didn't feel like it, but… maybe.

"I just…" That headache was coming back. "I just need a minute. That was really fucked up. The house is pretty. Thank you."

I just need a minute.

"Fine." He got off the bed, purposefully zipping his fly and holding his hands out to the sides. "Glad I spent so much fuckin' time on this house for you to wander around it by yourself."

He snatched his hat off her head, putting it on himself. He took hold of her jaw, just one side of too rough as he planted a kiss on her forehead. "You want Charles to suffer? Huh? I can arrange that."

He made for the mirror, absolutely fuming. He was just trying to be a good husband. To be the man people told him he couldn't be. Well if she saw him as a monster, then he'd be a monster.

His grubby boots stepped up onto her vanity and he gave a mock salute as he disappeared through the mirror back into her bedroom. He could hear Charles still shouting downstairs, and found the cat puffed up and yowling next to the door.

He grunted, scruffing the cat and thrusting it through the mirror. "Here. Your mistress needs ya."

He was out of the house in an instant, headed for the graveyard and his empty, pathetic grave. He grimaced at the sight of it, sinking into the ground where a clean-up crew was trying to repair the tomb he'd shattered when Lydia had called him.

He paced, throwing anything he could get his hands on at the grimy dirt walls of his prison cell turned hideout.

He was just trying to make her happy. Why didn't she see that? How could she not see that he'd do anything to keep her safe and content? He'd bought a fucking house!

He kicked at the wall, cursing when his leg snapped then reformed. Shit, that was annoying. Self-harm was never his style.

Oh shit. Lydia was alone.

"No— wait—"

Betelgeuse was beyond hearing her, even as she stammered out a placating half-genuine apology in an attempt to still his blustering. She didn't want him to go. She was just mad. Why didn't he understand? Roughly, he stole his hat back and her heart clenched at the lack of its weight atop her head.

"Please don't go—" she pled, making a timid grab for his arm as he brushed past her only to be callously shrugged off.

"You want Charles to suffer? Huh? I can arrange that."

Oh no. What had she done?! Didn't she know better than to voice her grievances for others around Betelgeuse by now?

"Don't leave—" me alone. A beat later, he was gone. A beat after that and a very upset Percy was shoved through the mirror-turned-portal. When she tried to push at the surface and go through on her own, all she found was solid glass.

"Come back," she begged the mirror, tugging Percy up into her arms for the comfort his fluff provided. "Please come back."

Tears started to fall, catching on a swathe of black fur, and they didn't stop. She spent the first hour waiting for his return in their bedroom, assuming it was still "theirs." He'd probably have divorce papers ready for her when he came back. She was too much work. Too high maintenance. Too many issues. Not worth it, after all.

As comfy as the bed was, she wasn't getting any sleep any time soon, torrid emotions still festering in her gut like rotten meat. The next hour was spent drifting listlessly about the house from room to room, "wandering by herself" just like he said she would. It was beautiful, more beautiful than mere pictures could denote. More beautiful than she deserved. This was a Manor, one that deserved to be looked after by a Lady of grace and class— not an ugly, loathsome little bastard like her.

Betelgeuse could do better.

She spent an indeterminable amount of time trying to lose herself in the books in the library— he could really do better— but the words blurred together through her tears, becoming unreadable, and she eventually abandoned that too. Every new room she found was haunted by the ghost of the marriage that would have been— if only she wasn't a godawful bitch. The kitchen carried the scents of dinners she hadn't yet cooked that Betelgeuse might have been polite enough to pick at if offered a plate. The faint sound of laughter and gasps echoed through the home theatre, taunting her with the promise of movies she would never enjoy with him.

Ultimately, she found herself slipping outside to the terrace, where an in-ground pool and hot tub duo resided. The door was left closed behind her to keep Percy locked up safe, the girl heeding Betelgeuse's warning about lurking monsters. There weren't any fences to keep any big baddies out. If anything wanted to come take her, here she was. She stayed out there until the vivid sky began to darken, announcing what passed for night in the Neitherworld. The water was too cold to swim, but that didn't stop Lydia from dropping to the edge and dipping her legs in. It stung at first, but it didn't take long for them to numb.

She deserved at least one swim in the pool in the house she was supposed to share with her husband before getting the boot, right?

Right. Without stripping, she slipped right in, immediately submerging all the way and staying there until she couldn't hold her breath anymore. Like her legs, the rest of her body quickly numbed. Her insides, however, still curdled rebelliously.

"Oh, all the money that e'er I spent,
I spent it in good company,"

She floated along on the surface, a swirling, inky shadow of misery, and let her voice carry on the night breeze.

"And all the harm that e'er I've done,
Alas, it was to none but me,"

Her lilting soprano quivered as she shook with the cold, but Lydia was beyond noticing, more content to focus on feeling nothing.

"And all I've done for want of wit,
To memory now I can't recall,
So fill to me the parting glass,
Good night and joy be with you all…"

Betelgeuse spent hours in his grave working out every bit of frustration and annoyance he possibly could before realizing that he'd left without hearing her out fully. Damn it. His short fuse had gotten the better of him yet again.

He made his way back to the house slowly, deigning to walk instead of his usual teleportation. Soon he was crawling back through the mirror into their bedroom. The bedding was disturbed but his wife wasn't present. He frowned. He shouldn't have left. He should have stayed and let her see him rage so that they could move past it.

He wandered the house, looking for her without making a scene of it. The more rooms he found empty the more worried he got. What kind of idiot left his suicidal wife at home to throw a hissy fit?

Then he heard the damn cat. He was clawing at his back door, pacing and meowing loudly. He followed the sound, letting himself out onto the patio, scowling. He glanced around the back yard, seeing nothing until–

God, no.

She was floating in the pool, not moving, her eyes closed. He panicked.

"LYDIA!"

He was in the water before he could think about it, catching her around the waist and hauling her out of the pool. "Lyds! Shit, are ya okay beautiful? Goddamn, I shouldn'ta left."

Lydia was jarred violently from the melancholy peace of her headspace. Sputtering, she was forced to rejoin reality when Betelgeuse dragged her out of the pool and back to land with a fierce urgency, legitimate fear coloring his tone.

"I'm o-okay…" She stuttered once she was settled on the concrete, wide eyes unblinking on him. Her lips were turning an unhealthy shade of blue. Uncontrollable shivers wracked her entire form. She had herself so convinced that he wasn't coming back with anything good to say that the sight of him fussing over her, taken with panic, was surreal.

"D-did you k-kill m-my Dad?"

Could she forgive him if he did? She wasn't sure. So much time had been spent yearning for his return that a sick part of her thought yes. Betelgeuse's touch didn't feel icy anymore. She was numb to it, just as she was the frozen waters. How long had she been floating out here? The sky was a different color than when she began. His thumb crawled along her colorless cheek and her eyes began to sting. Hot tears welled up at the lip of her eyelids before spilling over, burning her overchilled flesh.

"I'm s-s-sorry," she sobbed out abruptly, throwing her sopping, trembling form into his arms. "I'm s-sorry. I w-was j-just so m-mad… P-pease don't b-be mad at m-me…"

"What? No… Lyds I didn't go anywhere near dad I was just… I went back to the grave." He ran his hands over her frantically. She was so cold. He was taken aback when she threw herself into his arms.

I'm s-sorry. I w-was j-just so m-mad… P-pease don't b-be mad at m-me…

"No. No, kitten I'm not mad. Not at you. Mad at myself." He pressed kisses to her face rapidly, trying to hold onto her tight enough to make the shaking stop. He scooped her up and blinked them back into the bedroom where he set about removing her frozen, soaking dress and boots. "Lydia… god, baby you could have died." He carried her into the bathroom, the tub already full of hot water and Epsom. He banished his clothes and stepped into the tub, hissing as the water came in contact with his skin.

He ignored it, settling into the warmth with his wife cradled to his chest. He pressed desperate kisses to her face, rocking her in his hold. "You're okay, baby… it's okay… I'm here. You're gonna be okay, Lyds…"

She whimpered and fresh tears sprung anew as they lowered into the warm water. In truth, it was nowhere near as hot as Lydia usually ran her baths, but to her frozen flesh, it might as well have been boiling. His touch was so good. It reminded her of everything she'd forgotten in his brief absence; He was here. He wouldn't let anything happen to her. He would take care of her. It was okay.

Lydia didn't want to believe it. After all, if she fell into the fantasy he was trying to spin, where would it leave her when the rug was inevitably pulled out from under her? Could she bear the pain this would one day bring her if those promises were lies? Then again, he was taking a bath. For her. Thus far, he'd shown about the same contempt for water as Percy when he was getting a flea bath. Why was she so certain he was full of shit? Maybe, just this once, the universe wasn't out to fuck her. Could she take that bet?

Did she have a choice?

Thinking hurt, but sensation was slowly returning to her limbs, color peaking in her cheeks and lips. It was easier to fall back into the safety net of his arms and just shut her brain off.

"W-wasn't trying to kill m-myself…" She informed, in case he had the wrong idea. Of course, it would have been a happy accident had she died, but it wasn't the goal of the excursion. "J-just wanted…"

What? What could she possibly have been hoping to gain from self-induced hypothermia other than death? To forget. To stop feeling. To let it all go, just as easily as she was letting go right here, in the tub with him.

"Just wanted g-go for a s-swim…"

He rocked her, wincing through the sting of the salt against his skin. He couldn't do much but hold her, fighting off the panic and hurt in his chest. This was all too familiar.

He kept his hand pressed to her chest, feeling her heartbeat and her lungs move. She was alive. She wasn't going to leave him any time soon. He was gentle, making sure that where he touched her his skin just barely floated over hers, not wanting to cause her any discomfort.

Just wanted g-go for a s-swim…

"Little cold for that, baby… shoulda waited. No. Not your fault. This is my fault. " His voice broke as he said it. He pressed his face into her hair, trying desperately to steady himself. She was so fragile, so precious. He couldn't let anything happen to her.

"I'm sorry, Lydia… I'm so sorry. You deserve so much more than me. I don't know how to give it to you."

He was reliving the events leading up to his death. The pale face of Lydia blending and twisting with that of her. The one he couldn't save.

"Ha," she brushed off his insistence that this was his fault, that she "deserved more" with a short, bitter laugh that wasn't really a laugh at all. "I suck. I'm a flat-chested midget with too many issues to fit in a magazine stand. You could do better." With time, her shivers had lessened to the occasional twitch, stutters disappearing along with her gooseflesh. "S'not your fault. If it wasn't this, it would just be something else."

Misery loved Lydia. It was only a matter of time until it called her up for another date.

"I love the house." She was motionless on his chest, calmed by that persistent rocking. No harm would come to her here in his arms— not unless she wanted it. "It's beautiful."

The compliment seemed cheap and inelegant, unlike the Manor itself, making Lydia feel even more inadequate to hold the title of its Lady. Miraculously, however, Betelgeuse appeared to still want her in the position. She wasn't about to debate that with him when he was enduring the evils of bath water for her, shaken and panic-stricken. He almost seemed in worse shape than her. Concerned, she thought to lift her gaze and check on him, only to find his own jade eyes clenched shut, his features twisted with discomfort.

"Beej?" She started up at the sight of it, instantly alert. He shouldn't be making faces like that. He was invincible. It was wrong, like watching a wounded lion. She turned until she was on her knees between his legs, taking each of his stubbly, chubby cheeks in her pruney palms to force his attention "What's wrong? I'm okay, see? I promise I wasn't trying to kill myself. Don't be upset."

He could barely hear her anymore. His eyes flew open when she moved, his brow furrowed. "What? No.. no, I'm fine. Not upset with you, Lyds." He put his forehead against hers, his hands resting at her waist.

"You're not… you don't suck. You… you're perfect. To me." He tried again to steady himself. He was worrying her. He didn't want that. He rubbed his hands over her hips and up her back, relishing in the warmth that was returning to her skin.

"I'm so glad you like the house, baby. I know it's… it's kind of a lot. It's probably more than we need, but. When I found it I knew I could make it what we needed. I.. I never got to build a home before." He shook his head, frowning. He was letting on too much of his pain. Stupid.

"How are you feeling? Are you still cold? I… I could get us a pot of tea. Or… you haven't eaten in a while. Are you hungry?" He was pulling anything he could think of out. He didn't like the way her big brown eyes were looking at him. Like she could see through him to where he was vulnerable.

He shoved hard at the memories that were trying to surface, forcing a smile to his face. "Let me take care of you… okay?"

The water was getting rather cold the longer they carried on, drawing Lydia's attention to the fact that it was firstly, not as hot as she preferred and secondly, that Betelgeuse seemed to be operating as an ice cube in the tepid water, cooling it rapidly the longer he remained.

Let me take care of you… okay?

"Okay," she agreed, nestled atop his belly, brows still furrowed with concern. His behavior was off. Well. He did just come back to find her wafting fully clothed and half-dead in their pool. That was probably an upsetting sight when the floater was someone you proclaimed to love. Though, she doubted she'd react any better if she ever found him in a similarly incapacitated state. Was that love?

For someone like Betelgeuse, who was very much accustomed to the sight of a human corpse and had manufactured a few of his own, it was probably as close to love as one could get. Still, something was bothering him further than this incident alone, that much was clear to Lydia.

"Tea sounds good," she agreed, already rising to her knees to get out of the tub. She had every intention of helping Betelgeuse out, seeing as he seemed terribly awkward and uncomfortable, but he was out and assisting her before she could even get to her feet, happy for the excuse to remove himself from the cursed water. Ever polite, she muttered a quick thank you, then another when he came to wrap a soft, plush terrycloth bathrobe around her shoulders. It was long, thick, and covered everything— the exact opposite of everything else he'd ever dressed her in, except maybe her wedding dress from part I. In tandem with his tastes, it was a nice deep shade of bloody red.

It wasn't until he mentioned it that she realized that no, she hadn't eaten anything, too swept up in the events of the day. She hadn't even bothered exploring the pantry downstairs to see if it was stocked.

"I could eat. I'm a good cook." This was probably the first positive thing Lydia had ever said about herself in his presence. "Bet you didn't know that, Mr. I-Know-Everything-About-Everything."

"Baby you just almost died, I don't know if cooking should be the top of your priority list." He rubbed his hands over the terrycloth of her robe slowly, trying to warm her despite his own frigid temperature.

He donned a robe of his own, a filthy ragged thing compared to hers, and pulled her back into his arms, brushing her long hair back and off her shoulders. "I won't stop ya though. I know ya like to cook. Just didn' know you were good at it."

He smiled, pressing a short kiss to her forehead. "I'll do tea. You do dinner? Maybe I should set myself an alarm. Can't forget to feed my wife, after all." He took her hand as they made their way into the spacious kitchen. It was a mixture of Victorian and modern influences, with wood-paneled appliances tucked into one side and a wood-burning stove in the other. He set about lighting the stove now, eager for both the warmth and the ability to make tea the way he knew how.

A metal tea kettle was lovingly filled and settled on the stove to boil before he turned and took her hand again, tugging her out into the hall where a massive china cabinet was waiting, filled with multiple sets of fine china dishes and service wear.

"Pick us a teapot, baby. Whichever you like."

Drowning in her robe, but quickly warming wrapped up so snug in its comfort, her shivers had almost completely subsided. As if unwilling to let her traipse out of his reach, he kept her close as they walked barefoot through the house together in their robes, a heavy arm strung around her shoulders. He separated briefly to prepare the stove and set the kettle, but was back quickly to usher her toward the expansive china cabinet.

Each pot was more beautiful than the last. Lydia had never had loose tea leaves steeped in a real teapot before. Only neat disposable bags in oversized mugs, which was fine, but this was much fancier and therefore novel.

"That one," she pointed toward a black set that boasted a delicate pattern of golden, intertwining roses that looked to be hand-painted. It was up too high for her to reach so she didn't even try, huddling close to her husband's side as he retrieved it without even having to stretch. "It's pretty."

Despite all the doom and gloom, Lydia was at the very heart of her being a girly girl, and the sight of all those polished, fragile tea sets had her near-giddy internally. She must have missed it on her first walk-through. Very badly, she wanted to take inventory of the pantry and break in her new kitchen, prepare a hearty, savory meal and try out all the shiny, unused cooking ware. But, Betelgeuse was right. She didn't have it in her for that kind of labor. A sandwich would have to do.

"Do you want one…?" She offered hesitantly, spreading mustard across both pieces of honey wheat before carefully beginning to layer ham and cheddar, folding the slices so there wouldn't be any bites without bread, meat, and cheese. The kettle was just beginning to whistle. Barbara and Adam ate human food sometimes, so it stood to reason that he might too. Though, Lydia had never seen him eat anything that had less than six legs before.

He smiled at the light in her eyes as she saw the china. He reached down the requested pot and two matching teacups and luncheon plates, setting them on the small kitchen table before going to warm the pot.

He glanced over his shoulder when she offered the sandwich. He eyed it a moment before answering. "Sure. Thanks, babes." He didn't need to eat, but now that they were married he found that his taste had returned. It was worth a try. Besides, when your sixteen-year-old wife offered you a sandwich with big brown eyes, you took it.

He poured them each a cup of tea when it was ready, setting them on the table before realizing just how domestic the whole thing was. His wife in her bathrobe at the kitchen counter, making them lunch while he made tea. Disgustingly cute.

He slid his arm around her waist, stepping in close. This was what he'd wanted when he'd found the answer to his imprisonment. He'd always wanted a wife. Someone to take care of and take care of him in return. It was a dream he'd thought he'd left back in life.

He pressed a gentle kiss to the side of her neck, brushing her hair out of the way. "Thanks, sugar. You're the best…"

With the confirmation that he wanted a sandwich too, Lydia bothered going out of her way to beef it up a little. He was a big guy, after all. Big man needed a big sandwich. He got an extra slab of meat and slice of cheese than she did, and she took the extra step to slice up a tomato, pickle, and some lettuce to carefully layer it on top. He came to lathe her with more affection then, holding her close at the counter's edge, plying sweet kisses at her neck.

"It's— it's just a sandwich…"

She was stuttering again, but not from the cold. God, he really loved her, didn't he? For a moment, things were still and peaceful as she abandoned the sandwiches to melt back into his embrace and let him "take care of her." When her stomach grumbled, he let off and she carefully removed herself from his arms to deliver the sandwiches to the table where two pretty cups of tea sat steaming.

It smelled delicious, the inhaled steam warming her from within before she ever took her first sip. Chamomile, sweetened with honey and a dab of cream. Betelgeuse had been paying attention.

"How is this going to work?" She questioned shyly minutes later, after half her sandwich was gone, the stab of hunger was dulled, and Betelgeuse began preparing her a second cup. "Are there bills? Do you have a job? Do you need a job? Do I need a job? Or… what?"

It seemed as though they were set up to play house indefinitely and live sappily ever after out in the woods. Percy hopped up to her lap while she was talking, and she came to scratch behind his ears in an innate gesture. The cat eyed her plate enviously. Prone to spoiling the thing, she extricated a half-eaten slice of meat to begin peeling off bits for him.

"Percy's hungry. Need to get cat food. And the rest of my stuff."

He tucked into his meal happily, groaning at the taste on his tongue. When was the last time he'd had food?

He shrugged at her questions, licking his lips free of crumbs. "Well, the house is paid for. And I can juice up all the energy we need. So no, no one needs a job. I may end up taking one though. I am a bio-exorcist by trade."

He raised an eyebrow as she started to feed the cat. He guessed that he couldn't be too mad at it anymore. It had alerted him to her floating in the pool.

"Let me take care of that stuff, babe. You need to rest and get your strength back." He snapped his fingers and an ornate silver bowl appeared on the floor, full of cat food. "It's the kind that was at your place. I assume he likes it."

Once the piece of ham was gone, Percy let loose a happy little mew and made for his shiny, new bowl.

"That's what you do?" A warm gaze following the cat as it indulged. "Barb and Adam wouldn't tell me anything about you, or this place."

Bio-exorcist. She'd heard the phrase hushed in the attic late at night when they were under the mistaken impression she was asleep or out of earshot, and had drawn her own conclusions as to what it meant. After managing one more bite of her sandwich, she pushed the remaining bit aside, signifying she was done.

"It's like… being a professional ghost, right? Scaring people out? Is that what you were going to do to us?"

"That's right. I get rid of breathers so that newlydeads can enjoy their house arrest." He took another large bite of his food.

"Adam and Babs tell you anything about that? I dunno what all you know. Or wanna know. But you can ask me whatever."

He reached a foot out to nudge hers under the table. "I just won't answer everything. You know how it is. Painful memories and such," he sniffled dramatically.

She had so many questions.

What all can you do? How does one become a "bio-exorcist"? What happens if you can't scare someone out? What are your qualifications? Does it pay well?

Obviously, it did, judging by their accouterments. Too tired to bother opening that can of worms, Lydia shelved her curiosity for another day. It could wait. Instead, she rose from the table, Betelgeuse following her lead and sticking close to her side as he had since his return, and together they began to make their way back toward the staircase that led to the master bedroom.

"That's what Adam and Barb wanted, isn't it? You were there to do a job for them… but they changed their mind…"

No wonder they hadn't disclosed anything about their experience with the nefarious ghoul. Guilt.

He easily swept his wife up into his arms, making his way up the stairs at a leisurely pace. "Yeah. They backed out of the deal. I was supposed to get you three outta the house in exchange for them gettin' one of you to free me. Didn't work out. Once they found out you existed they weren't too keen on the whole housekeeping thing."

He laid her gently in their bed, tucking the blankets around her before shedding his robe and climbing in behind her. His lips found her neck easily, resuming the gentle kisses from the kitchen.

"Don't worry babe. I've moved past being pissed at 'em. After all, I wouldn'ta got to meet you, kitten. If they didn't fuck me over."

Drowsy as she was, Lydia was still taken aback that he stripped himself but left her wearing the plush, thick robe. Did he still think she was cold? She wasn't. Just tired. In fact, she would quickly become overheated if she left this on. With that, she pulled it off and tossed it over the edge of the frame, succumbing to his embrace once she was just as nude as him. That was better. She wasn't sure she could ever sleep alone again, not now that she was becoming used to sharing her bed with a large, cuddly lump like him.

One of his thighs slung over her hips, securing her more firmly in his hold. His erection was firm against the small of her back, but he didn't seem like he was searching for anything more than comfort with those soft, passionate kisses.

"I'm sorry I freaked you out," she breathed out into the silent room, aside from the crackling of their fireplace. It roared to life when he carried her through the threshold, providing a deeper warmth that helped combat his natural chill. A different kind of heat that had nothing to do with tea or baths or fires began to pool in her belly, liquefying whatever tension remained from the stressful day. Part of her wanted him to press for more, but she wasn't bold enough to voice this desire. Instead, she pushed back subtly until his desire was pressed cushily against her bruised backside, neck arching to allow him wider access to the expanse of flesh he was tasting.

"… and made you mad. You didn't do anything wrong."

He was content to cuddle into her, his cock hard as it always was when she was bared to him, but he didn't want to push. She needed rest. He continued his kisses happily, his hand rubbing small circles into her stomach.

She rocked back against him, making him stifle a groan into her neck. She wasn't making this easier.

I'm sorry I freaked you out.

He froze, considering his options. Maybe she deserved the truth. After all she had been nothing but open with him. After a long pause, he spoke.

"I lost someone. When… when I was alive. I can't even remember her name, but. I remember her face. Dead. She fell through the ice. I… I didn't get there in time." He pressed his face to her neck, not willing to look at her as he poured his heart out.

"I couldn't save her… and it killed me. I… I saw you floating there and I thought you were gone too. I can't lose you, Lyds…"

Oh, God. Lydia stifled a gasp of horror at his tragic tale, horrible guilt flooding her as he disclosed the abysmal details.

"That's awful," she whimpered, feeling his pain through the quiver in his growl, the tremor in the arms that held her tight. She squirmed to turn around, and his hold loosened accordingly. In the firelight, shadows cut severely across his sinuous features. His eyes were deeply sunken, his nose crooked, as though it had been broken a few times in his day. But, Lydia could see past all that. To the naked eye, he was a monster, lacking the capacity to express the depth of raw emotion he displayed now.

"I'm so… so sorry, Beej," she repeated. For everything; for that initial betrayal, for every trespass made since, and especially for forcing him to relive such a dreadful moment from his past. Taken by the moment, she did the only thing she knew how to comfort him, which was to deliver a sweet, impassioned kiss directly to his mouth. She'd never kissed him before, not like that. Thus far, he had been the aggressor in all their encounters, Lydia allowing him to just… take her.

"I'm not going anywhere," she promised once they separated, still cupping his cheeks in gentle palms like he was a disquieted child. "I'm not… I don't know how to, or if… I even can… " The words stumbled, Lydia not quite brave or confident enough in her emotions to pinpoint them for him properly. He deserved love. "But I care about you."

This, at least, she knew to be the truth. With that, she came down on him with another kiss, longer and deeper than the first, pouring all of the affection she held into it.

He was startled when she pressed the kiss to his lips. He had never expected her to initiate something like this. She was just content to deal with him.

I care about you.

That was impossible. He found himself murmuring as much into her lips, his hands shaking as they found her hips.

"None a'this is your fault, babes... you don't gotta be sorry."

He pressed into her affection readily, taking in the taste and feel of her against him. She was warm and soft, tasted like the tea they'd shared downstairs. In their kitchen. In their house.

He held her tighter, fighting off tears. He didn't cry. Hadn't cried since he was a living child. And now here he was, wrapped around his wife's tiny little finger. There was nowhere else he'd rather be.

"Lydia, I... " his voice was thick with emotion. "I love you so much. I dunno how to make ya believe me, but I do. I'm gonna keep ya safe. Forever."

Those shaking hands found her hips at the same time that Lydia found her courage and mounted him, pushing him until he was on his back and she was straddled just above his groin, their mouths still connected.

"I do care about you," she insisted, murmuring against his lips, then closed the scant distance for another ardent bout of kissing before moving lower. "I don't want you to be so angry all the time." When he was enraged, she could feel it through the walls, seeping into her bones. She followed the mossless portions of his flesh, kissing and nibbling and suckling, copying things he had done to her. "It's not good for you."

A gentle nip below his earlobe punctuated her point.

I love you so much. I dunno how to make ya believe me, but I do. I'm gonna keep ya safe. Forever.

For the first time, she believed him without that nagging voice of doubt hissing derisions from the back of her skull. How could he be saying anything less than the truth after what had transpired between them tonight? After what he'd just told her? She would let him love her, and who knew? Maybe one day she could love him back.

He let out a choked growl as her soft lips wandered his body. He groaned, his hand coming to tangle in her long hair. He wasn't sure why she was doing this. She'd never shown him the kind of affection she was so freely giving now.

It made his heart ache. "I'll try not to get so mad. It's just... an instinct. I gotta keep me safe so you stay safe. You... you know?"

She was hovering over him, balanced just above his crotch. He didn't want to push this too far. She had been half dead an hour ago and now she was taking care of him? This was wrong.

"Kitten, That feels real nice but you... you don't gotta do this."

"I know— I don't have to," she muttered in-between the soft, slow kisses peppered down his neck, across his collarbone. She didn't know where she was going with this or what she would do when she got there, but she was going. "I want to."

A near dizzying wave of affection had overcome her at the sight of him so pitiful, so vulnerable. He was so real like this; not Betelgeuse, the Neitherworld's Leading Conman and Bio-Exorcist, but Betelgeuse the man, who had feelings and hurt and cried just like everyone else. He wasn't a monster. He was a product of his environment. What else could he do but fulfill everyone else's expectations of what he should be? Everybody loves a bad boy.

Even she had expected the worst of him when this all began. In her mind, he had evolved into a spited demon who would gash her throat at first sight rather than listen to any sort of reason. Little more than a tool, a means to a rather definite end. In proper Betelgeuse fashion, he turned her expectations on her head.

"I want you to be happy too, Beej."

Wounded wasn't a look she liked on him. Their intimate sections bumped as she shifted, her entrance leaving a slick gloss along his shaft. She didn't have it in her to give him one of the animalistic romps she'd become accustomed to when tumbling with him, but if he wanted it, he could have it. With more than just permission this time.

He looked up at her with wide, confused eyes. "You.. you want to? Really?" He let his hands wander her waist, sliding from her hips to her ass and back, barely touching her.

"Well, I'm all yours, kitten. Do what you wanna..." He was completely at her service. There was nothing she could ask him for that he wouldn't just then. It wasn't a common occurrence. By morning he'd be back to his normal cocky self.

Her warm, wet core slid over his cock, making him hiss. He didn't move. He didn't want to step over his bounds here. "Just take me, baby... use me." There was no one else in existence that could bring Betelgeuse under their boot like this. Lydia was the only one he was willing to drop his walls for.

He ran his hands over her thighs, shaking from the effort of staying still. "Whatever you want, Lyds... "

"Really," she breathed against his lips, before taking him back up in another slow, hot makeout session that lasted several minutes. She took her time; exploring, feeling him up in places with curious, inexpert hands. She squeezed along his biceps indulgently for a good amount of time, mapping out the bulging muscles there. He was so tense. Black-painted nailed scratched gently through his smattering of white-blond chest hair as she scraped her teeth at the spot on his neck where a pulse would beat if he had one. All the while, her hips twisted up and down along his length without penetrating herself; sliding her clit along each smooth bump and ridge, slicking him up with secretions.

Once it became unbearable, and she needed more than just that delicious, wet friction, she rose up to her knees until she was hovering over his bulbous head, its thick shaft grasped in her palm to help with positioning. This was her first time touching his cock in a hands-on way, without any barriers in their path. Her fingers couldn't completely close around its girth, straining to do so just to see if she could.

Ready now, she descended. As soon as the head popped past her battered pussy lips, she let out a deep breath at the sting of it. Wasn't this supposed to get easier the more she did it? What a crock. This was far more uncomfortable than their first time, and Betelgeuse wasn't being half as forceful. In fact, he was downright docile. Is this why he didn't take her in her bedroom at her parents' home earlier? Not some plot to embarrass her and torture them? It fit in with his M.O.

With tiny, rocking movements, she lowered further onto him, gasping and shaking with each one until she was fully impaled. For the time being, she would go back to kissing him. That was safe and comfortable. She knew how to do that. Aching and full of cock, she bent back over him until plush, milky breasts were pressed against his chest and her tongue was back to teasing his lips, gently requesting entrance.

He felt like he'd died again and this was finally what heaven looked like. He shook under her gently touches, his own coming to tangle in her long dark hair as they kissed. He rolled his hips slowly, unable to stay still.

He was floating. His cold dead heart floating in his chest as she lavished him with attention. He didn't understand how this tiny, pale human could affect him so greatly. The whole room was cast in yellow light from the fire, their shadows dancing on the walls.

Suddenly he was snapped out of his revery, her tight, wet heat sliding onto his cock. He let out a strangled moan, tightening his hold on her. "Fuck, Lyds... that's so good..." He watched her closely, her discomfort written on her face. He pulled her close, kissing her face gently. "Easy, love... don't hurt yourself. Please..."

As she sunk further and further onto him he couldn't help but tilt his hips upward, helping to ease her all the way to the base, her soft plump lips resting against his crotch.

He kissed her back eagerly when she bent to take his lips, a soft, desperate moan leaving him as she requested entrance. He gave it easily, his hands moving to the sheets where he could grip as hard as he wanted to. He was fighting a losing battle to stay still, but he'd asked her for this. To take control. He could do it.

Don't hurt yourself. Please.

Just as she was preparing to force herself to grit through it, bounce her hips through the pain to build up to a pace he was more comfortable with, bring him to his brink and get it over with— he hushed this out to her. Begging. It made her feel powerful, this force of nature reduced to a quivering, pleading mass beneath her. She could do this for him, comply with one more request.

Carefully, still caught in an increasingly passionate lip-lock with her momentarily complacent lover, she started to move. Her internal muscles clung tight to him, not wanting to glide with her as she rocked, but slide they did— stubborn and hesitant, choking wetly along the way. Ever so painfully slowly, she gave herself over and took some of him as her own in return.

He wanted to warm her up and the job was done. She was scorching, blood simmering hotly beneath her veins and a familiar boiling pressure building up in her belly as she continued to twist her hips, lifting and dropping, letting just a bit more of him leave her on each withdrawal the more confident she grew in her rutting. Soon she had to part from that intoxicating kiss to breathe, taking the opportunity to lift back upright so that she could attempt a different angle. With the added gravity and leverage she got from splaying her hands flat on his chest and sitting upright, her downstrokes came with a little more weight now. The change offered a deeper angle that rubbed his rigid cock in all the right place, that fat head hitting something deep inside of her that made any residual sting worth it.

"Touch me," she pled, head rolling back as she rocked, back arching, pulling weakly at an arm anchored into the sheets. "Please."

In the absence of his roving grasp, she kneaded at her own breasts; pinching and touching and pulling, once more mimicking his past moves. But, it wasn't right. Her hands were too small, too soft, and far too warm. Lydia's breasts were accustomed to a certain brand of touch.

He cursed under his breath, his knuckles somehow even whiter as he gripped the bedding. This was all about her. She was in control and he wasn't about to ruin it.

Then she moved. His resolve was wearing thin. He gritted his teeth, his hips rocking slowly with the rhythm she created, thrusting up to meet her as she dropped into his lap.

He panted, trying to keep himself steady until she said it...

Touch me... please.

His resolve was shattered. His hands were on her in a moment, sliding up over her ribs and up to take over for her own hands. He thumbed over her taut nipples, licking his lips. He thrust with her in earnest now, feeling as though he might shatter apart at any moment.

"Fuck, Lydia... God, you're so good, baby... I love you so much..."

"Oh— oh, Beej," she huffed out his nickname, a fine sheet of sweat making her glisten under the firelight as she writhed in his lap. "You're so big… Feels so good…"

The added weight of his hips lifting up to meet her downward thrusts with a strained, refined strength was pushing her on toward orgasm at an excruciating pace. Those big, gruff hands on her tits were exactly what she needed too; massaging and pulling, playing with her painfully tight little nipples. A particularly acute thrust pushed her right up to the precipice and he earned a tiny shriek, his wife shaking from the pressure she was under.

"I'm gonna—" she panted with sudden urgency, the undulations of her hip becoming less smooth as she approached her peak. "Cum with me—" she demanded, enraptured by the idea and suddenly regarding him below her with a lidded, fiery gaze. Once more, the pads of her fingertips grazed along his tense biceps, seducing him into action. "Let go, baby. Please— I'm gonna—"

He arched off the bed as she cried out, his cock twitching inside her at the sound. Oh, that was nice.

She rode him she was being paid to do it, her eyes hooded and glazed over, her lips slack with pleasure. This was good. This was how he wanted her, always. In the throws of pleasure and creeping towards the edge.

He hissed as her rhythm started to falter, his hands freeing her tits and coming to grip her hips as he fucked her off the edge. "Fuck! Fuck yeah, baby, I'm... Jesus, Lydia I'm cumin'!"

The dam broke. He let loose his hold on the leash he'd looped around his own neck, gripping her hips with unbound strength and fucking up into her like a man with nothing to lose. With a series of breathy, high-pitched moans, they came together, internal tendons squeezing and milking him for more as he pumped her full. Once the tremors calmed, she collapsed atop him in a quivering, gasping heap, still connected at the hips.

Lydia didn't know sex could be like that, not that there was anything wrong with their previous liaisons. There was something to be said for his authoritative brutality, but this was an entirely different animal. More than just physically satisfied, she felt loved and beautiful and important. The way a wife was supposed to feel when making love to her husband.

Her energy levels were failing her. It had been a terribly long day; buying a house, scarring her parents, fighting with her husband, going for a swim, then making up with her husband… Lydia was only human. She could only carry on for so long.

"My ring is pretty," she mumbled drowsily as her eyes cracked open and she caught the gleam of firelight dancing on its reflective surface. "And my house is big. And my husband is good in bed. I think…" There was a pause while she yawned, snuggling closer to the pillow of his hairy chest.

"Tomorrow is going to be a good day."

Chapter Text

"Some people say that I want you for your money,
but I really want you for your body.
Pleased to meet you, baby, I want to be your honey,
so let's go tell your Daddy and Mommy."

—Lights On
The Pierces

As they both tipped over the edge he moaned, murmuring out loud about how much he loved her and how good she felt. She collapsed against him and all he could do was lazily wrap his arm around her waist, panting into her hair.

He rubbed slow circles into her skin, reflecting on the day. It had started off so different from now. He'd nearly lost her, emotionally and physically, and he found that for the first time in his afterlife, he was exhausted.

He cracked an eye open at her words, smiling softly. "I think so too."

And it was, for him anyway. Come morning he'd carefully extracted himself from his sleeping wife, made a pot of coffee and set about fetching her things from her parents' house. If Delia woke up to her curlers turned into chunks of snake, then it must have been a coincidence.

He was standing in their foyer, looking over her meager belongings when he decided that she definitely deserved some spoiling. Percy came meowing at him, rubbing between his legs and purring. Apparently saving his mistress has endeared him to the cat.

"I know, I know. I want her to wake up too. Be patient."

Lydia was kept insnared in a deep, dreamless sleep for the better part of the morning bleeding into noon. She didn't wake when her bed partner roused beside her and quietly departed, she didn't wake when he came back with all of her belongings from the living realm, and she didn't wake for several hours after that. When she did finally creep back to consciousness, it was with a profound sense of contentment. Indulgently, she remained bundled up under the covers in for the first few minutes after stirring, enjoying the rare peace. Betelgeuse had drawn the canopy before he left, leaving her warm, protected, and sectored off from the rest of the world. She could get used to this.

Eventually, she roused fully to crawl from the safe haven of their marriage bed and don the robe she'd left in a crumpled heap on the floor the previous night. Then, she pulled back the canopy drapes and took the time make it, folding the sheets and fluffing the pillows until it was picture perfect again. This was her room now, wasn't it? Their room.This was the bedroom of an adult, not a silly teenager. She was going to make sure it stayed looking like one. After brushing her teeth and washing her face— the brand of soap and toothpaste she preferred were already there waiting for her— in the adjoining master bath, she checked the set of French doors next to her vanity that looked like a closet to see if that too was stocked to her tastes.

She found a closet, alright. It was expansive, bigger than her bathroom at her parents' house, and already held all of her clothing from the closet there. Her entire wardrobe barely put a dent in the space, the armful of black dresses, skirts, and blouses hanging in the shadowy corner in an easily missable lump. A column of drawers lined the walls, mostly empty except for the one that had all her underwear. Betelgeuse had been busy.

She fell back on an old favorite; a worn, oversized black sweater that slipped down off of one shoulder and hung nearly to her knees. When Lydia wore it, it was a dress. Ordinarily, she would pair it with leggings to preserve her modesty, but such a concept seemed like a waste of time here. The rich scent of coffee pulled her faster down the steps once she emerged from their room, dressed and ready for the day. She'd even taken the time to apply some mascara and lipstick, and style her hair into one of her signature, messy updos, though most of it still escaped from its binds to fall rebelliously down her back and over her shoulders.

"Beej?"

She hadn't seen him yet, but he was around here somewhere. It was a big house.

Betelgeuse had decided that he'd wake his wife with breakfast in bed. The problem being that he didn't know how to cook, or what she liked to eat.

When she called to him he was trying to get an omelet to fold, cursing at it when it just stuck to the pan. At least he'd managed coffee.

His ratty bathrobe was hanging open over his undershirt and boxers, making him look every inch the disgruntled old man he was.

"What!? No. Go back to bed I'm makin' ya breakfast. If this shit would stop sticking!"

The kitchen was a war zone. Eggshells and broken yolks covered the floors and counter, evidence of the many attempts it had taken Betelgeuse to find the right pressure and strength to crack an egg without completely obliterating it. There were three pans piled up in the sink already, their bottoms blacked. He'd been at this for a while, then. The sight of smoke rising up from yet another skillet spurred Lydia to action.

"Beej," she laughed light-heartedly in contrast to his tangible frustration, gently shooing him out of the way to take charge. Hopefully, he didn't see it as mocking. It was sweet, honestly. "You have to melt butter in the pan first." The soiled skillet was added to the others, then she adjusted the dial on the stovetop to bring the heat down low. He had it on full blast.

"But I appreciate the thought." His attempt earned him a prolonged good morning hug and kiss. "Here, I have an idea. Make me a cup of coffee and clean up this mess, and I'll show you how to make an omelet. Deal?"

Lydia was getting better at negotiating.

He grumbled as she took over, but easily acquiesced to the deep kiss he received for trying. He sighed softly, but agreed to the deal, pouring her a cup and adding her required cream and sugar.

He slid in behind her as she scrubbed at the pans, resting his chin on her shoulder and kissing her neck gently. "I tried. Sorry it didn't work out."

Percy came running at the sound of his mistress's voice and Betel scooped him up, turning him on his back to rub at his soft tummy. Percy purred. They'd come to an understanding.

"Don't bother your mother. She's cleanin' up my mess."

"He can bother me," she smiled sweetly over her shoulder, heart melting at the sight. Where did he get off being that cute with her cat? "I don't mind. He knows not to do the whole needy-baby thing when I'm cooking." She stepped on his tail once and after much pampering and apologizing on Lydia's part, Percy forgave her and learned his lesson.

Once she had a clean skillet, she settled it on the stovetop and cut off a generous hunk of butter to begin melting at the bottom. The rest were left for Betelgeuse to take care of. While butter melted, she went on to demonstrate how to properly crack an egg every time, dropping half a dozen into the mixing bowl without dropping a single bit of shell. Then, she graded cheese— what was an omelet without cheese?— added salt and pepper to her tastes— because Betelgeuse said he didn't care one way or the other—and whisked until it was frothy and homogenous.

"People say to add milk to it to make it better, but really," she clued him in conspiratorially, "water is the trick. When it heats up, it has a steaming effect and makes the omelet nice and fluffy. It's all science. You only need a little bit, you don't want to water it down. "

Lydia couldn't remember the last time she talked this much for this long and someone actually listened, didn't lose interest or tell her to shut up. It was probably all going in one ear and out the other, but for all intents and purposes, Betelgeuse seemed genuinely interested in the art of omelet making.

He was happy to snuggle into her back, kissing over her neck while she instructed him. He wasn't really interested but he liked the sound of her voice.

He nodded when she glanced at him, pretending interest. "Yeah yeah… water. Great stuff. Got it." He nuzzled into her, pressing up against her.

His fingers found the edge of her sweater, teasing along it gently. "This is a good look, baby… I like it. Did ya see your soap and stuff? You were almost out at your parents' place so I replaced it for ya."

… okay, maybe he wasn't paying that close of attention. Still, he let her talk and bothered to feign interest, which is more than anyone other than Adam or Barbara had ever done.

"Mmm," she murmured, tilting her neck just so to offer him further access, and continued teaching despite the knowledge that it wasn't sinking in. "I'm not adding any fillings other than cheese because I don't feel like it, but if you do you have to cook those separately. I know it seems like common sense, but Delia once made me an omelet with raw mushrooms in the middle, it was gross."

She poured the eggy mixture over the simmering butter, watching with satisfaction as it instantly began to settle and lighten in color as it cooked. No smoke rose from the pan, only steam and the delicious, nostalgic scent of breakfast. Taking a fork to the middle to keep it from cooking unevenly, she listened as he described his exploits while she was asleep.

"I saw, thank you," she acknowledged his favor with genuine gratitude, though a seed of unease was creeping back into her voice at the confirmation that he had visited her parents' home while she slept. An unsupervised Betelgeuse was a dangerous Betelgeuse. "Did you see my parents again? Did they say anything?"

He busied himself kissing along the offered skin, mouthing over soft skin and pausing where he could feel her pulse pounding beneath his lips. She was so alive. He loved her. He told her so, softly.

He watched her pour the eggs into the pan, taking a momentary step back so that she wouldn't get burned. He kept his hands at her waist, having no desire to actually clean up his mess.

"Nah. I didn't see 'em. Didn't wanna wake them. Poofed in, poofed out." He watched at the eggs started to puff, a skeptical look on his face. "You ever think about how weird eating really is?" He grinned as she moved the food aside, his hand easily resuming its fondling under her sweater.

He ran his fingers up the inside of her thigh gently, not pressing her for anything but definitely suggesting. He found the seat of her panties easily, sliding his clawed finger over the seam of her. "Ya know I think you should have the omelet I got somethin' else I wanna eat…"

After adding another generous bit of cheese to the center and folding cooked egg over to trap the cheddar in a melty pocket, Lydia tilted the pan around, satisfied as the omelet slid over the smooth bottom of the pan effortlessly with a nice sizzle. Then, she tilted it forward and down, rolled her wrist in a carefully practiced motion, and flipped. It stuck the landing perfectly.

"Eating is weird," she agreed, placated by the affirmation that Charles and Delia Deetz were living to see another day. "Especially with some of the things people eat… Why do you eat bugs?" This was a conundrum that had often plagued her. Usually late at night, when she couldn't sleep and couldn't stop her thoughts from drifting away from her and toward her ex-fiance turned husband. "I have a theory, but I don't think you'll like it."

His finger found her panties then— caressing, growling filthy suggestive things— and Lydia faltered over sliding the finished omelet onto her plate, almost splattering her hard work all over the egg-smattered floors. It was not escaping her that he hadn't held up his end of the bargain. She didn't really care about the mess, but she wasn't a pushover either.

"Ah ah ah," she squirmed and evaded until the area beneath her dress was free of roaming hands, taking her plate, utensils, and mug of coffee in hand. "Clean up your mess and I'll think about it."

With that righteous dismissal, Lydia turned her back on him to settle at the table and enjoy her breakfast. It wasn't her fault he was defaulting away from her offer of an omelet. His loss.

"Why do you eat the dead animals that you eat? Come on it's not that weird." He licked his lips, about to get a finger under the elastic of her panties when she pulled away. He groaned dramatically, kicking his feet like a toddler.

"I don't wanna clean up! Come on. It's not like anyone'll see it but us!" He grumbled but set to work on it anyway. The mess was gone with a snap of his fingers, the dishes clean and back in their places without much fuss.

He grinned, advancing on her. "All done, babes. Now daddy wants a breakfast of his own." He let her finish eating before he was slipping under the table, his hands running up her thighs hungrily.

"Mmm. My favorite."

"Because meat tastes good," she answered after swallowing a mouthful of egg and cheese, mourning the absence of bacon or sausage on her plate. "Now granted, I've never had a bug before, but I'm hard-pressed to believe there's an insect out there that tastes as good as chocolate. You could just as easily eat chocolate instead. Call yourself 'Cocoa-Juice.'" She shook her head in denial of his simple logic, stifling giggles at her own joke.

"Nope." She was using a butter knife to slice her bites off in neat, tidy little pieces like a proper, well-mannered lady. "I think," she circled said butterknife in his direction, expecting the piece of omelet pierced at the end of her fork, "you do it because you know it's weird and you like weirding people out."

Lydia was being presumptuous, she knew, but her tone was light-hearted and it was clear there was no malice or ill-intention behind her hypothesizing. He was on the verge of a temper tantrum, verily upset at the prospect of being forced to take responsibility for his own actions. The sight was only funnier once he proved that he could wave a hand and magic it all away, as she suspected he could.

"How's about this," she proposed, grinning, finishing off the last of her breakfast as he stalked forward, "you stay out of the kitchen and I'll take care of cleaning from now on. Deal?" Was their marriage going to be a constant back and forth of negotiation and compromise? It certainly looked like it was shaping up to be that way. But really, that was the reality of all marriages, wasn't it?

"Beej," she dissolved into nervous laughter once cold hands found her knees and thighs, working at spreading the stubbornly locked limbs. He was talented and all, but Lydia was having too much fun playing hard to get to give it up now. "I said I would think about it. Hmmm… let's see if you can pass a pop quiz first. What makes a better omelet? Milk or water."

He scoffed. "I don't like chocolate. It's too sweet. We didn't have none of that shit when I was alive. And you're right. People hate it… it's hilarious."

"Water. Fluffy or some shit." He pressed his lips to her knee, digging his fingers in behind it to tickle her in an attempt to get her to spread 'em.

"Come on baby…. let me in. I just wanna make ya feel good…. I know you like my tongue." He ran it up her shin as though proving a point. "I want you…. let me have ya?"

He pouted up at her as though it would make a difference. "Please?"

He was getting better at begging. Lydia scooted her chair back just a bit from the table and him— he followed, of course— so she could see him more fully.

"Not bad," she praised, smoothing her hands over the top of his matted hair. "Decisions, decisions…" she prattled, making a show of denying him, as though she was having a really hard time deciding if he would get what he was asking for. "Hmm… one more question."

Whether he knew the answer or not, he would get what they both wanted. Lydia just wanted to know how well he really knew her. It was a test of sorts.

"What's my middle name?"

He grinned at her approval, resting his cheek on her thigh. She was testing him, he knew. Well, wouldn't she be surprised to find out just how much he knew?

"Well. Your dad would say it's Eliza. But I know better." He nuzzled his face into her thigh. "You… are my wife." He pressed a kiss to her skin, preparing to work his way up as he spoke.

"Lydia." A kiss. "Elisabeta.." This was growled out of his mouth like it was a dirty word, his lips lingering longer on this kiss. "Deetz. And then my last name whatever it was."

He nipped at her skin gently, looking up at her with hooded eyes. "Is that sufficient, kotyonok?"

"Deetz is a dumb name," she breathed softly, awed and taken aback by the things he said. He knew so much. Did he learn all this in the attic? Father never could seem to get her name right. Just wasn't important enough, she supposed. Evidently, it was very important to Betelgeuse. "I think I'd rather just drop it and take yours if it's all the same."

Had she not been so young when she came to live with her father and his pretty redheaded wife, she would have insisted on keeping her mother's name, but as it was the decision wasn't up to her.

Is that sufficient, kotyonok?

Kitten. His favorite pet name for her growled out lewdly in her first language. It made her unbearably hot; breath suddenly short, a little damp spot forming on the soft cotton of her panties right where he could make out the outline of her sweet, plump pussy lips.

"Da," she gave in finally, returning the romantic gesture in the that seldom used dialect. She couldn't remember the last time she spoke Russian. Thighs spreading over the cool, dark wooden seat to reveal herself to him. "S"yesh' svoyu portsiyu."

He grinned as the elegant words fell from her lips, her legs spreading for his head to tuck in between.

"Mmm. Spasiba." He grinned up at her, taking hold of her panties and pulling. "Glad I passed your little test." He lifted her foot gently, sliding her out of her underthings before returning to the task at hand.

He knew more than he probably should about her, considering how short their marriage had been. But when you were stuck in a model town with nothing else to do but admire the eye candy that curled up in the armchair across the room… well, let's just say he picked up on things.

He was again struck by a memory of her long elegant legs curled up under blue plaid and black tulle, the way her skirts had curled over those milky thighs was what had brought her to his attention to begin with. Now he got to bury himself between them as often as he liked.

Speaking of…

He grinned, pressing kisses to her skin as he approached her core, the scent of her burgeoning arousal making him shift, adjusting the hardness in his pants.

He laved his tongue over her labia gently, testing the waters. He knew she was bound to be sore- they'd yet to go more than eighteen hours without falling into the sack- but he couldn't help himself. She was sweet on his tongue. My favorite.

This time, she was able to muffle the astonished squeak that wanted to escape at the frigid introduction of his mouth to her scorching nether regions. It never took her very long to acclimate, gifted as he was, but that first touch was always a shock. One thigh was strung over his broad shoulder, the other left flat to provide a cushy pillow for his whiskery cheek. The barefoot that wasn't pressed flat against his back to give her leverage was slowly creeping forward between his knees on the ground until her calf was pushing snug against his raging hard-on.

She held on to the table to keep herself steady under his slow, savoring kisses, her free hand petting through his hair, over his cheek and around to cup the back of his neck as he carried on. She was tender, her lips puffy and walls engorged, still full of remnants of his cum from their lovemaking the previous night. There was no pain here, though. Only a sweet, gentle pleasure.

Was this going to be a daily affair? He couldn't seem to get enough of this particular act. His hips rocked against her leg slowly— humping like a dog— as his long tongue slithered up and down in a delicate rhythm, lapping up whatever she had to give him. He added a little pressure then, pushing that writhing appendage flat against her clit and drawing the entire exorbitant length of it up with a sluggish, elongated lick. She whimpered, a high-pitched girlish sound, and the leg strung over his shoulder began to quiver. Unable to help it, she shifted awkwardly, trying to sway her hips with his sinful kissing the way he had taught her to, but the position was unfamiliar.

"Just— almost—" she pasted, still attempting to adjust of force more pressure against the place she needed it, but he was frustratingly dedicated to keeping up an indulgent, torturing pace. In a desperate reach for release, she planted the leg he was rubbing his hard cock against firm into the ground, released both him and the table to grasp the edges of her seat, and used her feeble arm strength to lift her ass clear off the chair, seating seam of her dripping cunt directly against his mouth as the foot on his back pushed his mouth fully onto her.

"Yes!"

He snickered as she rolled against him, happy to maintain a slow, teasing pace as he soaked in the taste of her pleasure. There was a salty tinge to her this morning, their mixed cum from the night before lingering in her most private places.

She was squirming, making a strange sense of pride run through him. She'd made him wait for this, made him beg and prove himself before he got a taste and now she would do the same. His hips rolled against her leg firmly, the friction of his cock against her skin even through his boxers was intoxicating.

Suddenly he was being pulled into her, her hands in his hair and her ass lifting off of the seat. He quickly moved his hands under her to hold her up, moaning roughly against her as she forced his mouth harder against her.

He growled softly, his tongue teasing over the tight entrance to her cunt before pressing into her, sliding and twisting inside of her. It took everything in him not to abandon this act in favor of pressing his cock into this tight, wet heat. He managed, somehow, though his humping against her leg increased in fervor. His hands tensed on her ass, his long claws nearly breaking the skin as they dug into her alabaster flesh.

Finally, she seemed to be enjoying herself. As much as she seemed to enjoy all of their sexcapades, there was something different about her teasing him… making him work for it… that had him harder than he could remember being in his entire afterlife. He pulled back just far enough to look up at her, the flexible tip of his tongue curling and uncurling around her clit.

She loved his hands so much. They were different from hers in almost every way; size, texture, age, cleanliness, the length and sturdiness of their nails. Hers were very short and fragile, prone to breakage if she let them get too long. His were thick and strong, though their tips had seen some abuse.

It had taken her long enough to realize it, but she did, she loved his hands. Especially right now, as they encompassed her entire backside, squeezing tight as he fucked his tongue deep into her in labyrinthine patterns. Letting him fuck her this way was probably closer to what normal sex with normal boys was supposed to feel like. Even then, Lydia doubted there existed many, if any, out there that could hold a candle to her extremely talented husband.

The bruises from her drunken spanking had long since fully formed and were on their way to healing, but Lydia didn't doubt he would replace them whenever that happened. For now, they provided that delicious sting she'd come to crave when he prodded at them, using his superior strength to help hold her aloft after her frenzied attempt at getting closer. She was thankful for the assistance what with the increased intensity in the way he was rutting against her leg, the force of it threatening her stability.

No matter. He wouldn't let her fall. She could tell from the unquestionable, searing love those jade eyes were burning up at her as he pulled back just so, pausing his fervor pseudo-fucking in favor of leaving his sickly green tongue extended to ply at the tiny bundle of nerves at the tip of her entrance.

It was all much too much. Lashes fluttering, straining to maintain the imperative eye contact he initiated, she fell apart in his hands. Her back arched far off the back of the chair, and from his perspective, Betelgeuse could see the acute details of the muscles in her lower belly twitching with her orgasm.

He really did love her. Loved the way she whined, high in her throat when his tongue found her sensitive bundle of nerves. Loved the way she pressed into his touch, the way she arched back as she fell apart. He moaned into her as she came, the whole of her tiny body shaking.

When he'd eaten his fill of her cum he pulled back to press his cheek to her thigh, panting. He hastily shoved a hand into his boxers, stroking himself and grunting softly. He was still close enough to smell her.

"Fuck, Lyds… love ya so fuckin' much… ya taste so good, kitten you got no fuckin' idea whatcha do ta me…." His tongue risked one last teasing tickle over her tight hole, making her whimper and pull back from him. He'd have to work on getting her through multiple orgasms more reliably. It wasn't any fun if she was too over sensitive. He didn't want it to hurt.

"Fuck, Lydia…. I'm gonna cum…."

Jesus Christ, that's all it took? He could get off on that alone? Servicing her, rubbing against her leg like a horny mutt, his cock not even fully touching her through most of it, couldn't be enough. It just wasn't feasible, not with what she knew of his egregious appetite. Yet, here he was, breathing rapidly like he actually needed it, an unearthly color blooming on his mossy cheeks that could almost pass as a feverish blush.

"Lemme…" She murmured, sliding her still trembling thigh from his shoulder so that she could hunch over, press her red-painted lips to his, slick with evidence of her pleasure, and reach down to help him out. She made it as far as wrapping her short, warm fingers around the engorged staff and squeezing once. Like pulling the trigger on a gun, he exploded against her leg, releasing a strangled grunt into their kiss. She stroked him gently through it, moving her lips heatedly against his all the while, spurred on by the naughtiness of knowing that she was tasting herself.

Once she was sure he was done, no more cool splashes of semen coming down on her shin, she released him, slumping back in the chair.

"That was nice," she sighed dreamily, idly stroking his big head as it rested on her thigh. "In fact," she continued on, a teasing lilt coloring her breathy, post-orgasm tone, "it was so nice, I won't even ask you to clean up your mess."

He tangled his hand in her hair as they kissed, a guttural moan leaving him as she worked him over the edge. He shuttered, his body shaking with the effort as he came down.

He all but face planted back into her lap, groaning softly as she ran those long magical fingers over his face and head.

It was so nice, I won't even ask you to clean up your mess.

Little shit. He shot her a look out of one eye, turning his head just enough to sink his teeth into the soft flesh of her thigh.

"Don't be a brat or I'm never eatin' ya out again. And I know you'd miss it."

This was nice. Strangely comforting. The domesticity of their morning sank into his old, tired bones, making him wonder what it would be like if their souls had met earlier. In another time and place. Would he have been who he was now?

He pushed the thought aside, nuzzling into her soft stomach lovingly. "Grazie per amarmi. Ti adoro." He murmured the words into her skin, trusting her to not know what was said.

Chapter Text

"A long night spent with your most obvious weakness,
You start shaking at the thought,
You are everything I want,
'Cause you are everything I'm not,"

—MakeDamnSure
Taking Back Sunday

For the next three days— or what felt like three days, time was a difficult construct to keep track of in the Neitherworld— they existed in a state of domestic bliss. Lydia was actually eating three square meals a day, rather than starving throughout the day and barely picking at her dinner, the way she had been going about things in the living realm. After all, if she didn't cook, Betelgeuse took it upon himself to and that never ended well. More than once, he had been chased out of Lydia's kitchen by his knife-wielding wife so that she could fix whatever horrendous mess he had caused. Something told her he was getting off on watching her perform menial chores.

If he was, it didn't show. Since their bout in the kitchen that morning, he hadn't touched her except to cuddle or kiss. Even then, whenever things started to get heated he would gently disengage her, distract her somehow, usually by torturing her with an onslaught of merciless tickling. It hadn't taken him long at all to discover how ticklish she was.

Lydia didn't mind. Cuddling and kissing were nice on their own, and she couldn't expect him to throw down with her every day, could she? He'd be back eventually. Multiple times throughout the day, he would reiterate his love to her verbally, as if worried she might forget if he didn't hammer the message in. "Love ya, kitten," was the first thing she heard in the morning and the last thing she heard before falling into dreams every night, a honeyed growled against her ear, usually followed by a sweet, lingering kiss to her neck at the spot he claimed her, which was beginning to fade with each day.

He never pressured her to return the verbal gesture and she was thankful for it, unsure of her feelings and unwilling to give false information about something so serious. She wouldn't toy with his feelings, not after everything he had given her.

Like this library.

Currently, Lydia had her nose stuffed deep into a thick tome all about Neitherworld law. She'd been at it for hours, a dictionary at her side to help her decipher some of the antiquated dialect used in the texts. She wasn't looking for any information in particular, so much as all of it. The Neitherworld was fascinating and she wanted to know all about her new home. Betelgeuse didn't usually tread for too long in here, much preferring the stimulating lights and color of television to Lydia's nerdy, bookish pursuits. Therefore it was a surprise to her when she went to rub her stressed eyes and caught sight of that familiar pattern of bold black and white stripes. She jolted on the chaise lounge, startling Percy from her lap and nearly losing her place in Justice for the Unjust: A History of Neitherworld Law.

"Beej!" She began, giddy over her discoveries. "Why didn't you tell me there was a monarchy here? That's insane! Did you know that like, a gazillion years ago this Queen Illya woman tried to 'obliterate the barrier between the realm of the living and that of the dead'," she was quoting directly from a passage, "because she thought she was hot shit and should be ruling things over there too? They cut off her head and mounted it in a bathroom in the royal palace and it's still there. She's supposedly very chatty… how long have I been in here? Is it dinner time?"

A thinner book she intended to read later was used as a makeshift bookmark to mark her spot, then she passed it off to join the pile that was building up on the side table.

"I'll take care of it. Please tell me you didn't already start on something."

By the end of the third day he'd completely forgotten why he was torturing himself by abstaining from absolutely ravishing his wife. Sure, the domestic thing was fun. But he was starting to reach the end of his patience. He loved the way a smile would slip over her face when he woke her with gentle kisses and an I love ya so much, Lydia.

He really shouldn't have given her the library. Or he should have at least checked the content of some of these books before he left her alone in here. He was hovering at the edge of the room as she read, his face gaunt.

The book was about Netherworld history and law. The royal family featured heavily and he was suddenly worried-no. Afraid. That she would decide to leave him to be a courtier. She would be a magnificent queen. Of course, she would.

Suddenly she was speaking, and he was snapped out of his thoughts. He put his usual smirk on his face, disguising the doubt underneath it as she went on about her book.

Please tell me you didn't already start on something.

He chuckled softly, wrapping his arm around her waist and pulled her close, pressing a firm kiss to her lips. "Actually… I thought it was high time that I took ya out. Court ya real proper and all that…"

"Out?"

She blinked, his words not quite processing for a moment. After spending this many days in a row comfortable and hermitted in their home, playing house and settling the place in, the concept of leaving was at once both intimidating and exciting.

"Court? Like… a date?"

The prospect of a romantic outing was similarly foreign, confusing, and intriguing. Lydia had never been on a date before. The only parts of the Neitherworld she had seen were sleazy business strips, only marginally different from any other corrupt corner of the living world.

"And do what? Go where?" She tampered her sudden thirst for adventure, realizing her string of questions were coming off brusque and she hadn't even accepted yet. "I— yeah, sure, let's go. I don't think I have anything appropriate to wear for anything fancy though."

Currently, she wore a baggy pair of monochrome plaid fleece pants, a black tank top, and her ridiculous fuzzy cat slippers, copious hair thrown into a messy bun and not an iota of makeup on her face— the picture of comfort and laziness. This was a girl who wasn't ready to go anywhere.

He smiled at her interest, leaning against a bookshelf and lighting himself a cigarette. "Like a date. Exactly. And I thought we could make a day of it. Start at the shocking mall to get that closet of yours filled up and then have dinner.. maybe some drinks. I wanna show you off, kitten…"

He winked at her and her lazy clothes disappeared, replaced with a tight black dress, the bodice of which was made from a lace mimicking a sparkling silver spiderweb that peeked through to a deep red satin beneath it. It was strapless, hugging her curves until it met her knee and ended. Her hair was pulled up onto the top of her head in a pretty knot, thin whisps falling down to frame her face. The whole thing was topped with a sparkling ruby hair comb that he may or may not have lifted out of a wealthy queen's grave. He offered his arm playfully.

"M'lady. May I escort you?"

Oh. He realized suddenly that she had yet to meet Doomie. Standing on their front porch, he whistled loudly between his teeth and the bouncy automobile answered with delighted honking, tearing up the road toward them. He went to open her door, bending at the waist in a teasing bow, a grin solidly overtaking his face.

"Princess. Your chariot awaits."

Lydia wasn't sure exactly what he thought he was going to show off. She was so goddamn short most people looked right through or over her. Evidently, Betelgeuse didn't care about her diminutive height seeing as he defaulted to replacing her cat slippers with a pair of black ballerina flats, ribbon crisscrossing over the tops of her feet to meet behind the ankle in a petite bow.

The dress was without a doubt the tightest, most revealing thing she had ever worn in her life, with the exception of her only swimsuit— plain, one-piece, black, and never worn due to Lydia's unfortunately heliophobic flesh. With the lack of sunlight in the Neitherworld, there was no need to hide away beneath sunhats, veils, and long sleeves. Despite this newfound freedom to display herself more liberally, she was still self-conscious and uncomfortable with how much the dress exposed. At least most of her bruises had faded by now, so everyone they encountered wouldn't be immediately disclosed on the intimate details of their sexual dalliances.

"Beej," she questioned meekly as he escorted her toward the front door and toward the animated car, cautious of appearing ungrateful, "can I have a shawl or a jacket or something, please? This is a bit much."

She was correspondingly uncomfortable with the idea of letting him waste oodles of money on her for something as trivial as clothing but knew better than to debate. His mind was clearly made up. "Doomie" meep-meeped as they approached, its front bracket twisting into a friendly grin. One headlight blinked on an off in a winking gesture.

"Hello," she greeted the cognizant vehicle with a sweet, wondrous smile, charmed by his very existence, then pet his hood like she would Percy. Like Percy, Doomie purred for her, revving up fully once she was seated and reaching for her buckle— there wasn't one— and Betelgeuse was sliding into the driver's side. It wasn't until they were taking off and her seat was rumbling beneath her that she realized she wasn't wearing any underwear.

He smiled as he closed the door behind her, hopping over his door to get into the driver's seat. "It's not that cold, babes. You'll be fine."

In moments they were tearing off down the road. He glanced at his wife, seeing her face blushing a soft pink as Doomie rumbled along. She must have realized just what he hadn't conjured her.

She really did look like a million bucks. He was struck again by just how lucky he was. He leaned back in his seat, putting one hand on her thigh gently as they drove up to the Shocking Mall. He'd assumed a habit of having a hand on her at all times.

He was grateful that he'd thought to pick up some spare cash the last time he was out. If someone was dumb enough to leave their wallet in their back pocket it wasn't his problem.

He was out of the car quickly, ready to help her out of the car. "Here we go, sugar. Let's go getcha some pretty things to wear. Shall we?"

Unlike showing off skin, his touch was something she had acclimated to, so Lydia thought nothing of it as he kept a gruff palm resting on her thigh the entire right, the thumb rubbing slow circles on the outer side, the other fingers occasionally dipping closer to the impossibly softer, more delicate flesh of the inner parts. The sights kept her enraptured. Most of the drive was spent in the Neitherwoods— due to her reading, she now knew what the call the forests that surrounded her home— but soon, trees began to bleed into a more urban setting, and before too long they were pulling up outside of a truly massive building painted electric blue. Shocking Mall read a giant, blinking sign above the automatic doors as Betelgeuse escorted his awed wife along.

Aside from the dead people and monsters that traipsed about everywhere— shopping, chatting, hanging out, living—the storefronts kept her in rapt attention. It was less rude to stare at those. There was a shop called Spines & Spirits that appeared to sell alcoholic beverages, as well as spare bones. From what Lydia had gathered from her time here, misplacing one's bones was apparently a common problem. The beauty salon, Curl Up and Die, catered to all different manner of clientele; rewraps for mummies, fang-bleaching treatments for sharp-toothed damsels, and waxing packages for even the hairiest of dames. Lydia was enchanted.

A boutique called Terrifyingly Intimate appeared to be their destination. As soon as they crossed the threshold, they were greeted by the most beautiful woman Lydia had ever seen.

"Welcome!" A fuchsia spider the size of a large dog gifted her with an enormous, fangy grin, batting long spindly lashes on her humanoid eyes. "Is the-uh anythin' I can do ta… help... you…?" The sales associate's enthusiasm waned, her bright pink gaze catching sight of the girl's— the living girl's— monstrous companion.

"B-Betel!" She sputtered, suddenly terrified, and Lydia leveled her husband with a vaguely dirty look. That his presence alone was enough to shock the beautiful spider into a state of terror was damning evidence of past misbehavior on his part. Surprise, surprise. "Wh-what are you doin' he-uh? I don' really got anythin' you'd be interested in… unless you're wantin' somethin' fuh ya cute lil friend?"

He watched her eyes widen with a smirk. She seemed impressed so far, thank god. If she were any other girl he wouldn't have brought her somewhere so… normal. But being alive in a necropolis made everything infinitely more interesting.

He led her through the mall, a hand firmly on the small of her back. When they reached Terrifyingly Intimate he finally let her go, trusting her to look around in here in a way he didn't out in the mall itself. He didn't the thought of her wandering off.

He nodded to the spider when she turned to finally see who was there, his smirk returning in full force.

"Hey there, Ging. I'm here for her. She needs a new wardrobe." He leaned in to press a firm kiss to her cheek, winking at his former roommate. "This is Lydia. My wife."

He waited for the reaction of disgust he knew was coming. He ignored it, turning to peruse a rack of lace corsetry that had caught his eyes. "Get anythin' you want baby girl Ginger here owes me for lettin' her live in my house rent-free." He shot the arachnid a look that said she was in for a wild ride while the couple was in the store.

"Wife…?"

Ginger mouthed the impossible word without speaking, thoroughly befuddled. Jesus Christ, he actually did it. The spider hadn't thought him desperate enough for freedom to actually tie himself down in such a way, much less honor a relationship of that nature, but here he was. With his wife, proud as any dirty old man with a sweet, young thing on his arm. The girl in question was clearly little more than a child, despite the fact that her ghoulish husband had her dressed in all the trappings of a high-class piece of tail. No amount of winged liner or crimson lipstick would sharpen the baby soft roundness of those youthful cheeks.

Struck with sudden, fierce maternal instinct, Ginger was ready to do what she could to make this girl— and by extension, her terrifying husband— happy.

"I've got just the thing!" She extolled, putting on a cheery face to mask her lingering trepidation and hopefully comfort the child. "How do ya feel about green, honey?" A spindly leg drew a long satin gown of emerald from a rack to display. "I think this shade would really make those gawrgeous eyes o' yours pop!"

"It's beautiful, really, but…"

It was. Lydia wasn't as confident as the beautiful spider that she could do such a dress any justice, but when her eyes scanned the high number on the price tag, she rediscovered her humility. Granted, she didn't know anything about Neitherworld money or which numbers meant what, but this looked expensive. Betelgeuse was comfortable bullying Ginger into giving merchandise away for free, but Lydia was not. She glanced around, and not seeing her husband over the racks, disclosed to Ginger very quietly.

"You don't have to show me your really pricey stuff. I'll be fine with whatever's on the clearance rack."

Adorable. If she wasn't charmed before, Ginger certainly was now.

"Don't worry about it, honey!" She laughed and took it upon herself to string the gown over one of her eight, hairy arms for Lydia to try on. "These are all completely, one-hundred percent homemade by yours truly, and I only produce the highest-quality silk. 'Clearance' is not a word in my vocabulary. Whatevuh you get I'll just replace latuh after the shop closes, so go crazy! Now how do ya feel about purple? I think this one would pull out the blue tones in that pretty hair ya got..."

Betel smirked as his bride was whisked away to shop. He did like the colors that Ginger was offering, but he knew that she wasn't likely to pick them. She was a monochromatic kind of girl.

He licked his lips as he pulled out some of his own choices for her to try on. A formfitting teddy of red lace was first, followed closely by a rather… artistic rendition of a school uniform- blue plaid, naturally.

He looked to where the girls were fawning over the silks, a soft smile coming to his face. As much as Ginger annoyed him it would be nice for Lydia to make friends. After all, if she was going to spend her eternity with him, she'd need somewhere to go when she got sick of him.

He handed her his choices, adding a deep emerald flapper style dress to the pile and kissing her cheek, then her neck firmly. "I like the purple, baby. Ya ready to go try these things on? Daddy wants to see ya all dressed up."

They came to settle toward the back of the store where the changing rooms were located. Betelgeuse got nice and cozy in a chair that would allow him full, centerstage view of his wife as she emerged in each outfit, Ginger even going as far to provide him with an ashtray, knowing he was going to smoke in the store with or without her say so.

Lydia presented herself to him in gown after gown after gown, growing increasingly confident with each one. Ginger was right. She did look good in green. And purple. Of course, the thoughtful spider still added little black numbers into the queue here and there, pinpointing the girl's tastes. For the time being, Lydia had removed the pretty hair comb so that the rubies— were they real? They looked real— wouldn't clash with each ensemble.

Soon, a large pile built up on the chair next to her husband as he approved literally everything she tried on. Apparently, he was easy to please. After a while, all that was left to try on were the raunchier outfits he had handpicked— hanging off to the side, pointedly avoided. Most of these, the gowns included, she couldn't see herself wearing anywhere. However, she would humor him. "Sugar Daddy & Sugar Baby" was a new game, but it was one Betelgeuse appeared to be having entirely too much fun playing.

"I am not wearing this out there!"

She objected in no uncertain terms, calling over the door. It was the red lace teddy he'd picked out. It was entirely backless, so little material left over for the ass that it just wedged up between her cheeks to form a thong. The front dipped down past her navel, stopping just above her nethers, a tiny red bow below her bust the only thing keeping her breasts from spilling out.

Betel was more than happy to lounge back in the armchair provided, chain-smoking cigarettes as he watched her come out in gown after gorgeous gown. Of course, any that she wanted she was going to get. Why not take advantage of his chance to play sugar daddy?

I am  not  wearing this out there.

Ah, good. They'd reached his picks. He was out of the chair in a single bound, sliding into her dressing room and closing the door behind him.

"Woah… look at you baby girl. Now we're fuckin' talkin'…" He let his hands roam over the soft red lace hungrily, pulling her flush against him as his fingers slid down to tease between her cheeks.

"This one is definitely a keeper…"

Lydia startled when he invaded the tiny dressing room so boldly, not expecting a move like that. Then, he was on her, in a way he hadn't been in days. There was unmistakable intent behind the way he was pawing at her, squeezing, dipping his claws between her cheeks until they snagged on the delicate material wedged there. That was new. Her ass was without a doubt his favorite place to grab, but he'd never ventured that far before.

She grabbed at the lapels of his suit as he kept at her, staring with a hint of trepidation as he grinned down mischievously, eyes dark with lust.

"Beej," she whispered, gaze flickering between him and the door, "not here. Later."

"Later, she says. God damn Lyds how am I supposed to resist ya when I know you got this just waitin' for me to peel it off?"

He nipped at the shell of her ear, all but purring. "At least let me eat ya out… it's been too long. I've been real good…"

He didn't push, despite his pleading, his hands staying relatively innocent as he slid them up and over her ribs. He knew that by now Ginger had likely closed the store, expecting them to take their time.

"Did ya see the other one? Throw your Miss Shannon's sweater over that baby and we're talkin' a livin' breathin' wet dream from back in the attic… I swear to god, sendin' ya to private school is the best thing yer dad ever did, baby…"

He was begging again. Lydia wasn't good at saying no when he begged like that. As endeared as she was to that talented tongue of his, there was no way he could bring her to completion without her natural sounds of enthusiasm alerting the beautiful spider. Nevertheless, something had to be done to sate him or he would likely just have his way with her in the parking lot in Doomie's backseat. A dressing room was better than that at least, right? Right? His hunger had been building, and it was just her luck that it chose now to unleash itself.

"Okay, okay, okay," she hushed, wary of eavesdroppers, "but not that. Too loud. Just— just— here."

Coming to a decision, she dropped to her knees, forcing him to pause his fondling, and rushed through unzipping his pants without any further direction. Immediately, his rigid girth jutted forward without needing to be fished out, a drop of precum leaking at the tip. This was her first time partaking in this act without any alcohol in her system, but hopefully, she did okay. If humping her leg through his boxers could get him off, this would definitely have him taken care of.

Still with a facet of hurry in her motions, she took hold of him at the base and swallowed down as much as she could in one stroke. There was a pause while she tongued at it, undulating her cheek muscles to provide more saliva and lubricate the intrusion, but then she was back to moving; bobbing her head back and forth in a quick succession meant to get him off as soon as possible, sucking down hard, big eyes locked on his expression to discern whether or not she was getting the job done.

Well, fuck.

His eyes went wide as his beautiful wife dropped to her knees, tugging at his fly. This was new, and he felt a rush of excitement run through him as she tenderly took him into her hot, wet mouth.

He moaned, tangling a hand in her hair as she started to work him over. "Fuck, kitten that's good.. how are you so good at that? Not real fair…" He let his head fall back against the wall of the dressing room.

He knew she wanted to be quiet, but he rarely stopped his mouth, especially in the throws of intimacy. After all, if he didn't tell her how well she was doing, how would she know?

His eyes stayed locked on her sweet pink lips, painted in red lipstick that was now being spread up the length of his cock. How pretty. "Lyds… fuck I ain't gonna last long…"

Good.

Compliments of this nature from a man as worldly and experienced as her husband made warmth flower in her belly, leading her to somewhat regret her refusal of his generous offer. Later. Unlike Betelgeuse, Lydia was far more adept at practicing patience. Her bobbing slicked him up nice and good, giving her hand the wetness necessary to squeeze and slide the parts she couldn't fit in her mouth. She vaguely remembered the scratch of his pubic hair against her lips as she took it all, bent over backward and deprived use of her hands. However, when she tried now, she could only get a couple of inches or so to stretch past the tight ring of her throat muscles.

Maybe she wasn't relaxed enough? Drunk enough? Or maybe it was the positioning? In either case, Lydia found herself frustrated by her inability despite his loving praise and worked all the harder to make up for it. The hand that wasn't working faithfully to help her mouth out in getting him off crept up his chest, fisting into the off-white material of his white button-up to provide leverage as she swallowed him down with zeal.

True to his word, he soon busted into her mouth in a cool, slightly sweet rush. Eager to prove herself in light of her shortcoming, she kept sucking and bobbing all through his orgasm, eventually taking it as deep as she could go and staying there to let the last ropes of his cum drip down her throat. Very slowly, still sucking hard, she pulled back until he was released from her lipstick-smudged mouth with a pop. His cock was only slightly damp, bereft of almost any evidence that she had even been there.

Panting just a little slower than him, she fell back until she was sitting on her feet, relieving pressure from her knees.

"I'm hungry," she informed petulantly after swallowing down the last remnants of his release, well aware of the double meaning. "Do you think we can finish up our date now without you molesting me in a closet? I think I have enough clothes."

He leaned back, groaning as she cleaned him off, those plush lips leaving him with a sinful sound of suction being released. He looked down at her with hooded eyes, a hunger still sitting behind them as he took her in.

"Yeah, yeah… let's finish our date… You gonna wear that out or ya gonna put on a dress?" He teased her gently, offering a hand to help her to her feet. He cleared his throat, tucking his cock away and zipping his fly. He kissed her gently, reveling in the taste of himself on her lips.

"I'll be right outside. Just gonna make sure we got everything." He slipped out of the tiny room, waving Ginger down and slipping her some money. It wasn't really enough to cover what he was getting, but the thought was nice.

When his wife emerged he offered her his hand, her clothes having already been sent back to her closet. "Shall we, mia bella? I have somewhere I want to show you."

Before exiting the changing room, Lydia swiped all along the edges of her mouth to clear away any evidence of their liaison. Luckily, Ginger seemed none the wiser as they approached.

"Thank you." Not one to forget her manners, Lydia made sure to give her thanks to the beautiful spider before joining her husband at the doors. "Your work is stunning, really, I loved them all. And you, you're just… amazing," she gushed, exposing her fascination with the humanoid spider-woman. "I wish I had my camera, I bet you're incredibly photogenic."

"Well gawrsh," Ginger dithered, flushing a furious shade of pink at the sweet living girl's fawning and wondering not for the first time how Betelgeuse managed to rope a girl like this into a deal like that. "Ain't you just the sweetest? Don't mention it, honey, n' come back any time! I'd be glad to make you an original if you're evah on the lookout for somethin' specific."

"I'll keep that in mind," Lydia grinned, "and thanks again!"

Betelgeuse was waiting for her with a grimy palm outstretched. Mia Bella. Foreign terms of endearment like that growled out on a mouth that dirty only aggravated the pangs of arousal in her belly.

"I'm all yours." Her tinier, softer hand slipped into his, and then they were gone.

Leading her back to Doomie, he summoned a picnic basket to sit in her lap as he took off again. The drive took a while, but before long they were pulling off the road to the edge of a high cliff.

Beneath them appeared to be a tideless ocean, swirling and shifting with unnatural light and energy. If one watched long enough they could see faces moving in the dark water, mouths wide with unheard cries.

He summoned them a blanket- soft velvet on one side and a sturdy fleece on the other- and spread it out on the edge of the cliff before reaching for the basket. "Here we are, mi tesoro."

He pulled their spread from the basket, fresh strawberries and melon carefully cut into cubes for easy consumption. Following that was a tray of charcuterie and a loaf of fresh, soft bread. A wheel of brie was set beside them and finally, a bottle of wine and two glasses completed their meal.

He lounged back on the basket, lighting a cigarette and passing one to his wife with a wink. "Eat up, sugar. I wantcha to have the energy to go dancin'."

The view was stunning. Doubtlessly the most mysterious and beautiful sight that had ever befallen her gaze. Fearless of the fatal drop, she stayed standing at the cliff's edge for long moments, taking it all in with eyes and mouth agape. Nothing she had seen above or below in any of her short years could possibly compare.

"What is this place…?" She breathed, taken in by the supernatural beauty. Eventually, she settled herself right at the lip of the blanket nearest to the cliff's edge, legs bent and splayed to the side so that he couldn't get a peek up her dress, pantiless as she was, as the skirt rode up her thighs. Yes, he'd already seen everything she had to offer, but this didn't eradicate what little was left of her chastity.

"Dance?!" Lydia nearly choked on the piece of bread she'd spread some brie and a bit of smoked meat on. Good God, he was serious. "I can't dance!"

Ballet wasn't the same as writhing on some dance floor with a man. It was structured and disciplined, each move carefully crafted and executed in a manner to make it appear effortless. She had yet to even advance far enough in the art to be good enough to practice with a partner, and she'd been at it for years. Lydia doubted he intended on bringing her to a ballet studio, though the mental image of him prancing about in tights and ballet slippers did give her an internal giggle.

Initially, she eyed the wine suspiciously before daring to take a tentative sip from the glass he poured for her. Her intake of the devil-water would have to be carefully watched. Alcohol was dangerous, she had learned.

"This is my first date, you know," she informed casually as if he wasn't already aware. "Miss Shannon says that 'ladies aren't supposed to kiss until the third date', but I think she's an uptight prude that hasn't gotten laid since the Great Depression."

He smiled. "Yeah, dancing. And you don't gotta be a good dancer to dance. Though I bet you're great. He took a drink of his wine, looking down into the soul-ridden waters.

"This is a popular place for when people first die. Thought you'd like to see it considering how into mythology you are. That's the river Styx. Look." He pointed out a small boat that was moving sluggishly across the water. "Ferry service. Costs out the ass. Isn't worth it."

He tilted his head as she confessed that this was her first date. He shook his head. "You're really blowin' my mind, kid. I can't believe I get to be all these firsts for ya. Those mortal men must be fuckin' blind. And I think you're right on ol' Shannon. Her legs are closed so tight they've started to fuse."

He smirked, letting his hand settle on her calf gently. "But oh well. All the better for me, huh?" He pressed a kiss to her cheek gently. "How's the food? I do okay? I didn't want us to have to use silverware. Hard to do when you're not at the table."

He snagged a spider that was passing by, popping it into his mouth with a crunch. "Hmm. That was a good one."

The River Styx.

"Bullshit," she denied flatly, grinning, believing him completely. "It is not!"

Still, she leaned forward over the edge as he pointed out Charon's boat in the distance, noting the skeletal creature cloaked all in black as it rowed across the river of souls. He looked tall from Lydia's vantage point, meaning he likely towered when brought to scale.

"Deadly-voo…"

Considering her recent meeting with such a delightful talking spider, Lydia felt a pang watching him eat one, but held her tongue. He wasn't touching the picnic bounty, and he deserved to have a good time too.

"The food's perfect, thank you. Everything is, really" she assured, bringing a strawberry to her lips. "I don't really like melon." This wasn't a complaint, so much as a practical fact; information about herself given freely for the sake of letting him know her more fully. "But I don't need anything else, this is plenty."

She was already starting to gain weight from her time with him. If she wasn't careful, she would get fat, and then she'd see how quickly those admissions of love dried up. Shaking away the pessimistic thought, she leaned more fully against him as he settled near, content to relax in his embrace and watch the tortured souls down below.

"If this is real… then what about God? And Hell? And Heaven? Don't tell me the Christians were actually onto something."

He happily cuddled into her, taking up the bowl of melon for himself. He popped a bite into his mouth and pressed his sticky lips to her cheek.

He ran his hand gently over her stomach, enjoying the fact that she was finally putting some meat on her bones. She'd been unhealthily thin when she'd called him, a consequence of depression eating away at her will to live. Now, she was vibrant and eating and bouncy. It made his old, twisted heart do strange things in his chest.

"Nah, the Christians just like to have someone to blame. And the Styx is more like a… a tourist trap. People who wanna believe in it do. We wouldn't be here if you didn't believe it existed. That's how death works.. intent is power."

He set the fruit aside, deciding he'd rather fill his time with her soft skin. He mouthed over her neck, sucking gently at her pulse point. "So… you wanna tell me about your mom? If I'm gonna look for her it might help me to know some stuff." He was sure she'd thought he'd forgotten.

Lydia never talked about her mother. Therefore, it was only natural for her to go quiet when he asked, contemplating how best to respond, which details about Mother were important and which weren't.

"She was young when she had me. Seventeen." Relating the topic back to herself made this easier. "She and my Dad weren't serious at all. Barely even a fling, but more than a one-night stand— from what I can gather, anyway. She was new to the states and just having fun living it up in the big city, and he was still in school. She came over from Russia to study to be a doctor… but that never happened. Obviously." Because of me.

"Dad wanted her to get an abortion, but she came from a really traditional family so that never happened either." That Lydia knew this at all was troubling on the face of it to her husband. Small children should never be made aware of the burden of their existence. "So she had me, and they stopped seeing each other before I was even born. For a while, it was just me and her, and everything was good."

Those were Lydia's happiest memories, hazy as they were. Mother never had much money, despite the generous, timely child support payments, but she made it work as best she could for as long as she could. However, Natalya was a delicate creature not built for the hardships of poverty and single motherhood.

"But then she met this guy…" Her voice floated away from her just a bit, gaze glazing over as she paused to sip down the last of her wine. "Got heavy into heroin; using and selling."

These were the parts her mind had worked at erasing for her. She didn't remember what color the walls were in her sad, windowless bedroom, but she remembered that Mommy had given it to her, choosing instead to sleep on the old beat up couch in the living room.

"Heroin is bullshit. She didn't… she stopped being her. I got too skinny, and I was walking to school by myself and showing up in dirty clothes. They ended up sending a social worker on a surprise visit one day and found her passed out on the couch with a needle in her arm. I didn't even know what she was doing was wrong. I thought all adults did it. You know… little kid logic. I didn't understand why they took me away. They brought me to this stranger who claimed to be my father and set me up in what I thought was a fucking mansion at the time. I had everything a little girl could ever want or need but I hated it. I hated them. All I wanted was to go back to that roach-infested hole and be with my Mommy."

She laughed here, obscenely so, shaking her head at her own ridiculousness. "Stupid."

He listened obediently, his hand at her thigh and rubbing soothing circles as she spoke. All of this was royally fucked. No wonder his precious wife had so much emotional baggage. Had struggled the way she had for any ounce of attention she could get.

He frowned at the mention of her mother's boyfriend. He'd have to circle back to that. When he was sure she was done talking he took her face in his hands, kissing her firmly. "Shut up. You're not stupid…"

So Charles wasn't in her life to start out with. It was odd to him that they'd grown as close as they were, considering. He felt rage burning in his throat at the thought of a little Lydia, alone in a house with her mother passed out on drugs. Unfed and under cared for. It was a wonder she had lived to ever meet him.

"That's not… none of that shit was your fault. Your parents fucked up. Your dad… he shoulda been there for you as soon as he found out you existed!" In his time there were no such things as absent fathers. If you knocked a woman up she was your wife, no questions asked.

"I am.. I'm so sorry you had ya go through that, mi Tesoro." His hands gentled where they were holding her, his forehead pressing to hers as he tried to calm the swelling rage within him.

"Your Mom's boyfriend… tell me about him. He couldn't get his head outta his ass long enough to feed ya? To make sure his lover's child wasn't gonna die on his watch?"

He couldn't begin to fathom it. He'd dated women with kids before. Hell, there were a few brats running around the netherworld that still got deathday gifts every year from their Uncle BJ. If he had found out any one of those kids was in danger he'd be there in an instant. Her mom couldn't be that for her? Her father? The boyfriend?

Fine, he thought. She's mine now. She doesn't need them.

Betelgeuse was being so sweet, so attentive, holding her and petting and listening intently to everything she had to say. There wasn't any underlying sexual intent behind his touches, no ulterior motive to be unburied. They were meant solely for her comfort and she felt it in her soul, sinking deeper into his embrace so that he might carry the weight of her troubles.

He shoulda been there for you as soon as he found out you existed!

"That's not fair, Beej," she disagreed gently in direct contrast to his audible distaste. Who would have thought deadbeat dads were a hot-button issue for him? "He was just a kid. At least he paid child support and took me in after she got locked up. He didn't have to do that. He could have just let me go to foster care. Probably would have made Delia happier if he had. That's more than a lot of fathers do." Unfortunately.

He began apologizing for her experiences then, the hands that held her shaking as he husked out another loving pet name in a language she didn't speak. It sounded Italian. Was he Italian? Or did he just speak it? In either case, she loved it. It reminded her of being small and watching the Addams Family, seeing how much Gomez loved Morticia and dreaming of a love like that for her own one day.

Your Mom's boyfriend… tell me about him.

"Fuck him," Lydia spat with sudden, uncharacteristic vehemence, before catching herself. "I mean… sure, yeah, he gave me candy sometimes. Brought me toys. Babysat. Was… present. He just— he… I guess he was," she swallowed, "nice enough. But he's just the son of a bitch who got my mom hooked on heroin, so I don't really want to talk about him if you don't mind. He's not important."

There was something more behind the way she lashed out at the mention of the boyfriend. He filed that one away for later, manhandling her into his lap and pulling her into a deep kiss.

"We don't gotta talk about anything. Thanks for tellin' me all this. I swear I'm gonna go look for yer mom as soon as I can."

He ran his fingers over the wispy hairs at the base of her neck, twirling them around his fingers carefully. "Anythin' ya wanna ask in return, Lyds? I know this was kind of a big ol' ask, but... I wantcha to know you can ask me anything. Okay?"

"Okay…"

She agreed, relaxing into his hold easily after that deep, almost rough kiss. He was so strong. It wasn't just his hands she loved, after all. It was the whole of both of his arms, even up to his bulky shoulders. They were cut, with a thin layer of chub that softened them enough to make them more than adequate for cuddling. She took the time she had now to feel them up through his suit; squeezing gently, mapping out the outline of his muscle definition.

"I like this suit," she admitted seemingly out of nowhere, before continuing in a soft whisper, "I'm sorry I called it ugly."

This was a throwback to their wedding night when she called him back fully intending to badger him into a murderous rage with put-upon, half-hearted insults. That turned out well, she thought with a hollow smile, enjoying the irony.

"When did you know you wanted to marry me?"

Betelgeuse was more than content to kiss away any possible memories of the man who'd abused her.

Her delicate fingers roamed his arms, a soft smirk coming over him. He remembered the way she'd stared when he was first bared to her. It was a compliment that she was so enamored. And a turn on.

I like this suit… I'm sorry I called it ugly.

"Well, we all say shit in fits of passion, kitten. I'm rather partial to the stripes myself. The question is if ya like the black tie or the navy one I know it's hard to tell but you'll have to pay attention." He winked, digging his fingers into her sides to tickle her in a way they'd become so familiar with.

They were still them even if they uprooted painful memories.

"When'd I know? Shit. Probably… that first conversation we had in the model. Or just before that… coulda been when I watched you exact revenge in all Bab's books that time ya came home from school so royally pissed. That was real hot, I gotta tell ya."

He tickled her, and she squirmed and giggled over his lap in a way that made her tight skirt ride up even more to exacerbate his increasingly amorous attitude.

"Black!" She shrieked, earning an end to her playful torture. "I like the black one! Duh!"

Lydia had long since eaten her fill of the bounty he brought out for her, but she still picked at bits of meat and the brie here and there, just to enjoy the taste of it. The single glass of wine had left her feeling pleasantly warm, but still in control of her faculties, so she left the rest alone for now. Maybe she would have another drink at whatever club he brought her to for a dance, but only if they had those delicious little green shots she remembered enjoying.

That was real hot, I gotta tell ya.

With a flush, she remembered the many temper tantrums she indulged up in the attic when she thought no one was watching her. Many of them were in response to Delia's bullshit, but some were just a release of pent up rage. The girl had an admittedly unhealthy tendency to bottle up her feelings, swallow them down until she couldn't take the pressure anymore and the top popped off. Or, something happened to push her over the edge.

It was crazy to think that she'd only been here playing this game with him for a little less than a week, and yet so much time had passed up above. Maybe the next time she went topside, her father and Delia would be severely aged crones. Or dead. It was only a matter of time until everyone she knew joined them down here. While initially, it had deeply upset her that Betelgeuse inadvertently clued them into what really happened to her, given time she was better able to appreciate what it would do to them. Now they knew that she chose to leave, to remove herself from their presence and concede to "the enemy." That could haunt them instead.

"No one makes me irrationally angry the way Delia does."

She could admit that her treatment of the despised redhead was at times… unfair. But, it never took Delia long to say or do something that solidified Lydia's distaste.

"She made a bust of your head, you know. You could probably sue."

"Yeah she certainly has a way, don't she? And I think I'll let her sculpt me if she wants. It's flattering… besides, I make a hell of a muse." He winked at her, pulling her infinitesimally closer.

"You ready to go, babe? It's late enough that the clubs should be open." He took her hand, helping her to her feet and bashing their picnic before whistling for Doomie to return.

The club he'd chosen was in downtown New Yuck. Tucked between shops and highrises it looked as though it may have once been a basement, but it had been transformed into a nightclub to rival any in the mortal world.

Old school big band music was pounding through the street as they approached, neon lights flashing from the windows advertising all sorts of alcohols and other vices. There was a pinup on the door that looked mysteriously like the woman they'd met on their wedding night. Trixie.

Over the door hung a sign in scrolling font: Club Hysteria.

He held the door for her, smiling. "You're gonna love it here, kitten. This where I come to play poker with the guys. It's real laid back."

Chapter Text

"I can show you pain,
and make you say my name,
you will believe my lies,
that I'm not like other guys,
that sparkle in my eyes,
is part of my disguise."

—Bruises & Bitemarks
Good With Grenades

As with everything else he had shown her, Lydia was enraptured by the lounge. It was something from a different era entirely. She couldn't help her giddy smile as Betelgeuse escorted her closely around the tightly packed club toward the back. The party was in full swing, a skeleton band on stage blowing their vacant lungs out while a beautiful siren with blue skin, red hair, and a screwdriver embedded in her skull belted a classic. Deceased patrons flung each other around like ragdolls, in-between legs and up through the air, skirts flying through the smoky atmosphere.

Soon, they approached an empty booth toward the back. Unable to speak at normal volume over the music, Betelgeuse pulled her close with a large hand planted firmly on her ass to growl in her ear and ask what she wanted to drink.

"Jolly green giant," she returned the favor, pressing the entire length of her body up close to him as she stretched, using his brawny arms as leverage to pull up and speak into his ear, lips brushing along the cold flesh there as she did so. This was an intentionally flirtatious move, Lydia titillated by the overtly sexual atmosphere and the events that had brought them here. Not a bad first date at all. She would never be able to dance like any of the women out on the floor, but she could take a little liquid courage and give it her best shot. For his sake.

There was a lull in the crowd as the song ended and the band took five to prepare for their next set, and Lydia waited patiently at the booth for her husband's return, watching each passing ghoul with large interested eyes. The lighting was dim in here, and people weren't staring at her the way they had when she walked with her husband in the day time. Maybe they just couldn't tell that she wasn't one of them. Suddenly, a mammoth of a corpse returned her gaze as it passed over him. Quickly, embarrassed at being caught staring, she averted her gaze, but it was too late. She got his attention. He was already moving away from his booth and towards her, a telling smirk lifting his lips.

"Hey, sweetheart," he grunted at full volume, collapsing the weight of his palms on the table to cage her in, making it shudder. "What's a pretty lil doll like you doin' all alone?"

"I'm not," she swallowed, sinking back into her seat, instinctively making a smaller target of herself. "I'm here with my husband."

A set of cold, pale blue eyes that eerily reminded her of Claire flickered toward her left hand, searching. The sight of the impressive ring there brought an ugly grimace to his mug but unfortunately wasn't enough to dissuade him.

"Well, I don't see 'im. Tell ya what. Why don'tcha let your good pal Mikey watch after ya for a min' until he gets back, huh?" With no effort at all, he dragged her from the booth by her wrist to roughly pull her up against him, securing her with a thick, hairy arm. He was huge, bigger even than Betelgeuse, and Lydia shocked into frozen terror by the abruptness of the action. "Consider it a favor. Your old man'll thank me. He shouldn't be leavin' a tasty lil bite like you—" he squeezed her ass hard, making her yelp, eyes watering in humiliation, "— all by your lonesome anyways. Somebody might scoop you up."

Suddenly, something seemed to register in the behemoth as he felt her up shamelessly. Eyes widening a fraction, he planted his sweaty mitt over her tit, still keeping a firm hold of her ass. There it was. A heartbeat. She was breathing.

"Oh, lil girl…" He grinned darkly, pressing her harder onto him so that she could more fully feel his arousal. "Your husband is one stupid sonuvabitch."

Betelgeuse was happy to pull her against him, muttering in her ear as an excuse to be pressed up against her. The affection was returned, much to his surprise, as she pressed right back all but purring against him.

Better make this quick.

He wove his way through the crowd to order their drinks -doubling up on Lydia's just in case- and took a moment to take in his old stomping ground with new eyes. Before Lydia, he'd probably be here at the bar, hitting on anything that moved within his eyesight. Now he couldn't care less. Even the bartender, a large-breasted blonde, held no interest for him.

He smiled, turning around to check on his wife. His heart sank to the floor. Goddamn Mikey Lapone had her in his arms, pressed up against him as he whispered something in her ear. She looked terrified. He growled, slamming payment onto the bar and making his way back toward them.

"Lapone, I know you ain't got your filthy hands on my wife's ass." He hissed, drawing himself up to his full stature. He set the drinks down, leaning against the table and glaring at the ex-gangster. "Come here, baby." He crooked a finger, pulling her forcefully away from Mikey and nearly into his lap.

"Take a hike, Mike."

"Beej!"

There was barely a need for use of his juice on her husband's end of things. The sight of him made Mike's hold slack in surprise, and Lydia was rattled enough by the experience to fling herself against him for protection as she hovered near; arms around his neck and face half-buried beneath his jacket. She was thoroughly shaken by the encounter. Of course, she finally let her guard down to have a little fun and someone sensed the weakness and honed in on it.

"Jesus H. Christ, Betel, when'd ya pick up a piece o' tail like that?" The gangster carried on, wiping at an imaginary line of sweat above his unibrow. Oblivious that he was prodding a hungry, irritated lion, he carried on. Wife or not, the striped ghoul didn't do relationships. In a place like this with men like them, women were toys, and Mike was keenly interested in getting a turn playing with Betelgeuse's shiny new doll. It wasn't as though they hadn't passed around whores before.

"Can't believe ya gotcha one of them breather babes, you dirty cheatin' bastard. Young thing, too. What'd ya do, off her parents? She's awful skittish. Bet she's got a nice tight puss, dontcha sweetheart?" Unable to help himself, he drew closer as if to touch her. "You ever even took a cock in that little ass, baby?"

Lydia stiffened, clinging impossibly closer to her husband. Thick, sausage fingers reached for her jaw, ready to force her away from her husband and make the stuck-up little bitch look at him. They never made contact.

Betel's patience was wearing incredibly thin. Sure, he and Mikey had been friends for decades. They'd shared everything from cigarettes to pussy and everything in between. But Lydia wasn't a thing. She was his wife. He sneered, turning himself slightly to tuck her further from Lapone's sight, his hand running over the back of her neck in an attempt to sooth the rapid pounding of her heart in her chest.

Can't believe ya gotcha one of them  breather  babes, you dirty cheatin' bastard. Young thing, too. What'd ya do, off her parents? She's awful skittish. Bet she's got a nice tight puss, dontcha sweetheart?

That was enough. He snapped at his cohort, his eyes burning an unnatural yellow.

"Hands off, asswipe. I told ya. She's my wife. Got married a while back." The implication that she'd whore herself out… take it anywhere they'd put it had sickening, spoiled bile rising in his throat. Then he reached for her. Lydia's grip on him tightened.

He saw red.

There was a sickening snap as he grabbed the hand reaching for her and bent. His thumb ended up in his elbow, his forearm snapped as Betel stepped away from his wife to bend the asshole over the table with a thud, jostling their drinks. He pressed in nice and close, leaning down to whisper in his ear.

"Reach for her again and I'll chop your tiny pathetic balls off. That there is the love of my life… before and after. You're gonna apologize. Real nice. Or I'mma send your ass straight to Saturn."

Lydia's eyes widened to the size of dinner plates as Betelgeuse doubled over the mammoth in a single, effortless motion, cracking his weighty forearm in half with a gruesome crunch that made her flinch. Mike was screaming like a little girl. Like he could feel it. She had seen Adam and Barbara hurt themselves by accident before; Adam tripping over his two left feet and momentarily forgetting how to levitate, Barb cutting herself in the kitchen in the midst of meal preparation. They always brushed off the incidents without a blink or nod, as if nothing happened. This prior experience told her that Betelgeuse had done something. Physical pain was a sensation reserved for the living, but not for Mike. Not tonight.

You're gonna apologize. Real nice. Or I'mma send your ass straight to Saturn.

"I'M SORRY!"

The writhing man screeched, eyes winced open through the pain to make contact with the target of his apology. A significant portion of the crowd had turned their attention to them now, watching the display with avid interest and curiosity. Their whispers were inaudible over Mike's screams, but Lydia caught a few words here and there. "Betel" and "Wife" and "Big Mike" and "they're friends" were parroted repeatedly as the spirits gossiped, painting a verbal picture of the scene for those who weren't in the loop.

"FUCKIN' SHIT, I'M SORRY, MISSUS JUICE— PLEASE— FUCK!"

Lydia snapped out of her shaken silence. Mike had been begging her forgiveness for far too long. She was no sadist, and the sight of such visceral, honest pain at her expense was twisting her gut into pieces.

"I forgive you," she rushed, genuinely meaning it, before snapping her attention to the snarling poltergeist still holding him captive. He didn't show any signs of releasing him soon. The pupils in those jade eyes had thinned to savage reptilian slits, venomous yellow bleeding into the whites around his irises.

"Beej," she tried carefully, unsure if he would listen, "please let him go."

Oh, this was delicious. It had been too long since he'd had the chance to really fuck someone up. He leaned his weight onto Mike, forcing pressure onto his shattered arm. The man screamed and pleaded, but Betel wasn't satisfied. He'd touched his wife. The only thing good and pure in his whole wretched existence. He had to pay for that.

He could feel the eyes on them, smell the fear in the room. After so long locked up it was good to be cementing his place as the Ghost with the Most again. Most power. Most sadism. Lydia's frail, frightened voice leaked through to his savage brain, his eyes leaving Mike in favor of staring at her, his face broken out into a wide, needle-toothed grin.

"You want me to let him go? You got it, kitten." A hole opened underneath the table, the tell-tale hissing and slithering of sandworms emanating from within.

"You heard the lady, Mikey. Enjoy your trip." He promptly dropped him through the portal and it sealed behind him. He held his hands out in victory, a manic, wild laugh leaving him.

"HELL YEAH! It's good to be back, folks." He turned to the crowd, his hand reaching for Lydia and pulling her into his side without touching her. "This here is my lovely wife, Lydia. Y'all have any questions?"

It soon became imminently clear to Lydia that this was Betelgeuse's house and everybody else was just partying in it. The entire scene was animalistic in its brutality, more akin to something that could be seen on Animal Planet than anything that would happen in a civilized society. The alpha staked his claim. The alpha was challenged. The alpha took out the threat.

Once more, he used his magic to levitate her to his side, though she found herself a tad less willing this go around. He was cackling, high on power— a power that Lydia could feel crackling through the air, crawling over her skin, enveloping her. Blunt, grimy teeth had sharpened and lengthened to crawl past his teeth, his malicious grin eerily, inhumanly wide. It appeared very likely that he might have been on the verge of transforming into his beastly snakeskin. This couldn't be the same man who spent an hour playing with her cat this morning while they lazed about in bed, sleeping in. Was he a monster after all? Was she wrong about him?

This here is my lovely wife, Lydia. Y'all have any questions?

Silence met the question, none of the spirits wishing to suffer the same unfortunate fate as Big Mike. This many eyes on her made Lydia want to shrivel up and disappear. The only sound breaking through the tense quiet was that of her damning living breaths, painfully loud in her own ears. Everyone could probably hear it, down to the band on the other side of the lounge.

No, no no no please don't look at me, please don't look at me, don't—

A painful bleat was swallowed down her throat, ringing loud as any alarm through the club.

He chuckled, reveling in their silence.

"Good." He pressed a possessive kiss to her cheek, handing her a drink. "Here we go baby… calm your nerves."

He pressed his forehead to hers, his appearance slowly shrinking back to what she was familiar with, the chaos leaving him. The air still crackled with his power, a threat that lingered when his fangs had gone. He helped Lydia sit in their booth, taking up his glass of scotch and sipping at it.

"Look… Lyds. I'm sorry ya had ta see that, but… I couldn't let him treat ya like that." His eyes were dark, hungry as he looked up at her. "You're mine. I had ta show 'em that."

Lydia shot back her drink swiftly as it was given to her, huddling into his side as he pulled her into the booth. Then, she sought out the second one, throwing it back just as quickly. The crowd took their settling down as a rightful cue to throw the party back into gear. The band started up again and tentatively, the spirits returned to dancing and talking, indulging in their revelry. It was obvious what they were talking about, but the consensus was clearly to do so more discreetly now.

As much as the incident had rattled her from start to finish, she still felt safer at Betelgeuse's side than anywhere else. He was the monster she knew, the monster she could trust. "Big Mike" had plans for her. Lydia had seen it in his awful frigid gaze, and she doubted they included anything she would have found agreeable. This was not a good man. Still, she mourned that he had seen such a grim fate because of her.

"Is he… will he be okay?"

Barbara returned from Saturn, and so did Betelgeuse— but Barb was a fluke, damn near an act of God, and Betelgeuse's aura was more powerful than any she had encountered in her time as a medium. Who knew if Big Mike would be so lucky? Alcohol seeping through her system, she turned just so to lace her legs over her husband's, placing herself half in his lap.

"You scared me."

"Absolutely not. He's gonna be lucky to come back in the next century."

He watched her shoot back both drinks, gesturing to the bartender to bring another. As she curled into his lap, he pulled her further onto him, nuzzling into the soft skin just below her ear.

You  scared  me.

"I know… I'm sorry, kitten. I just…. he had his hands on ya and was talkin' about shit that… I just saw red. Couldn't let him even think about ya like that."

Her heart was still fluttering like a bird in a cage from within her chest, and he pressed his lips to her pulse, reveling in the feeling of it against his cold lips.

"How can I fix it? I don't wantcha to worry. I'd never hurt you… unless ya asked me to." He nipped at her gently, his hand sliding to her inner thigh.

I'd never hurt you… unless ya asked me to.

"I know."

She shuddered for more pleasant reasons now, reassured as always by his gentle kisses and sweet pawing. It was kind of… sexy watching him obliterate Mikey, wasn't it? An evil part of her was thrilled by the masculine display of possession and prowess despite her rigid moral code. Lydia never thought she'd have men fighting over her in bars, much less powerful specimens of masculinity like that. She never doubted for a moment that Betelgeuse would keep her safe, even when Mike had his paws all over her, but the threat had been daunting all the same.

"I know…" She repeated a beat after the first, softer this time, creamy thighs quivering under his touch. Oh God, was she wet?

"Please no more fighting tonight."

The bartender delivered a third shot and she took this one a bit more smoothly this time, in less of a rush. The song changed pace again, slowing to something more romantic, and the lights faded from violet to pink to vivid red over them, casting everything in a bloody glow. Eager to change the tone of the evening and return to the pleasantness they'd been robbed of, she conceded to his original idea.

"Will you teach me how to dance? I've got a couple of years of ballet under my belt, so I'm not completely hopeless. I've never done anything like all that stuff, though." She gestured vaguely at a talented, handsome pair of spirits waltzing elegantly across the floor, stealing the show. "Show me how?"

He looked up as the lighting changed, his pointer finger was just a breath away from slipping into her skirt where he could tell she was starting to warm up to him again. He raised an eyebrow at her request, shooting back the last of his scotch and standing, settling her carefully on her feet.

"Of course I will. I'm the one who suggested it, ain't I?"

Ballet. Of course. That explained just how bendy she was, never showing discomfort no matter which way he twisted her in bed. He took her hand and brought it to his shoulder, his own sliding around her waist until he could hold the opposite hip gently. Their free hands met between them, clasped tight. The song was a favorite of his, a slow sultry sound that lent itself easily to them as he carefully guided her to step up onto his feet. He winked.

"We can practice like this first. Get you into the rhythm."

The lyrics of the song kicked in just then, the skeletal woman singing keeping a close eye on them.

"Never know how much I love you,
Never know how much I care,
When you put your arms around me,
I get a fever that's so hard to bear…"

He hummed along, a low throaty sound, pressing their cheeks together as they swayed.

"You give me fever,
When you kiss me,
Fever when you hold me tight,
Fever, in the morning,
Fever all through the night…"

"She's staring at us…"

She was. The blue-skinned siren on stage had kept a keen eye on them as Betelgeuse danced with her slow and sensual, weaving her through the other dancers until they were fully immersed. The jazzy tune was wrought with heated twists, the singer imbuing a lusty timbre to her sultry voice as she carried on past the chorus into the next verse.

"Ex-girlfriend?"

She was an undeniably beautiful woman, but for once, Lydia's insecurities were quieted. After all, she had the ring, and Betelgeuse hadn't made any macho shows of masculine pride for some other woman. For the entirety of the song, Lydia allowed her husband to carry her through it, standing still on the tops of his clunky boots— like a daddy with his little girl. She was a pleasant kind of drunk; more than tipsy, but not sloppy or clumsy. The room was spinning, but she wasn't dizzy.

Despite her confidence that she had the rhythm down by now, she didn't make any moves to step down and move independently. No, everything was just lovely just the way it was. Every inch of her was pressed against him, skin humming and cheeks flushed. His power remained thick in the air, almost tangible. Combined with his strong embrace and gentle swaying, she felt like she was floating.

Betel was more than happy to lead in their dance, his cold, stubbled jaw pressed to the warm silken one of his wife. He had closed his eyes, reveling in the moment and the residual rush from his attack on Mike when she spoke.

She's staring at us…Ex-girlfriend?

He opened them again to see who she was talking about. He snorted softly. "Yeah, you could say that… but she ain't nothin' next to you, baby."

He held her tighter, his hand easily finding its way to her ass and squeezing firmly. The singer finally looked away at that, her expression sour. He pressed a gentle kiss to her neck, picking back up in humming the song. When it ended he made no move to release her, simply continuing their slow sway as the next number started.

She really was something. Her skin was flushed and warm, though it was hard to tell if it was from arousal or the alcohol, her delicate hands held in his larger, rougher claws. It struck him, suddenly, that it was rather like Beauty and the Beast. She was his Belle and he was her cursed prince. He smiled at the comparison and nuzzled into her, bringing his lips to her ear to whisper, "You wanna get outta here, baby? I can't wait to get you outta this dress…"

Were Lydia privy to his romantic, borderline cheesy thoughts, she likely would have swooned. Beauty & the Beast was one of her favorites, next to Snow White. Despite all the doom and gloom, deep down inside Lydia was subject to the same fascination with Disney princesses that every other girl in the universe seemed to be. She would have found the comparison apt indeed.

As it was, she was not a mind reader and all she had were her own musings. They weren't too far off from his. Lydia never thought she would ever have an experience like this. It more than made up for the inevitability that she would be missing her senior prom, and she didn't doubt that would not have been near as magical— literally— as this. She was whirling on a cloud of emotional and physical high, floating high above the room. At that moment, she would have done anything he asked.

"Yeah," she agreed, dreamy and soft, hanging off of him limply with complete confidence that he would never let her fall. "Let's go."

He grinned, pulling her into a kiss as he transported them home. Percy let out an indignant mewl, scampering off the bed as he pulled her onto it. He gently reached for the hair comb, pulling it free and letting her long dark locks trail down over her shoulders.

"God damn… Have I told you lately how fuckin' gorgeous you are?"

His hands found her bare thighs, sliding up and into her dress as he kissed her again, unable to be satisfied without the sweet taste of the alcohol that still lingered on her tongue.

"Sorry that asshat ruined our date night, kitten. I was tryin' to keep us somewhat incognito…"

Clearly, that hadn't worked out. He tugged at her skirt, lifting her dress up and over her head before letting his mouth fall back onto her soft alabaster skin.

Have I told you lately how fuckin' gorgeous you are?

"Once or twice," she laughed breathlessly as pulled away from that deep, desirous kiss, cheeks flush with intoxication and ardor. She lifted her arms up to help him as he undressed her in a hurry before dragging her back in under the tide of his hunger. In a flash, she was pinned under him, the ravenous poltergeist leaving suckling bites along the column of her throat, leading down to her breasts. The flesh there bloomed under his attention, replacing the marks that had faded with all new love blemishes.

Sorry that asshat ruined our date night, kitten.

"He didn't ruin it," she hummed, lashes fluttering as his grimy mouth latched onto the peak of her tit, pulling it past his teeth and suckling harshly until the flesh there turned from untarnished, pale pink to a dusky rose.

"He just scared me… more than you…"

A pliant pile of liquefied limbs beneath him, her breath hitched with each delicious touch. She was entirely submissive, completely seduced. Nothing that happened here tonight was out of obligation or coercion. His wife was ready to give herself over fully to his lust, and would have been with or without the three shots she threw back in the club.

"He was touching me… and I couldn't see you… He knew I was alive, and— and then he called you stupid… I thought he would take me away and hurt me and I wouldn't see you ever again…"

"I'd never'a let that happen, baby girl…" He caressed her soft breasts, squeezing gently, then rougher. "Don't worry... Daddy's gonna kiss it better."

He took hold of her hip, turning her onto her stomach and drawing her hips up. "I'm gonna tie ya up again. Not a question, just a statement. If ya need me to let ya out you just say 'Sandworm' and it all stops. Got it? Say it for me."

He sat back, loosening his tie and shrugging out of his jacket. He slipped the loop of his tie around her dainty wrists, looping it through a small metal ring on the headboard, exactly for this purpose.

"Now daddy's gonna stake a new claim… make sure nobody doubts who you belong to. You ready?"

Got it? Say it for me.

"Sandworm," she hushed obediently as he took charge, a tad intimidated by what she knew was coming, but insanely aroused nonetheless. He was going to hurt her. She was going to like it. She was already wet for him and had been for a while, about since she sucked his cock down in the dressing room while wearing that little red teddy. Maybe she would surprise him soon, throw it on and catch him unawares while he was distracted with TV or the newspaper. He had earned a little treat.

Now daddy's gonna stake a new claim… make sure nobody doubts who you belong to. You ready?

That was certainly ominous. What was he going to do? Another spanking? Milky flesh trembled in anticipation, but Lydia was a good, docile wife and she knew when to answer a direct question.

"Yes, Sir," she dared to answer this way, using a title she knew he would appreciate. When in Rome.

Yes, Sir…

"Oh, that's pretty… you are so good to me, princess." He landed one sharp slap to her ass before hopping off the bed and making for the large wardrobe in the corner.

Whistling to himself, he opened up a drawer near the bottom. At first glance, it appeared to be empty, but nevertheless he managed to produce a collar and a blindfold from the bottom of it. The collar itself was made from plush velvet, lined in soft synthetic sheepskin. A lovely deep red, he knew it would look great against her pale skin. He returned to the bed, dangling it in front of her.

"Look kitten… it even has a bell. He fastened it onto her gently, pressing a kiss to her cheek before thrusting against her so that she could feel how hard he was. "Now… watch this."

He blinked and there were suddenly two of himself. He grinned lecherously at his double. "You go ahead and take the top I had a turn. I'll take the bottom."

The collar was insulting. Its tinkling bell, near-identical to Percy's, sent a degrading message; she was a pet, a kitten, meant to be stroked and enjoyed by her master without any agency or rights of her own.

These were the first thoughts that ran through Lydia's head as he strung the dehumanizing accessory around her throat, and logically she knew she was supposed to be upset about it. Yet, she didn't feel any of that burning embarrassment or indignation. She felt safe. No one would come to take her from him. No one was bigger or badder than her husband, and she was his to protect and keep. Was that vow included in the ceremony? She couldn't remember and felt a pang of regret at it. Nevertheless, it was true. She was his wife, his kitten, his princess; all of those things she once spat in his face that she would never be.

All of that peace and acceptance flew right out the window, however, when he ground down against her and grunted out something that didn't make any sense at all.

You go ahead and take the top, I had a turn. I'll take the bottom.

Who was he talking to? The bed dipped, and Lydia jostled within her bounds to get a look, eyes bugging at the sight that met her. There was another. He was an exact replica of the original, down to the pattern of the dirt dusting his off-white button-up. The obscene possibilities that two of them presented were enough to make her freeze up and go rigid, much as she had on their wedding night. Suddenly, the heinous phrase he uttered just seconds before made perfect sense. He meant to tear apart the last remaining shreds of her virginity, spurred on by Big Mike's crude threat, most likely. Between the two of them, she probably wouldn't be able to leave this bed for a week.

The doppelgänger came to kneel beside her head, stringing a gruff palm through silken locks to pull her face up and rub her cheek against his groin, letting her feel the thick, clothed cock there. Simultaneously, the original gave another hard push, pressing that very same cock against her smooth, white ass— healed from its previous abuse, only a single stinging welt in the shape of his large hand branding the area.

It was okay, she reminded herself with a deep, shuddering breath, the teeth of his zipper scratching gently across her butter-soft cheek. She was okay. All she had to do was utter that little two-syllable word and this could be over. She may have been wearing the collar, but the leash was still in her hand.

This was gonna be great. He could already tell. When he spoke to his doppelgänger, his wife had turned, confused, then momentarily mortified. He snickered, running his hand up her back gently.

"It's okay, kitten, you're doing great."

He licked his lips and nodded to his clone. In an instant, they were both completely nude. After all, it wouldn't do to scratch her up her pretty skin quite yet. The Betel at her head tightened his hold in her hair, pulling her face closer to his straining erection, pressing her soft lips against it eagerly. Meanwhile, the original was shuffling down to lay on his stomach between her legs, manhandling her back until he could tuck his face in where he really wanted to be.

He snapped and his fingers came away soaked in a clear, viscous liquid. He snickered, rubbing one soaking finger against her tiny hole, his other hand coming to her clit.

"Relax for me, baby… you just focus on junior up there…"

"Junior?!"

The copy snarled, his grip on her hair tightening until she winced. He immediately gentled, hushing and soothing until those plush red-stained lips finally parted wide enough to grant him entry.

"Ooooh, that's good, baby… That look like a 'junior' cock t'you? Look, y'can barely even fit it in that lil mouth…"

Once she had it nice and slick at his insistent direction, the grimy fist knotted at the base of her skull leading her up and down until she was near choking, he pulled her off abruptly, leaving a slim trail of saliva connecting her bottom lip to the plump, blushing head of his cock.

"Asked ya a question."

"No, Sir." Clearly, Lydia knew her role here.

"Goooood girrrrl," he purred, grinning nastily, then pulled her back onto his dripping cock, "now get back t'work."

Meanwhile, the original was busying himself prodding and stimulating places he didn't belong. A slimy, cold tongue extended to run all along the seam of her nether lips at the time his finger tested the waters, pressing into her ass just up to the first knuckle. A startled cry was muffled around his girth at the intrusion, Lydia pulling uselessly at her bound wrists out of reflex.

"That'll do, honey," the copy groaned, stroking her hair and savoring the tightness of her hot, soft cheek muscles going taut around him. "Daddy's gotta getcha ready… make sure you can take this big dick… that's it… you'll like it, promise…"

Betelgeuse shot his double a look. Where'd he got off talking to his wife like that? Regardless it was hot to take a spectator seat in watching her suck him down. He slowly pressed the finger that had breached her tight ass in further, kissing over her back and sliding his tongue through her wet pussy intermittently.

It took a while but he was eventually able to pump the finger inside of her, her first taste at being fucked there. He groaned low in his throat at the same time the double did, giving her a surround sound of pleased husband.

"That's it kitten… fuck you take it so pretty… look at you stretchin' open for daddy's cock…"

He shook his head. "I am such a lucky sunova…." his double aimed a kick at his shoulder. "Doncha mean we?" "Fuck you."

"Fuck you," the doppelgänger squabbled back childishly, stuffing his cock down his wife's throat with haughty entitlement. Lydia was concerned. This had the potential to get ugly if they couldn't work together. For now, they worked her over with a modicum of patience, the one at her head using her shamelessly for his own pleasure while the one at her hindquarters doled out a deluge of conflicting sensations.

This was dirty. Lydia was open-minded in the realm of sexual exploits and aware that anal was common among many couples, but a little societally ingrained shame couldn't be helped. The two Betelgeuses continual praise abetted in banishing the internalized guilt. They hissed and growled and groaned their pleasure, taking turns manipulating her bound body to their convenience and lathing her in adoration for allowing the abuse.

The stretching ache had dulled to mild discomfort as the one behind her kept at it, exploring her perfectly untouched cavity.

"Hurry up n' give'r another finger," Betelgeuse 2.0 commanded, thinking himself in charge. "I woulda had her ready by now, ya fuckin' slacker."

The hellishly tight passage her husband was working at opening up constricted around his digit at this, marking Lydia's continued involuntary reluctance. She couldn't really help it.

"S'okay, baby," the double soothed, rapidly changing his tune as he addressed her, stroking her sweetly flushed cheek in a guise of giving comfort when really he was out to feel his own cock through her fluctuating cheek muscles. "Gonna love it so much… gonna fill you up at both ends, baby girl… gonna be too busy cumin' t'be ssscared…"

He hated himself. Well. This version of himself, he was cocky and pushy. He wondered if he ever brought this side out on Lydia… no wonder she'd hated him. He growled at the demand to add another finger, glaring up at him over her back.

"I'm workin' on it. I don't wanna hurt her… too bad, that is."

He pressed a kiss to her back, gently pulling back his finger and pressing back into her with two. It was amazingly tight in there. He couldn't imagine how it would feel around his cock. He kissed over her back, deigning to ignore his other half for the time being. He glanced up, watching the way he pulled her face into his lap repeatedly.

"Hey, asshole. Take it easy. She's fragile." He mouthed over her core gently, sucking at her soft lips and sneaking his free hand under to brush over her clit.

"You're doing great, kitten. Just breathe through it…"

The doppelgänger sneered, grumbling out an "I know, shit for brains, she's my wife" but pulled her off his cock anyway. Lydia gasped in droves of air past her blowjob-slicked lips once she had the freedom to, neck falling limply into his grasp. He held her cranium up with both hands, keeping her mouth near his shaft so she could lick and kiss it intermittently during her break.

"Ain't ever gonna get tired o' that mouth, sugar," he growled while she suckled soft and sweet at the thick vein just below his head, her tongue gently fluttering against the cold, sensitive flesh. "Fuck— when y'do that… mm… feels like I got an angel suckin' me off, with them lil butterfly kisses… silky lips… mm…"

Something slimy and slithering breached the tight walls of her pussy, simultaneously writhing along the delicate pearl that was the seat of her pleasure, and Lydia's rhythm faltered.

"Beej— Please," she gasped, pushed back onto her other husband's hand and face as best she could. "I need— I want—!"

"Whaassat?" Quick as a snake, he reached under her to pinch her nipple between his callous and index. Not too hard, but enough to send a message.

"Daddy!" She shrieked, straining under her imprisonment.

"That's what I thought ya said," he tutted, releasing the unforgiving pressure to smooth his hand over her breast in a gentle, deep tissue massage. "Now let's rewind n' try that again. Whaddya want?"

"Daddy," she whimpered, blinking big watery eyes up at the more demanding of the two, "please make me cum."

"Hey, knock that shit off. Ya nasty bastard."

He flared up at him and pulled Lydia closer. She was his damn it. He worked the two slick digits into her, spreading and twisting them until he was satisfied enough to add a third.

"Daddy's down here, kitten. Look down. Come on, Lyds."

He grinned up at her, slithering his tongue deep into where she was dripping and throbbing for them. His fingers pressed and twisted, eager to open her up. Finally, he deemed her sufficiently prepared and withdrew them, his hand on her sensitive button increasing its vigor.

"Come on Lydia, come for daddy… I'm gonna fuck you so good in a second. Can't wait, baby… you're so good for us."

Lydia found herself in the middle of a sexual tug-o-war, playing the role of the rope. The meaner one directing her to suck his cock kept firm hold of her hair as the slightly less mean apparition pulled her closer, instructing her to look his way. Whenever she tried, incapable of ignoring a direct order like that, the one holding her hair gripped tighter, forcing her to keep lathing his cock with attention.

"Daddy's right here, Princess," he intoned with faux pity, thumb tenderly caressing the baby hairs at the nape of her neck in contrast to his fist's cruel grip. "He's gonna get you off… then I'm gonna get you off… then you're gonna get us off."

It wasn't fair. They knew it wasn't fair, too. The one behind her tongue-fucked her with increasing intensity the longer she was refused permission to look at him, and his smarmy double relished in his competition's frustration.

"Now," he ordered suddenly, wrenching her neck back so that she was forced to meet him eye-to-eye. The expression he wore was shadowy, a wealth of dark desires reflected in the swamp-like depths of his gaze. "Cum now."

Dutifully, this order was obeyed. She shattered to pieces, still forced to hold his gaze and watch as those villainous lips quirked just so into a self-satisfied smirk.

He was devastated. The softer of the two growled as she fell apart at his command. This guy talked a big game for someone who could be banished at any moment. He pulled back from her, reaching down to stroke his aching cock.

"Fuck you. That was all me."

He ran his free hand up her spine, following the touch with gentle kisses. He shot his doppelgänger a vengeful look, sliding his hands around her to gently pinch and pull at her tits. He may have separated out his harshest bits, but what was left wasn't so kind either.

"Alright then. You said it's your turn. Get down here and do your job." He hissed the words, his jaw clenched tight. He pressed one last kiss between her shoulders before shifting to give his other half room.

Betelgeuse's double returned that scornful glare with a happy-go-lucky grin, making sure not to touch the gross bastard as he crawled into position over his bound wife. Purring in contentment as he took in the slick, pale expanse of secret flesh bared to him in her vulnerable position, he lifted his arm back before letting it swing through the air, his palm landing with a weighty SLAP on the only unmarred cheek she had left.

"Fair's fair," he grunted as Lydia's pained cry subsided.

"Beej," she huffed out thankfully, nuzzling into his hipbone and trailing sweet kisses and licks along his dry, neglected length. This was her good, nice, sweet husband and he deserved the affection she had to give. True to form, he pet her tenderly as she carried on, seemingly having missed her just as much even though he'd been there the whole time.

"Mm mm mm," the one behind her hummed in appreciation, grabbed hold of her hips and positioning her higher to make up for where she went slack mid-orgasm. "Thanks for openin' her up for me," he growled, presumptuously passing his cock along the tight, barely-fucked little pink hole. "Ain't you a pal. This is gonna be fun."

There was a pause where Lydia couldn't see exactly what was happening between them, but something must have. The doppelgänger let out a beastly sound and abandoned his pursuit of that passage, instead aiming a little lower and lunging his hips forward hard until she was impaled to the root on his cock. She was given no warning, no time to adjust. Without preamble, he was throwing his hips against hers with powerful thrusts, filling the room with sounds of wet stinging slaps, Lydia's delirious high-pitched moans, and the faint jingling of the little bell at her throat as she was forced forward into her husband's arms.

The kinder of the two was enraptured by the sight of his double's… no, his cock disappearing into their wife's hot, tight cunt. He ran his hands through her hair lovingly as she was tipped in and out of his hold, murmuring sweet nothings to her as his rougher half pounded into her. Soon enough she gasping and crying out as she came, her long pale legs shaking with the force of it. He watched as she panted, her pretty brown eyes rolling back as she was rocked through her second orgasm of the night‒ and they were just getting started. Well, that wouldn't stand.

Gently, he slid out from under her cheek and making his way back to where his clone was still teasing her with slow, deep thrusts.

"Move your saggy ass and get underneath. " He tugged at the binds, freeing her from the headboard but not giving her wrists the freedom they'd need to have free range of the two of them. He waited for his other half to get in position before sliding a slicked finger back into her tight ass, groaning softly. "This is gonna be so good…"

He growled, slicking himself with a blink. It wouldn't do to hurt her. Not too much.

"You ready kitten? God, you're gonna be so tight…"

For once, the double didn't have any snarky comments or complaints, sliding beneath his tiny, quivering wife gleefully and immediately seating her back on his cock, where she belonged. He slid up until he was propped on his elbows, linking her bound arms around his neck so that she was forced to hang off of him. Now, she would be stuck staring into those grim, grotesquely happy features throughout the endeavor. He was the same, but he wasn't; a little less restrained, a little less merciful. Still, he clearly loved her every bit as much.

When the slick, blunt head of his cock came pushing, her brows furrowed in discomfort and he cupped her cheek, running a thumb along her supple cheek in a comforting gesture. When it popped past the obstacle of the clamping ring of muscle he'd worked diligently at loosening, she opened her mouth in a silent scream, a single tear rolling down the opposite cheek. A slimy green tongue caught it before it could reach her jaw, then trailed up to clean the remnants of the salt track.

"S'gonna feel good, baby. Promise."

He punctuated his untrustworthy guarantee with a tender kiss as she was further impaled, swallowing her discomforted whimper. The selfish urge to thrust was ignored, the doppelgänger busying himself instead with easing her through the transition. Eventually, she was fully pinned between their round guts, two identical drooling cocks buried entirely within her.

"Fuck—" He snarled with clenched eyes and bared teeth, and rolled his hips once against his better half's wishes. "So fuckin' good—"

"Fuckin Christ, can't you give her a minute?" His hands were roaming her back, digging into the sore, tight muscles at the small of it.

"How are ya doin beautiful? Not too painful, right? Remember your word."

He leaned over her to kiss her cheek, effectively squashing her even tighter between them. When he was sure she was alright he slowly started to move within her, a ragged groan leaving him as her snug, muscled channel did its best to reject him. He kept at it anyway, panting despite his lungs having no breath in them.

"Fuck, Lydia…"

"It's— it's okay…" she husked out, gritting through the discomfort for their benefit, trying her damnedest to relax. They'd yet to make good on their promise, but they knew what they were doing. If they said it was going to feel good, then it would and that was that. She just had to have faith and let them take it all the way.

Slowly, they began to move. The Betelgeuse plastered to her back rocked against her with gentle, careful thrusts, easing his oozing girth in and out of her stubborn, unyielding passage. She was grateful that he, the seemingly kinder and more patient rendition, was the only one with "permission" to take her there. His copy would surely not have been nearly as nice about it.

The other took up his slack where he could. Whenever one withdrew, his twin pressed forward, keeping her constantly full of cock, never empty. The pressure she was under was near unbearable, her insides constantly fluttering and contracting against their gentle ravaging of her. Each time her husband slid back into her reluctant ass, it hurt just a bit less, until the pain was barely distinguishable from pleasure.

"That's it, beautiful," the one fucking her pussy grunted, taking it upon himself to increase his pace just so, gliding into her with impatient thrusts that didn't bother waiting for the original to withdraw first. "Rrr… yer gettin' there, kitten… take it…"

The inside of her ass was like hot, tight velvet around his cock, the sensation making him chase more of it with every thrust. He kept hold of her hips, slapping away those of his double.

"Fuck, Lydia… That's it… you're so fuckin' good…"

The little bell jingled with each brutal, coordinated thrust. He couldn't see her face, but he knew that it had to be wonderfully debauched as they took their turns fucking into her. He could feel the slide of his other half's cock within her, separated by only a thin layer of tissue. He couldn't do much beyond slowly humping into her, muttering all kinds of soft, sweet things to her.

He knew he wasn't going to last, but he was determined to make the most of this for her while he could. He slid his hands between himself and his twin, twisting and tugging at her breasts as his rhythm picked up in pace.

"That's it, Lyds… fuck you feel incredible…"

Lydia was beyond words as they bounced her back and forth between them, all patience and gentility exhausted. Two sets of hands gripped and fondled in places, the girl unable to discern who they belonged to in the froth of their rabid fucking. Two identical voices rasped out filthy nothings to her as she squealed for them in return, nonsensical things that might have been swears or pet names.

Everything was better in threes.

Quite suddenly, the pressure became too much for their overwhelmed little wife. For the third time that night, she was brought to completion, nearly passing out from the intensity of it. Her vision went white, and she sang for him; a melodious, drawn-out cry of sublime pleasure that dipped and rose higher as they capitalized on her euphoria to find their own finish.

Slight differences aside, in this moment, they were one. Each picked a side of her neck and bit down hard, anchoring themselves as deep as they could go into their assigned passages and grinding her down, their balls slapping each other in the effort. Then, they were pumping her full of seed at both ends. Lydia was still coming down from her earth-shattering peak when the doppelgänger released his mouth full of living flesh first to snap out an order at the original, busy gently lathing the spot where his bite drew blood.

"Move over. S'my turn."

Third time's always the charm… he thought as she fell apart between them, keening and crying out in the most beautiful orgasm he'd ever witnessed. He kissed over her shoulders, panting.

Move over. S'my turn.

He looked up at him with an unamused expression. "Fuck off." With a wave of his hand, the clone vanished. His body jerked strangely for a few moments before he blinked down at her. "Damn. That shit always gives me a splitting headache."

He carefully withdrew from within her, taking a moment to admire his work. She was absolutely dripping from both ends, her flesh swollen and red from their abuse and painted in a lovely layer of white release. He groaned, running a finger up her tired pussy. "That's fuckin' nice… look at you, Kitten."

He pressed a kiss to her shoulder once more before carefully turning her over and tugging his tie loose from her wrists. He took one dainty joint in his large hands, massaging the roughed up skin. "Thanks for that… that was fuckin' amazing…"

"You're welcome," Lydia hummed drowsily, ever polite. She was already well on her way to the fields of Elysium, perfectly content to bask in the afterglow and allow her husband to dole out some much-needed aftercare. "I don't think… I can do that too often…"

Everything below the waist was either panging with a residual ache or numb. An indignant pout stuck out her bottom lip just so, and she found the energy to stare accusingly up at her guiltless husband— acting completely innocent, as though the other he'd been decent enough to banish before he could have his way wasn't him.

"You're mean."

"I do my best, yeah…" He snickered, pressing a kiss to her pouting lip before biting at it roughly.

He switched wrists, pressing his thumbs into the sore flesh. "We should getcha in the shower. You're kinda.. well. You're drippin'." He cared lifted her, making for the bathroom.

"That was fun, huh? I don't wanna do it often either. Splitting up like that reminds me why I fuckin' hate myself." He sat her on the bathroom counter, hoping that the cool marble would be at least somewhat comforting. He started the water in the large tiled shower, snapping to summon a low bench that she could sit on.

She really was something. He didn't know a single other woman who'd have taken it like she had. She managed to remain beautiful and demure through the abusive treatment, and now had the gall to tease him by pouting so cutely. She was going to be the death of him. Or herself. He shuddered. Never.

Lydia only pouted further at his insistence she shower but knew that it was for the best and silenced any protests. She wanted to sleep. For a moment, she was struck by the irony that she was just fine with basking in the filth of their "lovemaking" while Betelgeuse was prioritizing cleanliness.

"You don't have to," she objected gently as he took her into his arms again and carried her into the stall, strutting fearlessly beneath the hot stream. He settled at the bench he summoned, positioning her on his thigh with a sturdy arm around her waist, her legs spread over his knee. A clean, white washcloth magic'd into his hand. Very gently, he ran it up her thigh until it met the junction between her legs, dutifully cleaning away the remnants of their trysts. Though the rag was made of an incredibly soft material, he only applied the barest pressure, careful not to aggravate anything.

"I know you don't like water… because… you know."

Lydia possessed more tact than to vocalize the why. Nevertheless, the downpour didn't seem to be doing anything for his perpetual coat of grime. If anything, it was just making him… slimy.

"Real sweet of ya to care, kitten but quite frankly I don't think you could do this alone right now." He kissed her collar bone gently, his hands gentle where he tidied her up.

With the evidence of their union washed away, he was free to take his time in washing the rest of her. His hands roamed over every inch of her smooth, supple skin. If he forgot to use the hand with the washcloth once in awhile no one could blame him.

He pulled her shampoo down from the shelf and sniffed it, wrinkling his nose in disgust.

"Ugh. Well. It smells nice on ya."

Lydia moaned as he washed her hair, lathering the sweet-smelling soap into her scalp with gentle, scratching circles that felt just divine. How was he so good at that? He took his time, using the detachable head to rinse her down so she wouldn't have to stand to be close to the stream, then using his hand as a comb to rake conditioner all the way through to the ends. Once that was rinsed too, he finally seemed satisfied.

"I'm not a pet," she informed matter-of-factly as she was wrapped in a fluffy towel and carried back to their bedchamber by the attentive ghoul. Despite her half-hearted objection, she very clearly enjoyed being treated like one. Still, his actions this evening had planted a seed of doubt in her that needed assuaging,

"I love Percy. And you… love me. But… you don't love me... like I love Percy… do you?"

Pampering his wife was one of his favorite pastimes, after all, so taking the time to clean, condition, and comb out her long, dark hair for her was likened to how others meditated. It was peaceful. He cocked his head when she spoke, his eyebrow arched up into his hairline. He turned her to face him gently.

"Lydia. I love you… hell. Not like you love Percy, no. You're not my pet. You're my wife… I… love ya like…"

He searched for the right words for a moment.

"Like Delia loves bad art. Or… Adam loves his model. Like… I guess like Babs loves Four-eyes too. Like I've never loved anybody before. Does any a that make any sense?"

It was silly of her to doubt him. Hadn't he done enough to prove his love? Why did she keep testing him? What was it so hard to believe that someone could genuinely feel that deeply for her?

"It makes sense," she agreed, lying, relaxing back onto his arm in their bed. Percy, having watched the entire fiasco from start to finish with bored animal indifference, hopped up to the comforter to curl into a comfortable ball at their feet once he gathered Master and Mistress were settling in for the night.

"I love…" there was a tense pause before Lydia continued on with her inadequate declaration, well aware that it was falling short of what he wanted and drowning in guilt over it. "My new clothes. Thank you for giving me a nice first date."

He snorted. Typical woman. "Well, you're welcome, sweetness. I'm glad you liked it. We'll have to do it again sometime."

He ran his hands through her hair, then down over her back. Before long her breaths evened out against his chest, her muscles that were always tense when she was conscious relaxed, and her eyelids fluttering with the motion of her dreams.

That had gone stunningly well. Now to deal with Daddy Dearest and get some information.

Chapter Text

"Fathers, be good to your daughters,
Daughters will love like you do,
Girls become lovers who turn into mothers,
So mothers be good to your daughters, too."

—Daughters
John Mayer

Charles Deetz was a man in shambles. Months had passed since his daughter's disappearance— and subsequent reappearance— and his life had been a nonstop living Hell. Every second since he found her bed empty that dreadful morning had been spent analyzing the last conversation they had.

"You're going to end up just like your mother."

He cringed at the memory, tossing back another mouthful of whiskey straight from the bottle. It was more expensive than the swill he had taken to drinking recently, in an exquisitely crafted bottle with a golden label, meant to be drunk on the eve of his daughter's wedding. What a laugh.

Delia would probably be leaving him soon. She had never wanted a child but stepped up to the role of "Mother" as best she could despite Lydia's refusal to accept her. Was it ironic that the child that once drew them together in the early days of their marriage would now be driving them apart with her absence? Or had he just had too much to drink? Did it matter anymore?

A sudden chill washed over the study, rousing the graying hairs at the nape of his neck. He wasn't alone.

"Wh-who's 'ere?" He slurred, holding his fancy bottle closer protectively as he searched through the unforgiving shadows.

Betelgeuse has been called many, many things in his existence. Bastard, whore's son, demon. But never in his life, before or after death, had anyone confused him for forgiving. In the wee hours of the morning, after his beautiful wife had fallen asleep he pressed his lips to her forehead, using his magic to ensure that she would sleep until woken.

He had business to attend to. Climbing through the mirror in her bedroom he sunk his way through the floor and into her father's office. The man was pathetic. He knew that, but he couldn't have imagined just how pathetic he really was.

Drunk off his ass at… what… ten o'clock in the morning? Disgusting.

His father in law was slumped in his chair, drinking an extremely expensive-looking whiskey. He looked as though he hadn't showered or shaved in weeks. How had this human disaster raised someone as perfect as Lydia?

Wh-who's 'ere?

He chuckled low in his throat, making himself visible in increments. His eyes came first, hooded and vengeful, followed by the rest of his face, on and on until he was standing in front of Charles, hands in his pockets.

"We gotta have a talk, Chuck…"

A cold surge of fear paralyzed Charles first as the dastardly ghoul made his appearance, strutting casually to the center of the room like he opened the place. It was quickly outshined by rage; just as cold and just as ugly, unfurling in his gut like a blizzard.

We gotta have a talk, Chuck…

Was this even real? How drunk was he? The bottle was full, untouched when he began. Now, a little less than half was gone. Fuck. Fuck fuck fuck. Whatever. He could still take him.

"You—" Charles choked, staggering to his feet and clumsily making his way to the other side of his desk. "You— sonuvabitch!"

He aimed a sloppy right hook at the poltergeist's jaw, only for his target to smoothly sidestep out of the way, leaving Charles to go flailing into a bookshelf. A hardback copy of The Birds of America fell on top of his head with a heavy thud, and he lost his grip of the bottle, leading a generous amount of pungent-smelling liquor to leak onto his robe.

"No!" He cried out at the loss, bumbling through turning the bottle upright so as to save every drop he could. "This— this is all your fault!" The vile apparition had the drunk's hazy attention again. "Bring her back!" He half begged, half demanded, still sprawled in a wet, pathetic, stinking heap on the floor. "She's not yours," he insisted, near sobbing. "Bring her back."

Betelgeuse rolled his eyes as Chuck took a swing at him. Pathetic. If he hadn't smelled like booze before he certainly did now.

"Oh. Bring her back. Right, o' course. Because she'd really wanna see you like this. Sit the fuck down, Charles."

With a wave of his hand, his father-in-law was flying across the room and back into his chair. His hands gripping the armrests and unable to move. He scooped up the liquor, taking his own deep swig before finding the label. For Punkin's wedding. How sweet. He shook it, leaning against the wall and nodding at Charles as though deciding something.

"You know, Deetz. Can I call ya Deetz? Don't matter, I'm gonna do it anyway. You know Deetz…your little girl came to me awful fucked up. My little Lydia…. she's seen some shit. I can't help but wonder who's fault that is."

He took another swig, never breaking eye contact.

"Our weddin' night‒ best night o'my life, I tell ya… she did her damnedest to just… float away. Like it weren't happenin'. Now not only does that hurt a guys feelin's… which you gotta know… but it made me wonder… just where the fuck she learned she had ta do that."

If the rough, supernatural manhandling that got him into his seat wasn't enough to roil his stomach, what the nightmarish apparition had to say about his daughter absolutely did the trick. The foul implications of what had happened there brought a burning trail of acidic bile and hot alcohol up his throat. He wasn't able to miss retching some of it onto his robe, but most of it made it to the floor as he strained to turn his head against the ghoul's magic.

"Monster—" he coughed, red face wet with tears and upchuck. "You're sick. She's just a baby, she's just—"

When there was nothing left to expel, he fell into dry heaving until eventually he was left a wheezing pile of old, miserable man in his desk chair. He wasn't there to save her the first time a monster came for her, and he wasn't there this time either. Hell, he'd pushed her right into his arms, hadn't he? Who was the real monster here?

"Fuck you… you're not… you're not better than me… You're not better than him… You're just like any other kid-diddling, low-life, shit-stain scum of the Earth—"

"Open your fucking eyes, Charles. She's sixteen. She hasn't been your baby in a long time. Maybe never was. God knows she's had to practically raise herself."

Him. Now they were getting somewhere.

"Ah. So you know about the asswipe that was raping her, then. Good. I need some information, Chuck. And you're gonna give it to me. Or I'm gonna walk you through everything I'm doin' to your daughter. And how much she loves it. I mean just last night we…"

He trailed off with a cackle, lighting a cigarette. Waving a hand to clear away the vomit, a cigar appeared in Charles' right hand, now free to move from the arm of his chair.

He snickered softly. "You know… you're not her Daddy anymore. I am. And as her loving husband and daddy, I'm only gonna ask you once before your life gets real hard. I need a name. And where I can find the bastard."

I need a name.

It appeared they had more in common than either was willing to admit. Charles' tears dried, a hard glint freezing over his blue eyes. He would find him. He would kill him. He would dole out the justice that was so rightly deserved.

The cigar was a small mercy, one which Chuck found no comfort in. He would sooner have put its quarter-sized cherry out on his apparent son-in-law's mossy cheek until the flesh there sizzled than take any enjoyment in smoking it. But, his options were few and this looked like a Cuban. Grimacing deeply, he inhaled, savoring the burn on his still-stinging throat.

Then, Charles Deetz sang like a canary.

"Gregory Green," he spat without beating around the bush. "Dunno where he is, haven't seen him in damn near a decade. Used his dirty drug money to get himself a good, slimy lawyer, one that convinced the judge Lydia wasn't mentally competent enough to provide reliable testimony. Just let him walk. Last I heard he was still pushing product in the Bronx, but that was years ago. He could be anywhere."

Stray ash was tapped into the tray at the corner of his desk, an ugly sneer revealing the middle-aged man's coffee-stained teeth. If there was anything honorable or righteous to come of his daughter's sinful union with this beast, this was it.

"I want it slow. I want it painful. You owe my daughter that much."

Finally.

He nodded, taking a deep drag of his cigarette. "The Bronx, huh? Haven't been there in a while. They fuck shit up well enough without me."

He looked over the man who'd reared his wife. He really couldn't see any of her in him. This man was selfish, self-centered and turned to addiction to fix his problems. He made a mental note to watch Lydia for signs. Addiction on both sides didn't bode well.

You owe my daughter that much.

"Are you done pissing me off or you wanna say somethin' else about what you think Lydia feels? I owe her way more than killing this fuckwad. If I really wanted her free I'd kill you too."

He made no motion toward him, just leaning on the wall and smoking his cigarette. It was enough to watch him squirm at the knowledge that Lydia was his now.

"Too bad, she loves ya. Despite everythin' you did to fuck her up."

He tapped his ash onto the lush carpet. "Now her mom. Natalya. Tell me about her."

Too bad, she loves ya. Despite everythin' you did to fuck her up.

Charles couldn't even argue, didn't bother trying to feed him the same weak excuses he'd been telling himself for years just to get a good night's sleep; that he was too young to be a father, that it never would have worked out anyway, that his family would not have allowed someone like Natalya to wear his grandmother's wedding ring. Instead, he stuck to simple facts. The faster he gave the ghoul what he wanted, the faster he would be gone. Charles was eager to get back to wallowing in his misery sans the offensive, cruel company.

"She was wild. One of those religious girls who gets a taste of city life and can't get enough. Doesn't know when to stop. Parents never should've sent her here alone…"

As if Charles was in any position to be judging anyone else's parenting. Silently, he proceeded to dig through one of the drawers in his desk until he found what he was looking for. It was one of Lydia's photo albums. He'd taken it from her room after her disappearance, clinging to whatever was left of her. If it could help her now, he would give up what he could. A photo was slid across polished oak.

"That's her. Before the drugs got to her."

It featured a woman who could have been Lydia's twin holding up a raven-haired toddler with big honey-colored eye. Little Lydia's hair was in pigtails and she did not smile for the camera, gaze frozen in the flash. A black teddy bear was held tightly in her arms. The woman who was obviously Lydia's mother was a stone-cold fox; midnight hair styled like Veronica Lake's, almond-shaped hazel eyes, and a devilish smile framed with full, crimson lips. Despite her tangible joy as she held her daughter, there was no doubting she looked far too young to be taking on motherhood all alone. They were at the movies, some theater in New York. Night of the Living Dead read the marquee.

"There's more in here," he offered up the album grimly, sliding it the ghoul's way. "Lydia should have it. She's always idealized Natalya. Only seems to want to remember the good stuff. Can't blame her."

He took the picture, looking it over with an unreadable expression. Somewhere in his chest, his long-dead heart clenched. She was so small. Too small for how old she had to be here. Her mother looked just like her, or the other way around. He looked over the edge of the photo at Chuck.

"You know she's dead, doncha? Lyds is real eaten up about it. Thinks it's her fault. Now here's where I'm confused."

The photo was tucked into his pocket, the rest of the album disappearing into nothingness. It would appear next to the bed back in their home.

"You had two… almost three weeks to help her snap outta that. But where were you? Huh? Where were you when she got so low… so depressed…. so fucked up… that she thought callin' me was her only option?"

He sneered. "You're pathetic, Chuck. And I hope that ginger bitch of yours never gets knocked up. Because you clearly aren't cut out for fatherhood. Now I'm gonna go clean up the mess that you failed to address. N' don't you think for a second that I'll forget I had to do your dirty work. You coulda had this Green guy dead years ago. But ya failed. Ya failed Lydia. Failed Natalya. Failed your whole fuckin' family, Deetz. How's that feel?"

Charles Deetz's last conversation with his daughter had not gone well. Lydia was deteriorating after the news of her mother's death, he knew, especially so soon after Barbara and Adam took their leave. She started skipping school, her spats with classmates escalating to physical violence when she was usually so meek. Charles didn't know how to handle it. Really, he'd never known how to handle anything she threw at him. Lydia was a puzzle he was never quite able to crack. Maybe he just didn't try hard enough.

It was his responsibility to be the emotionally mature adult. It was his responsibility to step back and let her rage, stay calm and collected, not let his own feelings get the better of him. Maybe if he hadn't been drinking that day, he wouldn't have spouted those unforgivable words. Maybe if he had just put in a little more effort… Given her the love she was so clearly crying out for…

"How's it feel?" He parroted without intonation, numb, his hazy gaze focused on a framed photo of a garden spider hanging on his office wall. The photographer's identity was clear without saying. "If you really love my daughter… I hope you never find out."

He fixed him with a confused look. For all that Chuck seemed like he didn't care about Lydia, there was a deep-seated love there that Betel knew he could never touch. He nodded, placing the bottle of whiskey on the desk, now empty.

"Enjoy your cigar, Chuckie. I got a wife to get home to."

Just like that, he was transported back to their home. He set about making a pot of tea and pulling out the things to make breakfast. He knew that she'd kill him if he actually tried to cook but he could help. Back in the bedroom, he pressed a lingering kiss to her forehead, lifting the magic that kept her asleep. He slipped the photo of her and her mother into her sleeping hand, emblazoned with one word on the back.

Soon.

"Mmm…" Lydia hummed as the haze of sleep wore off, dreams bleeding into reality. She was sore in places from their rutting, but mostly content and well-rested. He was the first thing she saw; bedecked in signature stripes and hovering over her as he sat on her edge of the bed. Usually, he just wore his robe and boxers when they were home. Had he gone on an adventure without her?

"Beej…" She murmured whispishly in greeting, pulling him back down by the tie with a weak grip so that she could have a sweet, sleepy good morning kiss. There wasn't any resistance to be found, the grimy ghost immediately bending to her half-conscious whims.

"G'morning… did you go somewhere?"

Only just then did she realize she was holding something. Soon. She saw the word— the promise— before she saw the picture. The sight of the familiar photo made her gasp and sit up, a torrent of emotion sweeping over her; love, pain, heartbreak, and hope. Too many for any one person to process at once.

"Where did you get this?" This belonged to an album she hadn't been able to find among her belongings, the ones Betelgeuse moved for her. "Did you see her? What's— I'm confused."

He chuckled when she pulled him down for a sweet, languid kiss, his hand coming up to cup her jaw gently.

"Good mornin', sleepin' beauty…"

He sat at the edge of the bed when she bolted up, chuckling at the clear excitement on her face. "I've been doin' some research. I think I know how to find your mom, but it might take me a bit."

He reached out for the album, pulling it onto his lap before pulling her flush into his side.

"I want you to show me, Greg."

He watched her carefully, wondering how she'd react to the request.

Lydia flinched at the sound of that name falling off her husband's lips so casually, so easily, as if he had any right whatsoever to even know who that was.

"… what?"

It took her several moments to respond, going tense and slapping the album shut, practically tossing it over the side of the bed just to get it away from her. She didn't mean to throw it so far, but the shock of what Betelgeuse was asking of her was too great.

"I don't— I don't know what you're talking about," she lied. Poorly. Whether the deceit was meant for him or herself was unclear. "I don't even know any… anyone who goes by that name. So just— stop."

She slipped out from under his heavy arm, taking the sheet with her so she could wrap it around herself like an overly large dress. She still wasn't accustomed to just waltzing about in the nude the way he was. Stubbornly refusing to meet his gaze or acknowledge her ridiculous lie, she retired to the bathroom to brush her teeth and wash her face. Normality. Routine. These were the things that kept her sane.

Fine. He could find him himself. He stalked after her, leaning against the doorway and summoning the album to him. "Let's see."

The first few were Natalya. He could tell from the quality and clothing in the pictures. In most, she was holding Lydia. Starting out as a bundle of pink blankets and transforming into a toddler. The one in the photo he'd given her. Then… the photos all but stopped. He frowned. This must have been the start of her addiction. When she showed up again she was a sickly, thin thing. Lydia too was skinny and tired looking. There was a man. Finally.

He snapped the book shut and tossed it aside.

"Right. Well, I pulled out the stuff for waffles and I started coffee. Breakfast time."

The air was tense. Lydia hadn't said a word since Betelgeuse pulled that album out on her, spoke the boogeyman's name so easily. How did he know? She couldn't remember saying anything. He wasn't supposed to know about that. It wasn't any of his goddamn business. No one but hers. Stiffly, she just went through the motions, whisking eggs and milk into the batter, cutting strawberries into aesthetically pleasing slices and warming the maple syrup.

Silently, she placed his plate in front of him before preparing her own, still following the routine. The quiet was awful and thick, but she would be damned if she broke it first. As soon as she was done eating, the library would be her home for the rest of the day. Just sitting there eating with him watching her, him knowing what had been done to her… it made her skin crawl.

The quiet was deafening. It wasn't until breakfast was nearly gone from both of their plates that he finally spoke up. He reached across the table to take her hand.

"Lyds. Look at me a minute. I'm gonna remind you that none of the shit that happened to you was your fault. You didn't do it. It was done to you. And that's royally fucked up." He squeezed her hand. His eyes were dark and intense where they were looking into hers.

"I'm gonna take care o' this for ya. Gonna take care of him, n' then go find your mom. You're safe with me. I don't want you to forget that." He brought her hand up to his lips, kissing over her knuckles firmly.

"I told ya I'm gonna take care of you. This is part of that. Understand?"

Lydia wasn't aware she was crying until little hot droplets plopped down from her jawline to her collarbone. She was carrying so much shame, so much misplaced guilt. Maybe if she had been better, he wouldn't have had to touch her like that. If she wasn't so weird… so creepy… so strange…

Logically, she knew thoughts like this didn't make any sense, but that didn't stop them from hammering their way into her psyche, her ravaged mind trying its damnedest to make sense of the abuse.

The hand he held shook limply within his grasp, Lydia unable to summon the wherewithal to return the comforting pressure and intertwine her fingers with his. She knew that her father and Delia were aware of her sordid past, but it was never a topic of conversation. Not once did they ever acknowledge aloud that it had happened, preferring to sweep it under the rug for the sake of remaining... comfortable. To her knowledge, Adam and Barbara were never made aware of it and it wasn't as though she was about to tell them. The events of her childhood were a looming shadow hanging over her life, a symbol of impending doom that threatened to tear her apart in the wake of its turbulence.

This wasn't the case for Betelgeuse. He wasn't uncomfortable. He was perfectly at ease dragging it all out to the forefront without any hesitation to lay everything on the line. He was bearing witness. He was acknowledging that yes, this happened and it was royally fucked up. At this point, how he came to garner this knowledge was irrelevant. The heaviness was almost too much for her to bear.

"I— I—" she choked, slapping a palm over her mouth to cover the sob that wanted to escape. "I understand," she eventually got it out, stifled behind her palm. Then, their fingers intertwined.

There was a long, painful moment where she said and did nothing. There was an expression on her face that he hadn't seen before. One that he barely understood. He didn't like it. Finally, finally… she spoke. A stuttering, heartwrenching confirmation that she understood. That she saw what he was doing and why it was necessary. That she understood that she'd been hurt. Badly. And that there was nothing she had done to instigate it. She'd been attacked.

Her tiny, trembling fingers finally tangled with his own long, filthy digits. He squeezed her hand firmly, sliding out of his seat and pulling her with him until he could wrap his arms around her and just hold her. He didn't know if it was what she needed, but it was what he needed. He hated the hurt that was evident on her face.

After a moment he ran his thumb over her cheek, wiping away a stray tear. The silence was still hanging in the air, threatening to take over them again. It felt as though if he didn't speak now, the silence would last forever.

"I'm gonna find him, Lyds. He's gonna pay for putting you through this. I promise. I can't… I can't fix it. But I can make sure you never gotta think about him again."

The moment he took her up into his arms, she collapsed, sobbing and choking, hot tears seeping through the material of his suit until they met frigid flesh, burning like acid. The sturdy wall she had spent the last decade carefully constructing was crumbling and she fell with it. How could a person possibly feel so much at one time?

"It's— not— fair—" she muffled into his shoulder at one point without any further context, letting the statement carry itself as her husband hushed her, coursing ragged nails through her hair. Only once her hysterics subsided did he speak again, promising vengeance on her behalf. He was a proud, vindictive creature. She knew this. She also knew that he loved her, legitimately, and that his motivations in doing such a thing were equal parts selfish and altruistic. Nevertheless, Lydia was everything he was not, and the idea of Betelgeuse fulfilling such a promise didn't spark any lights of sadistic joy within her. Quite the opposite in fact.

"I don't want that," she whispered back, still holding him tight. "I know you're going to do what you want, and I won't try to stop you… but I don't want any more pain. I don't want anyone else to hurt."

He felt like he was dying anew. His lovely, sweet wife was crumbling in his hold, weeping and choking on vile, corrupt memories. Words came through, though muddled, and he kissed her temple, tightening his hold.

"I know… I know, baby. It's not fair. None o' this is fair."

She whispered to him about his plans. Nearly pleading for mercy. How could she be so… good? Pure? Forgiving? It was too late. The course was already charted. He didn't answer her request for the pain to stop with her. That was what was unfair. This man.. this Gregory Green… had taken something from her. Had stolen it, with force and left her broken behind him. He had to pay for that offense.

"Hey. I'm here… just breathe, beautiful."

He tucked her under his chin, one hand abandoning her hair to rub large, slow circles into her back. He was going to fix this. The only way he knew how.

They stood swaying in the kitchen until her tears stopped flowing and her cheeks dried. There was still a sniffle in her voice and blotchiness to her complexion when she finally pulled back to address him, embarrassed. Why did she have to be so dreadfully emotional? Maybe her period was coming up. She was about due. Maybe. Time was difficult to keep track of on this side.

"I still don't understand…" she began, not quite meeting his gaze. Her knees shook, and the arm on her back banded around her waist to make up for it. "How… how did you know?"

She had been searching her memory bank, scouring through each moment spent in the attic during the time he was haunting the Deetz house, and every second since that had been spent in his company. Nothing was sticking out, and she was certain the mention of something this imperative would be imprinted in her mind like a brand. Suddenly, an alarming possibility occurred to her and watery eyes finally lifted high enough to meet his.

"Did… did you talk to my father?"

Damn. Caught red-handed.

He ran a hand through his hair, not wanting to meet her gaze. He was sure she'd be disappointed. And he hated disappointing her.

"Uh… yeah. I paid ol' Chuck a visit. Just to check in, ya know? See how he was doin'. Ask about your mom… It was good. Healthy. We had a smoke and talked…'bout you mostly." It wasn't exactly a lie. He pulled her chin up so he could kiss her gently.

"He adores you. Just shit at showin' it. I see that now. He'd do anythin' for ya kitten. Like I would."

Lydia scoffed, shrugging to wipe her cheek off on her shoulder.

"No, he doesn't. He just tolerated me. He thinks I'm just as weird as everybody else does. He'd be happier if I was never born."

Given time and distance from the situation, Lydia was able to admit that she may have reacted… rashly to her spat with her father, but the deed was done. It was too late to ponder on useless things like regret. She was married and gone and there was no looking back, even if she wanted to. But, that was all beside the point. She couldn't help but doubt the validity of Betelgeuse's claims. The idea of he and her father having a rational discussion over a smoke like a couple of business partners was ridiculous.

"… promise you didn't hurt him?"

Well, she saw right through him, didn't she? He chuckled.

"Not a hair on his head, kitten." He ran his hand back up her back, pressing a kiss to her forehead.

"Now… I'm gonna be gone a while startin' tomorrow… so we gotta talk about that. I don't wanna come home to you floatin' in the pool again." He looked down at her, studying her tear-stained, slightly puffy cheeks.

"You gotta promise me you're gonna be okay while I go look for Natalya. I can't take you with me and I dunno how long I'll be away…"

"I told you I wasn't trying to kill myself," she blustered, rightly embarrassed. "I was just being dramatic."

She pouted then, unaware that she was even doing it, and raised puppy dog eyes to meet her husband's. With her red cheeks and bloodshot eyes, she made for a truly pitiable sight.

"You were really mad. And you took your hat. And I thought you were going to come back with divorce papers for me to sign. I wanted to use the pool before you kicked me out."

Well shit.

If that didn't make him feel like shit nothing could. He nipped at her cute, pouted lower lip, pulling at it playfully.

"Aw, kitten… I'm not gonna divorce ya over a stupid fight. You're stuck with me." He pressed a kiss to her forehead, pulling her closer.

"I got a bad temper. You know that… but I wasn't even mad at you, baby. I was mad at me." He sighed. "Ya make me feel a lot of shit I ain't ever felt before. I'm still figuring out how to deal with it all."

Eager for closeness in the wake of the emotional rollercoaster their morning was turning out to be, Lydia wrapped her arms around his neck tight as he pulled her close, until he was forced to just lift her off the ground rather than continue bending to meet her height.

"I won't do anything bad," she promised after he so sweetly confessed the complexity of his feelings, legs wrapping around his waist as she was elevated. "I'll probably just stick to the hot tub. Maybe read some more…" She trailed off, head laid on his shoulder like a sleepy child. "Can we watch a movie?"

They'd yet to break in the home theater, and Lydia was more than ready to see if their tastes aligned. Spending the rest of the day cuddling and watching movies sounded absolutely divine.

He chuckled at the soft request, leaning his cheek against her head as he headed for the theatre. "Of course. Whatcha in the mood for? I saw your shelf back at your dad's. We could do It… or Chucky. Maybe Phantom if you're feelin' romantic.."

He easily settled on the plush couch in front of the large screen, keeping her wrapped around him as he summoned their bedding with a crook of his finger. The blankets set to work wrapping around them, tucking them into a cozy nest of fluff. He pressed a kiss to her forehead, his hand coming to cup the back of her neck.

"I'm all yours today. Promise."

"Oh, can we watch Phantom? Please, please, please!" She begged, knowing she didn't have to.

Without anyone having to lift a hand, the screen came to before them. It was as big as any theater screen, with a tiny light at the back of the room denoting the existence of a projector. Lydia hadn't found any projection rooms anywhere in the house in her days living here. She had, however, come across several suspiciously locked rooms.

"Beej," she whispered as the opening scene began to play, as if she had never seen this movie before and didn't want to miss anything. "What's in the locked rooms?"

He chuckled at how she begged him to watch the opera. She really didn't have to. He'd give her anything, even if it meant having to sit through hours of singing. He pulled her somehow even closer as the first notes of the opening played, leaning into the couch contentedly. Then she asked the question. He frowned slightly, glancing at her.

The locked rooms contained all kinds of things. A torture chamber. An armory. A sex dungeon. He'd thought he'd hidden them away rather well. She was better than he'd expected at sneaking around.

"Which one, kitten?"

His inconspicuous not-answer made her nose crinkle in faux annoyance.

"All of them!"

He knew what she meant.

"It's my house too, right? I should know what's in the rooms— and for that matter, I should have a key. Don't think I didn't notice you pocketing both of the ones Paul gave you. What, do we have a dungeon?" There was a giggle in her voice, but he wasn't laughing. Her smile vanished. "Oh my God. Betelgeuse, I was kidding!"

"I know you were. But you asked…" He sighed softly. "Look, there are some things in this house that I don't think ya wanna see. Stuff I need for work… that kinda thing."

He pressed his lips to her temple, running his hand up her side. "I'll take ya on the full tour when I get back from findin' your mom. Deal?"

He could only hope that by then she'd forget to worry about what was behind closed doors. On the screen, the chandelier fell. He nodded to it.

"Watch your movie, baby."

Chapter Text

"Down once more to the dungeon of my black despair!
Down we plunge to the prison of my mind!
Down that path into darkness, deep as hell!"
—The Phantom of the Opera; "Down Once More/Music of the Night Reprise"
Andrew Lloyd Webber

Stuff I need for work.

He was the bad guy. Lydia had never had any illusions about this. Nevertheless, the confirmation that there was a torture chamber in their home for the sole purpose of "bio-exorcising" was daunting all the same. She shivered, not from the cold, and obeyed his order. It wasn't as though there was anything she could say or do to get him to switch professions. He did bad things, and he did them well. He couldn't change any more than she could.

Then and there, she decided he was right. She didn't want to know.

"Nighttime sharpens, heightens each sensation,
Darkness stirs and wakes imagination,"

This scene in particular never failed to give Lydia chills. The phantom's leather-clad hands took Christine and spun her abruptly, almost roughly, pulling her flush against him— then softening so that he could trail them all along the silhouette of her pure, white dress and the gentle curves that lay beneath it. Unbeknownst to Lydia, her pupils had begun to dilate, an almost imperceptible flush rising to her cheeks. With slightly shorter breaths now, she squirmed just a bit in Betelgeuse's lap; thighs squeezing together, gripping at the lapels of his suit more firmly.

"He loves her so much," she whispered, awed. "I'm gonna cry at the end, I just know it."

Having successfully turned her attention away from his more… private rooms, Betel was happy to hold her as she went back to her film. He found most cinema boring, but knew that his wife loved it, so here they were. He watched as the monster on screen took the lithe, dark-haired beauty into his hold. Imperceptibly, he pulled his own beauty closer, not lost on the irony of the two of them watching this story play out.

He loves her so much…

He smiled, bringing his hands up to mimic those of the Phantom on Christine. He nuzzled into the soft skin under her ear, singing along with the next few lines…

"Close your eyes and surrender to your darkest dreams,
Purge your thoughts of the life you knew before,
Close your eyes, let your spirit start to soar,
And you'll live as you've never lived before…"

He wasn't much of a singer, but the words resonated nonetheless, his hands sliding over her hungrily. One came to rest on a thigh, the other on her small, pert breast.

"This is what I was tryin' to say before. I love you like this, baby…"

He wasn't a dreadful singer. Certainly, he could carry a tune but he was no Michael Crawford. Nevertheless, Lydia was beyond seduced, the baby hairs on her arms sticking upright as his gravelly voice warbled the words to such a darkly sensual song. Liquid heat pooled in her belly and everywhere his touch trailed was hypersensitive. Her breath hitched as he squeezed her in places, making that fever build higher and hotter.

Untried and innocent in the realms of being wooed, Lydia was unable to recognize how corny the moves he was pulling on her truly were, or that he was just taking advantage of her pre-existing film-induced arousal. Everything he did was new and exciting, and this was no different.

I love you like this, baby…

"Beej," she giggled as though he must have been joking, breathy and nervous, stiffening just so as a roaming hand slowly started to pull up the train of her dress beneath the blanket. How many times would he have to take her around the merry-go-round before she lost this virginal quality? She almost argued that no, there was no way he could love her like that. But then, she considered the parallels. He would kill for her, was already planning on it. If he had a life to give, would he die for her too? She held little doubt that the answer was yes. He had watched after her, lusted for her in secret, even attempted to marry her via coercion and pressing circumstances. Was that love? If she considered it love for the phantom and his soprano, then it must be love when applied here as well.

"Beej," she repeated, huskier than before as those grimy teeth scraped the delicate flesh below her ear, talons catching on the hem of her dress and pulling up.

Oh, she shivered so nicely in his hold. His fingers easily drew up the hem of her dress, pooling the cotton at her hips as he explored the inside of her thighs gently. Poor, naive Lydia. Wasn't her naïveté what got her into this mess in the first place? She'd truly believed him when he'd said that marrying him was the only way to save the Maitlands. She seemed to believe anything he told her, with a grain of salt.

He grinned against her neck, nipping at the soft skin. He paused in his explorations to grab one of his sharp talons and snap it off. It wouldn't do to hurt her when she was so soft and pliant in his hold. Another followed, and the fingers were back at her core, rubbing and teasing along the edge of her panties.

"Floating, falling sweet intoxication,
Touch me, trust me, savor each sensation,
Let the dream begin, let your darker side give in..."

She was really eating this cheesy shit up.

They came to stretch out, Betelgeuse curved into the nook of the couch near the arm with Lydia lying almost completely on top of him, her legs spread over his bent and parted knees, backside cushioned firmly against his erection while he played with her. She was burning. Her hands twitched and fiddled, not knowing what to do, until they eventually came to a decision and gripped the edge of the blanket, pulling it up tight under her chin.

Calloused fingertips toyed over her covered mound, plying light, teasing pressure until a damp spot appeared over the soft cotton. They were a plain, simple pair without any lace or frill, thrown on without a thought for his opinion when she was still reeling from the damned album he placed in her arms, the monumental favor he had actually had the audacity to ask.

But that was then, and this was now. His gritty baritone fell off as Gerard Butler's buttery tenor soared over the last dissonant chords of the song, the ghoul knowing better than to even try. He had more interesting things to focus on anyway, like carefully scooting the edge of her panties to the side so that the crux between her thighs was open for his exploration. His blunted digits delicately slipped between her slick lips, nestling against the hot little bead of nerves above her entrance.

Her hips jolted at the electric sensation, pushing her sore, fucked ass harder against the rigid bulge in his pants. Lydia wasn't even paying any attention to the movie anymore, head lolled back onto his shoulder, eyes closed to embrace the darkness as he fondled her silken folds at his leisure.

Betelgeuse watched, his eyes dark and lidded as Lydia writhed above him. It was always an achievement to be able to distract her from her favorite things. After all, he should be her favorite thing, and right now it seemed he'd taken the position firmly away from the screen.

He traced lightly over her sweet, wet flesh, his rough fingertips dragging against the bundle of nerves that made her arch and rock against his cock so deliciously. He pinched gently, a malicious smirk set comfortably on his face.

"How's that feel, kitten? Hmm? Feel good?" He didn't really have to ask, but confirmation and praise never hurt anything. His hand trailed back, along her lips and back up, one blunted finger pressing into her in one thrust.

"Ooh… wow. You know, no matter how many times… or how hard I fuck you… you're still so tight. How'd ya do that?"

"Nnnggh—" She made a tortured sound at his first question rhetorical as it was, finding it very difficult to string together sentences when he was touching her like that, chapped lips brushing her ear and cold breath ghosting over her shoulder.

"Yeah," she huffed, biting her lip, spread legs trembling, "good."

Then, once he deemed her wet enough, one of those thick fingers plunged within her, forcing a tiny surprised cry past her lips as its width stretched at the clinging muscles he was in awe of. The things he said were always so filthy. Lydia didn't think she would ever be in the same league as him when it came to dirty talk. It wasn't just what he said, it was how he said it, each word coated in filth and sex, perfectly assured in his desire and intent. It made her burn. She just didn't have that kind of confidence, but she could try. For his sake.

"I dunno," she slurred as if drunk though she hadn't had a drop, intoxicated on his touch alone. He was prodding, stimulating at something inside of her that made her speech falter, but she soldiered on, determined to return the favor. "I dunno— you're so… ah— uh… so big… hurts… but feels good… dunno how you even fit…"

He grinned at the way she stuttered out her attempt at dirty talk, stroking his ego beautifully. He pressed his finger in as deep as he could get it, his rough palm rubbing against her clit.

"Aw, you're so sweet kitten. Really know how to make a guy feel special." A second finger was introduced shortly, the slick clenching of her muscles making him groan. "Feel that? The way you're clenchin' around me? Fuck… you got no idea how good that feels on my cock."

He twisted and spread his fingers, curling them to try and find the one place that would really send her into fits. He kissed up her neck, his free hand curling around her to grip her breast, kneading and massaging the soft flesh.

"Ya know I really oughtta show ya what's behind one o' those doors… I think you'll really like it…" He snickered, nipping at her neck firmly.

The locked doors? What did that have to do with this? Lydia was at a complete loss, and couldn't trouble herself to acknowledge the strange admission further than a perplexed, throaty "what?" as he increased the fervor of his finger fucking, effectively silencing any silly questions. She arched and cried out, undulating her hips against his hand as though she were riding his cock instead, tilting and gyrating in a fruitless effort to get more. The motions made her supple backside— fleshier than it used to be with her weight gain— grind deliciously onto his rigid phallus, twitching and hungry for more beneath the cage of his zipper.

"I love— your hands—" she panted as the praised limbs continued their worship of her. Another attempt at dirty talk? Or just another thoughtless, charmingly innocent quip in the same vein as her drunken insistence that his cum tasted like whip cream?

It was entirely too hot. Unable to stand it a second longer, Lydia tossed the blanket to the ground, relishing the rush of cool air over her searing flesh. Hands freed, she slid one along his side until it slipped beneath the waistband of his trousers, providing her purchase to more fluidly rut against his fist. The other very gently came to rest over his groping palm as it manipulated her tit; not hindering his course or adding to what he was doing, just feeling, appreciating the contact with the beloved extremity beneath her featherlight touch.

"— and your arms," she continued her verbal adoration of his physical attributes as he handled her just a bit more roughly, the sting of a bite to her already marked neck adding to her masochistic pleasure. "So muscular… tall… sexy…"

He watched as she arched and twisted under him, loving the way her pretty brown eyes opened and shut as though she couldn't decide which was better… pleasurable darkness or viewing its source.

He paused in his efforts to let her throw away their coverings, grinning when she went right back to arching against him. She was spouting adorations, but for the strangest things. Maybe it was a kink. He let his fingers press into her particularly deep, humming into her ear.

"This hand, baby? Or just the one buried in your sweet cunt?"

He couldn't help but flex the muscles of his arms, drawing her closer still. All this praise could be bad for him. Give him a head too big for his shoulders. He ground against her soft, pert ass, memories of the night before flooding him. Had there been a day, save the three at the beginning of their marriage, that he hadn't had her any way he wanted?

"You're so good to me, baby… how'd an asshole like me get such a perfect wife? Huh? What'd I do to deserve you? I sure as hell don't know."

"Not— not perfect," she disagreed stutteringly, on the precipice of orgasm. A masterful crook of his fingers sent her crashing over the edge. Time slowed to a standstill as Lydia came apart atop him, head thrashing side to side, her lithe body bucking and straining beneath the burning swell of hot, pulsating pleasure. Her heart was still pounding in her chest as she came down from such an explosive peak. Lashes fluttering as her vision spiraled, she eventually settled into a panting, sweating mass as he carefully withdrew his soaked digits.

Judging by where the film was at, that hadn't taken them very long at all. Minnie Driver a la La Carlotta was being prepped for the lead in Il Muto against the phantom's wishes, the bouncing, whimsical notes of Prima Donna filling the room.

"M'not perfect," she repeated once she had her faculties again, flipping over with a huff until they were laying front to front, scorching little puffs of air hitting his ear as she snuggled against his shoulder. "I'm short. And Pasty. And flat-chested. And I don't know how to roller skate."

This wasn't a fish for compliments so much as a succinct list of facts that Lydia had long since resigned herself to.

"I'm good at ice skating, though," she admitted, cutting herself a little slack. Little baby kisses were pressed to his neck and jawline as she laid there in post-orgasmic bliss, pawing at him gently. "You're hard," she whispered bashfully as if he didn't already know. "I want to help."

He couldn't help but grin up at her as she fell apart, riding his hand like it would save her life. Well, in a way it had. As long as she was having a good time, he hoped she'd forget about offing herself. At least until he could find her mother and take care of Greg.

He glanced at the screen, sneering. That bitch with the high-pitched voice was annoying. He didn't get why she liked this shit. He was pulled away from the thought by Lydia protesting his compliments…. again. He scowled, sliding his hands up and down her back as she spoke.

"Stop that. You keep sayin' that shit… makes no god damn sense to me." He urged her upward just enough to take her breasts into his hands and squeeze. "Baby, this look flat to you? Look how nice you fill up my hands…. and I got big hands, don't I, kitten?"

His hands went back to her hips and back when she started to litter him with kisses. He groaned softly, licking his lips as she all but pleaded with him to let her take care of his erection. It hadn't flagged since the first time she'd rocked back against him.

"Yeah, yeah… I'm real hard, baby. All for you…" He squeezed her ass firmly. "Help me out how? You gonna suck me again? God, that was so good…"

He made a valid argument. She couldn't poke any holes in it. Those hands she loved so much were big, big enough to envelop her own entirely when they were clasped. When he grasped her breasts, squeezing indulgently, the snowy, still-covered mounds fit them perfectly— even overflowed just a bit. Maybe Claire Brewster and all those other taunting girls from her past schools were just full of shit.

She sat up fully as he pushed her to get at her chest. Lydia knew what was expected of her. He wouldn't be satisfied until he was touching her flesh-to-flesh, she knew, so demurely she set about undoing the line of small buttons that ran up the front her dress. This one was also simple, black, and made of plain material, a relic of her past life. She'd yet to touch any of the luxurious ensembles he bought on their date. They were still hanging in the closet, begging to be worn.

Despite the revelation that she, in fact, might not have been "flat-chested", she was still far from perfect. Far from worthy of traipsing about like some well-bred Lady of class and grace in this Manor she called her home. She just wasn't this perfect girl he thought she was. Nevertheless, he was a good man in defiance of all his more monstrous traits, and he treated her well. She could humor him— and herself— and pretend to be deserving of all this love.

You gonna suck me again? God, that was so good…

"Maybe," she teased, averting her gaze coquettishly as black cotton parted to reveal her breasts to his greedy hands and eyes. "If you want. Can we try something?"

This was her first time suggesting new moves, and the boldness of such a proposition from his meek wife certainly piqued his interest. She blushed beautifully before continuing with her idea, adding to the flush from her explosive peak.

"Uhm… Sixty-nining?"

He watched hungrily as she undressed, his hands easily sliding back onto her tits. "Mm. Damn. I love yer tits baby…" He was getting ready to go at them when she spoke, shyly making her request.

"Oh ho…. well. Little Lydia's been watchin' porn again, aincha?" He grinned, pulling her into a rough kiss. "Let's do that…. yeah. Sixty-nining." Such a silly way of putting it.

He nipped at her neck before guiding her to turn around. He pressed at the back of her neck, bending her over him, before pulling her back to be able to reach her pussy with his questing tongue. He ran said appendage over her eagerly, groaning at the taste of her release on his tongue.

She fumbled through unbuckling, unbuttoning, and unzipping until his eager cock was jutting up toward her mouth, clumsy and distracted by his lips, teeth, and tongue's eager ravaging of her dripping pussy. He was ravenous, seeing no need to wait until she was pleasuring him to get to work on her.

In contrast to his enthusiastic devouring, Lydia was able to take her time here for once. She wasn't bound and at the mercy of his lust, or rushing to make him cum before they were discovered by a wandering store clerk. They were in the comfort of their own home, enjoying each other's bodies as husband and wife at perfect leisure and on equal footing. Here, she could experiment.

Humming as his tongue came to lash at her overly-sensitive clit, she began the task of slicking up his thick shaft with soft, sweet licks. The fat head was already leaking pre for her, and she lapped it up dutifully, gasping hot breath against his length as his mouth did well to worship her. Only once it was good and wet did she fully take him into the sizzling softness of her mouth, a little pink tongue swirling maddening circles around the mushroom tip.

He was more than happy to dive into pleasing her again. After all, she was much more difficult to get going than he was, and much more fun to take apart. He moaned when her soft lips met his cock, shooting a glance between them to watch her taking him into her mouth. He was temporarily distracted from his duty by watching her, his mouth hanging open as her tiny pink tongue worked him over.

"Fuck… baby, that's nice…"

He went back to his task, slipping his tongue into her and curling, the serpentine flesh twisting inside of her.

She moaned beautifully as he set to work fucking her again, with his tongue this time, and the sound was muffled by his thick girth. Not that this made it any less lovely on the ghoul's ears. If anything, to hear her cries of pleasure choked on a piece of him she was servicing— of her own volition, on her own suggestion, with hardly any coercion on his part— only made it that much lovelier.

Lydia fell into rhythm like she'd been doing this her whole life; rocking back and forth atop him, sucking him deep toward her throat as his tongue withdrew, then leaning back into the slimy, twisting appendage as her lips drew a heated line up to the tip of his cock. She never released him from the tight, hot crevice, applying intense suction to keep that fat head from popping out on the drawback.

Like a dedicated, loving wife, she doted on his cock with nary a thought to her own pleasure, and so it was a surprise when she came again. The rush of pleasure came on a downstroke as she worked her best to force him down her throat and the pointed tip of his tongue took advantage, coming up to draw sinful patterns over her tiny clit.

Again, his cock swallowed the outcry of euphoria as evenly as she swallowed it back, the vibrations enough for him to feel in his drawn tight sack— full to bursting.

This was by far the worst oral he'd ever given her. He was far too entranced by her soft, wet mouth moving over him like he was paying her. He moaned and rocked his hips into her, despite the efforts he was putting into holding still. He couldn't help it… the sound of her groaning and simpering around his cock was just too good.

He must have done a decent enough job, though because soon she was rocking back against his face and moaning as she came. He eagerly lapped it up, his hold on her hips becoming that much tighter as he buried his face in her. Then, she tried to take it all. He pulled back from her wet arousal with a bolt, his hips rocking up and forcing more of his cock into her tight throat.

"Fuck! God damn, Lyds who the hell taught ya to do this?"

Sure as hell wasn't him. They'd have to work on her taking it all. One hand moved to grip the back of her hair, his cock twitching excitedly in her mouth.

"Hold… Hold still… I'm gonna fuck yer face…" He snickered to himself, twisting them to put Lydia under him. "Don't bite."

"Mmmf—"

Lydia startled at the turn, unprepared, but made sure to keep her jaw stretched wide and her teeth sheathed as per his command. Her hands splayed flat against his hips as if she would even be able to push him off, but the illusion of control gave her a modicum of comfort nonetheless. This was an intimidating position to be in; forced beneath him while he straddled her face, mouth stuffed with cock and unable to voice her concerns. She'd only ever successfully pulled off what he was demanding while in a state of blackout drunkenness, only bits and pieces of that night stashed away in her memory box.

What if she messed up? What if she bit down? What if—

Tense and alarmed, too busy fretting to focus on relaxing as she should have been, she wasn't ready for the first thrust. Throat muscles taut and rigid, she choked when his girth was forced further into her mouth, gagging. There was a terrifying juncture where she panicked. She couldn't breathe. The world around her fell away and she forgot where she was, who she was, and who she with, just that she wanted to be somewhere else— anyone else. She pushed and struggled just a bit, but there was no give, the penetrator staying right where he was, savoring the moment.

Eventually, she remembered that she had nostrils and sucked in air that way. The flow of oxygen to her brain calmed the dizzying onset of panic, returning to her a sense of calm and awareness. This was okay. She was okay.

He loved her. He wouldn't hurt her unless she wanted it. He would take care of her.

He growled when the first thrust was met with a wall of tense muscle. He rocked against her, his large hand coming to her throat to rub gently over her skin with callused fingers.

"Relax, Lyds… it's okay. Daddy's gotcha… I'm not gonna hurt ya if you just relax…"

He ran the other hand through her hair, trying to be comforting even as he was thrusting again. Every few thrusts he paused, his heavy balls nearing her forehead with each bought of thrusts.

"Fuck, that's it kitten… just remember to breathe. Fuck."

He ran his hands lovingly over her face and neck, the gentle sentiment matching nothing of the hard, deep thrusts of his hips. He groaned as he felt himself approach the edge, panting softly as he pulled her in again, circling his hips against her face.

"Fuck, I'm gonna cum…"

It was a trying journey getting there, but Lydia eventually found the wherewithal to relax. He was so good to her, petting and whispering sweet reassurances as he roughly used her mouth for his pleasure. One of those thick sturdy arms kept him aloft in a push-up position over her while he caressed her with the other, feeling over her throat as that thick cock pushed in and out.

Once his peak approached, he lost himself a bit, grinding against her face with careless abandon in a way that made his hairy sack nestle over her nose, blocking her only source of oxygen. Luckily, it didn't take much longer in this form before he was busting down her throat, spilling chilled streams of white, salty-sweet cum down her constricted airway.

As he finally lifted off of her, she tried to gasp in air but choked first, coughing on the remnants of his orgasm until little white dribbles leaked out the side of her mouth. Tears she hadn't been aware she was producing wet her cheeks as well, and along with her crumpled, half-opened dress, this served to make her a tragic, ravished sight.

"Beej," she sniffled once she was able to catch her breath, somewhat shaken by the experience and wiping weakly at her face, "I don't— I don't…" She trailed off and swallowed another trail of his salty completion, not saying what she really wanted to say. He seemed so satisfied, so pleased with her. What place did she have denying him?

"... That was hard..."

He gripped her hair tightly as he came, harsh grunting sounds leaving him as pushed somehow deeper into her throat. When he finally pulled away he couldn't help but grin at the sight of her. She looked thoroughly debauched, her chest heaving as she fought to swallow down what hadn't been put straight down her throat.

That was hard.

He looked at her, raising an eyebrow. It seemed like she was dangerously close to telling him that she didn't like it. Wouldn't want to do it again. He reached down to pinch at her breast, chuckling to himself.

"Ya did a good job, kid. It'll get easier."

He rolled away from her to stand, stretching his arms over his head. Maybe the couch hadn't been the best place for this rendezvous. He carefully helped her sit up, plopping back down next to her and conjuring them each a cigarette.

Lydia sat up gracelessly with his help, accepting the cigarette he had to offer with quivering fingers. Once upright, she settled curled up into a ball in the corner of the cushions, shaking through rebuttoning her dress without letting loose her hold on the smoke. She wasn't avoiding touching him, but she wasn't not avoiding it either.

Joseph Buquet fell from the rafters. Chaos erupted throughout the opera and then Christine was dragging her stupid pretty boy up toward the roof for their uplifting, yet melancholy duet.

She remained silent through the scene, still recovering from her husband's ravaging. This part usually always brought a tear or two to her sympathetic gaze, especially when it was revealed that the murderous phantom was privy to his soprano's betrayal. As it was, her tear ducts were already leaking. Weren't they supposed to have stopped by now?

It'll get easier.

She believed him, but the threat was ominous all the same. Betelgeuse, for now, seemed tolerant of her need for space; not touching her, the shadow of his arm hanging heavy over the back of her side of the couch. The rare patience he was exhibiting wouldn't last, but she appreciated the effort. Maybe it would be nice to take a break while he was off dealing with Mother and…

"You once said," she began, breaking her mute streak, "that you were only going to let me see my mom if you thought we both deserved it." The reminder of his declaration didn't even spark any indignant rage in her like it once might have. "I think I deserve it."

He slung his arm over the back of the couch, taking the hint that she was done being touched for now. She was curled in on herself at the far end. He may have been a little rough on her, but what was she expecting? He was a monster, after all. Just like the Phantom she so adored.

He looked up when she spoke, one eyebrow rising up his forehead as he turned to look at her.

"Oh really? You think you deserve it, huh? Tell me why."

He slid down the couch toward her, licking his lips.

"Convince me. Use those debate skills. It's just like high school. I can be the teacher you be the student…Mm. Go get the skirt we bought…" He cackled, grabbing her by an ankle and pulling until she was flush against him again.

"Go on. Gimme your reasoning."

She yelped when he grabbed for her, straining to lift her half-burnt cigarette so it wouldn't singe herself or the couch.

Go on. Gimme your reasoning.

"She's my mom," the obvious answer came whimpered and confused, a sad little furrow crinkling her brow. "I married you. I—" let you do whatever you want to me. Wasn't it enough? What more did she need to sacrifice? He owned her.

"I'm good," she insisted, increasingly distraught, searching her memory bank for any recent acts of defiance. "You promised," she reminded, the blood-pumping organ in her chest fracturing further the longer he toyed with her. Then, she provided the nail in the coffin, the only reason that mattered, the only validation he should need to keep his word.

"You love me."

He was more than happy to disprove her points. "Just because she's your mother don't mean she's good for ya babes… and I don't think I did make that promise."

Then she murmured the words that would likely one day be her undoing.

You love me.

His eyes narrowed as he thought over his options. He could refuse to seek her out, he was certain that the junkie had nothing to offer his wife other than pain. Or he could lie. Go for a drink and come back saying that she didn't want to see her. Neither option was appealing. Neither would keep his wife loving him the way she did. And he did want her to love him. He glanced at her out of the side of his eyes.

"Yeah. That's a good point." Smoke curled from his nose, dissipating along with his hopes of keeping Lydia to himself for another millennium at least.

"I dunno how long it's gonna take me to find her." He stood up, tucking himself back into his pants and pulling his suit back into place where it had been ruffled in their rendezvous. "I'll be back. Don't know when, but… I will. So don't worry, okay?"

I don't think I did make that promise.

Her heart stuttered, expression falling into one of wrenching despair. He hadn't, had he? He only guaranteed he would find Mother, not deliver them to one another on a silver platter. God, she was so fucking stupid. He had everything he wanted, didn't have any reason to do this for her aside from his alleged "love", though Lydia was through questioning the validity of it. While she wasn't certain this was what love was supposed to be, she knew that it was the closest he would ever come.

Those wild jade eyes narrowed at her regurgitation of his feelings, chilling her blood for reasons she couldn't place. She didn't feel unsafe, but there was nothing warm or comforting there. Then, he turned from her abruptly, righting his appearance with an impatient gesture. He seemed upset, and this only served to increase his troubled wife's anxiety.

He was leaving already? This brought an unexpected pang to her chest, convoluting her already confused emotions. Usually, he did his business while she slept and was back before she awoke. The last time he left like this was in the midst of a heated fit, leaving her alone and despondent for hours. How long would he be gone this time? They were supposed to cuddle and watch movies today. The Phantom of the Opera wasn't even over yet.

But… that was trivial. Selfish. Mother mattered more.

"It won't be more than a day or two, right?"

She rushed out before he could disappear on her, his dour energy setting her on edge. The idea of being all alone in this big house with nothing but Percy and her twisted thoughts to keep her company had her ready to cry again, but she would be good enough to save her tears until he was gone.

He looked back at her, seeing that her eyes had that wide, watery quality that she got when she was about to cry. It occurred to him just then that leaving in the middle of a supposed date night, and after a disagreement was a bad move.

He really was a terrible spouse. He sighed, cupping her cheeks and bending down to kiss her gently.

"Well… I told ya I donno. But it won't do me much good to start now. The waiting room gets crowded at night."

It was a lie. Time was irrelevant, but she seemed to want to keep him around a while. He couldn't deny her anything. He settled back on the couch and pulled her onto his lap again.

"How 'bout I leave in the morning, eh? We can finish our movie and get you a nice long soak in the tub before I go…"

His lips fell to hers and like that Lydia was his again. All trespasses forgiven. How could she be upset with him when he made her feel so loved and special and beautiful? Why was she even upset in the first place? She couldn't remember when he kissed her like this, gently plying chilled, chapped lips over her warm satin ones until her inner turbulence was calmed.

Needy for more of that addictive love of his, she followed easily when he collapsed back into the couch, curling into his lap and wrapping thin arms tight around his neck as though there was nowhere else she would rather be. For now, he was hers and she was his and the rest of the world could go fuck itself.

They watched another movie after this one ended before breaking for lunch, one of his choosing this time. The Exorcist, his "favorite comedy." Lydia had seen it before and didn't understand what was so funny about it, but his laughter was infectious and so she conceded a giggle here and there. After a lunch of soup and sandwiches, they were right back in the theater to squander the day away.

After watching another of her choices— The Pit & the Pendulum— she fell asleep in the middle of another of his— Two-Thousand Maniacs; right before their established dinner time, nestled in his lap beneath blankets, a tiny fist curled up next to her mouth as though she used to suck her thumb but had since broken the habit.

Chapter Text

"And if your heart stops beating,
I'll be here wondering,
Did you get what you deserve?"

—Dead!
My Chemical Romance

The time seemed to fly by. As much as he desperately tried to stretch it out, there was no avoiding the inevitable pull of her exhaustion. She was adorable, curled up and slack in his arms.

Asleep she looked younger, less weighed down than she did awake. There was a softness to her that made his chest ache. He was ruining this tiny angel. Making her his completely and pulling her from heaven by the ankle. He felt bad for a half a moment but pushed it aside. She'd had a choice in this too, he told himself.

He carried her to bed, gently tucking her into the soft sheets, having wrapped her in a silky nightgown. He hoped she slept as long as she could, but he knew she'd become accustomed to having him beside her.

He pressed a kiss to her head and departed, dropping into the waiting room with a crash. Miss Argentina jolted from her window and he grinned, winking at her playfully. "Hey, how's it goin'. I need to talk to Juno. Now."

Miss Argentina leveled the foul ghoul with a sour deadpan before picking up the phone and dialing the caseworker's lengthy extension of which she had long since memorized. There was no use arguing with Betel once he had his sights set on something.

"Congratulations," she snarked in a lilted, exotic accent that added extra H's where there shouldn't have been any as she waited for Juno to pick up, having caught sight of his wedding band; a brassy gold ouroboros. It was hard to miss. After so many years working alongside him, she knew exactly how many rings he wore on each hand, how many watches on each wrist, how many stripes were on each patch of that tacky suit.

"You're all anyone's been talking about," she continued, filing at her already perfect nails nonchalantly. "Actually roped some poor little living girl into marrying you. Tsk tsk tsk… Naughty."

As an attractive woman with next to nothing to lose, Carmen felt safe enough teasing the revered poltergeist. "Boss is pissed— Miss Juno! Yes, Beteljerk is here to see you. Isn't really in a waiting mood…"

He smirked when she started to dial, no questions asked. He must really be in trouble then. Oh well, he could handle Juno just fine. She was like a mother to him. Or an eternally disapproving grandma. He let his arm extend, slithering into Carmen's booth and pinching her ass firmly. They'd had a fling, once upon a time, and she'd been entirely unimpressed. The only woman he'd had to say so. It made her fun to poke jabs at.

He could hear Juno's voice on the other side of the phone, shouting as usual. He shrugged and wandered his way into the back offices, appearing, as all the souls did, back in the place he'd died to wait. It was a parking lot now, for some sort of chain restaurant. He shook his head and lit two cigarettes, knowing Juno would want one of his despite her own being readily available.

This had been his home once. His life. He could picture the entirety of the little colony that had stood here. Could walk from this point to Sarah's house in his sleep. But the houses were gone, Sarah was dead. He had no option but to wait for Juno to make an appearance.

"You have got some fuckin' nerve."

Betelgeuse didn't have to wait long for the decrepit spirit to make her entrance. In a puff of smoke, she materialized beside him, snatching the lit cigarette he had to offer with a snarled "gimme that." The higher-ups had been breathing down her gashed neck, burying her in paperwork as punishment for allowing the abomination of a union between the living and the dead to take place. As if she could have done anything to stop it.

"You actually did it. I can't believe you actually did it."

She wasn't privy to how or why her least favorite protégé managed to bind himself to a living child, only that it had happened when he was supposed to be under her watch. Sneaking rat.

"Now you think you can just waltz into my office and demand to see me. I have shit to do, Betel. What do you want?" A grim, matronly storm brewed behind her gray eyes and she dared poke hard him in the chest with a sharp talon at the end of a wrinkled finger. "You better be treating that little girl nice. You're not going to be happy if I hear anything to the contrary."

They had a volatile relationship, but there was a modicum of closeness there. Juno knew who he was and how he operated, but she hoped she had been able to instill enough virtue in him in their time together that he knew better than to treat someone like the Deetz girl the same way he treated his other women.

"Hey, now! You know that this shit is different. Lydia's different." He lit himself another cigarette and sighed.

His face took on a softer expression as he thought about his wife. He hated leaving her alone, but it was a necessity. It was too dangerous to bring her here. He took a long drag of his cigarette before speaking.

"I need to find someone. Might be back in the cubicles if you catch my drift. I got a name and a cause of death. Need ya to get me back there." He tapped his ash onto his boots, giving her a determined look, his eyes dark in their sunken sockets.

"I'll owe ya one."

He didn't say this lightly. Favors in the Netherworld were a high-value currency, and he couldn't afford to hand out too many.

Lydia's different.

Juno was already in on this without needing to be told. It would have to be a truly special mortal to make him actually abandon his perpetual bachelorhood, to keep him this docile for so long. After receiving the bad news, she thought for sure he would have been out and about in the living realm wreaking havoc by now, raising armageddon and splitting the barriers between worlds— for no better reason than that he could. This "Lydia Deetz" she had heard so much about must have had one hell of a grip on his balls.

"Okay, Betel," Juno conceded with a slow, vengeful smirk that rivaled the ones she knew he could produce. "I'll help. But it won't come cheap. All this bullshit paperwork I'm having to fill out on account of your jailbreak? Not my problem anymore. That's aaallll on you. Enjoy."

And that's what he got for being an insufferable bastard. The crone nodded firmly as they walked the parking lot, satisfied with the proposed exchange.

"Still want to deal or is it not worth it anymore?"

Ugh, paperwork. He did have an office at the house and it would be nice to have something to do other than ravage his wife. He followed behind her, falling into step easily.

"It's still a deal. I'd go back to the department if Lyds asked me to."

He realized in an odd way just how attached he'd become. He truly believed that he'd do anything Lydia asked of him, no matter how severe.

"Name's Natalya Volkov. Supposedly offed herself via the needle. My girl thinks it's her fault." He glanced at the woman who'd become the closest thing he had to a family. "You should really meet her, Ma. She's something else."

"She must be a saint to be putting up with you," Juno barbed back good-naturedly, foul mood improved with the knowledge that her workload was going to be that much lighter. This girl seemed good for him. As much as he liked to earn her ire, Juno cared. She didn't want to see his filthy soul on the chopping block for crossing one too many lines— not that the head honchos would ever be able to catch him now. With his recent nuptials, he was far too powerful for his or anyone's own good. Luckily the girl seemed to have a tight hold on his leash.

"Natalya, Natalya, Natalya…"

Juno muttered, searching her expansive memory of new arrivals. Abruptly, one stuck out. With a grim turn to her wrinkled mouth, she crushed the butt of her cigarette beneath her heel and led him down a nearby alley toward a door with a glowing exit sign.

"I know her. She's one of mine. Sad case."

The door opened to unending rows of towering cabinets and desks, a poor, unfortunate soul occupying each one.

"C twenty-six," she informed from memory, pointing a maroon-painted claw down the way. "Take it easy on her, whatever it is you want. She's a real mess."

He chuckled at the way Juno made a show of disliking him. He knew that deep, deep down she really did care. After all, he was her most famous case file. He looked down the hallway of cubicles and cabinetry, scowling. He'd spent far, far too much of his existence here. He'd thought he'd never come back.

"Thanks, Junebug. I promise I ain't here to start any shit. Just got some questions."

The walk down to her desk was a long one, accompanied by the incessant sound of typing and scribbling pens. Not one soul looked up as he passed, too absorbed by their eternal punishment. He was getting close, he knew, when he spotted a shock of raven black hair out of the corner of his eye.

For a moment he thought he was looking at his wife. The same pale peach skin, though this woman's had taken on a blue tinge in death, and the very same thin heart-shaped face. It took him a moment to recognize the Veronica Lake hairstyle, her hair pinned out of her face on one side rather than hanging in the short, rounded bangs he was used to.

"Natalya?"

While others typed on, well invested in their pointless work, Natalya was one of few who remained eerily still, tiny powder blue hands frozen limply over her keyboard while a dead, hazel gaze stared on at everything and nothing at all. It took several dragging moments for the sound of her name to even register. Ever so slowly, she blinked, then her jaw ticked slowly up, movements isolated from the rest of her achingly familiar body.

There were slight differences between she and her daughter. Natalya had a tiny beauty mark beneath her uncovered eye, a swathe of dark hair falling over the other. Her face was sunken with death, but her cheekbones were higher and more sallow than Lydia's, giving her lips the illusion of being fuller. Though, perhaps the younger's would thin out with age.

No emotion registered.

"I do not know you…"

The heavily accented whisper came with a ghost of curiosity. Interest.

"… but you know me."

That was heroin alright. She looked as though she'd been beautiful once, like her daughter, but now he could only register disgust. This was the woman his sweet Lydia was ready to kill herself over? The woman who'd sold her daughter's body for a fix. If he looked closer he was sure he'd still see track marks in her arms. Disgusting. She and Charles both.

How had the two of them created such a perfect creature?

He came to lean against her desk, his face twisting with a combination of anger and sorrow. He could recognize the woman from the photo in her. Could see Lydia's nose and eye shape. It was painful to think of the sweet little girl who'd gone hungry and drugged so that this thing could get high.

He brushed it off. He had questions for her.

"Privet, Mama. Ya zdes' dlya Lydia." He lit another cigarette. "You remember? Your baby girl?"

It had been many years since anyone had spoken to Natalya in her first language. So long that she had grown accustomed to defaulting to English.

"Ly… di… a…"

Each syllable was savored on dark, bloodless lips, big eyes drifting shut as if awed by the very sound of it.

"Always wanted little girl to call… Lydia." Natalya was somewhere else just then, off in some dusty corner of her far-gone mind, living out fantasies of a life that never was. "To braid hair… to dress pretty…"

This was the extent of memory she had left for her daughter. Everything else was taken by the drug. Moment gone, the zombie-like Natalya met the stranger's gaze once more, whatever light of life she exhibited in the midst of trying and failing to gather memories extinguished.

"Will you stay with me…?" She begged, again with tragic familiarity, a splinter of despair coloring her tone. "Zdes' tak odinoko…"

Nothing. She remembered nothing. His heart ached in a way it hadn't in a long time, his chest pained with the unfamiliar emotion. How could she forget her own child?

Not for the first time, he cursed the name of Gregory Green. It was clear to him that Natalya wanted to remember. To know that her little girl exists, alive and well. The bastard had stolen her life by getting her hooked. And now he'd ruined her afterlife too. He had to be next. Had to pay.

He pulled the photo out of his pocket and set it in front of her. "Look, Natalya. You don't remember?"

There was no reaction. She didn't even blink. He sighed, pulling the photo away and tucking it back into his pocket. Standing, he put a hand to her cheek. "I can't stay, Mama. I have to go home and take care of our girl. But I'll be back… okay?"

Natalya leaned into the touch, bring a small hand so very like her daughter's up to gently grasp his wrist, as if to keep the kind stranger from leaving her too soon.

"Promise?"

Save for the heavy accent, this woman seemed to channel her daughter in every aspect of her mannerisms— or maybe it was the other way around. Just like Lydia might, she begged prettily, pulling at grimy heartstrings she didn't have any right to have a hold on.

"I will wait for you… pretty green eyes…" Something dark and romantic was uttered in her native tongue, a fleeting thought she hadn't the capacity to filter. "I love man with green eyes…"

It was hard to pull himself away, but he managed, muttering a goodbye in Russian before making the trek back up the rows and rows of cubicles.

This was going to be hell. He'd have to go back to his wife… his wife who he'd just managed to get back to some semblance of happy and content. And now he had to tell her that her mother didn't even remember her.

He arrived in their living room, pacing over how to break the news. Maybe if he hid down here for a while she'd find him on her own.

A whole week. He'd been gone for a whole week. At least that. She wasn't really sure anymore. Lydia only knew because of a working watch she had from her old life that still seemed to be keeping track of time there.

The first day wasn't so terrible. She slept in, skipped making breakfast and went straight to lunch, and lounged in the hot tub with a good book. The second was much the same, most of it spent snacking on junk food in the library and napping intermittently. By the third day, she began to worry.

Mother was religious. The things that existed here existed because of belief, Betelgeuse said. What if she sent herself to Hell because she thought she deserved it, not knowing any better? Tricked by the religious institution into one of those ghastly tourist traps like the River Styx?

The entire fourth day was spent crying behind the crimson velvet canopy, Lydia unable to drag herself from bed for anything other than water or the toilet. Though, she never forgot to feed Percy.

By the fifth day, she was questioning her sanity. What if she was dead? What if Betelgeuse had already fulfilled that initial promise and everything from their first night as husband and wife until now was little more than an apparition brought upon by her twisted mind?

After all, Lydia had never believed in any Gods, but she believed in Betelgeuse.

Once that thought managed to worm its way in, she stopped checking the time. Therefore, it was a shock when the heavy, unmistakable thud of his boots pacing the floor hit her ears. Unaware that she had even memorized the sound, she was on her feet and flying down the steps two at a time in a frenzied rush to greet her husband.

"Beej!" She called excitedly, jumping into his arms without any warning, actually making him stumble just a bit. Arms tight around his neck and legs banded around his waist, she peppered his face with kisses, so fucking happy just to see him. "I missed you— I missed you so much— You were gone for so long— I thought you'd never come back!"

He'd been considering waking her when he turned and suddenly found his arms full of his enthusiastic, excited wife. How long had he been away? It had felt like hours for him, but who knew what had happened here.

I thought you'd never come back!

"Baby… baby calm down…I told you I'd be back." He chuckled softly, pulled from his concerns by her happiness to have him back home. He easily supported her with a hand under her ass, leaning in to kiss her firmly.

It was nice to see that she was so worried about him. He carried her to the couch and settled in, happy to keep her close while he still could. He was sure that after he broke the news about her mother she'd never want to see him again. She was a mess. Her hair was up in a tangled bun, her only clothing one of his dress shirts, hanging to her knees as he settled her sideways on his lap. He ran a hand over her thigh, nuzzling into her neck lovingly.

"Glad ya missed me, kitten… I missed ya somethin' fierce." It was true. Seeing her mother had made him ache to have her close again.

Quite suddenly, Lydia was painfully aware that she hadn't brushed her teeth. Or bathed. Or shaved. How long now? That she couldn't immediately remember made her terribly ashamed of herself.

As well as her body, their home had been neglected. The bedding on their mattress was rumpled and unmade, black fur shed on the cream sheets to mark Percy's territory. Dishes were piling up in the sink. There was an empty bottle of wine tipped over next to the hot tub leftover from a particularly miserable bout of self-loathing.

He didn't seem to care about any of that— yet. So, she tried to bury her guilty embarrassment over the matter and just enjoy that he was back.

"You were gone forever," she choked the last bit against his neck, kissing a mossless portion as he rubbed her stubbly calf. "What happened? Where was she? Please say you found her, Beej. It's been killing me."

He had noticed the lack of cleanliness in their home but decided not to mention it. Clearly, she was in a fragile state. He let out a breath as she nuzzled into him again, one hand coming to cup the back of her neck.

"I… I found her. Yeah." He pulled a joint out of nowhere, already lit and nudged at her until he could give it to her. She'd definitely need a little herbal assistance swallowing the bad news. "Babes, I…"

He didn't know what to say. How did you tell someone you loved news like this? News you knew would cause them pain? He didn't like this. Didn't want to tell her.

"You look just like her… ya know that? 'Cept the cheeks." He ran his thumb across her soft cheek as though comparing them. "Kitten, I gotta tell ya… it wasn't pretty."

"Dad said that once," she remembered the only instance he had ever spoken of her mother within her earshot save for that last time, shaking her head and then pulled away so they could meet her husband face to face. There were dark circles under her eyes, cheeks missing more color than usual.

"I don't see it. She's beautiful."

Oh, no. He wasn't as happy as her. In fact, he was downright grim. Lydia's energy took a sharp turn as he produced the burning marijuana, the strong aura of dread clouding him finally enveloping her.

It wasn't pretty. Lydia went very, very still, save for the stream of smoke drifting gently past her lips.

"Where is she?" She whispered once her lungs emptied, scarcely gathering enough oxygen.

His chest ached as her smile fell. She took a deep drag off of the joint and he took the moment to gather himself.

"She's in the department for the deceased. She's working as a civil servant. Like you thought…"

He kept his hand firmly on her hip as he spoke, worried that she'd try to bolt.

"I asked her about you. Showed her a picture of you when you were little, but…" He swallowed, not able to meet her eyes. "The drugs got to her brain pretty bad. She wasn't… I don't think she was really alive even before she got down here. She didn't remember… anything."

"No."

It couldn't be true. She didn't. He was wrong. He was lying again.

"She wouldn't," Lydia shook her head in abject denial, pushing the joint back into his hand. "She promised."

A splitting pain started to throb at her temples as what he was really saying sunk in. She doesn't remember you.

"She wouldn't forget me. Not ever. It's not— it's not true… No, no no no…" she backed off from his lap, receding like a cat from water, pale fingers curling and pulling hard into her fussed main to attempt stilling the screeching thoughts.

"My mom loves me. She needs me. Take me to her, I need to see her. Please!"

Lydia was cycling through all the different levels of grief, jumping from one to another in a confused rush, acceptance far beyond her grasp. It seemed she was at a cross between bargaining and anger now.

"I did everything right and I do everything you say, so take me to her! You know where she is, I need to go. Now. Please."

He knew she wasn't going to take it well. She retreated from him swiftly, her eyes growing panicked.

I did  everything  right and I do  everything  you say, so take me to her.

He shook his head, putting his face in his hands. "I can't,… I'm so sorry baby, but I can't.." Seeing her mother as she was now would do her no good. It would only hurt worse to see firsthand that she just didn't remember.

He didn't know what to do, or how to comfort her in this. He had no way of knowing exactly what she felt, beyond pain. He'd done as she'd asked, he'd found her. Asked her about Lydia. Just because she didn't like the results didn't mean he hadn't done his job.

He looked up at her with a certain pain behind his own gaze. She'd need a reason that he couldn't take her. "I had to make a deal to get in… they won't let me in again. I can't…"

"How long did you even talk to her?!"

Rage took sudden overwhelming precedence over all the other warring emotions. Letting anything else take over was to admit that there was no hope. That she really was that stupid. That worthless. That she had been willing to throw away everything on a woman that died a long, long time age.

An accusatory bite to her chewed words, a constant flow of tears streaming down each cheek, she laid into him; fearless of consequences. What would he do? Kill her? If she could take it, so could he.

"You just don't want me to leave this house. You don't want me to go anywhere else or see anyone but you ever."

Once Lydia was of a clearer mind, she would regret this declaration, decry it ridiculous and childish on the face of it, unwilling or unable to recognize how accurate it really was.

"You can't just—just half-ass this and feed me bullshit and expect me to eat it! Not this time Betelgeuse! Stop lying!"

This was a tortured plea disguised as an accusation, though whether Betelgeuse was able to see the truth of that was yet to be seen.

He stared at her for a long moment before standing up and adjusting his suit. "Fine. If you don't wanna listen, I don't gotta sit here and listen to you call me a liar. I tried. I made a deal to get in to see her. A big one. I gave her the picture. Tried to tell her that you missed her. Told her you looked just like her. But sure, I half-assed it."

He shook his head, trying to keep the boiling rage beneath his skin at bay. She was hurting. He knew that logically, but having her spit such venomous words back in his face had his fuse burning shorter by the moment. He had to walk away before he did something he'd regret.

"I'll be in my office if ya need me. You know. So you can work through this on your own. Since I'm feeding you bullshit." Maybe he shouldn't have made the deal with Juno. This wasn't worth it. He'd tried so hard and done everything she'd asked and she still hated him. Maybe she always would, deep down.

He trudged himself upstairs to his office where a towering stack of paperwork was already waiting. He slammed the door, just to hear the wood rattle and sat down to get started. Case File 2,005,943: The Marriage of Betelgeuse to Living Girl Lydia Deetz. What a joke.

Chapter Text

"Tonight you're mine, completely,
You give your love so sweetly,
Tonight the light of love is in your eyes,
But will you love me tomorrow...?"

—Will You Still Love Me Tomorrow
Ben E. King

The thunderous slam of that large oak door shook the house, and Lydia cringed terribly. Approximately three seconds later, she fell into a collapsed heap on the ground, sobbing inconsolably. She slept on the couch that night, unable to bring herself to crawl much further than that. The next morning saw her nursing an emotional hangover more brutal and crippling than anything alcohol could ever induce.

Betelgeuse came bearing the truth. She knew that now. Mother was so far removed from reality and tortured by the ghost of sensation, hurt and longing and guilt, without the mercy of memory to why it was there that she took her own life. Betelgeuse had no reason to lie to her about this. It was wrong of her to lash out at him that way— killing the messenger with such cruelty and carelessness.

Though she had come to the conclusion she was wrong, it was still too raw, the big, locked door at the end of the hallway too intimidating. Cowardly, she thought surely he would come to her. Eventually. Then she slept alone again in their made bed, every bit of her lovingly shaved, primped, and plucked for his enjoyment, ready to accept his love. It never came. The next day saw her cleaning the house top to bottom; dusting, sweeping, mopping, putting everything out of order back in its place with obsessive precision until one could hardly tell anyone lived there.

Really, she was the only one living there. And Percy, of course.

House tidied to a proper perfectionist's predilections, it was time to try again. More seriously this time. She couldn't sleep alone again. In an attempt to fake color and liveliness, her lips were rouged with tinted balm and lashes thickened with mascara. She even went as far as to throw on one of those luxurious nighties he procured for her, a short, silky, lacy green affair. No underwear.

A sandwich made with the utmost care and attention to detail was put together for him, thick and hearty with all the trappings she'd learned he enjoyed. Along with this, she grabbed one of the beers he seemed to prefer and soldiered up the stairs, determined to see her husband. Unfortunately, the big oak door at the end of the hallway didn't care how brave she thought she was. It remained locked when she gulped and staggered through juggling the plate and bottle into one arm and jingling the handle.

Knock, knock.

"Beej…?"

Silence.

"I made you a sandwich."

Time passed. The stack of files shortened but seemed to never end. He'd heard his wife moving about the house, but until she was calm and ready to think rationally he wouldn't seek her out. Let her be the one to patch things up this time. When the knock came he was startled out of his focus, turning to look at the heavy oak. Oh. It was locked, wasn't it? He waved a hand and the heavy metal lock slid out of place.

He was slouched in his desk chair, his jacket long abandoned and his half-moon reading glasses settled at the end of his nose. He sighed, settling his current case file on his desk and turned toward the door.

"Come on in, Lydia."

With all the timidity of a rabbit pitter-pattering into a fox den, she took his invitation and shouldered the door open. Then, very carefully tiptoed across the sea of crimson carpet to place the peace offering before him to the side of the paperwork he was working on.

It was not lost on her that she wasn't on the receiving end of one of his sweet nicknames. The loss twisted up her insides and she almost abandoned the endeavor completely, even more ready to turn tail and run when he didn't say anything or look at her, stuck monotonously filling out paperwork. Then she saw her name scrawled among all those lines of text.

"What… what are you doing…?"

He glanced up when the sandwich was put in front of him. He didn't want to look at her yet, anger still burning under his skin. She'd hurt him, which was difficult to do and even more difficult to fix. Her tiny body leaned over his desk, peeking at his paperwork. He slapped the file closed, fixing her with a stern look.

"I'm upholding my end of my deal with Juno. This was the exchange for goin to see your mom." He gestured roughly to the stack of paperwork.

He turned slightly to look at her. She wasn't sleeping well, he could tell. Her eyes had dark circles beneath them despite the mascara she'd applied to try and hide it. Her lips were a deeper pink than her natural color, revealing her use of lipstick to try and entice him. His eyes then found her chest, her soft flesh threatening to spill out of the lace of the nightie. One he'd bought her.

"What are you doing?"

With big, bloodshot eyes and a heartbroken frown, she shrunk back, discouraged by his cold reception. She deserved it. What did she expect?

"… trying to apologize."

The prospect of spending another cold, desperate night without him was worse than suffering his burning glare, but not by far. She peaked enough of the files to notice that his script was messy and scrawled, barely legible.

"Can I help?" She thought to offer on a leap of courage, grasping at straws. "I have good handwriting." Her lashes fluttered, blinking away moisture at the thought he might reject her again. "Please. I'm lonely."

He glanced at her again, double-taking at the moisture gathered in her eyes. He didn't like making her hurt, but maybe she deserved it.

He sighed. "Fine. Can't read my own chicken scratch anyway." He pushed back from the desk, patting his thigh gently. "Come up here, kitten."

He pulled her up onto his lap, handing her his fountain pen. There were some things he just couldn't give up for the modern age. He let his hand rest lovingly on her thigh. He really had missed her. He pressed his face to her neck, taking in her warmth after so many days apart.

Lydia scampered to settle on his knee, eager to snatch up whatever affection he was willing to dole out. This was good. This was working. Before carefully flipping the folder open to start in where he left off, she went soft and pliant in his arms while he held her, releasing a long painful sigh. Waiting for this had been awful. She had been so vicious to him, a terrible wife.

"I'm sorry," she intoned with heavy guilt, hugging his arms tighter around her to encourage the embrace. They stayed like this until Lydia gently directed him to lean back and accept his sandwich and beer, take a well-earned break. He didn't need the sustenance, she knew, but this was what she had to offer and he deserved her best effort.

Scooting forward to balance on the precipice of his knee, thighs banded firm around each side of the sturdy limb and back arched, she focused everything she had on the task at hand. Very quickly, she grew frustrated by the tiny print and legal jargon, the text difficult to decipher without any of the resources from the library. Stubborn and dedicated, Lydia refused to show weakness, squinting harder and forcing herself to chew through each word.

Luckily, it mostly seemed to be requesting trivial data; date of birth, full name, etc. Normal questions. Then things turned more in line with what she was expecting; date of death, cause of death, fatal impairments and disabilities, soul identification number, so on and so forth, becoming increasingly ridiculous and over Lydia's head. Eventually, she just started marking N/A where it seemed appropriate.

"I'm probably not filling these out right…" she admitted as she moved on down to the fourth page and he finished up his sandwich. "Sorry if you have to redo them. I'll look over them again tomorrow. I don't understand some of these questions… what should I put under species? Human? Homo sapien? Alive?"

He was content for once to settle back and let her do her best to apologize without his assistance. She picked at the paperwork, a soft frown forming on her face the further she got.

"Human comma mortal. That's your species." He set aside the now empty plate and bottle, letting out a belch that was far from attractive. He patted her thigh gently.

"Good lunch, babes. Thanks." He supposed that they had both earned a break. He carefully closed the file and set it on the stack that had yet to be completed, pushing at his wife until she was facing him. "Now... I think we need to talk. Don't you?"

"You really blew up at me back there... I was just tryin' to do what you asked me to. You weren't my sweet girl... I don't know what happened, but I need you to talk me through it."

Lydia shrunk further but was good and docile for him. She allowed him to manipulate her until she was tucked back into the crux of his lap, a thick arm slung around her hips, one of those hands she loved so much sunk against her thigh where his thumb could rub soothing circles.

She would have preferred to just pretend this never happened. To continue mourning Mother in silence the way she always had and blot out this moment in the story of her life just like so many others had been erased. Nevertheless, her selfishness had a victim this time; his feelings.

"When I was little," she began after thinking fiercely for several beats of silence where her husband questioned she would even cooperate, "before they took me away… she promised me she would come back for me..."

As well everything else such a miraculous feat would entail.

"And I always thought… that she would. Ghosts are real. You're real. This is real. Why couldn't that be real too?"

Her voice wavered with emotion, but Lydia had cried all the tears she had left. Her ducts were simply exhausted.

"I'm sorry," she parroted, chin dropped shamefully to her collarbone to shield her guilty face from view. "I waited for you to come back for so long… I used you. You love me and I used you and yelled at you and said horrible things and you should hate me. You're supposed to hate me. You're supposed to be the bad guy. I guess that's why I thought it was okay to use you… I'm sorry…"

He listened, letting her get it all off her chest, and then staying silent a few moments more. He knew, in the end, that she was using him as a means to an end. He'd hoped, however, that she'd at least started to feel for him.

You're supposed to be the bad guy.

"I am the bad guy... Always. Always the guy that's been so... fucked up that it's okay to hurt me." He felt like he was breaking into pieces. If all of this was a front to get to her mother, then he had truly been fooled. He couldn't believe he was stupid enough to fall in love again. "I do love ya, Lyds... I just..."

"You're not the first, you know. You probably won't be the last. I'm an easy guy to fool, I guess. 'Specially with a pretty face." He chuckled, a weak, faked sound. "And you do got that."

He reached into his pocket and produced the photo of Lydia and her mother. Handing it back to her, he carefully lifted her, settling her in his chair as he started to pace. "So what now? Now that you know? You'll... what? File for divorce? They'd give it to ya. The paperwork is on my desk. It's what they want us to do. "

He ran a hand through his hair, gritting his teeth. "Fuck, how could I be so stupid?"

Probably wouldn't be the last? Divorce?! Lydia panicked immediately and jumped up from where he set her to still his pacing, stepping in his way and ineffectively grasping at those meaty biceps.

"No! I want to stay with you, Beej!"

It was a visceral gut, reaction, the mere thought of anything else making her sick to her stomach.

"I don't want you to love anyone else ever again! Just me." She declared possessively, aghast at his hurtful suggestions. He was hers! "Why would you say that?! Please don't say things like that, B," she begged, calming herself as well as him.

"I don't… love is a complicated concept," she settled finally once reassured, finding the bravery to look him in the eyes while speaking candidly about the feelings she harbored. "… and I don't want to say the wrong thing for the wrong reasons at the wrong time and ruin something beautiful. You've done this so many times, right? I haven't. You're all I know."

I don't want you to love anyone else ever again! Just me!

He stared at her for a long moment, watching as she worked out what she wanted to say. He was confused. She'd admitted to using him, wanting him to find her mother and then being finished and now... she was pleading with him not to leave? He cupped her jaw gently in one large hand, bending until they were eye to eye.

"I've never done this before either, kitten. Never loved anyone the way I love you and that's fucking terrifying. You could hurt me with one flick of a dainty little finger. Ain't nobody got that power over me. Cept you."

He could see past what she was saying on the surface. Somewhere, deep down, she loved him too. What a horrifying concept. They were each the others' greatest weakness.

"After I lost Sarah... to the ice... I swore I would never fall in love again. I fought it, for... centuries. But I couldn't stop it when it came to you, Lydia... you're the only person this stupid, broken heart's ever beat for." He brought her hand to his chest, his eyes fixed firmly on her own.

"I don't want you to love anyone else... ever again. Just me... okay?"

"Nobody else. Just you. Until death and beyond," she agreed, quoting the priest who officiated their wedding, the finality of the vow imprinted in her mind. She couldn't give him the straightforward confession he wanted, but she could give him this oath.

"I'm so sorry I hurt you, Beej," she reiterated her deep sense of regret, holding him close as best she could with her short stature and diminutive strength. "I was confused and hurt and I wanted you to hurt too. It was really shitty and unfair. I missed you so, so bad."

Getting wrapped up tight in these arms again gave her brain a straight shot of serotonin, her touch-starved skin soaking in the attention greedily. Ever eager for more, she stretched up along his solid form, choking a whimper when he came to grab her bare backside under the short negligée.

"I was going crazy. I thought maybe you killed me on our wedding night like you were supposed to and I was stuck in a tourist trap." The horrible, embarrassing confession was whispered in a rush against his ear as she kneaded into the knots at his neck dutifully just to feel him shudder against her.

A tourist trap? Oh god.

He'd been putting her through hell... making her think that she'd been trapped without him for good. He blinked, holding her closer still as the weight of her confession dawned on him.

"No... no, baby, you're alive and well..." He pressed his forehead to hers, his hands still cupping her soft backside. The touch wasn't sexual, per se, more comforting. Familiar. He pulled, scooping her easily into his arms.

"I gotta get outta this office. God, I'm so sorry kitten." He pressed a lingering, pain-filled kiss to her temple before leaving the office, kicking the heavy door closed behind him. He took the stairs slowly, fully aware that he could transport them in an instant to the destination but craving the prolonged closeness.

Upon entering their bedroom the fireplace roared to life as it had not done in the nights he was gone. From his place on the bed, Percy meowed and came to greet them, weaving between his legs as he settle his shaken wife on the fur rug in front of the mantle. He ran a cursory hand over the cat, appeasing him for the moment. Master was back, mistress would be happy again, Percy's work was done. He trotted off to some corner that only cats could know about.

Betelgeuse turned his attention back to his beloved, his hands shaking as they framed her face. "Ti amo, Lydia... Mia cara. Mi tesoro..." He littered her face with kisses, his hands weaving through raven locks.

Each familiar touch came new and electric against her wanting flesh, all of them an unquestionable reminder that he was here, and it was okay. She trembled beautifully under his touch, coming to grasp his broad shoulders tight for purchase as he laid her out over the rug. They were barely doing anything, but this was all so intense. Was it because it had been so long? Or perhaps it was the shared understanding of their mutual desire to only belong to the other?

Sweet little tears managed to rise and kiss her lashes despite her body's dehydration, trailing over her cheeks to dampen his kisses. Only a few, the young girl overwhelmed by his gentle, reverent handling.

"Don't be sorry," she hushed, working to absolve him of any misplaced blame. "You've always been so good to me. You didn't do anything wrong. It's not… not your fault I'm crazy. Just please don't leave for that long ever, ever again. Let me come with you… I can be good…"

She was rambling now, her desperate tone becoming increasingly heated as his lips moved down toward the cage of her pounding heart.

"I'll do whatever you say. Whatever you want. Just please don't leave me here without you. It gets so lonely..."

His reverent kisses continued along the edge of the deep green lace, his chest heaving with unwarranted breaths that accompanied the surge of emotion in him.

"Never, baby... never gonna leave ya alone again." He mouthed gently over the top of one milky white breast, his lips gentle where they pulled against her skin.

"You don't gotta be good for that... you're always so good... so perfect for me, Lyds..." His hands found her silk covered hips, drawing her up against him as he settled over her, his body angled almost as though he were shielding her from the outside world.

"I promise... you can come with me from now on. Even if it's dangerous..."

"You make everything better…"

When she was with him, the vile voices in her head were silenced, unable to stand up to the absolute authority of his growled praise. She had come to yearn for the warmth his words gave her from within even as his touch chilled her body, though the roaring fire was doing well to banish that. She didn't know how much she missed that as well until he gave it back to her.

Lydia reveled in the cage of his arms, giving just as much of herself over as he was willing to take.

"I'm so sorry, baby," she purred with a bittersweet echo of agony, pain rapidly healing the longer he touched her. That filthy mouth easily pushed delicate lace filigree out of the way to suckle at her breasts, molding across the unmarked, porcelain flesh there with savoring slowness.

"I'll be better for you, I promise. I can be better… I can… ah…"

His passions intensified, cutting off her useless, repetitive pleas for forgiveness, his wife clearly desperate to make it all better again.

His poor sweet girl. It was clear she'd been eating herself alive over his supposed abandonment.

His mouth stayed firmly interested in her soft breasts as his hands slipped the lacy garment from her shoulders, his taloned fingers trailing over silky skin until they found her hips, pulling her off the rug and against him. At the same time their hips met, his suit was gone. Both bare, he couldn't help but snicker, landing a particularly sharp nip on her nipple.

"Missed you, kitten... you're so good. So fucking soft." He could bury his face into Lydia's chest and die again, quite happily. He was sure it'd be a good way to go.

He pulled back to look at her, taking in the way her dark hair was spread about her like a halo, her chest heaving with emotion... or arousal... perhaps both.

"You are... my everything. Ya know that right?"

She couldn't possibly be everything. She used him, hurt him, let him keep these feelings for her festered inside until the gasket blew. He went from denying her demand for a divorce to bringing up the dysmal suggestion on his own, and that alone was terrifying. The possibility of losing him was still fresh on her troubled mind, made worse by the memory of haunting their home without her husband there to haunt with her.

By no means was she a good wife, or worthy of being his "everything." But, he didn't like it when she argued with him and so she zipped her lips, instead answering his heart-wrenching question with a deep, passionate kiss, one that ended with their intimate bits lined up perfectly.

"I'm yours," she insisted because he obviously needed a reminder, using the leverage of a leg around his hip to grind her smoothly shaved, dripping entrance along his shaft. "I waited for you every night. I touched myself. I wanted you to come for me so bad. My heart hurt."

Her lips returned to his, frenzied almost, drunk on the sensation of finally being where she wanted to be; tangled in her husband's lustful embrace and on the brink of being his, fully, again.

"Please take me. I'm yours. Take me," she seduced, rolling her nude body against his, gasping as if in the midst of an orgasm that hadn't been delivered yet. "Please! I need you."

He painted against her as she rocked up against him, the smooth, wet heat of her core rubbing against his cock deliciously.

How was he supposed to deny her when she'd been waiting so long? Had pleaded so nicely? Another night he might have insisted that she show him just how she'd waited, spreading her legs and settling in to watch her please herself but... tonight wasn't the time. She needed him close, gentle.

He pressed his forehead to hers instead, his rough fingers sliding over them smoothly shaved skin. "Really? You did all this for me?" His rough, callused fingertips trailed over her slit, teasing minutely.

He quickly took mercy, on both Lydia and himself, pulling her legs up and over his shoulders as he pressed into her. They'd never gone so long without sex— nearly two weeks of solo performances had him dangerously close to the edge at the first pulsing of her hot flesh around him.

"Lydia... fuck... missed you. Missed this..."

Really? You did all this for me?

"Uh-huh," she answered wordlessly, nodding, then bit her lip to suppress a cry as he tortured her just a bit. This was fine. He earned this. She was his, completely, and if he wanted her to atone for her sins that way, then he could have it. Her need was great, but her desire to please him was greater. Lydia was beyond denying him anything at this juncture. Fortunately, he didn't seem to be in any mood to deny himself either.

Impatiently, he muscled her legs onto his shoulders until her ankles were kissing his mossy neck and wasted no more time in pushing into her, cursing and grunting his adoration as he hunched over her constricted form. She was just as tight as always and had come to expect the delicious ache of taking him on, so when it came she moaned beautifully at the fulfillment rather than wincing or tensing up as she had in the past.

There was less friction with how smoothly her bits were shaved, their joining only seeing a catch as he surged forward and internal muscles tightened snug around him, pulling deeper. He followed her body's insistence, bending her in half to get closer to her face as more and more of him was sucked in, until there was nothing left to give and no room for her to take anything else. Through it all, she remained lax and euphoric, staring up at her beastly husband with a look of intense yearning and humbled awe.

"Never leave me again," she begged again despite his promises that he wouldn't, short of breath, needy and possessive even as she had all of him for her own. Impaled, full to bursting, and bent in half, she was speaking with borrowed breath. "I know I say stupid things… I'm sorry… Just yell at me. Tell me I'm being stupid. Don't let me push you away... Please."

Folded up as he had her, Lydia looked somehow even smaller than usual, her delicate ankles bumped his neck as he sunk into her, letting gravity and her pleading body take control of the speed. Finally, fully seated within her he struggled to keep himself still. After two weeks she was just as tight as she'd been their wedding night, and it took everything in him not to just take her all over again.

Then she was pleading again, making demands that he'd already conceded to.

"Baby... Lyds... stop talkin'." He pressed a bruising kiss to her lips, rocking his hips slowly in the first semblances of thrusting.

Ever obedient, she complied. There wasn't much choice with him kissing her like that, grinding their hips together indulgently and swallowing her resulting gasps, as if he needed them to survive the same way she needed air. He was so big, dominating her completely without even trying. It was a good thing the werewolf's fur was so soft or the way he was crushing her onto its pelt would surely have resulted in some carpet burn. Most likely, he probably had something like this in mind when he was picking it out.

His tongue mimicked his cock, slithering through her mouth toward the back of her throat and staying there, pushing her limits, as if eager to get as much of himself inside her as possible. Lydia didn't have any complaints. She wanted him there just as badly. She would have happily let him suffocate her this way until she died, but Betelgeuse probably wasn't willing to give her up to the darkness of unconsciousness. Nevertheless, oxygen deprivation made her grip on his back and hair weak, and if he didn't part from this desperate, ravaging kiss soon she was sure to be taken by mortal folly.

He pulled back just as she was about to blackout, his attention turned to her neck and shoulders as he worked large, dark bruises onto her milky skin. She felt just as good as she always did, but something in the way she was so desperately trying to please him had him more aroused than ever.

He began a slow, steady pace of thrusting into her, her little legs shaking on each in beat where they were still wrapping around his neck, his hands clawing hungrily down the backs of her thighs until he could grip her ass, manhandling into helping him fuck her as deep as he could get.

She gasped desperately in reflex when he finally saw fit to release her mouth, chest heaving as she drew in droves of the oxygen she needed to live. Unburdened by mortal needs, Betelgeuse never paused, seamlessly moving his heated assault down her décolletage and leaving blooming discolorations in his wake to replace the ones that had faded with time.

A good girl to the bittersweet end, Lydia took his order to "stop talking" with utmost seriousness. She gave him only what her lungs couldn't keep inside, forced out by his rhythmic, brutal pumping; breathy and increasing in pitch as he kept up a primal pace. They were beyond words. Plenty enough had been said.

He couldn't help the adoring expression that came to his face. The longer they went on like this, the more likely he was to lose his hardened edge. He'd been so angry with her. Disgusted that she not only had accused him of lying but that she was so disrespectful. She was his. To the core of their relationship, he owned her. Mind, body, and soul.

Clearly, he needed to remind of that. His pace picked up, his hips slapping crudely against her as he thrust into her, working himself as deep as he could get with each motion. No words passed between them, only his soft grunting and her sweet, high-pitched whimpers.

Finally, he could take it no longer. He had to hear her sweet voice.

"Tell me who loves ya, Lyds... who's your favorite guy in the whole world, huh? Fuck... you feel good baby? Bet ya do... who d'ya belong to, kitten?"

His voice hit her ears like molasses, sending a fresh gush of moisture to coat his ever-pumping cock.

"You," she gasped, lashes fluttering, swollen, saliva-slicked lips parted. With great effort, she clawed into his back to hold on for the ride, finding stability enough now to land a dreamy, lidded gaze solidly on her husband. "You— love— me!"

Of course he loved her. Probably always had. He was just that kind of guy, all or nothing— and he wanted all of her.

"Favorite," she trilled with song-like intonation, then paused to strain closer through the adamant fucking and press a wet kiss to his strung taut neck. "The best… Just you… M'yours… Betelgeuse!"

This was the right thing to say. He growled fiercely, bearing down on her with a force and speed that quickly brought her to a shattering peak, one that had her filling the master suite with the kind of music it had sorely been missing.

Well, that certainly seemed to hit the spot. He grinned as she was tipped over the edge, the sounds of her orgasm pushing him into his own finish.

He'd dearly missed her sounds. Not just in orgasming, but when he pressed his lips just so behind her ear, or he gave her a particularly nice groping. Even the sound of her just breathing was like music: His office had been deadly silent, lacking the sounds of her living-ness that he'd so dearly come to love.

He pressed his face to her neck as he came down, loathe to leave her tight, comforting embrace. The benefit of death was that he was completely in control of his erection. There was no blood flow to ebb away, and he stayed hard as ever inside of her, rocking slowly.

"Fuck. You feel so good, kitten... I love ya so much... god I missed ya..."

"Missed you so much," she sobbed without tears, arms laying above her head from where she'd released him mid-orgasm to grasp at the werewolf's thick mane. "Waited for you every day…"

Once the twitching aftershocks subsided, she stretched her legs straight, grabbing for her ankles and pressing the point of her arched feet smoothly to the polished wood above her head, beyond the rug. She held herself like this, breathing deeply as he fucked her through it, giving her cramped limbs the deep stretch they needed after staying so long curled limp over his shoulders.

"I'm going to help you with the paperwork," she insisted breathily, as he kept working at her in a soft humping motion that squeezed her sweat-dampened tits against his hairy chest, his weight gently pushing air from her lungs. "Promise… Just need… some books from the library…. S'my fault… I'll do all of it if you want…"

He ran his hands up the backs of her legs gently, rocking into her steadily. He didn't want her to be too sore tomorrow, but she certainly was going to feel it. He'd make sure of that. Then she was muttering on about the damn paperwork again.

"God, Lyds. Stop talking."

She went to open her mouth again and he snapped his fingers, a hard rubber ball gag appearing in her mouth. He chuckled.

"Well now that's a pretty sight... stop worrying and just relax, kitten... let daddy take care of ya and we can worry about the paperwork tomorrow."

I'm sorry, she choked ineffectively behind the gag with furrowed brows, still holding herself spread eagle for him. Just couldn't help herself, could she? It was better this way. Now she wouldn't have to worry about making yet another misstep.

Using her own hands as bounds, she continued to keep her legs taut and extended as he rutted into her with slow, deep thrusts. The pace was easy enough to allow her to keep holding herself compact for him, but only just so. Her abs and lower back ached from staying bent and pounded against for so long, but he seemed so happy.

He had full freedom to caress whatever he wanted to in this position and had been taking perverse advantage of it. Stubborn, eager to please, she breathed slowly, forcing herself to relax into the elongated imprisonment of her own making.

She was so pretty all trussed up for him. He made a mental note to explore more of her flexibility when given the time.

His hand lazily found her hip, his thumb coming to rub gently over her clit. He knew she could cum again. What was their record now... three? He could do better.

He leaned down to kiss her cheek, effectively squishing her even tighter under him, whispering into her ear hotly. "You like that, baby? Like havin' yer mouth stopped for a minute so you can just enjoy... god, yer the best, Lyds..."

"Mm… mmf," she nodded her ascent to his growled query, wet lips slicked around her red, plastic muffle, and focused on breathing. If she wanted to, she could let loose the ironclad grip on her ankles and release the ball gag, but why on Earth would she ever want to do such a thing? Every time she spoke she only ended up troubling them both further with her messy, emotional burden. Now was a time for carnal pleasure. He was better at dirty talk anyway.

It became very difficult to keep holding herself so rigidly restrained for him when his calloused thumb started circling the area above where they were joined, his superior weight simultaneously pressing her punishingly into the pelt. Nostrils at the end of her delicate nose flared, powerfully sucking in air to little relief. There simply wasn't room enough.

Quite abruptly, after little more attention like this, her face turned a lovely shade of rose, a stream of high-pitched hums were gargled on the dripping ball, and her choked, suffocated insides began to flutter around his cock, milking, inviting him impossibly deeper and deeper.

Still, even as she came explosively beneath him, maintaining adoring contact with that diabolical gaze as her vision grew fuzzy, his wife remained dutifully "bound", never breaking form. However, it was inevitable that she would have to let go eventually.

She was so good for him... so perfect. He had her totally bound without ever taking a binding to her skin. She dutifully held position, her delicate, fragile body shaking as he rocked her through a second orgasm.

Her hold was going to slip any moment. He took over for her, grunting and huffing as he fucked her through her climax. "Fuck.. god damn you're so good..."

He pulled free of her, reaching up to pop the gag out of her mouth, his lips descending on her in its place. His fingers sought out her dripping heat, pushing into her and crooking, seeking out the place that would make her scream for him.

The delirious joy it was giving her just to be doing this again, to be under his control and back in his good graces, overrode instincts to surrender to hypersensitivity or lightheadedness. Instead, she bucked on his clipped talons when they came thrusting three at a time, slick and comfortable with the reduced girth.

Grateful for the freedom to move her jaw again, she returned his kisses with a more practiced technique, one that had been carefully cultivated by his tutoring. Similarly relieved, her well-stretched thighs took up residence spread wide and plastered around his broad waist.

Lithe, pale arms snaked around his neck, warm digits seeking out the matted hair at the nape to scratch and scrape and comb in a gesture of love and care. All the while her short human tongue was doing its best to keep up with the serpentine appendage making a nest of her mouth.

He wanted her well and fucked out, she'd clearly not been sleeping without him and she always slept better after an orgasm or three. Their tongues tangled in her mouth, his own long inhuman one wrapping around and squeezing at the pink flesh of hers. His fingers worked in her viciously, the slick sound alone bringing him closer to another finish.

He pulled away from her to attack her chest with his lips, kissing and nipping and leaving yet another round of hickeys for himself to enjoy later. She really was the perfect wife. Obedient, smart, sexy as all hell... and desperate to please him in a way no woman had been before.

"Love ya Lyds... so much. You're the perfect woman isweartagod..."

"Ungh!"

His fingers weren't as thick or long as his manhood, the thrusts not as deep or heavy, but they were quicker, more pin-pointed. Each time his fist beat against her sopping, still tight mound, it felt as though he were mashing a cracked, abused button.

I can't! She bit her lip, refusing to say it. Not again!

She could and she would. Nothing but the best for her husband. He was working so hard, every bit of himself dedicated to wrenching yet another orgasm from her, his mouth spewing love and praise in an endless stream when it wasn't bruising and biting.

When her peak came, it was savage. She screamed, soaking his arm with her release until it was dripping from his elbow. Tiny, usually harmless nails now chipped and unmaintained with her recent depression dug into his biceps in a way that would have drawn blood on a living man. He refused to let up and her body didn't back down in response, pulling this orgasm into another and another and another.

"Please!"

She begged as he kept on obsessively, never wavering. Much like they begun the night, she was weak and shaken beneath him, but for much better reasons now. She would never deny him again, never say "stop" but she would plead and play on whatever scrap of mercy he had left.

"Daddy, please!"

Dripping in his wife's cum, he could feel his mood shifting, becoming more feral. He wasn't about to let up on her over a silly thing like sensitivity.

Daddy, please!

"Ah... there's my girl... come on kitten, use your words. What do you want from daddy? Huh? Want me to stop?"

He cackled cruelly, his pace increasing. Her delicate hands were gripping him, her body convulsing and spawning under his touch. He could easily make her pass out from the onslaught, but he knew that she'd feel like hell when she woke up so he eased up, only slightly.

"Come on Lydia... beg."

He wanted her… to beg him to stop? That was dirty, but nothing lower than what she had come to expect from him. It gave her permission and so she let loose, playing the part he clearly wanted her to play.

"No more," she huffed, boneless and shaking beneath him, thankful for the barely perceptible slowing in pace that let her perpetual orgasm calm just a little. Nonetheless, the threat for more torture remained if she didn't beg well enough.

"Please stop," she pled piteously to her cruel husband, cheeks already wet with what could be sweat or tears. "I'm sorry," she repeated for the last time that night lest he decide to gag her with something else. "Don't wanna do it anymore."

Mercilessly, he continued to bounce her on his knuckles while she talked, even as she keened, arched, and did her best to squirm away from her punishment without crossing the line into outright disobedience.

"Feels too good, Daddy," she uttered with a hush, a splinter of fright, "like I might die. I don't want to die anymore… Not when I'm with you."

Her twisting and keening were exactly what he needed. He brought his free hand to his cock, stroking roughly as he fucked his hand against her soft, soaking mound.

"That's right baby... daddy's never gonna letcha die on my watch. You're not dyin' but I am gonna take ya to heaven."

His fingers were removed as he dropped onto his front, burying his face between her legs and laving his tongue over her hungrily. Her nonstop orgasming had left her sopping with cum and he eagerly cleaned it away, moaning.

"That's it, baby. Beg. Yer almost done... promise."

His actions betrayed his words. He was trying to kill her. Rambling breathlessly, she stretched for the werewolf's open maw and grasped at its dulled teeth, pulling for a futile escape.

Betelgeuse kept her pinned effortlessly with one hand on her hip. The other flew along his length at a rapid speed while he drank from his tortured wife, running the exorbitant rope of his slimy, cold tongue all along her hot, beating clit in slow, malicious swipes.

"No," she shook, head tilting side to side, agitating her sweat-slicked bangs. "No, no no no no—"

She looked a wreck, trembling and repeating that word in a mimic of the unfortunate night he told her of Mother's ultimate fate. Lydia was too far gone to recognize the parallels, but her husband might.

"Stop, stop!" This plea didn't stop him when he dropped her father from the top of the banister and it didn't stop him here, but she still put in her best effort. "Please stop! I'll do anything! I'm yours! No one else's! Ever again! Don't— Daddy— Stop—!"

He growled, nipping at one sweet, abused lip before sitting up, hauling her back in against him. He licked his lips, surveying his work. She was well and thoroughly debauched, her nightie still scrunched about her waist. Her neck and chest were littered with love bites that would bruise quickly, and between her legs... god, she was a mess.

She was still dripping in a filthy mix of their releases, her sweet, shaven cunny swollen and pink from overuse. He loved it. With a flash, her polaroid camera was in his hands, and he snapped a picture of her stretched out on the fur rug.

His hand was a blur on his cock, soft grunts and curses leaving him as he worked himself toward a second orgasm. "Fuck, baby... look at ya... I'm gonna cum, kitten... shit‒ fuck!"

Rope after rope of cold, white release shot across her lower half, some landing across her soft belly, and others landing directly on her abused puss, cold to the touch and sticky. He grunted like a boar, his unoccupied hand gripping her hip punishingly.

Lydia was so relieved by the freedom from his excessive torture that she didn't react at all to him dousing her, except to twinge and gasp when the cold stream hit her abused, enflamed, hot to the touch mound. The last especially powerful spurts splashed across her pearlescent, bruised breasts, just a little bit hitting her cheek, and still she remained motionless save her deep breathing, exhausted and indifferent to the degradation.

However, a modicum of shame did darken her big eyes when she was finally able to crack them open, the familiar whirr and hiss of her camera shutter rousing her to awareness. The sound came several more times in quick succession as she lay there, allowing him to capture the moment without complaint. The thought of pictures like this existing filled her with a sort of helpless dread, but there was nothing to be done. She would just have to trust Betelgeuse to handle them responsibly.

"Are you mad at me…?"

She whispered very quietly once he seemed satisfied with her photoshoot, standing over her with fierce entitlement so he could snag a couple from an aerial perspective. He wasn't acting like he was… but he often confused her, saying one thing and doing another. His skewed motivations and emotional dishonesty were a constant source of anxiety to his troubled, empathetic wife, and now was no different. He could love her and be mad at her. If he was still mad at her, she hoped he would be kind and lie, if only for the sake of letting her sleep peacefully tonight.

"Maybe you should wear more white, baby. Sure looks good on ya." He grinned as he continued his little photo op, picture after picture fluttering from the camera and disappearing to places unknown. When he was satisfied, he set it aside and flopped into one of the wing backed armchairs on either side of the rug.

Are you mad at me?

He considered the question for a moment. He certainly had been angry with her. But he wasn't sure that that was what he was feeling anymore. He was shit at this emotional crap.

"Mm. No, baby. I don't think I am. You were hurt and ya lashed out. It's understandable." He summoned a cigarette for himself, slouching in the chair and scratching at his round gut. "Ya really known how to make it up to a guy too. Damn."

He grinned at her sloppily, his eyes half kissed. "How ya feelin'? Too much?" He secretly hoped that the answer was yes, and every time she closed her legs for the next week she'd be reminded of this moment. How he'd taken his recompense out of her flesh.

Good. With the confirmation her defiance had been mostly probably forgiven, Lydia fully surrendered to post-sex lethargy. Soaked, sticky, and quivering, aching for closeness the way many women did after liaisons like that, she scrounged up the wherewithal to crawl on shaking knees the short distance to the chair Betelgeuse chose as a throne.

Once emerging from the perilous journey victorious, her flush cheek dropped to the top of his clawed foot to shamelessly use the bony, mossy surface as a pillow. The rest of her body went similarly limp and useless. For all intents and purposes, his wife seemed perfectly content to sleep right there on the floor, like a beat dog at their master's feet.

"Too much," she agreed softly with closed eyes, taking advantage of the implied permission to say so. Hot breath rushed over his toes with each exhale. "Need bath… Sticky…" Lydia kept to short sentences and words that wouldn't overtax her hard-working lungs or depleted mental capacities, speaking only what she considered absolutely necessary for him to know. "Too tired for bath… mm… tomorrow…"

Satisfied and simpering at his feet was a good look on Lydia. Her soft cheek cradled on top of his foot was something he had no idea he'd enjoy the way he did. He sat back in his chair, smoking his cigarette and letting her drift in and out of consciousness.

He knew logically that he should get her cleaned up. She could get sick being left in his mess, he knew, but she was so sweet and limp. He reveled in the sight a while longer, another photo adding to his collection. This was exactly how he'd wanted her to end up tonight. Weak, shaking, and obedient. No more talking back when she was too fucked out to think straight.

As the air cooled the sticky mess on her skin, he thought over how to proceed. She'd been cruel to him, had talked back and insulted him. That couldn't be allowed to stand. He still wasn't sure she had learned her lesson.

Nevertheless, he banished the mess with a wave of his hand, leaving behind the sweet red marks that would become bruises, everywhere he'd been able to reach. A slight lean forward found her core still pulsing and puffy, thoroughly abused. He smirked.

"You're a good girl, Lyds… you were real good for me tonight. But daddy should really get back his paperwork… you can be good up here and keep the bed warm, can't ya?"

Get back to paperwork… Be good… Keep the bed warm…

Only a handful of key phrases reached her fading consciousness, but they were enough to give her an instant negative reaction.

"No," she croaked, sudden and painful, panicking herself awake at the terrifying suggestion. "Please stay."

Having done her fair share of begging tonight, Lydia was in perfect form. Impossibly so, her drained, ravaged body found what it needed to pull fearful tears to the ends of her lashes. They swiped wet and hot across his foot as she blinked, nuzzling and kissing the foul skin there and holding his leg tight as she could, insisting he stay with all her unimpressive might.

"Don't leave, please don't leave," she pled, voice cracking and increasingly hysterical. As terrified as she was to go against his wishes, she was far more scarred at the prospect of spending another night alone in that bed. "I can come with you. You don't have to— I'll do the paperwork, I promise! I can sleep later!"

Each argument only sounded more and more childish, her logic unreasonably selfish, and Lydia curdled internally that all her suffering had been for naught. That he would reject her even after all this.

"Please don't leave me alone."

Oh.

Well, this wasn't the reaction he'd expected but it was certainly nice to see how eager she was for his company. Maybe if he kept her awake and wanting long enough his point would sink home.

"I can do the paperwork. But sure, you can come with me. Keep my lap nice and warm." He took her shoulders in hand, pulling until she was standing on shaking legs. "You gotta be good, though. No distracting me, and no falling asleep. Deal?"

He resummoned his clothes, shoving the remnants of her nightie off and leading her by the hand down the hall. It was slow going, her legs weak and between them sore from their frantic reunion. He refused to carry her, though. This was her punishment and she was going to take it like the good, sweet pet he knew her to be.

Back in his office, he plopped himself in his desk chair, pulling her onto his lap, facing him. "Settle in, kitten. We're gonna be here for a while. Don't move, don't talk. Don't fall asleep."

Why can't I fall asleep? Why can't I help with the paperwork? Why wouldn't you carry me? You  are  still mad at me, aren't you?

All the questions she wanted to ask were stuck trapped behind the quivering line of her mouth. No talking. No distractions. No curling up and trying in vain to find warmth in his cold lap. No asking what any of those words meant, or requesting permission to grab a book from the library to help her understand. Absolutely no clothing, that was clear without needing to be said.

The first hour or so‒ Lydia had no way of knowing but it felt like a good chunk of time‒ had her diligently reading along on each page and following his rigid rules, no matter how badly she wanted to scoot back just right, turn her head to kiss his jaw, and seduce him back to a night of cuddling.

The longer the night wore on, however, the clearer it became that her mortality simply wasn't going to allow her to keep doing this. Her eyes would close for long periods without her noticing until calloused claws came and pinched hard at the delicate flesh on her inner thigh, making her cry out and break the other rule.

On the verge of sobbing, she swallowed a whimper when a wave of cold tingled her spine and her stubborn body shivered. No moving. She was just a bad wife all around, wasn't she? Couldn't do anything right. None of his rules were terribly difficult to follow but here she was, disobeying him at every turn. No wonder he was punishing her like this.

Eventually, she started making a game out of holding her breath, seeing how long she could stay quiet and keep from breaking one of his rules. The answer was not long at all. She dug her own thin, weak nails into her thighs, hoping to keep herself awake and not distract him with the chore. The sting didn't even register on her half-dead face, the flush from their fucking long ago whited out.

Her blood-shot gaze faded out, her brain reserving precious energy by pausing its ability to focus on anything. Like a mantra, his laws repeated over and over in her head, with slower pace the better she got at holding her breath;

Don't move. Don't talk. Don't fall asleep.

She really was being good but, his rules were strict, and he was starting to get annoyed with having to wake her, her whimpering each time he pinched her was ultimately distracting. She was struggling and he was loving that…

Then her breathing changed. He'd been enjoying the slow, steady pace of her breaths, but then she started holding her breath. The periods of silence made his skin bristle. The whole reason he was keeping her in here was for the soothing presence of her breathing and heartbeat.

"Stop that." His hand found one soft nipple, twisting cruelly.

"You're not being very good, kitten. I don't see why you can't do this for me. The rules were simple." He pushed back from his desk, pushing her off of his lap and bending her over the desk. It was just tall enough to force her onto her tiptoes.

"Now. You stay right there and keep your breathing steady. Stay awake. You're gonna get a reckoning if ya can't. Got it?"

Lydia cringed, biting painfully into her thumb as she was manhandled onto the cold desk, Betelgeuse spitting criticisms at her over her poor performance. She just wanted to be with him. She was trying so hard. Silent as possible, she buried her face in the crook of her elbow and released a fresh onslaught of tears until there was a small puddle beneath her face on the pretty, polished desk. The way her shoulders wracked as she worked herself through this couldn't be helped, and only served to supplicate the incoming barrage of self-loathing.

He hated her. He was never going to love her again, not the way he used to. She ruined everything the way she always did. Everything she touched turned to shit.

Lydia remained this way until there was nothing left. Her body couldn't possibly produce more tears, not unless she got a glass of water in her. He never wanted to see her happy again, wasn't interested in her company unless it was to watch her beg and cry. Even then, once that was exhausted she was only worthwhile for a mediocre fuck. Could she blame him? He gave her a ring and a home, did anything she asked of him and then some, and what does she do in return? Use him. Spurn him. Hurt him.

If she didn't know he would deny the selfish request, she might beg for death again, especially if this was what their marriage was going to look like from now on. It didn't seem like there was anything good enough to win his forgiveness, and Lydia wasn't about to manipulate him with something as cruel as a poorly timed "I love you."

Tortured, worn out, it was no one's fault but her own when she went slack. Maybe if she had just been less emotional. Less crazy. The heavier end of her hips slipped lax against the wood as she lost the battle for consciousness, in doing so inviting her spited husband's wrath.

He glanced over when she started to cry, but couldn't bring himself to comfort her just yet. At least she was breathing.

He focused in on his paperwork, filing out incident reports and retelling the tale of their marriage again and again. He reached a bright red folder, the paperwork within making his chest ache. Divorce papers. He glanced at his wife, finding her collapsed and limp against the desk. Shit. When had that happened?

He pushed away from his desk, carefully pulling her across his lap, his hand gently trailing over her back. He was sure he'd fucked with her brain. He would worry, any other night, but for now, he was content to let her stew a while, silent as he pet over her soft skin.

Finally, after nearly an hour, he spoke, his fingers pressing into the tense muscle at the base of her neck. "Kitten? You still in there?" He pressed his thumb up the column of her throat, sighing softly. "Daddy's real sorry, babes… I know I was too hard on ya, I was just. Ya pissed me off."

Lydia was too far gone for what he was saying to sink in at any capacity, but her unconscious form was able to tell that it was safe and cared for. Taut muscles curled into his touch, going limp once they were sufficiently plastered and comfortable.

"Can'talk…" she slurred in a drowsy, illogical reminder to the voice hushing at her, nuzzling against his chest, pulling herself smaller and tighter against the invisible source of comfort. "Working… distract… mad at me…"

Even this far absconded from the waking realm, her number one concern was still to follow his impossible rules. In dreams, she was doing a good job; perfectly still and silent with a happy husband patting her head softly in appreciation. If only he would stop talking to her. He thought he was so clever, trying to trick her into insubordination like that. She would show him. She could be good. He would love her again.

"Sorry, Daddy…" she whispered nonsensically, irises fluttering beneath her lids. "… talk later…"

He frowned. This wasn't good. He scooped her up, carrying her toward the bedroom. She really had been good. He shouldn't have been so hard on her.

He ran his hand through her hair as he settled her, stripping down and curling in behind her. "Hey… come on baby. Come back to me… Daddy's right here. You're so good."

He littered the back of her neck with kisses, willing her to open her eyes. "We're all done working for tonight. Daddy just wants to hold you and hear ya talk to me. Can you talk to daddy, sweet girl?"

"Can't," she argued at first, balancing between realities as he plied her with kisses, the tiny, cold brushes of skin keeping her from seeping fully back into the dreamscape. "… 'gainst th'rules…"

Didn't he know that? They were his rules. The increasing persistence and pressure in his kisses was eventually able to drag her kicking and screaming back to a semi-cognizant state. She was so tired.

"Beej?" Her mouth was dry and blinking stung her eyes. Her body ached, but was comfortable where it lay— in bed, in her husband's arms. He was still peppering chilly kisses along her nape, her tangled mane brushed out of the way so he could get at her.

"What… what happened…?" The closer she came to awareness, the faster her heartbeat fluttered under her breastplate, the memory of pain and sadness returning. "Did I mess up?"

"No, no… you were perfect. You are perfect…" He pulled her closer, pressing his nose into her hair and rubbing soothing circles into her back. "You dropped pretty hard just now… I pushed it too far. I'm so sorry, baby…"

He knew he'd overstepped a boundary. They'd never discussed any of the harder core themes that found their way into their bedroom. She'd never been with anyone else, and she trusted him to keep her safe. Here he was pushing her mind into a drop when she had come crawling to try and apologize. How could he?

He held her tight, scowling to himself as the thought about how to proceed. "You didn't like it. What we did in the office… did ya?"

He could try to take feedback, for her sake. He had to keep her happy and healthy if he wanted her to stay with him. The red folder haunted the back of his mind. He'd burn them. He didn't want them so easily available.

Why did it matter if she liked it or not? It was a punishment, wasn't it? Not some kind of sex game, though the lines between those two concepts were often blurred with them.

"N-no…?" She admitted hesitantly, confused and wary of further games. Wasn't her misery the goal? When he didn't speak, just kept kissing and petting, working to calm her rising pulse, she deemed it safe to continue with the truth.

If this was another game, so be it. Every move she made was wrong, anyway.

"Just… just wanted to make you happy… and couldn't… couldn't just listen…"

If she had any tears left to drop, they would have been shedding, but all she could do was choke and dissolve in her husband's strong embrace.

"S-say you love me… but you don't. Not— not anymore. My fault. Say you're not mad at me… but you are… No— wait—" she started suddenly, eyes wide, struggling to escape his arms as if legitimately frightened. She had just called him a liar, hadn't she? In a roundabout sort of way. That kind of disrespect was what started this whole mess.

"I didn't mean it!" She insisted, pleading and trembling again. "You're not a liar, I'm just confused— tired— please don't—"

His chest constricted painfully. Sure, he'd lied about not being mad but—

"Baby, I do love you. I love you so much… like Christine and her Phantom, remember?" He was surprised to see legitimate fear in her eyes, and he let her go. Trying to ease her fears would do nothing if he was restraining her.

"Baby… baby, it's okay. Stop apologizing!" He cursed. That had been part of what sent her under in the first place. "Baby I… fuck I'm shit at this."

He cupped her cheeks gently, leaning in to kiss her forehead firmly. He pulled back to look her in the eye, searching for any sign that she could forgive him for this. "I'm not mad at you, baby… I'm just mad. But not at you.."

Like Christine and her Phantom. Lydia did remember. That night seemed so long ago. She didn't remember how scared she felt pressed beneath her lusty, shameless husband, but she remembered how happy she was wrapped up in his arms afterward, wasting the day away before his departure.

"I waited for you forever," she hushed finally many beats after his kiss to the forehead, repeating words she spoke earlier that night, staring into those concerned jade eyes like she didn't even recognize them. She was so terribly confused, so tired and muddled and drained.

"You came back… and then she was gone… and then you were gone… and I was alone again... "

Like a zombie, she recounted the events more for her own sake than his, as if to garner his reassurance that this was what actually had happened.

"We made up… but it wasn't real… and then… your office…"

She fell off, rubbing at her dry, agitated eyes and trying to make sense of everything.

"Just wanna cuddle and sleep," she pouted and whined pitifully, unsure what to say to make it all better. Every attempt she'd made that night had failed miserably. "Don't be mad," she begged once more, giving reconciliation another shot and pressing back into his embrace, the one she followed his impossible rules so stubbornly just to be a part of. "It's not good for you."

It wasn't the first time she'd given him this advice. The last was after her half-assed suicide attempt, another result of him abandoning her in an emotional fit. Maybe their next bout would see her stringing a noose around her neck, despite her promises to not commit suicide. Clearly, neither of them were any good at keeping their words.

He listened to her without objection, though he could have interceded a few times to argue that she'd been awful to him and she had come to his office to find him but he didn't bother, knowing that it would only hurt her at this point. He pulled her back into his arms, rolling until she was cradled against his furry chest, his hand running up and down her back lovingly.

"Cuddles and sleep sounds perfect. I'll work on the bein' mad thing."

He couldn't really help it. He had been angry before he died. He'd been so angry for so long that he lost sight of how to be anything else. His afterlife had been so filled with people who wanted to hurt him, use him or abuse him that he had given up much of his kindness in an attempt to preserve himself.

He was silent for a long while, thinking over the night and where he'd gone wrong. He summoned a cold bottle of water and a plate of simple foods, patting her back gently to ger her attention.

"But you gotta have some water and a snack while we cuddle. I don't want ya gettin' sick tomorrow."

Lydia was similarly burdened by an existence filled with people who wanted to see her hurt. In contrast to her husband, it served to make her extraordinarily kind and accepting, if a bit guarded. As intimately familiar with pain as she was, she never wanted anyone else to know what it felt like, to rise above and act as a shield for those that mattered to her and anyone else she could reach. Betelgeuse? He wanted to drag everyone else to his level, force them to know what it was like to feel like him.

Would they ever reach common ground?

The bottled water was delicious, and Lydia didn't know how badly she needed it until her mouth was wrapped around the lip and half the bottle was gone. The sliced crackers, cheese, and meat were also satisfying, the flavor exploding on her tongue even though they were simple choices like cheddar and honey ham. When was the last time she ate? Taking care of herself just didn't seem to matter when there wasn't anyone around to enjoy her existence.

"Beej?" She was sitting up, the blanket pooled in her lap to display her bare, bruised breasts as she picked eagerly at the food. She would be back in his arms to pass out soon, but the call of sustenance managed to jump-start her system for the time being.

"Promise," she paused, sucking a bit of oil and crumb from her finger, "promise you love me. And that you're not mad at me. Promise." Her flippant demand carried none of the weight words like that ought to. "Oh, and that this isn't a hallucination."

How many times had she chased the sound of his voice, the smell of his smoke through their house only to find herself collapsed and sobbing in an empty corridor? More times than she would ever admit aloud.

"It's important."

He reached for her chin, forcing her to look him in the eye. His expression was dark and full of an unnamed emotion. "I promise. I love you… more than anything. And I am not mad at you." He kissed her gently, his empty hand trailing over her side.

Hallucination? What was she talking about? No matter. He squeezed her hip and nipped at her lower lip gently. "This is not a hallucination. I am really here… really loving you. And wanting you happy and healthy."

How long was he really gone seeing her mother? It couldn't have been that long.. could it? Maybe it could. He glanced at one of his watches, nearly choking on his tongue when he realized that had truly transpired. Between his mission to find her mother and their fight, it had been nearly a month since they'd shared their bed. No wonder she was so broken up about it. He released her jaw, trailing his hand over her neck softly.

"Now. You finish up that snack, and then I'm gonna hold ya until you tell me to stop. However long you want. Deal?"

"Deal."

Unlike any of their past deals, Lydia conceded to this one without any hesitation, eager and smiling. Warmth was slowly making a return to the twisted up, throbbing organ in her chest, stomach settling the more food filled it. The splitting ache in her temples was also ebbing away, most likely due in part to the water. Dehydration was a bitch.

She stuffed herself until she couldn't anymore, then passed the plate off to her nightstand so she could dive beneath the covers and into his open arms.

"You said you'd never leave again," she reminded, voice small and muffled into his ribs. "That you would take me with you. Even if it was dangerous."

The foolish, spiteful ghost had done a fair job pulling apart her psyche. Expertly, he managed to say everything necessary to unravel the damage done in his extended absence, only to get greedy and go too far, wind her up and tear her down all over again, nearly obliterating her unwavering faith in him.

Sensitive and frazzled as she was, even under normal circumstances, she would require reassurance until he earned her trust again.

"Was that true?"

He watched her eat her fill, his hand steadfast on her hip, just to ground them both in their togetherness. He didn't want her thinking he was a figment of her imagination again. He happily took her into his arms when she wiggled in under the blankets to be held. He tucked her in under his chin, his hand running up over her back and back down to her waist.

He considered the question a moment before cracking a playful smirk.

"Would I lie to you, babes?" He pulled her closer still, sighing softly. "I won't leave you again."

If she was going to self destruct every time he went away, then he didn't want to be without her ever again.

Lydia pouted, supremely unamused by his rhetorical, but comforted nonetheless that he felt at ease enough to crack jokes. She picked up on his emotions to see how to behave, and so when he was calm and sure of himself, it made it easier for her to find the same kind of peace. Of course, that only meant the opposite was also true. When he was having a fit, it felt as though her world was falling apart at the seams.

"Percy missed you," she informed with dream dust lacing her voice once Percy sensed it was finally safe to join Master and Mistress on the bed. He curled up on Lydia's pillow as per usual, one large yellow eye cracked suspiciously on Master. In the cat's esteemed opinion, his method of taking care of Mistress' melancholy left something to be desired.

"Every time I smoked a cigarette, he came running to see if it was you. He loves you."

Betelgeuse wasn't likely to care, but it was important that her favorite boys get along, so sharing this cute tidbit seemed imperative. Mostly, she just missed her husband and was taking any excuse to talk to him lest she fall asleep, awaken, and discover that this had all been another hyper-realistic illusion of the mind.

Betel grimaced as the cat took up residence on his wife's pillow, fixing him with a look that said that if the man were still alive, Percy would kill him in his sleep. He stuck his tongue out at the beast.

"Well, that's real sweet. Who knew, a ghost and a cat gettin' along." He reached out to scratch behind his ears where he knew he liked it. The cat glared at him through it and he was wise enough to draw his hand back before he was bitten.

"Ya know I think we need a dog. I've always wanted a hell hound… a buddy of mine said his girl had a litter a few weeks back. We could get a puppy. Raise it to eat cats." He teased, tapping the end of Percy's nose and getting a hiss in reply. "Aw, I'm only jokin' Perce. We'll teach it to eat rats."

"Puppy…?"

Like that, Lydia suddenly embodied the "little girl" so many were determined to see her as, her husband included. Her eyes remained closed, facial muscles lax, but there was a light of wonderment lifting her sleepy timbre now. She sunk deeper against him, continuing to mutter on about puppies and kittens on her way to the soothing blackness of unconsciousness.

"Always wanted a puppy… Never had room in New York… Delia doesn't like dogs… Big yard here… and Percy's a good boy… He would be nice to a puppy…"

The more she lauded on the benefits of having yet another furry ball of love in their home, the more convinced she became that this was the best idea Betelgeuse had ever had.

"I'll take care of it always, I promise," she fell back into habit, begging prettily in a breathless voice that usually got her what she wanted when he was in an agreeable enough mood. "Love it forever… Brush it and feed it and everything and you'd never have to do anything ever… Pretty, pretty please can we get a puppy, Beej? Pleeeeaaase?"

"Who gave you the right to be so fuckin' adorable? Huh?" He chuckled at the way she pleaded with him, so much like a child begging their strict father to allow a pet. "Of course I'll get ya a puppy. And hellhounds don't need all that much care…"

His hand continued its slow travel up and down her back, her warmth becoming heavier and heavier as she drifted into sleep. "You gotta sleep first, though… as long as you want. Remember, you're gonna tell me when you're done being held…"

He supposed that the beastie curled up about her head had actually done its job. The only reason he'd brought the cat over was to keep her company and offer comfort when he couldn't. In the corner of the room, a rather expensive looking dish of finely chopped tuna appeared, and if Betel winked at the cat, no one could prove it.

Chapter Text

"I will be here
When you think you're all alone,
Seeping through the cracks
I'm the poison in your bones,
My love is your disease
I won't let it set you free,
Til I break you."

—The Devil Within
Digital Daggers

True to his word for once, Betelgeuse was still there when Lydia awoke the following morning. This was a rare occurrence. Even when he was home reliably, he was usually up and about long before her, leaving her to redress the bed and prepare for the day by herself, usually only coming to greet her in the kitchen once breakfast was cooking.

That routine was shattered in his extended absence. Lydia didn't know what to do with this; Betelgeuse present, readily available, not making a mess of the kitchen, expecting anything from her, or simply gone. She didn't have any responsibilities. None. Nada. All that was expected of her was to tell him when to let go, and she didn't see that happening any time soon.

Instead, she reached carefully over his snoring form to pull on the tassel that controlled the canopy until they were shielded from outside light. Properly shaded, she was quick to return to snuggling, settling her head atop his bicep and molding her nude form back against his the way it was before she roused. Only now there was an erection pressing against her lower back that hadn't been there before.

A deep, throaty grunt crawled up his throat, as though he were waking, and one of those meaty hooks went pawing blindly toward her chest.

"Beej," she giggled with tired, early morning energy, cautious of rousing him further in case he wasn't already there. "Go back to sleep. It's too early."

He slept, which he didn't often do, but he knew if he left his mind active it would drive him to do something he'd regret. Like breaking his promise and leaving the bed too soon. Instead, he willed himself to sleep, holding his precious wife against him through the night.

It was warm as he started to stir, her soft, warm flesh pressed against his in a comforting way. Only half-awake as she closed the curtain, he groped at her, grunting and seeking out her soft breast. His hand found its mark and he squeezed gently, sighing.

Go back to sleep. It's too early.

"M'not sleepin'…. jus' closin' my eyes." He let out a deep, guttural snore. He dozed a while, in and out of consciousness. Each time he stirred, Lydia was still there, tucked back against him lovingly. Finally, he started to stir for good, his hips rocking against her smooth backside and a low, gruff muttering of her name left his lips.

Lydia dozed off just as easily as he did, staying there more solidly than her deceased bedmate. When he came humping against her, though, with deliberate, heated strokes that took their time running his length along her silken flesh, her name tumbling from his lips with guttural intonation… well. There was no staying asleep then.

"Beej," she hummed back, stretching into his locked arms in a way that encouraged his thrusting, neck arched to the side to give him access to the sensitive skin there without him even having to give an indication that she should do so.

"G'morning," she muttered with a dark shade of lust coloring her drowsy tone. "You're insatiable."

It wasn't as though she wasn't dripping and ready to go for him always, but she wasn't about to make such bold moves on him while he was sleeping. Not that he would ever complain if she were to pull something like that.

"This is all I want to do all day," she declared with a light heart, melting back into her interested husband's gyrating hips, sliding and writhing with him easily. Like there was nothing to it. "Just lay in bed with you… and kiss… and fuck."

Done daydreaming aloud, she tilted her neck at the end of a particularly enthusiastic swing of his hips, landing a sweet peck on his jawline.

"I simply can't think of anything else I would rather do. Can you?"

He drifted drearily back to consciousness as his wife shifted and arched against him. Jade eyes flew open as she proposed the agenda for the day and he grinned. He knew he'd be forgiven.

He rocked his hips more firmly against her, groaning softly as he brought his lips to the offered column of her neck. "Can't think of a single damn thing… God, ya feel good."

She always felt good, but there was something about her when she first awoke that made her pliant and soft in a way she wasn't when she was awake enough to think. He sucked at her skin, his clawed hands tightening where they sat, one on her wais and the other at her shoulder where his arm wrapped across her chest.

"If ya really wanna get fucked, yer gonna need to help me out here."

He nuzzled playfully behind her ear, nipping gently. "My mistress hasn't told me I can let her go yet…" His voice was dark with arousal. He could let her think she was in control for a while.

Of course he would be forgiven. It wasn't even a question. Lydia didn't have it in her to hold grudges. He already had her forgiveness long before he was ready to ask for it, before he even knew he should. In truth, Lydia didn't even recognize there was anything to forgive. She was just happy to be with him.

"Mmmm…" she hummed long and slow, jaw slacking as he introduced his teeth to the eager, open-mouthed kisses trailing the length of her neck. "Nope."

She was much too happy wrapped up in his arms the way she was, much too comfortable and secure to give the word now. He was everywhere; behind her, around her, growling in her ear, calling her silly things like "mistress." It made her feel safe and protected, well within her rights to indulge a playful side that had been buried under stress, grief, and other such unpleasantries.

"I think you can fuck me just fine like this."

A strategic twist of her hips had her swollen, still-dripping netherlips sliding along his morning wood teasingly, proving her point with definitive sass.

"If you can't…" she turned her cheek against his bicep, trailing little baby kisses and tracing the bulging muscle there. "Well. Sounds like a lack of determination on your part."

Little brat.

He growled, rocking and shifting against her, chasing the warm, wet heat that she'd teased across his straining erection. He tightened his hold on her, lifting slightly and shoving a knee between her legs to spread her open. Finally, he seemed to get the angle right and sank into her in one slow push. She was probably sore from their galavanting the night before. He could be gentle.

He sighed contentedly as his hips met her plush ass, his teeth sinking into her neck slightly. "How's that for determination, baby? God, ya feel so fucking good…"

With her head pillowed on his arm, it was easy to press his lips to hers, reveling in the softness of her as he slowly started to thrust into her.

She groaned as he impaled her to the root, a luxurious throaty sound, pulling her slowly and meticulously onto him until there was nothing left to give her. The stretch was just as sweet as always, made even better by the perfect cage of his arms. Illusions of dominance aside, she was his and he would take care of her. When he came for her lips she sacrificed them easily, opening her mouth to exploration and playing lazily with his snake-like tongue when it came to wrestle.

Her movements were restrained in this position, but this wasn't much different from any of their other trysts, so Lydia didn't mind. She would do what she could to be an active participant.

While they kissed, he used his hips to withdraw, then tightened his arms and pulled down at the same time he thrust back, resulting in a hard, deep lunge that had her gasping into his mouth. She was small and easy to manipulate even without his substantial strength, so fucking her like this was easy— like making love to a tiny, convenient interactive sex doll that returned kisses and made delightful sounds.

That the doll thought she was in charge only made it that much cuter.

She was lax, pliable in his arms. He couldn't remember the last time they'd taken lovemaking at such a slow pace, or if they had ever done so. His tongue lazily tangled with hers, his hips steady in their pressing and pulling into her. She seemed convinced that she was still in charge of their romp.

Adorable.

One hand risked releasing her shoulder in favor of finding her breast, squeezing and pressing into her flesh hungrily. He pulled away to let her breathe, pressing his forehead to hers. Twisted around as she was probably wasn't good for her neck, but he couldn't bring himself to care.

Still partly asleep, his voice was gruff and low as he muttered praises to her, murmuring words of love and adoration. She was the most fragile thing he'd ever owned, and he was loathe to risk breaking her again so soon after the night before.

He sighed happily against her, rocking his hips into her impossibly deeper, soft grunts leaving him on each press into her tight channel, her internal muscles clenching and pulling at him. "God, baby I ain't gonna last… you're too good to me…"

Lydia wasn't anywhere near orgasm, but it didn't matter. She didn't have to come every time, and she certainly got more than enough last night. The flesh between her legs was raw and tender, clinging hotly to his girth as it worked relatively gently at opening her back up for him.

Flexible, she was able to stay twisted for him with little effort, just as eager for the closeness as he was. Going as far as to encourage the awkward position, she cupped each of his stubbly, chubby cheeks in her soft palms and pulled him closer, rubbing her petite nose in a loving, intimate gesture along the wide, crooked thing taking up the center of his face.

"S'okay," she hushed, brushing a soft, tongueless kiss across his slack lower lip. "You can come."

His masculine pride was tangible to a point of toxicity, but maybe this permission would set him at ease to abandon such a venture.

"Come for me, baby," she crooned, taken by the intensity of the moment, copying almost verbatim demands he had growled at her before but in a much sweeter light. More of a helpful suggestion than an order. "Come."

He leaned happily into the gentle rubbing of her nose on his, a grin splitting his lax mouth. Her little assurances were cute. He liked that she thought he needed permission.

He bore down on her, rolling her onto her front without freeing her from his arms. After all, he hadn't been told yet. This little game was too much fun to give up. His hips bucked into her roughly, giving up on his illusion of gentility in favor of working himself into an orgasm.

He grunted as he came, rucking her up the bed with force of his questing hips. "Fuck, Lyds… that's so fuckin' sexy… God damn." Emptying himself into her, a dark thought crossed his mind. Had he still been living, she would surely be pregnant by now. He groaned at the thought.

He had no real desire for children, but seeing his little wife swollen with a child of his own making would no doubt be a spiritual experience. He shook himself, shoving the thought aside as he peppered kisses over her shoulders and the back of her neck. "Ya need some help, babes?"

She was much more vocal in the last portion of their rutting than she was at the beginning, surprised, shrill cries forced from her throat with each animalistic thrust. The brutality aggravated her soreness, but not enough to take away from pleasure. If anything, the resounding pangs built on the snowballing pit of sensation in her gut, pushing her toward a precipice.

Then, he came, bathing her womb with a fresh flow of cool seed that balmed some of her residual ache.

Ya need some help, babes?

As interesting of a proposal as that was, Lydia was fresh out of orgasms. Nope, he had used them all up the previous night and there were no more to be found, thank you very much. She kept this thought to herself, not wishing to rile him into accepting a challenge she had no desire stake.

"No thank you," she trilled in a humdrum, breezy way, ever polite. With closed eyes and a serene smile, she basked in his affection, well aware that she had yet to release him from his obligation of holding her. Rarely did she have any power in their relationship and she had every intention of milking this for all it was worth.

"Maybe later… mm… this is nice."

He was still hard inside her, pushing her into the mattress with his weight, but not enough to hinder her breathing to a point of discomfort. Just enough remind her how big he was… how strong… how easily he could crush her if he wanted to…

"Beej," she questioned with short breath, her lungs beginning to protest the extra pressure, "if ask you to rub my back will you keep holding me when you're done? It hurts."

"Of course. Today's anything ya want, babes." He sat up, carefully adjusting as to not pull free of her body just yet. Rubbing his hands, a sweet, floral scent emanated from them.

Smoothing his hands down her back, a warm oil was left behind, easing the way for him to press his thumbs into her sore muscle. He sighed softly and worked his way along her spine to begin with, then out over her hips.

He was fully prepared to give her a day of pampering. She'd earned it, after all. He leaned down to kiss the back of her neck sweetly. "How's that, kitten? Feel good?"

Shameless, raptured moans spilled unbidden from her lips as he kneaded all along the tensed expanse of muscle on her back, all the way from the nape of her neck leading into her hairline down to the curve of the ass he was mounting. Those big hands she loved so much were perfect for this. They covered large areas effortlessly, drawing pleasurable mewls as they pressed and pulled and squeezed her into a pile of mush.

"Oh, Beej," she gasped as if they were already fucking. They were, but really that was only an incidental. "So… good… Oh, God…"

When he leaned over her, using his weight to force those oil-slicked hands up the line of muscle on either side of her spine, it pushed his cock back in until the meaty based gave her a nice stretch, making her arch and release a chest-deep cry, huskier than her usual high-pitched moans.

The sounds she made were truly sinful. He could feel his cock twitch inside of her as she moaned and arched against him, a new sound pulled from her lips. He so loved finding new things to make her tick. He continued his massage, working over her back once more before sliding up to hire shoulders, his thumbs pressing firmly onto the back of her neck. He kept his weight there a moment, relishing in how small she was.

He sighed as he released her, moving down, and down until he was working his fingers into her hips, his thumbs just brushing the top of her velvety ass.

He couldn't help but rock slowly. Today was hers, so she'd say if she wanted him to stop fucking her. Right? Right.

He discovered a euphoric medium ground between trying to sate his unquenchable lust with careful rocking motions and keeping up his obligation to treat her abused muscles with a strong, expert touch.

He had done this before.

This was no novice massage. Nevertheless, Lydia was beyond petty things like jealousy when he was rooted deep, fucking her slow and good like a proper groveling husband.

"Oh, fuck…" Familiar heat was pooling in her belly and Lydia didn't necessarily mind. He was very convincing when he wanted to be. Maybe she had room for another orgasm.

She was clenching and unclenching around him, her tight heat fighting between exhaustion and the stimulation his gently rocking hips provided.

He pressed harder into the flesh of her ass, pulling the round globes apart a moment to admire the view before moving to her thighs. He always enjoyed a massage— giving and receiving— but he couldn't remember ever having someone melt under his touch the way Lydia did.

He worked back up her spine, pausing to work out any residual knots he could find, his cock twitching eagerly inside of her. "Mm… god, you feel so nice. Your skin is so soft, baby… Anywhere else hurtin' ya? Daddy'll fix it…"

"Beej," she gasped, twitching, repeating his name like a prayer as he kept on with his delicious torture. Hadn't she asked him to do this? "Oh, Beej… Beej…"

Anywhere else hurtin' ya? Daddy'll fix it…

Lydia was a hodgepodge of physical maladies, beaten and bruised, chewed up and spit out by her ravenous husband and his particular appetites. But, any complaints she might have had blanked upon him asking, every part of his being already well invested in delivering a deluge of pleasure.

"Harder," she demanded, bashful and purposefully vague to allow him to interpret the demand any way he wished. "God— fuck— baby… ugh!" His hips were slinging against hers in a solid tempo now, no longer hiding his thinly veiled intent. Again, she couldn't really blame him.

"Please!"

Harder.

There she was. She'd been getting wetter and wetter as their little game went on, and she seemed to finally be fed up with pretending that she wasn't going to orgasm that morning.

He was a gentleman after all. You always had to take care of your lady. And she wanted to be taken care of.

His hands found her hips, steadily rocking into her at an angle he knew she liked. With her hips pulled up off the bed just far enough for him to thrust smoothly.

"God, there we go… come on baby…" His full body massage was lacking, but he couldn't bring himself to care. He reached around her to caress her tired mound, his thumb sliding firmly over her clit. "Cum for daddy…"

When he started up in earnest, abandoning the massage in favor of keeping a firm hold of her hips for leverage, she whimpered beneath him, liquefied muscles trying and failing to tense and arch properly into the position he wanted her in. The impulse was visceral, an instinctual animal response, but his powerful massage had left her momentarily incapacitated beyond making a limp reach for pillows and fisting them feebly. Now, she much more closely embodied one of those convenient little sex dolls, sans some of the interactivity.

The touch to her clit pushed her over the edge. She didn't want it, but she did. But she didn't. It wasn't entirely clear. The race for carnal pleasure was irresistible. However, she was incredibly hypersensitive down there, to the point that when his rough, calloused thumb came petting, it sent borderline painful electric shocks pulsating out through the rest of her boneless body, helpless to do anything but lay there and take it.

"Can't," she gasped near the end of her needles-n-pins orgasm, her husband was still keeping up tempo straddled and thrusting into the choking, wet crevice between her thighs, chasing his second peak of the morning. Sluggish and weak, she batted at the hand still fiddling with her worn-out core.

"No more," she begged in between hard thrusts, stuck to the broken way of speaking she was reduced to when he took her like this. "Too much. Please!"

His poor girl. He really had been rough on her the last few days. When she swiped at him, he obediently pulled away from her, satisfied that he'd managed to bring her over the edge despite her objections.

She was a mess. Oiled and limp beneath him, she was like a rag doll, her arms and legs splayed weakly on the soft sheets. "Aww, baby. Ya done for now? Still want me to hold ya?" He snickered, knowing that she likely wanted his hands nowhere near her.

He waved a hand and the large bath in their connected bathroom started to fill with heady, rosemary-scented water. "Alright, alright. Up ya get. I'm done messin' with ya… for now."

With great effort, she managed to flip onto her back after he separated from her, heaving breaths elevating her chest.

Still want me to hold ya?

"Yes," she pouted with a bit of a whine, lifting shaking arms up to him in an indication that she expected to be carried. Bitterly, she remembered the way he refused to last night, how deeply it had stung. She didn't say he could let go of her. He was cheating.

He chuckled and pulled her into his arms, pressing a kiss to the pouting lips firmly. "Anything you want, kitten." He lifted her easily, keeping her pressed against his chest like a tired child being carried to bed.

In the bathroom, he considered his options. He didn't like baths. Water as a whole was on his blacklist, but she hadn't exactly told him he was allowed to let her go.

Cruel vixen.

He took a deep breath and climbed into the bathtub, grumbling unhappily as he settled in with her on his lap. The tub was large enough to be considered a small swimming pool, but he dutifully held her to him, his hands roaming her back. "There. Holdin' ya. In the bath of all places. Ya happy yet?"

"Yes," she repeated with a tiny smile as they settled in, snuggled up to his chest, perfectly content. He hated it in here. She knew. Still, she indulged the selfish desire to stay close to him for several long, perfect minutes before even thinking of freeing him of his obligation, content to remain curled against him and submerged in the steaming, fragrant water forever…

Or, until guilt kicked in. When she glanced up, blinking herself awake from where she was in danger of dozing off, she saw a deep scowl twisting up his face. It effectively killed her smile.

"Okay," she sighed with audible disappointment, gently extricating herself from the prolonged embrace. "You can stop."

Immediately, she set to work dragging a wide-toothed comb through the ends of her tangled locks to help disguise how very badly she wanted him to stay. Mussed as it was, it would take some work to get the wildly disarrayed mane back in order for washing. If she tried to shampoo now, it would only make it worse.

He all but bolted out of the water, dry and clothed in a matter of moments. He didn't go far though, simply hovering over her as she started to comb out her hair. He would never understand women. He leaned down to press a kiss to her forehead.

"Don't look so sad, babes… when yer all cleaned up you can settle back into bed and I'll go get yer pup for ya."

A friend of a friend had sent him a message that the baby hellhounds were ready to go, docked and trimmed and big enough to leave mom. Maybe a new baby would cheer her the fuck up.

"Whatcha think yer gonna name 'em? Ya want a boy or a girl?"

"Puppy!?"

That did the trick. Like flipping a switch, she perked right up, having completely forgotten the late-night promise he made to her when she was emotionally ravaged and half-conscious.

"What kind of puppy? A dead puppy?" Stars lit up her eyes, the girl veritably charmed by the prospect of a permanently small, cold ball of fluff and love.

"Oh, I don't know about a name… I'd have to meet him first." Him. She didn't know she wanted a boy until the pronoun formed so easily on her tongue. "A boy, I guess. So Percy can have a brother."

Said cat, sensing a disturbance in the atmosphere, was lurking on the outskirts of the room, ears pinned flat to his skull while he wore a singularly dour expression.

"Then I'll have three boys," she grinned up at him as she slipped down to wet her detangled mane, thinking herself very cute for making this connection. "Third time's the charm, right?"

As she lathered shampoo, something he said earlier finally sunk in, dragging her heart down into her stomach.

"Wait… I don't want to stay here," she argued hesitantly, wary of upsetting him, but still terrified at the prospect of waiting alone. Again. "I want to go with you. You promised."

Right. She wouldn't remember that, would she?

He smiled and nodded as though his mind were made up. "Little brother it is. Comin right up."

His heart sank at her pleading request to come with him. "Oh.. babes. This is a rough part of town… we could say I'm actually rescuin' this pup, so… I don't want you gettin' hurt."

An idea came to him and he quickly whipped one of his watches off his wrist. "Here." He reached for her hand, securing the much-too-big band around her delicate wrist.

"This will move in time with me. I won't be gone longer than an hour on this clock so you'll know when I'm comin' home. How's that? Huh? You can time me and everything."

Her breath quickened, eyes growing larger to signal the potential for another panic attack. He was leaving. Heartbeat thundering, she trembled as he offered up his own watch and strung the cracked leather band around her wrist, speaking with a gentle, low tone meant to placate her.

"I'll be good," she pled again, voice cracking with hopelessness, the girl already aware that his mind was made up on the matter. "I'll s-stay out of the way…"

The watch-bearing wrist was curled up close to her collarbone like a precious treasure as Lydia shrunk, vision blurring. Her splintered mind flashed back to the days spent here alone, wandering the halls like a lost spirit, waiting and waiting and waiting with no end in sight. Nausea swelled in her gut and quite suddenly she felt that she might get sick all over his suit if he didn't move.

"You said 'never'…"

Never again. No matter how dangerous. Was this another punishment?

"Shh… shh, kitten it's okay…"

He ran his hands through her smoothed hair, leaning in until he could put his forehead to hers. "Breathe for me. That's it… " He ran his hands over her arms gently, willing her to calmness.

"This is the last time. I swear. I need ya to do somethin' for me while you're here, okay? I need ya to watch the clock, and if I'm not back in the hour I quoted ya, you can look into your ring and call me three times. Just like the good ol' days. Got it?"

He didn't want her to break down again, but be also didn't want to take her to the litter. He'd end up with all of them for sure, and he wasn't really sure he wanted the one he'd promised her. "And think of names! Hey… how am I gonna bring you a baby if ya ain't got a name for him, huh?"

Before, Lydia hadn't felt entitled to call for him, fearful of disrupting the imperative mission he was on. It had been so long since she tried summoning or banishing him that way that the fact that she even could had slipped her mind, this momentary lapse going unhelped by how thoroughly the message was hammered in that his name was off-limits.

"O-okay," she stuttered at the end of his list of easy to follow requests, forcing herself to calm for his sake. Just one hour. That wasn't so bad. She was being silly. While waiting for the minutes to tick by, she could exfoliate and lotion herself, make the bed, maybe do her makeup if she had time to spare once all that was done. He would like it if he came back and she was wearing one of those pretty, colorful dresses.

If he came back.

She blinked then shook her head, trying ineffectively to rid of the insidious thought.

"I like Baphomet," she offered after doing her best to swallow down the anxiety, forcing a smile as if to say see? I'm okay. I'm not crazy. "Or Dagon… maybe Ifrit…"

"Those all sound real pretty, babes. One hour." He pressed a kiss to her lips and was gone.

He appeared outside a building that may have been a warehouse. Maybe still was on the other side. He hardened his expression and shoved his hands deep in the pockets of his trench coat, wandering in as though he owned it was just checking things out.

Inside was a barrage of activity, men screaming and shouting, the scent of booze and smoke thick in the air. In the center of the makeshift arena, a pen had been constructed of corrugated metal, two giant, snarling beasts dialing it out in the middle.

He winced. As cruel and unusual as he was, he'd never held well with the torture of animals. And at the core of them, that's all Hell Hounds were. He'd been here before. The last time Theodosia had whelped. The entirety of her last litter had been sold off to sanctuaries and people legitimately looking for pets, though as far as their first master was concerned, Betel had killed every last pup in a fight overseas.

The man in question, Hugo, was a hulking figure in the corner. Theodosia was his prize bitch, and she sat in a kennel to his right, panting and whimpering. When she saw Betel she stood, howling in greeting. She knew he meant her puppies no real harm.

Hugo grinned, holding out his arms. "There he is… good ol' Betelgeist, back for another litter!"

He grimaced. "Can't afford the whole lot this time, Hugo… I'll just take three." He dug in his pockets for the cash he'd saved up, handing it over in exchange for access to the whelping room. "Gimme a bitch and two studs. Whichever three ya think are gonna be best."

Hugo reached into what appeared to be a fireplace, pulling out four squirming bundles of black and orange fur. "Here ya go, Betel. Throw in an extra… I know you'll go through 'em."

Betel let out an inaudible sigh. One more pup out of the ring. He took them and tucked three into his pockets, which sent them straight to a farm that he was in contact with, where an elderly old woman was delighted to have them fall into her lap.

The largest of the boys was tucked into his lapel, whimpering and whining, his tiny ears still healing from being docked. Lydia wasn't gonna like that, but too bad.

"Thanks, Hue. I'll send ya the results when I get 'em back."

Chapter Text

"Well, you ain't never caught a rabbit and you ain't no friend of mine."
—Hound Dog
Elvis Presley

This was Hell.

As soon as he disappeared, Lydia let out a mournful cry that quickly dissolved into messy sobs. The fit lasted a good ten minutes before she was able to drag herself out of it, remember his instructions, and focus on being good.

Fifty more minutes.

They dragged on with excruciating slowness as she rushed through finishing her bathing routine as if moving faster would force the hands on the clock to rush too. It did not. All the while she muttered different names aloud, trying them out in her tongue; Abraxas, Shax, Furfur or Murmur. Trying to remember all the different names she could recall from studying demonology and the occult in her spare time helped to distract from the impending sense of doom weighing her down.

Thirty more minutes.

With half an hour left on the clock, it only took her five minutes to make the bed, two to pick an outfit and dress, and ten to do her makeup.

She ended up in a dark purple romper that exposed her legs and shoulders, a black ribbon around the waist to cinch the loose, sturdy fabric and give her more of a shape. Too impatient to bother with complicated eyeshadow, though she probably should have just taken the opportunity to distract herself, she instead drew on a bold cat eye, painted her lips with a creamy coat of black matte lipstick, and dusted her cheekbones, the bow of her lip, and the tip of her nose with a cloud of shimmery lilac dust. Her mass of still-wet hair was thrown into a haphazard up-do just to get it out of the way.

Ten more minutes.

The hour was almost up. He still wasn't back. Lydia paced like a caged animal, almost tripping over Percy as he came to weave through her legs with worried meows.

Two more minutes.

It was too quiet. The air was stifling. Why was it so goddamn hot?!

One more minute.

Surely, he wouldn't notice if she called him early? Of course not. Why would he? Frazzled, mind made up, Lydia was able to get through the first two incantations of his name before he popped into existence in the middle of the room.

"Beej!" She beamed and made a start to hug him, the only thing stopping her from jumping into his arms just like last time was the bundle of whimpering puppy snuggled out of sight under his jacket. She gasped, zeroing in on the lump, already in love without ever seeing the little beast. "Is that…?"

"Woah… hello. When I told ya to get cleaned up I didn't mean wrap yerself like a present, hot damn."

He grinned as she approached slowly, tugging his jacket aside to reveal the squirming bundle of puppy that was doing its best to nurse at the collar of his shirt.

He watched her closely, waiting for a reaction. Her face fell when she saw his ears and tail, still healing from their modifications. He scooped the tiny thing off his chest with a hand under its stomach, plopping him into his new mother's arms. Shit. She was gonna cry, wasn't she?

"Yeah, I didn't get there soon enough, I guess. Usually try to get there soon as they're whelped so they can't dock 'em." Fuck. He'd said too much.

He shoved his hands in his pockets, making a show of being displeased with the little beast. He felt a kick of fire at his fingertips and cursed, holding his pocket open and looking down to see one of the older pups, Matilda, staring back at him and wagging her tail. He held a finger to his lips. Shhh.

Suddenly, all the things he said before about this puppy sunk in as she held the warm ball of fuzz close to her breaking heart. Rough part of town. Rescue.

This was a fighting dog. This poor creature in its short span of life had seen nothing but the absolute worst of what humanity had to offer, his precious ears and tail stolen for no better reason than to line some monster's pockets. At least he never had to see the ring.

"Look what they did to you…"

She breathed out painfully, forcing back tears so as not to muss her makeup. She actually felt pretty for once, a foreign concept. He was black all over, just like her Percy, blinking big dark eyes without any discernible color. Attention focused solely on the baby, she held him up to her face, the moisture in her ducts quickly drying once he started licking blindly at whatever his tongue could reach, releasing adorable little puppy noises intermittently between kisses.

"But you're still so handsome," she praised in a babying voice, puckering her painted lips as she murmured to the pup. "Yes, you are, you're such a handsome boy."

His nubbed tail waggled at this, fracturing her heart further, and she cuddled him close, retreating to the bed so she could sit Indian style atop the covers and watch him walk around on short, wobbly legs.

"Oh, Beej, he's just a baby," she exclaimed with furrowed brows and big eyes as if physically pained by the pup's sheer cuteness. He wobbled nearer and she engaged him in some play, gently knocking him over to scratch his soft belly "Das right, you're just a baby. Who's a good boy? Say I'm a good boy… Do you wanna be my baby…? You can be my baby…"

"That's right, babes. He's all yours." He reached back into his pocket to scratch at Matilda. Just to keep her quiet. Obviously.

He shed the jacket, laying it carefully over a chair before climbing up to lay on the bed. He was immediately assaulted by the tiny black beast, licking and waggling in his face. He grunted, scratching him behind his pointed ears.

"Yeah, you are pretty cute, ain't ya." He was silent for a long moment then cleared his throat, sitting up. "Ya know, he should have a buddy… a friend. Maybe an older dog to teach him the ropes." His eyes flickered to his jacket. "Whatcha think? Get him a big sister or somethin'...? Yer kinda outnumbered here, babes…"

"Percy will be his friend. Won't you, Percy?"

Percy, who was sitting in the doorframe watching the entire disgusting scene with fitting feline arrogance and contempt, twitched his whiskers one way, then another, and showed them both his ass on the way out the door. Lydia scowled.

"Bad cat."

Regardless of Percy's rudeness, Betelguese's proposition was not one someone like Lydia would ever object to. That being said, he was a bad influence on her. Seeing as he was so amenable to the idea of more pets, maybe she could press her luck.

"I've never had a dog before," she admitted, seemingly evading the subject. "Only cats. This house is so huge, we could get another dog if you want… buuut," she drawled, avoiding her husband's gaze and smirking fondly as she was able to get the puppy's leg kicking with a well-placed scratch. "If we do that, it won't be even anymore."

Judging by the blank look on his face, he wasn't getting the picture.

"Well, first it was just you, and me, and Percy. And things have been… off. Now we have… Beelzebub?" The puppy yipped in approval, making Lydia's smirk break into a fully-fledged grin. "Beelzebub, and I don't know about you, but this feels right. Balanced. Like something was missing and now it's not anymore. So we could get another dog, but then the balance would be off again."

Frowning at her insane logic as though it was nothing less than absolute fact and science, she nodded, already convinced that she was right.

"Yep. No way around it. We would have to get another cat too. It's only right."

He thought through her argument a moment. He supposed that if she wanted a house full of animals, then he could oblige. Maybe with babies at home to care for she wouldn't get so hung up on leaving with him when he had business to attend to.

"Fine. But it has to be white. Then they'll match."

At her confused look, he grinned, sliding out of bed and collecting his trench coat. He held it up as though he were a matador, ready to face a bull, and shook it. He whistled, a high-pitched, sharp sound, and a dog appeared from behind his jacket as he twirled it out of the way.

She was huge. Easily the size of a small pony, and a pure silky white. Her eyes, as she was calm, were an icy blue as she stood on her hind legs to rest her paws on his shoulders, her whole body moving with the wagging of her tail. If you hadn't known better, someone might think they were looking at a massive wolf, not a dog at all.

Betelgeuse laughed, digging his hands into her sides to scratch her, baby talking to the giant beast as though she were the same size as Beelzebub.

"There's my girl! Who's my baby? Yes! Look at you, big girl."

The dog licked his face before dropping down to come and sniff at the puppy, her tail wagging harder.

He ran a hand through his hair and bowed playfully. "May I present Matilda. Tilly for short. She's actually his sister… or half-sister, I guess. Same mother though. Theodosia." He came to pat Tilly on the head and she leaned into him, nearly pushing him over.

Lydia stared in awe of the regal beast, never once fearing for the sweet puppy as she came nearer to sniff and lick curiously, tail wagging amicably. There was no threat there, though it was clear this was a dog that could do some damage if she wanted to.

"Hello, beautiful," she greeted gently, patting the bed in invitation for Matilda to join them. She wasted no time in accepting, immediately hauling the mass of snowy fur that was her body onto the bed in one graceful leap. When Lydia politely offered up her palm for a sniff, Matilda gave it a lick.

"This is your big sister, Bubby," she informed the equally curious puppy waddling in between the wolf's long legs in exploration. Tilly was huge, easily thrice as big as her. However, when the she-beast stepped forward to press her face against Lydia's shoulder in a nuzzle, knocking her on her back in the process, Lydia remained unthreatened.

Both Bubby and his sister were quick to take advantage, crowding on top of her and attacking her face with wet, sloppy kisses. She laughed, a joyous shrieking string of sound, happy tears gathering in the corner of her eyes the longer they held her pinned.

"Beej!" She gasped, turning her face so they wouldn't lick inside her mouth. "Help! Help! Stop!"

Tilly was excitable and nearly crushed Lydia trying to lay in her lap. Betel couldn't think of a time he'd seen his wife so purely delighted.

He joined them on the bed, tugging at Tully's scruff until she rolled onto her back, her tongue lolling out of her mouth. He scratched her belly happily.

"Aww yeah… I missed you, ya big lug." He tucked his head into her large chest, looking nearly like a child cuddled up to the massive beast.

To Lydia, the only thing more fantastic about this day than either Bubby or Tilly was Beej. She had him all wrong. Everyone did. He knew this dog. He knew its mother. He saved her babies. He was more than just "the bad guy." Was he a monster? Maybe. But, he was a monster that rescued puppies in his spare time.

Never before had she been more smitten with him than she was at this moment, watching him love the dog he'd clearly always wanted and just needed an excuse to keep. Why else was he only just now introducing them? Maybe he didn't think he could care for a dog properly on his own. Or, maybe he didn't think himself good enough for that kind of unconditional love. Lydia's heart, battered and bruised as it was, shattered completely at the thought as she cuddled up on the opposite side of Tilly's chest, scratching at places Betelgeuse wasn't already taking care of.

"I love you," she uttered, firm with her conviction, staring into his serenely smiling, carefree face, though it appeared he'd yet to realize he was the one on the receiving end of her declaration and not either of the panting balls of fur.

I love you.

"I know, aren't they the sweetest? I'll take ya some time to visit…" His eyes found hers, smiling at him in a way that said she knew what this dog meant to him. "Uh… to visit Elysium. It's a rescue… Uh. That's where Tilly's been."

He wasn't used to so much… affection. Even Lydia seemed to love him with a grain of salt. With the understanding that he was a monster, and an evildoer and there wasn't anything more to it. But now… it was like she saw. She was looking straight into his soul.

He reached across to caress her cheek gently, smiling. "I love you. Are ya happy, baby? Ya like your babies?" He chuckled. Now just to find her a cat. He was sure he'd hear about that again.

"I love my babies," she corrected, pulling the puppy up into a hug as she nuzzled into the larger one's deep fur until the four of them formed a veritable "dog pile." The only one missing was Percy, and Lydia knew he would take some time to adjust to a change this big.

"I think Percy's jealous," she imparted, only vaguely concerned, but sympathetic nonetheless. "I'll have to give him something special for dinner."

The mention of dinner brought a rumble to her stomach. It had been a while since she'd had a decent home-cooked meal.

"I want to barbecue today." Lydia was in a light, whimsical mood and eager to chase the feeling, latching on to any impulse that sounded like a good idea. "That way I can play fetch and cook. I bet you're an excellent fetcher," she complimented Tilly, whose giant dog grin widened in response.

"Maybe go swimming. I haven't been in the pool since…" She let the sentence trail off, not wishing to dampen the mood. "But you're here. And it's warm out. Does that sound okay to you?"

He hummed softly, considering the offer. "Yeah… a cookout sounds great." He sat up and Tilly immediately squirmed to follow him, bounding off of the bed and grinning before letting out a soft boof sound coming back to the bed, licking at the puppy as though to encourage him to get up and join her.

Eventually, she got tired of waiting and very carefully took him by the scruff of his neck, her eyes on Lydia the whole time. Betel chuckled and patted her flank. "Take the baby and get outta here, you lump."

He waved a hand over himself and was suddenly clothed in a truly ugly Hawaiian shirt and shorts, holding his hand out for his wife to join him. "Get changed and meet us out back? Let's get our summer on, babes!"

By the time she threw a bikini on under her romper, seasoned ground beef for burgers, formed the patties, and juggled all that along with buns, cheese, condiments, and a plate of sliced pineapple— for good measure— out the patio doors, Betelgeuse already had the grill open and lit for her.

"Thank you," she called out across the yard to him with a bright grin, not expecting that kind of consideration on his part. He was usually clueless when it came to anything food-related, though she would give that he made a mean cup of tea.

He was in the midst of an intense game of fetch. Much like their wedding night, Part I, he would wind up like a proper pitcher before throwing a baseball into the nearby woods with such force and velocity that it left licks of flame in its wake, tearing down branches as it flew past. Tilly was similarly ferocious. She stayed tense and ready to go at his side until the ball was release and then she was gone in a blur of white, only to trot back minutes later; ball in mouth, tongue lolling, and tail wagging.

Bubby was at Betelgeuse's feet, playing with a smaller ball. Whenever Tilly was off on one of her fetches, the ghoul would take this time to entertain the puppy with smaller, more reasonable tosses for a baby of his size.

Lydia's heart clenched. Percy watched from behind the glass doors, absolutely seething.

Betelgeuse loved dogs. He thought that he'd maybe had one in life, but he couldn't recall. Regardless, he'd been rescuing puppies from Hugo's mill for years. Tilly had been the first. He'd gone in to bet on a dog and walked away with a puppy he had no idea what to do with.

He turned when she called out to him, waving at her gentle thanks. Bubby scrambled to his feet, barking and galloping toward his mother and jumping at her ankles.

Betel took a moment to really wind up a shot before letting go, Tilly taking off across the yard just long enough for him to slide in behind his wife and press a kiss to her neck. "Mmm. You're welcome. Thought it'd be nice if you could just get goin'… I know you're hungry."

He rubbed a hand over her stomach, sighing happily. When had he become so… soft? When had his source of joy shifted from terrorizing others to a night in his back yard with his wife and his dogs?

Lydia had never been able to participate in a cookout like this before, not with her heliophobic flesh. It was the same reason she didn't get to swim very often, the same reason she had never swum in the ocean despite her father and Delia dragging her off on numerous vacations to their home in the Hamptons. Those days usually saw Lydia locked up inside or watching enviously from beneath an umbrella and multiple layers of sunscreen that didn't seem to do anything.

This wasn't the case in the Neitherworld. Here, she could traipse about butt naked if she wanted to and never see a burn. Even so, she kept her romper on while she flipped burgers and nibbled on pieces of pineapple, using a barefoot to play with Bubby as he tried his best to distract her. He ended up getting an entire patty to himself once they were done. Tilly, being larger, got two. With a bun and cheese.

Lydia only ate one herself, with all the trappings that were unfit for canine consumption. Something told her "Hell Hounds" probably didn't adhere to the same stipulations that normal dogs did, but they looked and acted like normal dogs. Better to play it safe.

By now, Percy's distaste had evolved into outright melancholy. He was frowning behind the glass, each whisker pointed at the ground as he watched his family play without him.

"Aww, Beej," Lydia brought the situation to her husband's attention as he stuffed his face with his third burger. "Look at Percy. He's so sad. I haven't seen anything big enough to eat him out here. Are you sure he can't be an outside cat? He's always been one, he hates being locked up inside."

Betelgeuse fixed the cat with a look. Well. It did look rather miserable. He went to the door and opened it, whistling for Tilly. She bounced over, ducking down to sniff at Percy as he stepped outside. Her tail slowly started to wag, then faster, and by the time he was all the way in the lawn she was following him like a duckling.

"There. Tilly can take care of him." He scooped up Bubby, holding him over his head and blowing a raspberry in his face.

Percy was understandably intimidated by the hulking wolf-dog following behind him but after several minutes like this the fur on his back unbristled. It didn't take him long to discover that he could climb places his big white shadow couldn't, and was quick to settle at the end of a drooping branch on a tree at the edge of the yard. Tilly, having never met a cat in her life, was alarmed by her new puppy's suicidal jumping and climbing about, and settled herself right underneath him where he would have a cushy landing if he fell.

"They're sooooo cuuuuute," Lydia extolled, heart full as she snapped photos from a distance. Betelgeuse had summoned her camera when she asked. Being a baby, Bubby was all tuckered out by now, on his back in the poltergeist's lap releasing tiny little snores.

Lydia was ready to swim, but she'd been lollygagging to avoid stripping down. The swimsuit she wore was not her usual plain one piece— which had suspiciously disappeared to places unknown. No, this was without a doubt the skimpiest thing she had ever worn. The bottoms were little more than triangles and string, so little material left for the backside that no matter what she did it wedged up her ass to form a thong.

The top had a bit of padding and the stringy halter straps pulled her small breasts up and together, forcing cleavage and giving the illusion that they were bigger than they actually were. Simultaneously nervous and excited, she stood at the edge of the pool and shimmied out of the romper with her back to him, too shy to face his reaction head-on. Once stripped, she dove into the deep end, smoothly gliding across the bottom until she emerged dripping on the other side, at peace. Swimming was one of her favorite hobbies and it was unfortunate she didn't get to more often.

"You don't have to swim if you don't want," she reminded him as she trod along, enjoying the weightless feeling. Her makeup had remained stubbornly in place, though she had no way of knowing this. Yes, she looked every bit a proper goth trophy wife enjoying her husband's riches.

"… but I think you'd have more fun playing lifeguard in here than out there."

His eyes snapped to his wife as her skin was revealed. His tongue rolled out of his mouth and he was on his feet in an instant. He dropped Bubby next to Tilly, who looked up and huffed at her master briefly.

"Tilly, watch the babies…" He was suddenly running headlong for the pool, jumping in with a resounding splash as his shirt vanished.

He slid in behind her, his hands roaming her bare midriff and up to hold her close against him. "You were right… view is much better in here. Even if it's wet."

For all her enticing him, she was frustratingly giggly and squirmy once he was in there, grimy claws sliding all over her.

"You're slimy!"

Miraculously, none of his filth managed to rub off on her and she suspected his juice was to thank. After a splashing bout of tickle wrestling where he was merciless and she put up a valiant effort but ultimately didn't make any leeway, she surrendered. Legs around his waist and arms around his neck, she held on breathlessly, using him as a floating device.

"Today was a good day. Thank you, Beej…"

She kissed him then; sweet and easy, fingers curling into his oily, tangled hair, smoother now wet than it was dry.

"I can't wait to teach Beelzebub all sorts of tricks. Sit, and rollover, and play dead. Does Tilly know tricks? Our bed is going to be full from now on, I guess…"

He was happy to appease her apparent need for closeness, holding her up with one hand on the back of her thigh. She wasn't exactly heavy, even with the weight she'd put on since they'd been married. He loved her body in any iteration, but if asked he'd admit to liking her better with some meat on her bones.

Tricks. "She's a Hell Hound! A fighting dog. She don't do tricks other than Sic 'em and fetch." In truth, he didn't know. He'd dropped her off at Elysium and set a date to come to visit her, once a year like clockwork up until his imprisonment.

"And no dogs on the bed! You can sleep with me, or with the mutts, but I ain't wakin' up to a tail in my face unless it's yours. Capice?"

He lifted his wife up onto the edge of the pool and leaned up to kiss her gently. He knew he wasn't exactly a swimwear model, but she seemed happy enough with him despite his slime and lichen.

He buried his face into her barely covered bosom and stayed there for a few long minutes, rubbing his hands up her thighs. "Hey. Love you." She knew that. But after the last few days, it felt important to reiterate.

Things like physical appearance were low on Lydia's priority list when it came to how she judged other people. Their actions and how they treated their peers were much more important. These aspects of Betelgeuse's character also left something to be desired, but he loved her and treated her well and that's all that mattered to Lydia. That he was an excellent fur-Daddy was just a bonus.

Love you, he reminded just as she was thinking something along the same lines.

"Love you," she parroted cutely, beaming and pecking his nose. It was a sickeningly sweet moment, in tandem with the rest of the day with the exception of the hour he was gone. Lydia knew she was being irrational, but she couldn't help it. He was her whole world now, she didn't have anyone else.

How much time had passed above? Months? Years? Was the house on the hill empty now, or did some other family live there unencumbered the supernatural intervention? Maybe one day he would bring her back to see, dwell on nostalgia. One thing was for certain; it would be a long time before she would be ready to face Adam and Barbara as she was now. They wouldn't even recognize her.

Despite her open-mindedness for other people's appearances, Lydia was not so kind to herself. The way the strings on her bikini bottoms dug into the fleshy area around her hips made her self-consciousness and so she fiddled with it, pulling the strings higher up toward her waist to little effect.

"I'm getting fat. Tomorrow we're having salad for dinner."

He watched her fuss, a frown coming over his face. "Yer what? Babes, you're just now gettin' healthy. And I don't eat green shit unless it's surrounded by stuff that's bad for ya."

He slipped his fingers into her skinny straps of her swim bottoms, pulling them back and letting them snap against her, enjoying the way they made her skin jiggle slightly.

"Yer not fat. Yer healthy, and gorgeous and soft. And I love it… ya can't take it away from me now." He caressed her thighs, then her ass, fingertips eventually sliding up to her smooth stomach. He pinched playfully at the skin there. "Lookit this. Nothin'!"

He ducked down to press a kiss to her belly button. He didn't know how to make her feel as beautiful as she was, but he could sure as hell try.

She giggled, flushing dark as he pinched and prodded and pet, insisting upon his adoration for her body. Him being who he was, she wasn't about to debate it. How could she? He was just so undeniably… handsome… in his own unique way.

"If you say so…"

Maybe she did look better like this and just needed to adjust to the feel of her changed body. She wasn't used to things other than her breasts jiggling when she moved, and was only very slowly growing accustomed to showing this much skin.

"Nobody's ever said things like that to me… the kind of things that you say. I never thought I would ever be married, or… in love…" The color in her cheeks deepened. "Ever. It just didn't seem like anything that would ever happen for me. I really didn't think you would still be interested, when I called you that night in the graveyard… I'm glad you were."

"Well, people up top must be more stupid than I remember. You're so perfect." She tried to shake her head to disagree and he caught her chin, one clawed finger rubbing over her soft cheek.

"Eep! No arguing. Not right now. I'm gonna be fuckin' vulnerable for a second so buckle up."

He pressed his forehead to hers and took a deep, unnecessary breath. "I didn't think I was ever gonna find love either. Sarah… the girl who fell through the ice… she didn't love me. Not really. She was just stickin' with me because—"

His voice cut out, and he cleared his throat, shaking his head slightly. Easier not to look at her. His eyes closed, memories flowing behind their lids. "I knocked her up. And back then, that made her my wife."

He ran his hands slowly down her arms. "But She didn't love me. Didn't even like me. I loved her more than anything, though. Well. Not more'n you, but I didn't know then, huh? Point is."

"When I offed myself and ended up in the waiting room, I thought maybe she'd want me back. We could be happy together. I sent her a message from the office and… she never came. Ain't nobody ever come back for me. Until you."

Lydia stayed very still and silent for his confession. Rarely did he talk about his living life and she always relished more information, eager to soak up whatever knowledge she could about her mysterious lover.

Sarah. A flame of ugly jealousy flared at the back of her skull now that she had a name. She was probably beautiful. This woman got to carry his baby and she didn't even appreciate it. Lydia would never get to experience such a thing and felt a wave of sadness wash over her as the realization occurred.

"What happened to the…?"

His silence spoke volumes, and Lydia hated herself for the selfish thoughts that filtered through her head just moments prior. Of course. He would have said something by now if he had a child, alive or dead.

"Oh, Beej," she breathed painfully against his lips, their foreheads still pressed together. "You would have been a wonderful father."

This was ages out of her league. Heavy and adult, and she felt inadequate that there was nothing good enough to say, nothing that would fill the void.

"I honestly didn't think you would come," she hushed awkwardly, relating back to them and away from his failed relationship with this Sarah woman. "I thought maybe… the sandworm killed you. The permanent kind. That is was my fault. If you hadn't come, I don't know what I was going to do. Maybe pay a hobo to kill me… Stupid."

"Hey. Yer talkin' about my wife, ya know."

His eyes finally opened and he pulled her closer, forcing her knees up toward his shoulder blades. "I'm glad ya called me. Juno woulda told me in ya turned up in the waiting room, and I… I dunno what I would have done."

It was true. The person he was when she'd called him back was so far removed of the him of today. He didn't know what to make of that, other than the fact that Lydia was clearly the cause of the change for the better.

"I was pissed. Angry… for so many centuries that I think I forgot how to be happy. Depression, I guess. But. Mad." He nuzzled into her gently, his hands still roaming her thighs. "You fixed me. No idea how, but ya did it. And I'm gonna spend the rest of eternity tryin' to thank you for it."

He smiled softly, pulling her off the edge of the pool and back into the water. "Now! We were havin' a real fun family day before I brought it down. I say we get back to it! Wanna go dry off and watch a movie? I bet all four of us fit on that couch if we squeeze."

"Five," she corrected with a big smile, accounting for Percy even though she knew he wouldn't be cozying up to the hounds any time soon.

She was right, he didn't, and they did all fit on the couch— when she sat in Betelgeuse's lap, anyway. Tilly took it upon herself to carry Bubby up with her before either of them could, plopping the baby down in between she and her master as she curled up, occupying the entire rest of the couch with her mass.

The film of the night was Cujo. It seemed appropriate, everything considered. When it came time for the beastly St. Bernard to eat a bullet, Tilly covered her eyes with paws. Bubby was too far gone in puppy slumber to be subjected to the grizzly scene. Percy watched from a dark corner of the room, whiskers twitching with pleasure.

Lydia didn't bear witness, having fallen asleep curled against him in one of her silky nightgowns not even half an hour into the movie. She'd seen it already, anyway.

Cuddled up with his makeshift family, Betel was happier than he could remember being in recent history. As the film ended he whistled at Tilly, pointing to the puppy.

She dutifully took him in her mouth, climbing off the couch and waiting for him at the door. He scooped his wife into his arms and headed out, glancing back at the pouting cat. "Well, come on Percy. Bedtime. Ya know she won't sleep without ya."

He tucked his wife in, Tilly curling around her baby in front of the fire. The whole scene was painfully domestic. He tucked his wife in and kissed her forehead. He really had to get some work done.

He closed the door quietly behind him, walking up the hall to his office.

Chapter Text

"Now shut your dirty mouth,
If I could burn this town,
I wouldn't hesitate,
To smile while you suffocate and die,
And that would be just fine,
And what a lovely time,
That it would surely be,
So bite your tongue,
And choke yourself to sleep."
—Choke
I Don't Know How But They Found Me

While Lydia was wrapped up in his arms, she felt safe. Always, even in dreams. In her unconscious fantasies, she dreamt about her new babies and all the adventures they were going to have.

They were out in the woods past the manor, the scene entirely constructed of Lydia's imagination as she'd never been this deep out in the thicket. She was carrying the puppy while Matilda trotted happily along at her side. The atmosphere was pleasant and easygoing. Where they were going was unclear, but Lydia hadn't any doubt they would have fun whatever they found.

Until a shot of unnaturally shaded lightning colored the sky electric green. Tilly startled at the thunder that followed and took off, abandoning both mistress and the baby. Shortly afterward, a storm burst forth from the sky the likes of which she'd never seen, torrents of crimson water painting her hands red.

It was so cold now, even though she was soldiering through the storm in a way that should have had her muscles hot and screaming, chasing down Tilly as though her life depended on it. Betelgeuse would never forgive her if she came back without the beloved hound. She tripped over an upturned root, curling in on herself to protect Bubby and take the brunt of the fall. However, as she rolled over the bloody leaves, she was horrified to find her hands bereft. He was gone now too, and it sent Lydia into a panic. Desperately, she clawed at the wet forest floor, only finding dirt, twigs, and dead leaves.

"Help!" She cried out into the forest, pulling at her hair in madness. "Someone help! I'm lost! My puppies! Please…"

No one answered the call. Destitute, she curled into herself, wild eyes flitting from corner to corner. The forest was whispering beneath the sounds of the storm. She wasn't alone here. A flash of pale skin and dark hair weaving through the trees drew her attention sharply.

"Hey…" She called brokenly, scrambling to her feet to chase after the apparition. "Hey!"

The figure quickened. Lydia only ever saw glimpses; an arm disappearing behind the trunk of a tree, a flash of hazel eyes sparing a backward glance before shadows swallowed her. No matter how fast she moved, the vision was two steps ahead.

They came to the edge of the woods, but there wasn't a manor waiting for her once she worked through the maze of twisting trees.

She knew this place.

This was New York. The Bronx. A neighborhood she used to explore unattended when she was too hungry or lonely to stay cooped up in the apartment. The woman was crossing the street careless of incoming traffic, her back stubbornly to Lydia.

"Wait!" The girl cried, chasing recklessly after her, narrowly avoiding cars on her way. "I just want to talk to you! You promised!"

Drenched in blood and chilled to the bone, she followed Mother through the broken down alley entrance and up countless flights of stairs, the route she used to take when she was much smaller. It seemed like so much when she was little. A head of raven hair disappeared behind a door; C26. The door slammed in her face just as she made it, and Lydia pounded her fists against the unyielding, thin piece of shit.

"Come back! You said you would come back!"

The temperature dropped again and the dear disappeared just as she went to slam her entire weight against it, sending her crashing to the floor. Roaches scattered at the disturbance. When she looked back, the door was gone, nothing left but cracked, peeling wallpaper and an ugly growth of black mold crawling down from the ceiling.

"Mom…?"

"Mommy's asleep, Lydie…"

She froze where she was crumpled on the ground, too afraid to turn her neck and face the source of the voice.

"It's just you and me…"

Matilda was happy to be curled around her baby. He was warm and soft and smelled idly of their mother. But also of Mistress, and that made Tilly happy. Mistress was kind and made her Master happy. Tilly liked anyone who made Master happy.

She was awoken by the Odd Puppy mewling and pacing above her on the bed. Mistress was tossing and turning, whimpering in her sleep as though someone was hurting her.

The Odd Puppy fixed her with his searing yellow eyes. Useless dog! Come and help. I have to get Master.

Tilly scrambled to her paws and lept onto the bed, giving Mistress gentle kisses on her face in an attempt to wake her. She won't wake up!

Percy hissed and darted off the bed to look for Betelgeuse. Of course not! She's having a nightmare.

Percy took off, yowling down the hall toward Master's study. He'd know what to do. Betel frowned when he heard the cat, opening the door and staring down at the creature in confusion. "Percy? What is it?" The cat rubbed against his shins and took off back toward the bedroom. Come, Master. She's dreaming again!

He followed the cat, his glasses still perched on his nose. "Seriously, Percy what the fuck is wrong with-" He froze when he saw his wife writhing and crying out in her sleep. This wasn't good. Tilly whined as he climbed onto the bed, running his hand over her head. "Lydia? Baby? Wake up… you're okay. Just wake up…"

Tilly whined and moved out of the way, curling up on the other end of the bed. Silly dog. Mistress will be okay with Master here. Percy rubbed himself under her chin, curling into her white fluff to try and wait out the nightmare.

Horrifically slowly, dreams bled into reality. The ugly, dripping ceiling turned a deep shade of crimson, the same as the canopy in their bed. The foul whispering voice in her ear took on a grittier timbre, one that didn't make her want to crawl out of her skin with disgust. Quite the contrary.

Wake up.

She came to thrashing in Betelgeuse's arms, her wrists caught in his grasp from where she tried to strike out at him in her hysteria and he managed to catch her. There was moisture on her cheeks courtesy of her leaking eyes, and her chest heaved with the strain of her panicked breaths.

"B-Beej?"

Confused and shaken, it didn't take her very long at all to gather what had happened. Nightmares like this were a common occurrence when he was gone and had plagued her most of her life. Percy nursed her through many as best he could. To have an actual person bear witness, never mind who, was equal parts horrifying and embarrassing.

"I'm okay," she stammered unconvincingly, still weeping against her will, crumbling under his gentle touch. "I'm fine, it's just… just…"

He wasn't buying it. She fell apart, muffling a fresh onslaught of sobs into his shoulder, ashamed by her weakness, by the memories, by how easy it was for them to creep back in and ruin their good day.

"I'm sorry…"

It took far too long for her to wake, lashing out and sobbing in his hold. When she finally opened her eyes they were wide and terrified, darting over his face as though he were someone else.

He pulled her into his arms gladly when she crumbled against him, her tears soaking into his shoulder in an uncomfortably warm, wet display. What could have possibly made her so upset?

He ran his hands down her back, pressing gentle kisses to her head and cheeks. Anywhere he could reach with her so tucked up against him. "Baby…."

His voice was thick with emotion. "You don't gotta be sorry, babes. Just. Talk to me… what happened? You were sleeping so soundly when I went to work on that paperwork. I shouldn'ta left. I'm sorry."

It took a long while for Lydia to even begin the process of calming. Every time she tried to speak, all that came out was another apology or a shuddered-out incomprehensible garble of gibberish.

"It's nothing," was the first audible combination of words she could string together once her fit dissolved. "Really, it looks worse than it is. Just… just another bad dream… Didn't want you to see that…"

He stayed quiet, making small hushing sounds somehow without implying she should be silent. It wasn't real. But it was. But it wasn't.

"I was in the woods outside the house with the babies. We were going somewhere, but then I got lost… and it was raining. They were gone and I couldn't find them… but I saw…"

She fell off to a pause. Mentioning Mother wasn't important. Tilly was plastered up against her side, as if she understood and was trying to reassure Mistress that she wasn't lost, she was right there.

"Saw a way out… but it didn't bring me home. I was in New York, in the neighborhood I grew up in. I went back to my old apartment to see if I could find… but she wasn't there… He was… And the door disappeared. And I couldn't get away. Or talk, or scream— and— and—"

He listened carefully, tucked into her side and stroking her hair. With him on one side and Tilly on the other, she had little room to move. As she started to calm, his rage started to build.

Natalya. Of course. The thought of her was still fresh. It was only natural that Lydia would be thinking of her mother now. But him. Gregory Green. That asshole had to be taken care of. And soon.

He pressed a kiss to her forehead, tangling his hand in her hair. "Hey. Ya ain't back there anymore. You're here. With me, and the babies, and our big beautiful house. Ya got nothin' to be afraid of now… I'm gonna keep ya safe."

He held her close, trying to will her back to sleep. When she fell asleep he as business to attend to. An asshole to pick up, and a room in the house to get first use out of.

Betelgeuse always made everything better— when he wasn't fucking it all up like a bull in a china shop. She had no choice but to accept what he said as truth, and in this case, there was no denying he did speak the truth. She was home, in their big, beautiful house with him and their babies, and there was nothing to be afraid of because he would always keep her safe.

"Can Tilly and Bubby stay on the bed tonight?"

She sniffled her request, shuffling between her two cuddlers until she was spooning the giant mass of soft, warm fur. The puppy was beginning to stir and whine on the floor, missing the presence of his sister.

"Just tonight… I'm sorry I'm so crazy…"

She knew he didn't like it when she apologized like this, but she still felt so low, so mad at herself for ruining their perfect day with her insane bullshit. An admission of guilt was necessary before she could fully claim the peace he was trying so hard to give her.

"Of course, baby. The dogs can snuggle up with ya… I mean us… just for tonight." He pressed kisses over her cheeks and down her neck, keeping her pressed against him. Tilly went to fetch Bubby.

With a kiss to her forehead, Betel put his wife back under a sleeping spell. The dreamless sleep would leave her safely in place and unknowing that he was gone.

He patted Tilly and then Bubby, then Percy for good measure. "Take good care of her, beasts. I'll be back as soon as I can be." Tilly whined, tucking her chin over Lydia's waist to keep her pressed to the bed.

He bristled, his striped suit returning with a flourish. "Showtime. You got no idea what's comin' for ya, Greg."

The years had not been kind to Gregory, not that he was in any way deserving of kindness. He stayed in and out of prison on petty drug charges, consistently flying under the radar on his more heinous crimes. Only one had ever been brave enough to spill the beans on their secret playtimes; his special little Lydie. Luckily, that was back in his heyday, when he was the Kingpin of the Bronx; a dumb, strung-out bitch on every corner pushing his product and trusting him with their babies.

Life was good back then, good enough to afford him a slick lawyer that buttered the judge up good and warm to him. He always did look good in a suit.

Or, he used to. That was a different life. He was feeble now, impoverished, years of drinking, smoking, and trashing his body finally catching up to him. He never got too hooked on the goods to keep from losing his mind, unlike many in his harem of pushers. It was better to use women to move product. Even the most well-used of whores was more approachable than a loopy prick in a trench coat.

He was small-time now; his days spent in a nursing home cleaning the elderly's diapers and stealing their meds as a tip. If a picture of a grandkid or two went missing, well… the old bats were too senile to notice. Whatever wasn't sold to his circle of rats was chased down with a King Cobra before he went to bed every night on a stained mattress in a reeking, overpriced hovel of an apartment. It was a miracle he hadn't accidentally offed himself by now.

Tonight was one of those nights. The ceiling fan was spinning above his frame lacking bed in a way that was inexplicably amusing, drawing high nasal giggles up his throat. The television was flickering in the background on some public access educational show for kids. As if he would ever waste good money on something as stupid as cable…

Betelgeuse had never liked New York. For a creature of chaos, there was too much competition. Too many opposing forces struggling to coexist for a monster like him to get a word in. Monsters like Gregory Green, it seemed ran rampant.

He had carefully constructed himself a disguise. A middle-aged blonde man, pale, but still pink enough to pass for living. His stripes stayed in place as he walked into the small bar on the corner that Charles had pointed him toward. He'd made it through three lackeys before coming to a simpler realization.

Now, he was walking up a back street alone. The streetlights here cast the whole world in a sickly, jaundiced yellow, making it appear as though it could have easily existed in his world as well. Under every few lights, there were eerily thin women smoking or talking to themselves. They looked not unlike Natalya with how their bodies had suffered from the drug lining their pockets.

As he passed, one of them reached out. A redhead. Might have been cute once. "Hey mistah! Ya lookin' for a good time?"

He smirked. "You know it, sweet cheeks. Say. You wouldn't happen to work for a guy named Green, would ya?"

Impossibly, she went even paler. "Don't know 'im"

Betelgeuse gave her a stern look, slowly lighting a cigarette from his pocket and humming low in his throat. "Shame. I'm tryin' to kill him."

This seemed to pique her interest and she pointed to a moderately rundown apartment building up the street. "He's in there… 24B. But he ain't gonna be easy to take down."

He chuckled. "We'll see." He disappeared, leaving the junkie losing her mind about wizards down on the street. He licked his lips. This was gonna be good. He cleared his throat, assuming Lydia's voice and knocking at the door. "Hello? Greg? Are you in there?"

"… the fuck?"

Greg sneered, puke-green eyes glaring blearily at the sweet voice behind the door. That didn't sound like any of his usual rats; too young, too smooth. Groggy and stumbling, he eventually was able to crawl up to his feet from the yellowing, groaning mattress. A blinking analog clock on the stove told him it was three o' clock in the morning, and he about smashed the rest of his forty against the wall in sudden fury, but stopped himself. There was still a good chug or two left at the bottom, only a little flat.

"I swear t'fuckin' God…" He slurred on his way through the small, cramped hole that was his nest, naming a deity he would have been wise to stray far away from. "… if this bitch doesn't have some somethin' good…"

He yanked the door open roughly until the handle wedged in a hole in the dry drywall that came from a previous fit similar to this one. Gregory had a reputation for having a nasty temper.

"What?"

He snarled, only for his ferocious expression to falter at the stranger who greeted him on the other side of the doorway. He was taller and bigger, but Greg had a scrappy kind of strength and wiry muscles that usually gave him the upper hand. Then again, his physical entanglements were often restricted to women and children. This far into the night, he was fucked up enough to try something stupid.

"Where…?" Sticking a head of greasy, stringy salt and pepper hair past the frame, he looked right then left down the hall, searching for the source of the sweet voice. Nothing but cockroaches. Still mourning the loss— what if it was one of his little girls seeking his company for once?— he fell back somewhat, not actually wishing to wrestle with the grungy, chubby male. It looked like he might have been packing some muscle under that tacky suit.

"Look, motherfucker," he pinched the bridge of his nose, eyes clenched, clearly nursing some kind of headache, "if you're wantin' a fix, go talk to any of the hoes on the corner. I don't take clients this late."

With that, thinking their business done, he made to shut and lock the door without waiting for the stranger's explanation.

A foot in the door halted his efforts to close it on Betelgeuse, and a dark smirk came over the poltergeist's assumed face.

"Hey there, Greg! I got a message for ya. It's from a little girl ya used to know." With a blink, he was thrown backward into the opposite wall, allowing Betel to step inside and close the door behind him.

He took a second to look around the room. Disgusting. There were beer bottles littering the floor, and the carpet beneath them was stained with questionable liquids. The whole place stank of sweat and liquor.

He grimaced and looked over at the pathetic excuse for a man lying across from him. He was barely containing his rage, and the energy of it crackled through the air around him. This thing had taken important firsts away from his wife. And furthermore, from him.

He sneered, hands still in his pockets as he stared at him. "Ya remember Lydia Deetz?"

Greg was still groaning and writhing on the floor in pain, the forceful toss across the room leaving him bruised in places. His head had hit the wall, then floor pretty hard, and his vision was spotting.

A little girl ya used to know.

Fuck. His time had come. He was always so careful, only targeting the loneliest and most vulnerable of princesses in their crumbling, neglected towers, girls without any fathers or big brothers to come a-huntin'. Hazy from head trauma and intoxication, the supernatural manner by which he was thrown across the room went under his notice.

Lydia Deetz.

That was a name he dwelled on often, sans the updated surname. He liked her mother's better. It was exotic, along with that cute little accent. The pictures he took of little Lydie were treasured, in much better shape than many of the others in his collection.

Still clinging to a will to live, Greg defaulted to pleading. Things were looking quite precarious indeed.

"I never… never touched that girl," he moaned lowly, arching to stretch out his aching spine. "I dunno who you are or what you heard… but it's bullshit, man… complete n' utter bullshit… just competition spreadin' lies, I swear… didn' do nothin' but love Lydie… treated her slut mom like a fuckin' queen too, only got the best cuts of product…"

The lies spilled out so easily and convincingly, Greg almost had himself fooled. Maybe he would get out of this yet.

His eyes darkened at the blatant lie. Wasn't it enough to insult a woman who's life he'd ruined? Why add to his laundry list of misgivings?

A switchblade was produced from the inner pocket of his jacket and flipped open idly. "Oh no… no no. You did a lot more'n touch that perfect little princess. Didn't ya, Greg? Try again. An' I suggest Tellin' me the truth this time."

He picked at his teeth with the end of the knife, his eyes the only part of him that might belay what lay beneath his disguise. The pupils narrowed to sinister slits as he took in his prey from across the room.

"Ya know. Better yet… I could just carve the truth out. Knife ain't that sharp, though. Talk fast."

Fuck, fuck, fuck.

Cold terror finally hit him as the glow of the television caught the knife's edge. This guy meant business. He wasn't interested in just beating the shit out of him. A beating, he could take. No, the stranger wanted more than Gregory would be able to pay. Willingly.

Scrambling to his feet, he took stock of the distance between him and the window that led to the fire escape.

"Okay, okay, okay," he hissed, glassy eyes wide and sharper than the poltergeist had seen them all night as they stayed glued to the blade. "T-take it easy there, big guy," he was inching toward the only viable escape in a way that he hoped was inconspicuous. "Yeah, I—"

Admitting the truth of his monstrosities was not something he had ever done or been forced to do before. It was not an easy task, he found.

"We… we fooled around some…"

He confessed as though he was relaying a regrettable one night stand and not the violent sexual abuse of an innocent child spanning the length of several years.

"B-but… that was years ago, man. I was high— and Lydie was… she was…"

Special. She'd always been one of his favorites.

"Prolly don't even remember me."

The anger coiled tighter in his stomach. With a wave of the knife, the metal edge of the window started to fuse into itself, sealing off the perceived escape route.

"Wrong! Guess again. And from here on in yer gonna call her Lydia. That's her name. Not Lydie." The nickname left a foul taste on his tongue. He was the only one who got to call his girl sweet things. Definitely not this bastard.

"Get up, Greg. We got places to be. Body parts to cut off." He smirked, finally making his way toward the pathetic beast and grabbing him by the hair, wrenching his head back to make him look at him.

"I need you to understand that I don't like bein' lied to, little man." Something caught his eye, then. A box sticking out of one end of the bed on the far wall.

Greg was drug along with him to investigate. What he found turned his stomach. Well-worn photos of little girls in compromising positions. At the bottom was a set that had been lovingly maintained, stacked and paper-clipped together. The little girl from his photo with Natalya stared back at him blankly from the photographs. He growled, low in his throat.

"Never touched her. Right?"

In a blink they were somewhere else altogether. Looking in, one might think that they were in a medieval dungeon, and not a converted root cellar around the side of the house he shared with the woman in question.

"By the way. She's Mrs. Lydia Deetz-Geuse now. Beautiful, smart, n' more fucking kind than anyone I know. Despite how hard you tried to fuck her up."

Stone walls reflected the little light there was in the room, a torch on the far way having blazed to life as they entered. Greg was thrown into the wall where iron shackles snapped shut around his wrists and ankles.

His disguise melted away, leaving the grinning, serpentine corpse in its place, grinning darkly. "She's also my wife."

Gregory Green was in deeper trouble than he could have ever possibly imagined. Adrenaline kept him sobered up beyond the pull of the drugs, yanking fruitlessly at the chains that kept him bound.

His captor wasn't even human. The sight of his true form alone, never mind the way he was pulled through a void of time and space to this chamber of misery, was enough to sprout a few new white hairs on his greasy scalp.

Like they always did, he scrapped and screeched, yowling for "help" as if anyone might hear him. Through thick layers of brick and wood, rooms and rooms away, one of the beasts' ears might have twitched in acknowledgment, but then they just snorted dismissively and cuddled their peacefully sleeping mistress closer.

The monster in the striped suit stayed leaning leisurely against the opposite wall, watching the insect beg and plead, squandering energy he really should have been saving on a useless struggle. Once Greg exhausted it all and was left a slumped, sweating, heaving bag of bones wrapped in emaciated flesh, his wide, bloodshot eyes landed unblinking on the jailer; smoking a cigarette, expression unreadable, just watching.

"What... are you…?"

Watching the pathetic creature squirm nearly turned his stomach. There was no denying now. No trying to talk him out of it. The old man was going to go hoarse from screaming. Oh well.

When the junkie's eyes finally met his he smirked, just slightly.

What  are  you?

"Told ya. I'm Lydia's husband. I'm also known as the Ghost with the Most. A Poltergeist. In some circles folks won't even say my name for fear I might show up." He rapped a bit of ash off the end of his cigarette before taking another slow drag. "You can call me your worst nightmare."

He fiddled with his knife a moment before stepping away from the wall and advancing on the cockroach that had found its way into his den. The knife was placed at his jugular, not hard enough to cut, just threaten.

In a blink, all of the bastards ratty clothes were gone and the knife was aimed at his grotesque, saggy balls. "Wanna try again now? Tell me what ya did to my Lydia. From the top."

Weeping and terrified, the strung-up man proceeded to confess yet again, in more exact and honest terms this time. Anything else seemed… unwise.

"Everything," he whimpered, ashamed, filtering through memories that at any other time with any other context would have given him a sick thrill. Now, they only made him sick.

"Got her mom on H…" That was always the first step. An addicted mother was a negligent mother. It wasn't as though Natalya didn't take the opportunity to hit the needle hard once he opened the door for her. "Got her thinking she was my girlfriend… so I c-could be alone w-with Lydie… uh."

Almost too late, he recalled that he wasn't allowed to use the moniker he'd grown accustomed to in his head. The knife dug in threateningly and a pitiful noise that didn't inspire any pity curdled in his throat, sweat dripping down his harshly furrowed brow. The striped monster was impatient with this beating around the bush type of storytelling. He wouldn't be satisfied without the grizzly details.

"T-touched her p-pussy… licked it… she s-sucked m-me… g-got too excited one n-night… fucked her…"

He cringed terribly, all of his teeth showing, remembering the blood, the way she cried and he had to cover her little mouth.

"Sh-shouldn't have done that. T-too small. Wr-wrong." His head shook, as if this was the thing that was deplorable. As if everything else was just a misstep. An oopsie.

"… but… it was too good."

No more lying. No more hiding. The piper wanted his due.

"Didn't stop. Not… not until I had to…"

The knife edged further and further into his sensitive parts as he started to detail the horrendous things that had been done to his wife. He could feel himself losing control.

"She was a little girl. Ya like little girls, Greg?" The knife twisted, puncturing the skin of his scrotum with the blunt tip. "Ya sick fuck."

He sneered. "Here's what we're gonna do. We're gonna work through your list. For everythin' you did to my precious girl… imma cut off a body part. That seems fair, don't it?"

He hummed as though thinking it through. "Ah. Here." He bent down to grab hold of the monster's foot, taking the knife to his smallest toe. In less than a minute he was waving the appendage in the man's face. "That's a good start. And that's just for forgetting my rule. Her name is Lydia Deetz. Say it."

"LYDIA DEETZ!" He screamed over and over again as if in the midst of a religious fit as the rest of his toes were sawed off.

Inhuman screeches bounced off the brick while the torturer went to work, ever so slowly removing toes one by one. Betelgeuse savored his work, taking the time to grit through the bone instead of aiming for weaker, easy to slice joints and ligaments. Greg's face eventually whited out, far too much blood seeping from the wounds and pooling on the concrete beneath the poltergeist's boots.

Lydia's name quieted to a whisper, allowing the quickly fading man to listen as the filthy ghoul crouched at his mutilated feet murmured slow and gritty;

"This lil piggy went t'market,
This lil piggy stayed home,
This lil piggy had roast beef,
Aaaand this lil piggy had none…"

As each toe came off he tossed them over his shoulder as though he were digging weeds out of a garden. When the man started to pass out he summoned a filthy IV stand, easily jabbing the needle into his vein. "You know how this is, don't ya? Ha. Drugs."

He hung a bag of unmarked liquid onto it and set it to drip steadily into his veins. "There. That should keep ya awake until I get back. Oh. And this." He jabbed the toe of his boot into the stubs where his toes had been, grinning as the man screamed. "Now. I'll be back. I'd like you to think about what you did while you're in this time out, Greg." He bent down to rub handfuls of salt into his open wounds, shoving a handful into his torn scrotum for good measure.

He ruffled his hair playfully on his way out and disappeared.

Back in his bedroom, Tilly lifted her head as her master appeared. He stripped out of the bloodied clothes, vanishing them and tossing a toe to Tilly, who ate it happily as though it were any other dog treat. "Good girl. I'll have ya clean up for me soon."

Naked, and not a little aroused from his bought of torture, he slid into bed where he had been when Lydia fell asleep, pressing his lips to her head to lift the artificial sleep off of her. He flopped onto the pillows, feigning sleep.

Chapter Text

"Workin' 9 to 5, what a way to make a livin',
Barely gettin' by, it's all takin' and no givin',"
—9 to 5
Dolly Parton

Lydia awoke well-rested and spritely, ready to take on the day. She didn't even remember her night terror‒ not for lack of mental capacity but for simple insignificance. There was no reason to dwell on such nastiness when she had Percy wrapped around her head, baby Bubby tucked under her chin, Tilly cuddled in her arms, and Betelgeuse plastered to her back; surrounded by love from every angle.

She would have stayed right there until Betelgeuse woke up, savoring every second of it, but Beelzebub was beginning to stir.

"Good morning, baby," she whispered as his little eyes opened, then pecked his wet nose. At the sound of her voice, a pair of glacial blue eyes popped open serenely, as though Tilly was awake the whole time and just faking it.

"C'mon," she urged, still whispering, and gestured that the beasts should get out of the bed. "Let's go potty. Don't wake up Daddy."

Though Matilda knew better, she humored Mistress and very gently tip-toed off the bed as Lydia carefully extricated herself from her husband's limp embrace, puppy in arms. Percy also knowing better made sure to swipe his long sleek tail under Betelgeuse's nostrils before pouncing from the bed.

"Percy," Lydia chided with a scowl, shifting Bubby from one arm to another as she pulled on her robe, then cracked the door open. "Come on, you big bully, or you won't get any breakfast."

Betel cracked open one eye to watch his wife smoothly slide out of bed. How was it she looked so good doing mundane things like stepping out of bed? It was completely unfair.

He waited for her to disappear from sight before slipping on a pair of boxers and following her outside. He leaned in the doorway to watch her with the dogs before sliding in behind her. He plopped his face into her neck, still faking tiredness as he groaned softly and pressed kisses to the soft skin.

"Mmm…. why'd ya get up? Bed got cold without ya…" His hands roamed her hips and up over her stomach gently. "How'd ya sleep? Better after we all cuddled up? Ya know ya mighta convinced me on the dogs in the bed thing…"

Wispy giggles bubbled up her throat as he kissed and pawed at her gently, no sexual intent behind the gestures. Initially, she had jumped at his silent approach and capture but quickly went soft again.

"Beeeej," she play-whined, leaning into his hold, sliding her small hand over his as it caressed her belly through the thin satin of her nightie. "You weren't supposed to wake up. I was going to make you breakfast in bed."

Her sweet smile deepened at the memory of how he'd once tried to do the same for her to catastrophic results.

"But... without destroying the kitchen or burning down the house," she added teasingly, unable to help herself. "You might even have gotten some head out of it."

That was vulgar and out of character for the usually meek and submissive Lydia, but the playful mood from yesterday seemed to have carried over to today.

"I slept good. That bed is so comfy. Tilly might be a better cuddle than you. I was thinking biscuits and sausage gravy for breakfast. How does that sound?"

"Blasphemy. Nobody's a better cuddle than me." He licked his lips at her bold reminder of their kitchen tryst and sighed, putting on a playful pout.

"Sounds great to me, kitten. Ya know I love her cooking… Hey is that head still on the table? I woke up with a hankerin'…" He pressed against her, letting him feel his supposed morning wood.

His hand slipped up her thigh, under her nightie. "Mmm. I could always return the favor…" She pressed back, and he was just about to get a finger into her when she pulled away completely.

"Aw, come on! Babes, I'm dyin' here!"

"All good things to those who wait," she sing-songed, skipping away toward the patio door. It wasn't nice to tease, but it was definitely fun. Betelgeuse didn't seem too terribly put out.

It was time to fall back into the routine that they established before he took his extended leave looking for Mother. After breakfast, Betelgeuse set up camp on a lounge in the backyard with a tobacco pipe and a hunk of wood. While smoking, he used a vicious looking switchblade to whittle the wood down, carving something. She couldn't quite tell what yet.

Ordinarily, Lydia would read in the library and wait for him to come to her if he wanted something, content with the knowledge that he was present. Still scarred and clingy, afraid of hallucinations, she carried several books, a drawing pad, and a collection of pencils outside to sit on the soft grass next to him, where he could occasionally run his palm over the top of her head as he worked.

The beasts milled about the yard freely, always in sight with the exception of Tilly who appeared to be stalking the perimeter of the entire property, on the lookout for threats.

"Can I see?" Lydia peeked over his lap, referencing the knife and not the still unrecognizable figurine. Easily, he passed it down to her and she turned it over in her small hands, admiring the craftsmanship of the handle. "Cool."

With that, she gave it back and continued doodling. Dresses upon dresses littered the pages, everything from extravagant ball gowns to skimpy cocktail numbers Betelgeuse would probably like. The book she had with her was all about sewing and seamstressing, a skill she only dabbled in but recently found herself re-inspired thanks to the beautiful, talented spider that spun her wardrobe. She would never be that talented, but she could try.

He took another look at his carving, a dismembered foot, and then glanced down to see Lydia holding his knife. He smirked softly. Her tiny hands looked strange holding the blade, but the thought of her using it … that was enticing.

He puffed at his pipe, peering over her shoulder at her drawings. "Well, now… who knew I got a regular Versace over here." He gestured for the book, his hand grabbing at air. "Lemme see that."

She handed it over readily and he ran his fingers through her hair in praise. "Mm. Good girl." He took his time flipping through the pages, acrid smoke wafting from his pipe as he studied her designs. "These are real good babes… you could do this for a livin'."

Just then an idea struck him. "Say… that ain't a half-bad thought. Ginger's been beggin' for an assistant for.. god, decades! Babes… how's about daddy gets ya a job with Ginge and you can make some of these up for real? Can't hurt ya to get out of the house, anyway…" And it would give him time to visit Greg without the risk of her following.

"It's perfect!"

Lydia practically purred as he pet her, praising her a good girl as he looked over her drawings. She was nervous to let him see, but this gesture calmed any fear of criticism. As it was, there was nothing to worry about. Versace. He really thought she was that good?

Biting her lip, she rose to her knees to lean over the arm of his chair and watch as he flipped through.

"That one's based on Christine's Marguerite dress," she pointed out a macabre version of the gown, one that placed little spiders throughout the model's hair rather than star-shaped pins. His suggestion made her eyes go wide.

"No," she rejected at first, shaking her head, "she could… she wouldn't want me. I don't have any experience or— or anything! And she's so good. I would probably just slow her down."

Still fretting over the idea, she took the pad back and returned to her doodles, shading in a couture creation with a curling, exorbitant tail at the end of the gown.

"The only job I've ever had was working the drive-through at a McDonald's, and I got fired on my third day because a customer said they didn't want me touching their food. Didn't even get trained on the grill," she scowled down at the paper, scribbling harder until the tip of her pencil broke, turning her scowl into a frown.

"… but I guess I could work the register… and hang dresses… if she wanted me to…"

He raised an eyebrow as she started to protest, his hand coming to rest at the back of her neck. "I think she'd love to have ya. You know she loves ya."

He ran his thumb slowly up and down her neck, smirking to himself. "Here. Why don't you go get dressed and we can take your book over to the shop and see what she says."

He leaned around her for a kiss, holding onto her possessively. His little stint in the cellar had him more attached to her than ever, and he was going to make damn sure that Green got what was coming.

"Go on. I'll meet ya out front with Doomie."

"Okay…" She agreed hesitantly, intimidated by the entire idea, but intrigued all the same. "If you say so…"

Looking to flatter and put on her best face, Lydia wore one of Ginger's creations; a long-sleeved body-con dress in a deep shade of magenta, too purple to be pink and very close to the spider's natural coloring. The hem was professional, dipping below her knees, and she finished the look off with a pair of heels— a rarity on Lydia. Her makeup was also done meticulously; pink and purple blended eyeshadow with a black-painted upper lip. That wild mane of hers was carefully brushed and tamed into a high, neat bun.

There. She considered her reflection in the vanity, pulling on a pair of spider-shaped dangly earrings for good measure. If Ginger didn't want to hire her, maybe she could appreciate the homage to the creator of her gown.

"I'm ready!" She called down the driveway to her awaiting husband as she emerged through the front door with an armful of notebooks filled with years of archived designs. At the very least, maybe Ginger could draw some inspiration from some of them. The more Lydia considered the possibility of working there, the more excited she became, heart pounding in her chest at the possibilities.

He leaned against Doomie's hold and considered his next move with Greg. Maybe he'd start taking skin off of things. Or lighting things on fire. He had to be careful. He didn't want this bastard to get the pleasure of sitting in a waiting room with other people.

No, Greg was going to go straight to the cubicles and face what he'd done. Even if Betelgeuse had to revive him to get it to happen.

He looked up as his excited bride appeared and hurried to help her down the stairs, a hand firmly on her elbow to steady her. "Wow. Ya look like a million bucks babes. Ginger won't know what hit her!"

He helped her to the car, pulling the door open for her before slipping into the driver's side. His hand found hers in her lap and before anything more could be said, they were taking off up the road toward the Shocking Mall.

The entire drive had Lydia a nervous wreck in the passenger seat, shooting all manner of questions at her remarkably easygoing husband. Fear of rejection was at war with hope and excitement. Was it possible? Could she actually really be an honest to God fashion designer? It didn't seem real, but then again neither did any of the other aspects of her current life.

For all her excitement, cold feet set in once they reached the sliding glass doors outside the Shocking Mall. She froze, eyes large and stacks of notebooks hugged close to her chest.

"This is a bad idea," she determined, biting fiercely at her unpainted bottom lip again. "Bubby needs me home to train him, he's just a baby. I can't expect you to just pick me up and drop me off every day, it's just not practical."

Betelgeuse didn't seem at all concerned with her misgivings, loping a heavy arm around her shoulders and muscling her through the doors on toward the boutique— mindful of her heels.

"Beej," she whined, dragging her feet, "come on! I don't to hear her say no, it'll suck."

It was cute when was nervous. He pulled her closer for a firm kiss to her temple and hauled her off toward Ginger's store.

"First of all, Bubby has Tilly to train him. He'll be fine. Second, I'm happy to pick ya up, I ain't got nothin else goin on. And finally…" He turned her toward him then, pulling her into a firm kiss. "She ain't gonna say no, because your designs are great."

Striding into the shop, he whistled, startling the magenta insect from where she was putting together a ball gown in the back of the shop. "Hey, Ginge. I found ya an assistant."

Ginger scuttled from her hiding place, scowling. "I am not gonna hire yah again, BJ! I'm still washin' goo off the— Oh, Lydia! You look so nice! I just knew that dress would suit you!"

Ginger was the coolest person Lydia had ever met in her life. Except maybe Betelgeuse. It was a close tie. She owned her own business, made her own clothing, wasn't afraid to tell Betelgeuse what was what, and she was a spider. Literally nothing could be done to improve upon her. Therefore, it was only natural for Lydia to clam up once they crossed the threshold into the store, complexion paling to true white.

"Hi." She stated simply, after awkwardly struggling for several beats to find something to say. How she ever got that job at McDonald's was a mystery. "I, uhm, I mean— thank you. Thank you, since, you know… it's your work."

"Don't mention it!" Ginger waved off the gracefully, like a woman used to hearing things like this. "Now, what's this about an assistant? You interested? I gotta tell ya, you got no idea how hard it is finding good help around these parts."

Encouraged, Lydia found the bravery to push forward.

"I know how to work a register," she opened with that, thinking it her most valuable asset in a business such as this, "and I have open availability. I don't need money so I'll take whatever you can pay me, and I would do literally anything you asked me to do." Too much, Lydia. Dial it back. "I've been learning how to sew and I've made a few things; dolls and blankets, nothing too complicated, but I want to learn more. Also—"

She juggled the armful of notebooks awkwardly, searching for her best, most recent work and passing it off to one of Ginger's spindly arms.

"Beej thought you could do something with these. Obviously, they're not as great as anything you've done but—"

"You're hired."

The arachnid was flipping through the pages rapidly, eyes alight with awe, legs twitching with inspiration, and silk budding in her thorax in her excitement to make some of these designs come to life.

"When can ya start?"

Beej leaned against a wall while the girls chatted, rolling his eyes when Lydia first offered to run a register. He pointed to the book, a sloppy grin on his face. "Ain't she good, Ginge? Tell her."

He stepped forward and slung an arm around her waist when she was asked about starting. "I'm thinkin' a part-time thing to start. Maybe a ten ta four situation. You can pay her twelve an hour and I'll be by to pick her up. On time."

He pressed a kiss to his wife's cheek firmly before slapping her ass. "Have fun, kitten. Ginge. Treat her right or I'll step on ya!"

Ginger rolled her eyes and reached up to take Lydia's hand. "Come on, sugah lets get ya started!"

"I'll do ya one better," Ginger insisted, dealing with Betelgeuse directly now as though they were negotiating a custody arrangement over his wife. In a way, they were. "Twelve plus forty percent commission for each of her designs that sell. Credit where credit is due, of course."

With a wink and a shake, the deal was struck, Betelgeuse took his leave and a parting kiss, and Lydia was left to her first day on the job. Ginger was itching to get to work actualizing her designs and quickly churned out a little over a dozen while Lydia took care of customers.

According to the spider, it wasn't common for so many men to come in; dawdling about, trying and failing to get Lydia's attention before ultimately faltering to buy something for an alleged wife or girlfriend.

"Everyone's so nice!" Lydia had exclaimed after leaving her fifth customer with a bright smile and a thank you, come again!

"Nice," Ginger scoffed in response, spindling out another of Lydia's design. Watching her creations come to life was satisfying in a way Lydia would never have words for. "Yeah, they're real nice until they see the size o' that rock you're wearin'."

The girl had dithered, brushing off the silly insinuation. That is until the next customer left his number on the back of a hundred dollar bill, twenty dollars more expensive than the lingerie set he bought. One in her size.

"Oh."

Ginger could only shake her head as Lydia realized that it was her, not an imaginary woman, that men were coming in for.

"Well, sugah you're good for business just standin' they-uh!" She finished another of Lydia's designs and hung it on the rack holding the rest. A sign was plopped on top. Brand new designs from and up and coming designer.

By the time four o'clock rolled around, Ginger was ecstatic with the days sales to the point that she didn't even mind when Betelgeuse came in smoking a cigarette.

"Woah. You girls been busy! I see ya sold half the fuckin' store. Good job, kitten." He watched as a man approached the store, staring at Lydia before catching his eye and hurrying to leave again. Well. That was going to be a problem.

"Beej!" His wife squealed, abandoning the counter to rush and give him an enormous hug and smooch on the cheek. The shop had been too busy for her to bother with missing him, but now that he was here his absence was hitting her.

"Look! Ginger made them. They're real."

She dragged him over to the rack of her dresses like a begging child showing their parent a desperately desired toy.

"She works so fast, I'll never be that quick. But she showed me how to make a cross-stitch, and a running stitch, and backstitch, and a zig-zag, and— oh, so many of my designs sold! I don't know what I'm going to do with my first paycheck!"

While under her husband's care, she hadn't wanted for anything, aside from his company. According to him, there weren't any bills that needed taking care of, and whatever food she wanted always seemed to just be there, so no need to invest in groceries. Ginger told her she would make her any dress or piece of clothing she wanted free of charge, so no need to spend it on stuffing her already full closet.

"I was thinking I could get Percy a cat tower. And a big, luxury dog house for the puppies. What do you think?"

"I think it's yer money and you can do whatcha want." He wrapped her up in his arms, her excitement contagious. "God yer cute."

He dutifully looked through the rack, smiling as she pointed out designs he'd seen in her book. "Yer gonna keep some, ain't ya?"

He kissed her again, deeper this time. "I'm so proud of you, babes… now let's get home and get ya some dinner. I'll even rub yer feet. Those heels gotta be killin' ya."

He led her out to Doomie who beeped excitedly to see her. "How was yer first day? Other than sellin' half the store? It's neat she's teaching ya to sew. Maybe you could design me a new suit."

"They are," Lydia bemoaned, shifting her weight to alleviate some of the pressure on her feet. "Bye, Ginge! See you tomorrow! Thanks for everything!"

As soon as she was settled in Doomie's passenger seat, the side lever was adjusted to let her sink back and relax, and her heels were kicked off to the floor.

"Mm," she hummed pleasantly as a breeze rolled in through the window. "Can I have a cigarette?… Thanks."

The nicotine rush was heavenly and exactly what she needed after such a fast-paced shift.

"It was busy. I was always doing something; sewing, or helping customers, or restocking. Oh yeah," she giggled, still reeling from the absurdity of it. "I got a twenty-dollar tip because some dude thought I was cute. This guy came in, bought a lingerie set in my size, and left his number on the back of the bill he was overpaying with. Me and Ginger split it and I went next door and got us sundaes."

It seemed unwise to mention all of the other alleged flirters that came in to chat her up. If Betelgeuse felt too threatened, he might not want her to keep working there. Besides, Lydia wasn't convinced they were all just there for her. The lingerie man couldn't be ignored, though.

"Maybe I'd get more tips if I left my wedding ring at home…"

The way the corner of her lips were lifted in a tiny smile belied that this was meant as a tease, but who knew if that would get through to the driving Betelgeuse.

He didn't want to hear all this. He was a jealous man at his very core, and he didn't appreciate the thought of over men so much as looking at his wife.

Maybe I'd get more tips if I left my wedding ring at home…

His eyes snapped to her, a growl leaving his throat. "Don't. Even. Ya can't take it off anyways." His hand found her thigh possessively, squeezing and rubbing at the soft flesh.

When they pulled up to the house, there was a very large white cat was sitting on the porch. "Oh yeah, forgot to tell ya. We got a Puća livin here now. Tilly brought her in from the woods."

He smirked, knowing that she'd be thrilled. He hadn't intended to find another cat so soon, but as always Tilly was an overachiever. If Mistress wanted a white odd-puppy then she'd have it.

"Púca?"

Lydia didn't know what that was, but then she saw the long-furred bobcat-sized feline lounging across the porch with a foul expression, as though it was having a very bad day. As far as Lydia was concerned, "púca" must have just been another synonym for "baby."

However, this baby didn't seem very happy, and so she showed caution as she approached the cobblestone steps barefoot and gentle in her mannerisms. This was a big cat. She would have to use both arms to hold her… if they ever got that far.

"Hi, pretty," she tried, settling herself down three steps away when its fur bristled. "Wow, you're gorgeous. Did that mean old doggy drag you in from the woods?"

Lydia didn't actually hold anything against Tilly, but she was willing to try anything to win over this majestic creature. Carefully, she offered a palm up for a sniff, but the snowy cat rebuffed her, turning her pink nose up. Lydia frowned and stood.

"Well, you don't have to stay if you don't want. But if you do, you'll always have someone who loves you and meals you don't have to hunt."

With that, she made to leave but was halted by a sudden voice erupting in her head. It was smooth as honey, yet sharp as the edge of a honed sword.

Luna  likes  to hunt.

Gasping, she whipped back around to stare wide-eyed at the smirking cat who stood stretching from her sunbathing spot to come and weave around Lydia's legs.

But you make a convincing argument, human. Luna agrees to your bargain.

Betelgeuse rolled his eyes. "Great. We're all acquainted. Let's get in the house already. I got some feet to fix from a long day." He leaned down to pat the white beast and opened the door, letting both girls move past him.

Tilly saw them first, bounding over to jump at her master and lick his face as though they'd been gone for hours. Bubby was right behind her, his whole body shaking along with his stubby tail. Percy hung back, watching the other cat curiously.

Beej grunted and shoved Tilly down. "God, I left for half an hour. Go love yer mother." She complied easily, much gentler in the way she leaned into Lydia's side. Betel flopped onto the couch and patted his lap. "Come here, kitten. Let me rub yer sore muscles."

"Hello! Yes, I missed you so much, yes I did!"

Lydia dropped to her knees so Bubby could reach her and both dogs immediately lathed her with drooling affection. Luna locked fierce gold eyes on Percy, and there appeared to be some form of communication happening for a beat or two. Then, Percy took off, the larger white cat following behind him seemingly so that he could give her a tour of the abode.

As soon as the dogs were loved to a degree that Lydia was happy with, she followed Betelgeuse's demand and flopped back onto the couch, letting her petite, overworked feet rest in his lap.

"Today was fun, but tiring. I'm thinking flats tomorrow." Had she known she was going to start immediately, she would have chosen more sensible shoes, but she'd been looking to impress.

"Can we drink tonight? Celebrate? Maybe soak in the hot tub a little? That sounds perfect."

At the request, a glass of wine appeared in her hand. He smirked and set to work on her feet, his thumbs pressing into the arches and up over the ball firmly.

"Of course we can. I'm so proud of ya… my little workin' girl." He leaned over to kiss her gently. "We can get yer feet feelin' good, then hit up the hot tub. Get to Uh… celebratin'…"

He worked over her feet, then to her ankles and on until he was pressing his fingers into her thighs. "I vote skinny dipping. But first, dinner. Let me get it for ya… anything ya want."

"Ohhh…"

Lydia was quickly reduced to a moaning puddle of lax muscles as he worked at her, banishing the tension she accumulated standing, crouching, and bending over the past few hours.

"Pizza…" she purred without any further coaxing, stretching back into the couch. With a tug, her neat, pretty little bun was released, letting waves of ebony down to pool over her shoulders and the edge of the cushions. Lydia didn't mind cooking, but if he was going to offer up a magic meal, she wasn't about to turn it down.

"Cheese pizza. With alfredo sauce. And stuffed crust. Riccotta and feta and parmesan and all the good cheeses… mm… and marinara to dip it in…"

The more she described it, the more her mouth watered.

He smiled as she easily gave in to his offer, her eyes half-closed as he worked her over. The meal appeared at the table in the dining room, just within view.

"Anything else? Dessert? Drink requests?" He was eager to please. After forcing her into a drop in the office he was anxious to make it up to her any way he could.

He moved her feet aside before scooping her up and making for the dinner table. Everything was there, just as she'd described it and ready for her critique.

He sat beside her, conjuring himself a beer to tap to her wine glass. "Cheers to yer new job, yer new success, and yer smokin' hot bod."

Anything else? What more could she possibly ask for?

"No," she shook her head, smiling into his jacket as he carried her to the dining room, "everything's perfect."

Perfect house, perfect pets, perfect job, perfect husband. Now, she had a perfect dinner paired with a perfect wine and would soon be soaking in a perfect hot tub with the previously named perfect husband. Glass clinked against aluminum as they toasted, and Lydia felt she might cry.

"Beej," she grinned brightly after swallowing down several bites of melty cheese on golden crust. "I'm a fashion designer."

Claire Brewster would be shitting her pants if she knew.

He looked up at his name, watching as she grinned into her dinner. He smiled. He'd had no idea that getting her the job would make her so damn happy. He couldn't help but pat himself on the back.

"Hell yeah you are, kitten. Gonna be one of the greats, I can tell." He leaned over to kiss her, taking another swig of his beer. Her wine was low. He refilled it. The drunker she was, the more likely he'd get laid.

He slipped a hand onto her thigh as she seemed to have finished. "Ready for that skinny dipping?" His long tongue rolled out of his mouth. "Ya better beat me to the tub or I'm gonna ravish ya on the way. I'll give a head start."

"Eek!"

Lydia squealed at the threat and took off, leaping over a sleeping Tilly in the hall on her way. By her count, it had been well over twenty-four hours since last they made love— a record. This in tandem with her cruel teasing that morning before breakfast, he was sure to be ravenous.

"Don't you dare!" She huffed, breaking past a sharp corner, feeling his presence looming just behind her. She couldn't hear any footsteps, but she wasn't stupid enough to spare a precious second and look.

"I want to relax, damnit!"

Shakily, she fumbled through unlocking the patio doors and almost dunked into the hot tub without removing her dress. With a frustrated cry, she started peeling the skintight thing off, only for a pair of hairy, burly arms to wrap around her middle as the magenta fabric caught over her head.

"No fair! I got here first! Cheater!"

He grinned as she took off. He loved a game of chase. One of these days he was going to take her into the woods for a real hunt, but as she said. She wanted to relax.

He floated after her, his footfalls making no sound as he stepped in time with her, just behind her the whole way onto the patio. When she stopped to strip he caught her in his arms, tugging the dress the rest of the way off with a chuckle.

"Ah ah… I didn't cheat. I said beat me to the tub. Ya ain't in it." He pushed her forward gently, forcing her to brace herself at the edge of the tub. His hands roamed over her body, slipping to the edge of her panties hungrily.

"Let daddy help ya with those…"

Still panting from the chase, she braced herself on the steaming pool's brick edge, legs spread just so as if he was officer frisking her.

"Yeah, but you used your juice," she accused accurately, knees shaking and voice wavering as the calloused pads of his fingertips slipped past the elastic band of her satin thong. It was black and made of the thinnest, weakest material so as to not show any lines through her tight dress.

"If you raced me properly, I would've beat you because you're an old man. Nyahh."

A childish tongue poke accompanied the juvenile sound.

He growled softly, bringing his hand down on her ass firmly. "You know that ain't true…I think ya wanted to get caught." He pressed a kiss to her cheek gently, his hand squeezing and massaging her ass as he did.

"You're bein' a little sassy tonight… donno What got into ya but I like it."

His hand slipped between her spread legs to tease over her pussy, his tongue flicking out over his lips. "I do know what's gonna get into you though…and I can't fuckin' wait."

Still, she wanted to relax so he stepped back, giving her one last firm squeeze before starting to shed his own clothes, his suit tossed haphazardly across the deck. "Get yer ass in the hot tub already."

He shook his head as he climbed into the hot water, hissing slightly. "Ugh. I'm gonna get slimy again. You signed up for this. Remember that."

Lydia was fairly certain he didn't want to know what had gotten into her. Apparently, dead men liked her a lot. A lot. Now that she'd had time to reflect on the day, it was clear that what she had initially misconstrued as indecisiveness from many of her customers was nervousness. What she thought was charisma or maybe an attempt to break the ice from kindly strangers was flirting.

Yes, she felt like a hot commodity indeed.

"No one's forcing you to soak, BJ."

She gave this nickname with filthy intonation as she bypassed the stepping stones altogether to fluidly pull herself up and over the taller edge, sinking long, pale legs into the bubbling water once she was done showing off. This is what Ginger called him, and Lydia was eager to appropriate the moniker for her own lewd usage. Betelgeuse was a bad influence on her.

Without needing to see, she knew that her hair was bouncing and full of big curls from staying bound in a bun all day, and was hesitant to ruin the effect by getting it wet. Therefore, she lingered sitting on the stone precipice, legs spread boldly, everything on display.

"You could always go lounge in your old man chair. Whittle another foot."

Pale little toes crawled up his thigh as she said this, a mean smirk curling her dual-shaded lips.

"Are you trying to tell me something with that?"

Fucking tease.

He watched her spread out on the edge of the tub, her legs spread and put her whole self on display. She was cocky. Bold in a way he wasn't used to seeing her. It was hot.

He took hold of her ankle as her tiny toes bumped his rising cock, giving her a stern look. "I ain't tellin ya shit. I'm not into that." He moved closer, licking his lips as he admired her sweet pussy peeking from between her spread legs.

"Ya shouldn't sit like that… ya look like yer waitin' to get fucked." He cackled and rose onto his knees, pulling her closer to the edge so he could press soft kisses along her inner thighs.

"Ah…"

Her back arched beautifully as he started in with wet open-mouthed kisses at the inner curve of her knee working up toward her thigh, his chill starkly contrasting the heat of the water.

"I read somewhere that people with foot fetishes are just a few crossed wires in their brain away from being necrophiliacs."

Where exactly she had read this, she couldn't recall, but it seemed like something that would spark his interest.

"Feet move less than any other part of the body. Most known necrophiliacs on record started off with a foot fetish, then… escalated."

One of her wet, petite feet slid over his shoulder blade, pushing his mouth toward the goal.

"Don't worry. I'm not into that either. But I think I might technically be a necrophiliac. Just thought you might find that interesting."

"Yer ramblin' babes. And yeah… I guess you are a necrophiliac. Huh."

He continued his gentle kisses, her foot insistent on his back. She was playing at being in control. How cute. He kissed up until his cool breath was just ghosting over her hot core, his tongue reaching out to run up the seam of her once before he pulled away.

Swimming to the other side of the tub, he settled himself in front of a jet and let out a sigh. It was hitting just where his back eternally pained him, relieving it however briefly. His hard cock bobbed with the current of the water but was easily ignored.

He winked at her from across the small pool, his arms stretched out to rest on the edges of the hot tub quite comfortably. This was a test. Who here was going to reach for the other first?

Lydia's expression fell first in confusion as he pulled away from her, then settled into one of slight hurt as he made his stance clear at the opposite end of the tub. Was this a rejection? Was she being too… much?

Hiding the glimpse of weakness showing through, she turned her back to him, threw her still dry hair into a messy, but elegant up do that left several long strands down to frame her face, and arched over the edge of the hot tub, reaching for the bottle of wine and pack of cigarettes that had made themselves a home on the nearby step.

She didn't bother with a glass, taking a chug right from the bottle like it was some cheap swill and she was a depressed Charles Deetz. Then, she sunk into the water to mirror her husband, an unlit cigarette dangling from her lips.

No one had spoken yet. The air was tense with something. What kind of game was this?

"A clown named Scuzzo came into the shop today," she offered up the nonsequitor after lighting her cigarette, twin streams of smoke seeping out her nostrils. "Offered me free juggling lessons. He said a pretty girl like you ought to know how to handle a pair of balls… come to think of it, I don't think he was talking about circus tricks."

He watched her, licking his lips and summoned a cigarette to him, taking a deep drag as she pulled her hair onto her head, revealing still more of her silky skin to his gaze.

At the mention of the clown his smirk fell from his face. "You don't talk to Scuzzo. That guy's bad news." He could picture the greasy beast now, grinning over the counter at his wife.

His fingers tapped along the edge of the hot tub, his eyes hardening where they stared at her. "And what did you tell him? I hope ya flashed yer ring and said you can handle my balls just fine."

If the likes of Scuzzo were wandering in, perhaps he didn't really want her working there. Those kind of men could be dangerous, especially if he weren't there with his girl.

"Actually," Lydia corrected, tapping her cigarette over the edge, "I didn't realize until about halfway through my shift what he meant. Silly me."

Her next drag was slow while she savored the anticipation. Betelgeuse was obviously eager to know how the rest of the conversation had gone. Maybe she should lie. No… he would see through her in an instant. Besides, what actually happened was sure to get his goat well enough.

"I thanked him kindly for the generous offer, but let him know that I have butter hands. Wouldn't be any good at it. He said not to worry, he could work with greasy palms."

Lydia kept her face stony, waiting to gauge her husband's reaction.

"After that, Ginger chased him off and had me help restock. Do you know him?"

"Yeah. I know 'im. Asshole. Pervert. And that's comin' from me. He comes in again you call me. Immediately."

He couldn't take it anymore. The jealous streak that ran through him wanted to stake a claim. Lydia was his wife. His lover. Not anyone else's. Maybe she needed to be reminded.

He stood from his seat, staring at her as he advanced across the tub, his eyes dark. He settled back in next to her, taking only a moment to look at her before diving in to bite at her neck.

"Maybe I gotta do better leavin' marks… make sure people know yer taken…" He sucked hard at her soft, human skin, encouraging a bruise to form just under her ear.

There he was. She liked him like this; hungry, eager, possessive. It seemed playing hard to get was only fun when she was doing it.

"There was another," she added on in a sultrier voice, one arm pulling her slimy husband closer around the shoulders while the other held her half-burnt cigarette limp over the edge of the tub.

"Ginger was really excited when he came in. Called himself the mayor." Blunted teeth dug in at this and she gasped, stuttering over the rest of the story. "Tried to offer me a job as his secretary. Double pay, a company car, whatever hours I wanted to work. Didn't even care when I told him I'm terrible at taking dictation."

Lydia knew she was kicking a dead horse at this point, but she was having too much fun to care. How far would he go before shutting her up?

"Said he 'was sure I'd get the hang of it if he was slow and patient.'"

"That's enough, ya little brat."

He took hold on her hip and pulled, hauling her into his lap as his mouth continued to leave deep purpling marks on the column of her neck and collar.

His hands found her ass and squeezed, hard, forcing her tight against him so that she could feel and be reminded just who's dictation she was supposed to be taking.

"Maybe that job was a bad idea, kitten… ya know I don't like other men sniffin' around what's mine."

The fingers of one hand slid down to find where she was starting to get hot and wanting, and one slipped into her firmly. Surprisingly, after more than a day apart he was met with some resistance from her tight muscles. "Relax, kitten… daddy always makes it good… don't I?"

"Beej," she whined as she was penetrated, wincing just a little at the strain. The water was washing away her natural lubrication, making the tight fit even more difficult to traverse.

"I love my job!"

God, she was so stupid. She just had to tease him, didn't she? Just had to get too big for her britches and dangle the "competition" under his big, jealous nose.

"Please don't make me quit," she begged, pouting cutely, rocking on his hand despite the conflicting friction. "I promise I'll be more careful… I didn't know they were hitting on me… Ginger had to tell me… You're the only one who's ever hit on me before…"

Desperate to save face, she dappled soft kisses along his neck, up to his jaw and cheek, ending with one on the corner of his slimy, smirking mouth.

"Pleeeeaaase," she reached between them, bypassing his length entirely to reach for uncharted territory. His balls were weightless in her hand, the water negating their heaviness, allowing her to more easily manipulate them.

"I'll be good."

Aw, she begged so sweetly. He didn't think he'd ever get enough of hearing her beg for him. He leaned in to kiss her, careful in the way his finger moved within her.

"Yer always good… god. That feels nice, babes…" He glanced down to see her tiny hand gently fondling his balls. His tongue rolled out of his mouth, slipping between her breasts and up to tease over a nipple.

He lifted her under one thigh and settled her back on the edge of the pool, following her up to keep that gentle hand on him. "Ya don't gotta quit. But ya do gotta watch out for the likes of Scuzzo. And ya do gotta let me be the only one to have ya like this…" his eyes raked over her bare form as though he could feel her just with his eyes.

"Never," she promised with dire importance, shaking her head and biting her lip, repulsed by the very idea. "Ever. Just you. No one else ever again. Remember?"

Lydia didn't like to dwell on that night as her husband's contrary actions had thoroughly confused her, put a dent in her unwavering faith in him. But, they made a promise to each other and Lydia had every intention of keeping it. She arched into his lathing tongue, bring her other hand to join its twin in caressing him. One fondled carefully at his heavy, hairy sack, weightier now that it wasn't submerged. The other did its best to wrap around his girth, pulling and stroking over the cold, wet rod of hard flesh with the same pace and intensity that his digit was fucking into her.

"I'm sorry," she kissed his forehead and temple as he continued suckling at her chest, leaving branding marks as he went. "I was just trying to make you jealous so you'd touch me. That was mean."

"Baby…" He huffed softly, leaning in to rest his forehead on hers. "Ya don't gotta try to make me jealous to touch ya… just gotta ask…"

He smiled as her wetness started to return, making the movement within her all that much easier. He added a second, hoping to stretch her just a bit so that their inevitable reunion wouldn't hurt too much.

"I am jealous, though… far more jealous than you know. I hate it when men so much as look at ya… gonna have to leave ya marked up so they know just lookin' at ya. Yer taken… more than taken… yer mine."

"I could always get a tattoo," she teased, sliding her soft cheek across his stubbly one to hush out her lewd suggestion in his ear with hot breaths. "Property of B," pearly white teeth nipped his greasy lobe, "J. Right on this tit."

She pulled his grubby mitt up to grasp her right breast and he eagerly complied.

"Wear something low-cut every day so everyone can see it… then again, that would mean everybody would be staring at my tits."

While it was clear she was just messing around, she wouldn't exactly object to getting such a thing inked onto her skin permanently if the artist was talented enough.

He groaned at the thought. Having his wife permanently branded could be a good move... maybe he should look for an artist.

He smirked and massaged her tit gently, pinching and pulling at her nipple before returning to slow languid squeezing. "That sounds fuckin' hot… and it wouldn't matter if they stared 'cause they'd see yer all mine…"

He leaned in to kiss her hungrily, his tongue slithering in to wrap around hers eagerly. His fingers were pulled free of her tight core and he sat back slightly to aim himself toward her.

"Better drop those hands if ya don't want 'em cum on… fuck, why'd we go so long? I got blue balls over here."

"I've always wanted a tattoo," she gasped against his mouth once he released her from that breath-stealing, passion-infused kiss. She actually grew wetter at the mere thought of it; her husband's name marked onto her forever right where everyone could see it. If he were anyone else, if this relationship was anything other than what it was, she would balk at the idea. In the heat of the moment, she was titillated.

At his direction, she let go, deigning to grab his biceps instead as he sunk into her.

"Ah!" It stung just a bit, but no more than what she had come to expect— crave. "Oh— oh fuck— oh baby, I missed you…"

She hugged him in close once he was fully impaled, grinding her hips slowly in an effort to pull him deeper into her choking heat and inspire more of those gritty, throaty noises she loved so much.

With a wave of his hand, a lush towel appeared beneath his wife in an effort to protect her from the scraping her skin was sure to endure from the bricks surrounding the hot tub. His hands slid down her thighs as he gently laid her back into the soft terry cloth.

He groaned when she started to proclaim how much she'd missed him. Only twenty-four hours without a romp and she was acting as though he'd been gone to war for six months. Not that he was complaining… or any better.

He leaned over her as he started to thrust, deep and firm motions that belied just how eager he was to be inside of her again. He pressed his face to her chest, the ends of her dainty toes dipped into the water with each thrust.

"Missed you too, kitten… god, you feel so fuckin' good… always so good for me, ain't ya Lyds?"

Lydia loved hearing his praise. It was something that was severely lacking in her life prior to handing it over to him. Her biological Daddy was more concerned with selling condos than bothering with any of her off-putting strangeness.

"Always," she huffed between thrusts, struggling to catch her breath amid the steam and pressure, "wanna make you happy…"

She laid back as he pushed forward, hiking her thighs up to wrap shapely pale legs around his waist. Without any direction from him, she took it upon herself to extend one calf up over his shoulder, forcing her already tight insides to contract and clench around him.

"I love you," she reminded, breathy and sweet and full of cock; just the way he liked her. "Fuck me," she pled even as he was doing just that, "please. Wannit harder."

"Love you too, baby… god.." He huffed through his thrusting, his eyes dark where they met hers. "You make me so happy, kitten… happy like I never had before…"

She knew just how to maneuver herself to make it so much better. He groaned at her sweet pleading, pushing his hand into the back of her thigh to spread her open even further.

His thrusts increased in fervor and pace, his hips leaving a soft clapping sound where they met hers on each vicious plunge. If his girl wanted it hard, she was gonna get it.

He slipped one hand up her back to hold onto her shoulder, pulling her down roughly to meet him roughly. "Fuck yes… that's my girl… god damn… better than any whore I ever had, I swear… nobody takes it like you, Lyds…"

Lydia was taking it alright. The towel was barely even touching her anymore, her entire being dedicated to holding on tight as he rode into her brutally, egged on by her breathy request. She was beyond speaking, reduced to staccatoed cries as his hips slapped against hers in a rapid patter, sure to leave bruises on the currently unmarred limbs.

Her loose bun fell out from the intensity of his fucking, leaving wavy strands of dry hair to tumble down and stick to damp, overheated expanses of soft flesh. Rosy pink nipples, pebbled and darkened from his abuse bounced against his hairy chest every time he pulled her down onto him, overly sensitive and aching.

When her peak came it was rapturous; violet painted nails crawling down his back while high feminine shrieks echoed throughout the nearby woods, making any creatures in the vicinity aware of the mating that was taking place.

From the very start, Lydia had always been a screamer. He fucked her right through this orgasm and into another without pause, until her throat was hoarse and she was left no choice but to whimper and shake, going boneless in his capable arms.

Lydia was the only woman he'd ever had that screamed the way she did. At first, it took him off guard, but he quickly learned that if she was screaming, he was doing something right.

She was pushed through not one, but two orgasms, and by the time she'd started to come down he was cursing and spilling into her, his cock as deep as he could get it.

"Fuck! Baby… god damn…. oooh, Lyds…"

He slouched over her limp body as he shuddered and twitched minuscule thrusts into her. He leaned down to kiss her gently, rubbing his nose along hers lovingly.

"Missed that… fuck. Only a day and ya have me cummin' like we've been dry for a year… shit."

Panting, heart fluttering, she stayed arched over the towel-covered brick for a good while, hair almost dipping far enough to brush the ground. There were stars out amid an emerald-violet sky and powdery clouds. Tilly and Bubby could be heard playing and howling in the distance.

Everything was perfect.

"I want to make a dress… that looks like that…" she whispered vaguely at one point, when he handed her a cigarette, waving a limp arm at the sky. The gears in her mind were spinning slowly, weaving a starlight gown together while she came down from the high.

Chills came to her eventually and the call of the steaming pond became too great. Inching down, she took pains to keep her frazzled, but mostly dry hair from falling in, but a few strands couldn't be helped.

"What did you do without me all day?"

He looked up at the sky when she gestured to it, the green light fading into a deep purple at the horizon, nighttime overtaking them slowly. He pulled himself away from her carefully, not wanting to cause her discomfort.

"Better make it in your size. I'd love to see ya in it."

He slipped into the pool with her when she settled, plastering himself to her side as an excuse to hold her close and enjoy their lingering afterglow.

He gazed up at the sky, suddenly realizing that he was nearly perfectly happy. It was a new sensation, even with the secret of Greg hanging over them. He pointed above them to a constellation, inversed to how it would appear on earth.

"Hey… that's me. Betelgeuse. His right shoulder… or. Left, I guess. It's the right back topside…"

He leaned his cheek onto her head, reaching down to take her hand. "Oh, I managed. Walked the dogs, dealt with Luna arriving and then trying to leave… all that. I even did a load of yer laundry. The black stuff, don't worry…"

"Did she talk to you too?"

She must have, or else he wouldn't have known her name. Talking cats were amazing, but hardly fantastic enough to shock the dazzled girl. The Neitherworld and all its wonders were constantly delighting her.

Hey… that's me. Betelgeuse. His right shoulder… or. Left, I guess. It's the right back topside…

"You're named after a star…?" She looked at him with dreamy, fascinated eyes, slipping her weightless legs over his under the water. "What does it mean? I thought… I don't know, I guess I just thought you wanted to be called that because you liked it, not because it was actually your name."

He was as mysterious as the ever-changing Neitherworld; always something new and interesting around the corner.

"Lydia means 'beautiful one' or 'from the almond tree.' Elisabeta means 'God is my oath.' I've never believed in any Gods, though. Not really."

"Well, 'beautiful one' certainly suits you…" He ran his hand down her arm, trying to remember how he got his name.

"Betelgeuse is a nickname, I think. Can't remember my real name, but… it's Arabic. And I'm not. So." He chuckled softly.

"If I remember right… it was given to me on the Silk Road. It means 'The Right Hand of the leader' or 'Central One'. Like… a confidant. Right-hand man. I worked for a guy out there who traded… something."

He scowled, trying to remember more clearly. "Weapons? Spices? Cloth? Maybe all of it… Sarah… was his daughter. Met her in Jerusalem. Remember that much."

He shook his head. "Brought her home with me to experience the western world… and she never left."

He knew so much and had been so many places. Jerusalem was worlds away to Lydia who had never so much as stepped foot outside the Northeastern portion of the United States, excepting her traverses in the realm of the dead.

Sarah. Sarah, Sarah, Sarah. Lydia hated her. How dare someone else affect him so deeply? He was hers.

Suddenly possessive, his wife hauled herself into his lap, straddling, the ends of her hair carelessly whipping into the bubbling pond. Then she latched her mouth into his with passion unabashed, lashing her tongue as though she were willing it to lengthen and tangle with his like a mating pair of snakes.

Only when she couldn't ignore the call of her burning lungs did she separate, his length jutting between them, heavy on her belly.

"Do you still love her?" Lydia asked very seriously, brows straight, not even waiting to take a breath.

He was startled by her sudden possessive streak, his hands finding her hips as she staled her claim. He was starting to really get into it when she pushed him away to breathe.

Do you still love her?

He blinked. He didn't really have to think about it. He hadn't thought about Sarah in centuries until Lydia had taken her little swim. He smirked. She was cute when she was jealous.

"Absolutely not. I got you. And yer ten times the woman she was." He pulled her into another possessive kiss, his hand firm on her jaw.

When he pulled back to let her breathe he fixed her with a stern look. "You doubtin' how much I love you, kitten? After what we just did? Maybe ya need another reminder…"

Her fierce expression melted at his blunt, amused insistence that she was the only one for him. He easily dominated her in the punishing kiss that followed, using one hand to squeeze her jaw open and in place without hurting her. Lydia provided no resistance, guilt already setting in for questioning him.

When they parted, he affirmed her suspicions that she had made a mistake with a threat of further sexual activity, a familiar glint darkening his eye. Despite the heat, she shuddered, a chill crawling up her spine.

Oh, no.

"I'm sorry," she crooned, kneading at the slimy, knotted muscles at the back of his neck, then slithering the massage up into the tangled mass of his hairline. "I'm just… I'm not used to things being this nice. Is there a catch? Everything can't be perfect."

Were it not for all the alcohol in her system, her filter probably would have caught a statement like this before it could form on her lips. It was too honest, too cheesy.

He raised an eyebrow, watching as she changed her tune rather rapidly. She was being sweet on him, but the fact still remained that she'd challenged his authority, dared to question his love for her.

He chuckled at her tiny admission. She was just as scared of losing this as he was. He pulled himself up to sit at the edge of the tub, gently lowering her onto her knees in front of him.

"Ain't a catch. Now if I'm not mistaken… there's a much better way to tell daddy yer sorry."

He stroked a hand over his resurrected erection, the reaction of his skin and the water making his hand deliciously slick. "Come here, kitten."

Trembling, Lydia sunk into position with almost no hesitancy. This was about what she could have expected for making such a bratty, childish show of doubting him like that. Seeking to give recompense, she immediately set to work bobbing her head up and down over him. What she couldn't fit in her mouth was gripped and massaged with her hands.

One delicately squeezed his sack in pace with the other wrapped around his meaty base, choking it to the best of her short fingers' ability. Her tongue moved while she sucked, undulating and tracing veins. When her jaw began to ache, she pulled back and let his heavy, leaking head rest on the pillow of her tongue while her hand slicked over him as quickly as it was able, the other still gripping dedicatedly at her his balls.

"I love you," murmured wetly against his cock, staring him dead in the eye, then kept the contact as she proceeded to flutter and swirl her tongue all along the fat, sensitive tip, increasing the pace and strength of her jerking just so.

He sighed happily as she took him in, his hand tangling in her long hair at the back of her head, not pushing, but guiding her over the length of his cock.

"Fuck… look at ya… ya look so good suckin' cock, baby…" His eyes were lidded, dark with arousal and something more as he watched her work.

I love you.

The words murmured so delicately against his cock made it twitch, jerking slightly over her lips and spreading thick precum over her soft skin. "I love you, too Lyds… love ya so fuckin' much."

His head tipped back as she went back to teasing over the tip. He knew he wouldn't last… not with his cock nestled on that warm, wet tongue and her eyes on him so heavy. He grunted, his hips twitching with the effort of holding still. "Fuck… I'm gonna cum, babes…"

Despite the generous warning, his peak managed to sneak up on her while she was still delicately tonguing, jerking, squeezing, working him from three different angles in varying paces. Lydia was so caught up in the task, emboldened and spurred on by his growled praise, that she was caught a tad off guard when her means met his end.

The first cold shot splashed against her flat tongue and spilled out over her lip and chin before she caught him with her mouth. Two gulps later, he was still coming and Lydia was overwhelmed, so she released him and aimed down, letting the last couple weak bursts hit her breasts as she took in air.

"Do you forgive me?"

She was still holding his finished length while she said this, arms perched on his thighs to keep her close. Lydia already knew she had his forgiveness, but he liked it when she played dumb.

He huffed and groaned as he came, his eyes clenched shut as wave after wave of his climax washed over him. By the time he'd gathered himself enough to crack an eye open she was already staring up at him, her dark eyes wide and his cum on her chin and chest.

"Fuck… yeah. Forgiven. C'mere."

He pulled her up until he could settle her on his thigh, running a finger over the spend on her chest and offering to her. "God, Yer so good to me baby… ya about ready to call it a night?"

They'd been in the water so long that her tiny toes had started to wrinkle from being submerged. He pinched at one and shook her foot playfully. "I for one feel like I got all the energy sucked outta me."

Without hesitation, a pink tongue darted out to lap what he brought to her lips. His cum was good, but his joke was bad, earning a quirked eyebrow that somehow angled her looking down on him despite her diminutive stature. Impressively, she maintained the look all through cleaning her lips, chest, and chin of cum.

"I should probably sleep. Ginger's going to put me through the ringer tomorrow, I just know it."

If the next day was anything like this one, her paycheck would be substantial. Would she make more than Betelgeuse? Probably not, but he didn't appear to be working currently. In any case, she would have to get him something nice with her first paycheck.

"Are you enjoying being a househusband, Beej?"

Lydia was good and settled in his lap, arms secure around his neck ready to be carried to bed whenever he was ready.

"I know I like it." To be fair, she liked him most all of the time, unless he was having one of his fits. Or she was. "You give excellent foot rubs… and back rubs."

A househusband. He rolled his eyes, lifting her easily and climbing out of the tub. "I wouldn't say I'm a househusband, babes. I'm just not on a job right now."

He pressed a kiss to her cheek. "But that don't mean I won't give ya a massage. Any time you like. Though, I might need some recompense. I died with this backache, ya see… really kills sometimes."

Upon entering their bedroom, they found all four pets curled up together on the tub in front of the fireplace, Percy curled around Luna, with Bubby beside them asleep on his back. Tilly was curled around all of them, and lifted her head when they entered.

Betel set his wife on the bed and kissed her gently. "Get some sleep. I got somethin' to do." He wanted to check on Greg one more time to make sure the fluids keeping him alive were still flowing.

Died with this backache, ya see… really kills sometimes.

This joke was better than the last, so Lydia spared him a breathy chuckle as she was carried inside. With that kiss on the cheek, she was dry and dressed for bed in one of the longer nighties, one that left an excess trail of lilac satin draping over Betelgeuse's suddenly stripe-bedecked arm.

"Is that why you're always so grumpy? I would give you a backrub if you asked. I'm probably not as good at it as you are, though…"

Her poor baby. Lydia only had eyes for him, missing the rest of the babies in their heap of black and white fur on the ground as she was toted to her side of the canopy. She went to pull him into bed with her and make good on that promise of a rub down, but he was already dismissing her, claiming errands of some sort.

"But Beeeeeeej," she pouted, taking stubborn hold of his cuff to keep him tethered to the bed. "I want you here. What's so important?"

Well, maybe Greg would be fine.

With his lovely, sexy wife laying nearly naked in their bed and pleading with him to stay, how could he deny her? He could always go after she'd succumbed to the sleep already pulling at her eyes.

"Well… I guess it can wait." He climbed into the bed and flipped down onto her, using her soft chest as his pillow as he sighed contentedly. How was this even real? Had he really just fucked this magnificent woman in a hot tub, in their home?

He looked over to where Tilly was now grooming Luna, who looked greatly displeased by the development. His pets, his wife, his house. There was only one thing missing from his perfect life, but that could wait.

He squirmed down to press a kiss to her stomach before rolling off of her and onto his stomach. "That back rub still on the table?"

Lydia huffed as he dropped down on her and air was forced from her lungs, but this was what she wanted so she held him close and breathed through it, slow and shallow.

That backrub still on the table?

"Of course," she purred, crawling over to her nightstand to retrieve some cocoa butter since she didn't have magical hands that could summon lube and oil with just a snap. Then, she straddled his rump to begin untucking his button-up and wife beater, urging his jacket off and to the side. He was fully dressed, down to his perpetually grimy boots.

"Where do you think you're going off to?"

It wasn't lost on her that he didn't answer the first time she asked. If he avoided the question this time, then he was definitely keeping secrets.

"I'm either going to bed alone, or waking up alone. Sometimes both. Never neither."

Not really "never neither", but Lydia was still decidedly tipsy and struck with lingering drama and tease, making the exaggeration come easy and convincing. Really laying on the guilt, she smoothed her small, lotioned hands across the expanse of his lower back while she spoke, pressing and searching for the eternal knots he alluded to. It didn't take long to find them. With just as much love and care as she had dedicated to sucking him off, she set to work on the impossible task of banishing the tension in his dead muscles, determined to make him change his mind and stay.

He groaned as her lithe fingers pressed into his lower back, his centuries of pain there ebbing away ever so slightly. He nearly forgot to lie to her about where he was going.

"Yer new cat mentioned seeing something out along the edge of the property. I was gonna go check it out."

He moaned when she found a particularly pleasant place to work him over, his back arching into her touch. "Fuck babes… right there." He couldn't remember the last time someone had taken the time to give him something so intimate as a massage.

Luna bristled behind Lydia's back and aimed a fierce golden gaze at the lax poltergeist, hissing directly into his mind.

Do not use Luna to lie to mistress again, ghoul.

Knowing the circumstances, the wildcat would forgive such a presumptuous trespass this go around, but Betelgeuse was already on thin ice. The charming mortal and her sweet promises were the only reason she chose to stick around— that and the big dumb dog that refused to let her leave initially.

You will regret it.

Lydia was oblivious that any conversation was taking place and Betelgeuse was helpless to respond lest his wife became aware of his deceit, so the nefarious feline returned to purring and snuggling the big dumb dog. Being part of a pack had its merits.

At his direction, Lydia dug her hands in hard as she could, putting everything she had into kneading the permanent tension away. Only once her fingers and hands started to ache did she pause, frowning in disappointment down at his back.

"I can't do it anymore. My hands are tired. I'm sorry, Beej."

When she had to give up he easily rolled to one side, knocking her off his back and onto the bed. "Mm. That's okay babes… feels better already." It didn't. But she didn't need to know that. The minute her hands had left him, his muscles had clenched again.

He flipped over and pulled her into his arms, pressing a kiss to her forehead, then her lips. "Get some sleep, kitten. I worked ya hard tonight…. and you got work in the morning. I promise ya won't wake up alone."

He rubbed his hands over her back, the silky material of her nightgown aiding his movements. He really didn't like to leave her when she was like this… sweet and pliant, sleepy from sex and intimacy. But he also hated to think that Greg would die before he could get what he wanted out of him.

"Okay," she yawned, giving up the battle. She was too worn down to keep it up. A hard day's work, ravenous sex with her husband, alcohol, and a good hearty meal had her ready to pass out. Still pouting at the loss, she allowed him to tuck her in the way he liked to do. He even made sure to pull the heavy comforter up so it wasn't covering her feet, the way he had learned she liked to sleep.

"Don't take too long," she begged drowsily, well aware she would be far gone before he came back. The fire was roaring, and a beast or two would surely join her if she started looking cold, but neither flames, puppies, or kittens could replace the feeling of his frigid arms around her absorbing her warmth and slowly lowering closer to room temperature.

"Gets too hot without you…"

When it was too cold, like when he was gone, then she would have something to worry about.

He pressed gentle kisses to her neck and shoulders as she slept, waiting for her breathing to even out in the way he knew meant she was sleeping. It was strange to him, being so in tune to another person.

He'd spent so much time alone, and before that in an unhappy relationship that this was all new and somewhat frightening to him. He pressed one last kiss to her head and made his way out to the cellar, lighting a cigarette as he went.

The door opened with a heavy groan and he fixed his eyes on the pathetic being that was Greg Green. "Hey. Sorry it took me so long t'get back. I was busy fuckin' my wife. Tell me her name one more time so I know ya remember."

Salt and blood had long single congealed together, crystallizing to form a heinous sort of scab over Greg's stubbed feet, angry and swollen with infection. There was an odd discoloration around his midsection denoting a few broken ribs and perhaps some internal bleeding, a caking of dried blood beneath his bloated, cracked nostrils, and one of his eyes was so badly bruised it was swollen shut.

Betelgeuse had punched him with his ring hand there, the gem cutting across blood vessels in the process and rendering the eye useless, even if it was capable of opening. A puddle of piss, as well as a broken turd, had fallen beneath Greg onto the blood-stained concrete, his corner of the room the only sullied portion of the squeaky clean torture chamber.

The adrenalin and saline solution that had kept him awake and hydrated since last he saw his captor was almost empty. Greg had fantasized he might be allowed a moment or two of respite once it did, but that was a dream never to come to fruition. The realization brought a pitiful, mournful groan up his dry, hoarse throat.

"Lydia… Deetz…"

He sobbed, incapable of forgetting the name— as if he was in any danger of it.

"Please…" he begged and cried the way little Lyddie had so many times before, the irony not lost on him. "I'm so sorry… No more… Please God…"

"Mm. Nice of ya to remember." He snapped and the bag was replaced, a new round of heart-aching adrenaline pouring into the pervert. "Ah, shit. Ya made a mess of my floor! Asshole."

He shook his head, tapping ash from the end of his cigarette. "I think it's time ya learn a new name. Eyes up here." He waited for the man to move, and when the request wasn't filled fast enough he grabbed his jaw and forced him to look up.

"Betelgeuse. Say it with me. That's who's doin' this to ya."

He released him, letting his head slam back against the wall. "Yer lucky. I just came to check on ya. Gotta let ya heal up some before we have more fun. But you know all about that… no fun when your playthings stop responding. Right?"

He scoffed and aimed a kick at his shins, making his mangled feet twitch and drag against the ground. He put his cigarette out in his ruined eye, relishing the way he screamed. "Night night, Greg."

"B-Betel-g-geuse," Greg stuttered terribly over the name, too far gone in his torment to even think to question its strangeness. He would have time to ponder on it while he waited, stomach shrinking without food, the remains of a regurgitated mcdouble at his mutilated feet. Starvation was the least of his concerns.

There was nothing to do but wait; for the pain to stop, for more pain to come, for the end. He was already dead. The question remained when and how.

Even as he writhed in agony while the cherry sizzled out in his eye socket, he panicked that the demon— Betelgeuse— was leaving again. His departure meant more waiting, more crying, more begging for a death that refused to come.

"Kill me," he pled with everything he had to the striped monster's retreating back, growing increasingly desperate the further away he got as a fresh rush of adrenalin hit his system. "Kill me! Come back! I'm a monster! Kill me!"

Betelgeuse smirked at his pleading, looking back at the squirming beast over his shoulder. "Oh no… I don't think I will. See, I know what's on the other side. Know exactly where you'll go if I murder ya."

He turned to face him, a sick kind of glee in his yellowed eyes. "I also know where Natalya ended up. I know where my sweet Lyds is gonna end up. And I know where you're goin' too." He held his hands out like he was selling used cars and laughed. "I'm the closest thing to a God yer ever gonna see, Greg!"

He was still cackling as he left, the heavy door closing behind him. Talk about vindication. Less than a day under his house and the creep was already begging for death. Little did he know he was already there.

As promised, his bride was still asleep when he slid back into their bedroom. She'd stretched out on her back, her dark hair swirling around her like some kind of bed linen Ophelia. Her nightgown has twisted around her legs, which she would hate if she woke, so this spurred him into action. He carefully untangled the long limbs and pressed kisses to her ankles before shedding his jacket climbing into bed.

Chapter Text

"I'm in serious shit, I feel totally lost,
If I'm asking for help it's only because,
Being with you has opened my eyes,
Could I ever believe such a perfect surprise?

I keep asking myself, wondering how?
I keep closing my eyes but I can't block you out,
Want to fly to a place where it's just you and me,
Nobody else so we can be free..."
— All The Things She Said
t.A.T.u.

With time, they fell into a new routine. Lydia worked Monday through Friday, learning more and more from her astute tutor every day. She was getting better at rebuffing would-be suitors, encounters which became less and less common as word spread exactly who her husband was. He made a big show of bringing her lunch one day, laying a white linen table cloth and candelabra out on one of the sticky plastic tables in the food court to serve her lobster thermidor. This earned him a quickie in Doomie's backseat before she was forced to return to her shift.

She still made breakfast and dinner most days, but Betelgeuse made it a habit of bringing her and Ginger treats on the occasion, or poofing up human food for her dinners if her feet were bothering her. All in all, he was a consistently attentive husband, always there on time to pick her up at the end of her shift or make sure she was eating properly.

Ginger often dawdled on about how sweet she found it— never in front of Betelgeuse, lest he stop bringing her caramelized flies whenever he brought his treats for her assistant.

"Got him wrapped around your little finger, ya do. Ain't never seen him this committed to no broad before. We oughta have a girls night so I can getcha drunk and you can tell me your secrets."

It was the last day of the two week pay period, the last fifteen minutes of her shift. Once Betelgeuse arrived to pick her up, she would be getting her first paycheck and they would probably go out somewhere to celebrate.

"I've already told you I don't have any secrets."

Ginger leveled her with a side-glance, unconvinced. Just then, a beautiful woman with strong facial features and long dark hair made her way into the shop. She was tall, made even more so by a pair of daring heels at the end of her long legs. Aside from her bloodless complexion and the violet tint to her hair, she wouldn't have looked any different from the kind of woman her father might have hired on the down-low once upon a time.

"Hello," Lydia greeted warmly, stepping out from behind the counter to greet her. "Are you looking for anything specific or just browsing? Please let me know if there's anything I can do to assist you."

Sarah didn't often venture outside her apartment in the part of town where those who'd died at mother nature's hands all resided. She'd modernized but still covered her head in devotion as any good Jewish girl might.

She smiled softly at the young girl behind the counter. When she spoke, her accent was heavily Middle Eastern, her bright almond-shaped eyes looking over the petite girl. "You are alive!"

She leaned on the counter excitedly, scrutinizing. Ginger beat a hasty retreat. She didn't want to be there when the truth came out about who this woman was.

The tall woman took in the girl's features. She reminded her of the women that her once-husband had been drawn to. Eastern beauties with dark hair and bright chocolatey eyes. "You are very pretty. You run the shop?"

"Thank you," Lydia faltered, blushing at such a compliment from a fellow woman. Petty, manipulative statements like this from men were something she had acclimated to. To hear it from another woman gave it more credence.

"Yes, I'm alive. And no, this is Ginger's store. I'm just her assistant." She craned her neck, searching for the suddenly absent spider to introduce the owner, only to meet empty rows.

"She's probably in the back weaving something new, she's very talented. This is a slow time for us."

Waving an arm toward a rack of macabre gowns, Lydia informed, "Everything in the store was made by her. I designed these, but I'm still learning so one day I can throw a few together on my own."

Her original designs seemed a bit off-kilter for a woman like this, so she directed her to a different, more modest selection filled with calm fabrics and muted colors.

"Whatever your style is, we can accommodate it. If you're looking for something particular and can't find it, we do make items on commission. Describe it for me, I'll draw it, and Ginger will add it to the queue. I personally think you would pull off a dress like this beautifully."

She peeled a cream gossamer number off the rack to flourish it for the woman, making sure to showcase the intricate lacework on its high collar.

Sarah gladly let the girl lead her around the shop, running her long fingers over the silks delicately. "You designed, no? I think it will look better on you."

Sarah fingered the lace gently, seemingly thinking. "I drowned. I do not like so many things at my neck... and nothing tight around the waist. Maybe I will commission for you! You do 14th-century styles?"

She ran her hands down her torso as though touching another gown. "I loved the fancy things my man bought me. He was not husband, but wanted to be." She leaned into Lydia as though telling a secret.

"Most things I think he stole, but they were pretty so I did not care. Until wet velvet pulled me under ice, that is."

As the women chatted they had no chance to see Betelgeuse enter the store, a box from a jeweler in his hand. He'd bought a pair of ruby studs in the shape of beetles for Lydia to wear. A celebration for her first check.

"Hey Lyds, How was... work?" His sentence trailed off when the customer she was helping turned to look at him. He suddenly felt ill. His eyes flickered to her stomach on instinct. Nothing. No sign of the life that once had sat within.

Sarah scoffed and draped her arm over Lydia's shoulders, a protective gesture as though she were a little sister. "You stay away from this beast. He is no good. Steal you away from your home and leave you with nothing."

Betelgeuse clenched his fists. "Oh yeah! Nothin' but a house full of servants and a wardrobe of clothes. Not to mention yer valet. I know what the two of you got up to!"

Lydia hung onto her every word, always interested to listen when the dead told their tales. 14th century. Wow. She already had her pad and pencil in hand to begin sketching out mock ideas as the mystery woman spoke of her scoundrel ex-lover when Betelgeuse made his presence known. Suddenly, they were at each other's throats and Lydia jumped between them to put a stop to it.

"Wait, wait! Stop! Beej, you can't talk to customers like that— and you! This is my husband, you can't talk to him like that!"

Steal you away from your home and leave you with nothing.

Well. At least half of that was accurate, but how did this stranger know Betelgeuse so… intimately? House full of servants? Hurt and confused, her gaze flickered rapidly between them as she stood a petite barrier between her husband and his apparent ex-lover, unsure who might need protection.

"What's going on here?!"

Sarah pointed an accusatory finger at him. "Husband!? Did you get her with child as well? The poor child! Still running from problems in the afterlife!"

Betelgeuse felt as though he was being punched in the gut with each word, his head spinning. Why was she here? They'd managed to avoid each other for centuries... why now?

He cautiously put a hand on his wife's hip, drawing her back against him. "Whatever she's tellin' ya is a lie. She likes to shit talk me."

This was a moment and an introduction that he'd hoped to never make. "Lydia... babes. This is Sarah."

Sarah crossed her arms, her nose held high in the air. "Miss Lydia... you should leave this man at once. He will bring you only pain for your mind and body."

Once it sunk in what had happened here, Lydia was enraged. But not at Betelgeuse. Jaw slack, eyes glazed over, Lydia stood silent for a moment while her husband held her and Sarah continued on in her thick accent, spewing hatred at the gobsmacked ghoul.

"How… how dare you…"

She spoke finally and gently shook off Betelgeuse's hold, finding her emotions. It didn't matter if it cost her this dream job, no one talked about her man like that and got away with it.

"He loves me." This was spoken with utmost faith, Lydia's belief in her husband loyal and unwavering. "— and he loved you! A lot, from what I've heard! And you didn't even appreciate it! He died for you and you couldn't even return his note!"

She was yelling now, loud enough for Ginger to hear in the backroom and peek out, loud enough to draw attention from nosy passersby.

"I… I would be proud to have his child and… and fuck you for even hinting that he could ever be a bad father. He would be the best! You missed out."

With a deep breath, Lydia managed to gather herself enough to feel shame for admitting such an embarrassing thing aloud to so many people. Nevertheless, it was true and she would stand by her man.

"I'm going to have to ask you to leave."

At the rage in Lydia's voice, he'd been fully prepared to brace himself for a lashing, but it never came. His wife wasn't angry at him, she was angry at Sarah.

He held her closer as she started to shout, digging into the other woman for everything she could think of, everything he'd told her about. People were staring, staring to gather and clearly waiting for him to step in and do something.

I would be proud to have his child!

His heart clenched in his chest, and he finally turned her to face him, pulling her into his chest. "Ya know, I agree. You shouldn't have come here at all, Sarah... I'm sure you heard the rumors."

Sarah scoffed and put her nose back in the air. "He did not put a child in me. He placed a parasite! It was killing me from the inside!"

Betelgeuse winced. "So ya had a little morning sickness. Get over yerself! You..." His voice broke and he cursed himself. "You didn't even keep her? You let them take her to be recycled, didn't ya?"

Sarah turned to leave. "It's better off. I didn't want your monster child crawling around for my eternity. This is terrible service. I won't be back."

"Good! Get lost already!" He held Lydia closer, using her to ground himself.

Parasite. Terrible service.

If Lydia wasn't ready to throw hands at the first, she definitely was at the last. Betelgeuse was forced to hold her back, all four feet and ten inches of her, hotheaded and fiery with pure, unadulterated rage.

"Oh yeah?!" She spat at the other woman's fast retreating back, fighting to shake loose from her husband's strong grip and chase her offending form down. "Well we don't want your business anyway! We only make clothes for people with class and taste! Not rude, spoiled-rotten hussies!"

Sarah looked back at this, but was too far melded in the crowd to even consider turning around, or for Lydia to see her face. By now, Ginger had come to the front of the store and the sight of her brought Lydia back to reality.

Shit. She shouldn't have done that. The customer is always right and all that bullshit. Shoulders slumping, her flushed, outraged features melted into a quieter kind of frustration.

"I'm sorry, Ginger," she began first, doom already setting in. "That was… She was just… and she said bad things about Beej and…"

All the reasoning behind her outburst seemed juvenile and unimportant when she tried to put it into words, but she knew it wasn't. How dare that cunt throw away his child? That's what it sounded like they said, from Lydia could gather. She would never get to have his baby and this experience made that knot in her gut ache all the more over it. To lose her job on top of that?

Hopefully Ginger was in a forgiving mood.

"Am I fired?"

Ginger sighed softly. "No, ya aren't fired. I just wish she hadn't even come in here! She had ta have known! I'm so sorry, sugah..."

Betel rubbed his hands down her arms, leaning in to kiss her forehead. "Let's just get yer check and get outta here. Oh! I forgot. I got ya somethin'."

He handed her the jewelry box and stepped aside to follow Ginger as she headed to the back. He still felt off... seeing Sarah was staggering, certainly, but seeing that she hadn't even bothered to keep his child had hurt him in a way he hadn't anticipated.

He glanced back at his wife, picturing her happy, healthy, and carrying. They'd never get that. His heart clenched again. Maybe he wasn't meant to be a father.

Lydia was still coming down from the near-catfight and almost losing her job, from her perspective, when Betelgeuse passed over the little velvet box.

They were stunning.

Small and light, so they wouldn't pull at her lobes. One would have to be up close to make out the intricate detailing. From afar they would look like any other simple studs rather than another mark, another claim. She put them on immediately, blinking back emotional tears.

Why did he have to be so perfect?! Why did that godawful bitch have to come along and shit all over what should have been another beautiful, perfect moment? Figures. Lydia was about due for a little pain. It had been awhile.

"Thank you," she caught up to her husband and Ginger, interlacing her fingers with his and brushing a lackluster kiss across his jaw, willing away images of him and the dreaded Sarah together; happy, alive, expecting.

He startled out of his thoughts, leaning into her gentle touch with a smile. He slid an arm around her waist and kissed her cheek firmly. "They look great on ya, babes."

Ginger smiled, pulling out a checkbook and their ledger, humming to herself. "Let's see..." She started tapping away at a calculator, the number racking higher and higher by the second.

Betel's eyebrows raised, and he grinned. "Wow... look at that, baby. Maybe I should be a househusband. God knows what yer gonna do with all that." He pulled her closer still, pressing a kiss to her head. "Proud of you, kitten."

"Oh, wow…"

Lydia's eyes bugged when Ginger handed over her check, well-versed enough in Neitherworld cash by now to recognize that she was getting a hefty amount. For a long beat, Lydia stood still with the check caught in her hands, relishing the moment. Her first real paycheck. The three-day stint at McDonald's didn't count, she decided right that second, a wide grin splitting across her face.

"Let's go out to eat!" She spun to meet him, bouncing on her heels. "Somewhere nice. You pick. I want to take my husband out on a date."

She seemed taller somehow, glowing at the fruition of all her hard work.

"Guess we should deposit this first… Should I get a bank account? I guess you have one… right?"

Lydia was embarrassed to realize she didn't know much at all about banking or the difference between a checking account, savings account, credit, or debit. She was seized from the living realm before life skills like that were ever a priority, from schoolgirl to wife in a single night. Luckily, her husband was good and patient and likely wouldn't hold her ignorance against her.

He watched her gawk at the check, her excitement radiating off of her. She was somehow even more beautiful when she was like this, positively glowing with pride.

She asked about banking then and he chuckled, producing yet another gift. The card was black with a red spiderweb etched into the plastic. "Way ahead of you, kitten. This is your own card to yer own account. Opened it this afternoon."

He offered her his arm and led her to an ATM, showing her how she could deposit her check into the account there. There was already money in there, nearly matching her check. He didn't comment and hoped she wouldn't either.

"Now. I know a guy, Ginger's good friend Jacque, who runs a restaurant in downtown New Yuck. Real classy French food. Does that sound good to ya?"

Lydia was too busy admiring her card to catch how well-stocked her bank account already was. She clung to the shiny bit of plastic like it was a prized treasure, tracing the spider web design, the etched in letters of her name, and the tiny numbers. Her very own card for her very own bank account. It was novel, a stepping stone toward adulthood she always imagined her father would be the one to walk her through.

Betelgeuse didn't need to bring her lunch anymore, she could go to the food court and buy her own— though she would miss his visits. Anything she wanted she could just go out and buy it, hers without ever having to depend on anyone else. That "girls' night" with Ginger was looking more and more likely.

But first, Betelgeuse deserved to be treated.

"Whatever you want!" She agreed to his suggestion hastily, having already heard a lot about this Jacques fellow. From the way Ginger spoke about him, she suspected they were a little more than "good friends" but didn't have any hard proof yet. Was he another spider? Lydia was too polite to ask.

"This is for you, Beej," she reminded him, giddy at the very thought of getting to sign the check at the end of their date. "I wouldn't even have this job if you hadn't believed in me. I just said somewhere nice because I want to show off. We could go to a hole in the wall instead, I don't care. As long as you're happy."

She would be amenable to going to a skeevy dive bar if that's what he wanted. They could probably both use a drink after Sarah's nasty surprise visit.

He thought it over, unsure where he'd take her that he was comfortable with her paying. Jacque's was nice, but not too nice, and he'd probably comp them at least a bottle of wine.

He threw his hands out to the sides as though popping his shoulders and a ratty, ill-fitting tuxedo appeared. "Well I think I know the place. You wanna go home to change or shall I juice ya up something?"

As shaken as he was by Sarah's unwelcome visit, he was determined to make this night a good one. He summoned a purse, leather, and shaped like a bat and handed it to his wife on its silver chain. "Better put that card away, kitten. People still get bright ideas down here."

"Thank you!"

Lydia preened at her new purse and slipped her card into the internal zippered pocket.

"Go ahead and dress me. You have good tastes."

Well, when it came to dressing her he had good tastes, anyway. He seemed to favor a handful of tattered outfits, this suit being one of them. On anyone else it would look ridiculous, but he had the charm and charisma to pull off hobo chic. If she designed him a suit, would he wear it? As soon as the thought occurred to her, the seams and colors solidified in her mind, tired fingers itching to return to the backroom and get to work on a new creation. Whether he liked it or not, she could always sell it, maybe expand their clientele.

In a split-second, her jeans and oversized sweater— a modest outfit meant to discourage potential flirters— melted into something leagues more dangerous. The rough denim thinned out and clung to skin, turning leather and creeping up her torso until the waistband was clinging just below her belly button. Her sweater shrunk, the sleeves thinning out and dropping down her shoulders until her entire décolletage was exposed. Her hair, left down and frazzled from the workday, swept itself into a high ponytail that made the tangles look purposeful.

All she was missing was a cigarette, leather jacket, and some oversized hoop earrings. In true pervert fashion, he was already drooling over her, reaching a hand for her leather-clad ass. Lydia giggled madly, catching it before it could reach its target and flicking her tongue suggestively at the end of one of his gritty claws.

"Tell me about it… stud."

He was gonna get himself in trouble one of these days dressing his wife however he liked. She was like a perfect, pliant porcelain doll, her delicate form fitting nearly anything he picked for her.

He licked his lips and reached for her ass, only to have the hand snatched away and brought to her lips.

Tell me about it... stud.

He gaped, his plans immediately changing. The tattered suit was replaced yet again by tight black jeans and a white tee-shirt, the sleeves rolled up to give him a greaser look. "Oh, baby... I ain't gonna tell ya, I just gotta show ya."

In a flash they were standing outside a diner, waitresses in hot pink gingham floating through the tables and booths filled with ghosts who'd clearly never given up the 50's. He slung his arm around her waist and pulled her closer.

"Ya know ya really make me feel young again, babes... It's beautiful." He pretended to sniffle, pressing a hungry kiss to her lips when he drew close enough.

"I say we get some grub, call up Doomie and see a flick. How's that sound?"

Her smile only widened at the change in scenery. He was so fickle sometimes. Fancy French food and meeting the elusive Jacques would have to wait for another day, then.

"I already told you 'whatever you want', Beej. As long as it's a drive-in theatre."

If they were going to do this, Lydia wanted to do it all the way. She slid into the side of the booth he showed her to and watched with lidded smoky eyes as he took his seat, both of them clearly enjoying this type of play.

"So are we going steady now?"

The joint was hopping, so much so that they'd yet to be noticed and were still waiting for a server to greet them.

"If I don't get your letterman jacket by the end of this date, are we even really married?"

That she would be the one footing the bill on this old school type of outing only made it that much more fun.

"Yer damn right we're goin' steady. Steady as they get, babes." He leaned back in his seat, looking for a waitress. He put his fingers in his mouth and whistled sharply. Half the restaurant turned to look at them.

"Hey! My girl and I are waitin' on menus here!" A blonde hurried over with them, blushing softly. "Here ya go, Mr. Juice. Sorry t'keep ya waitin'. What can I get ya to drink?"

He smirked and ordered for them, a chocolate coke and a large strawberry shake, two straws each. When she left to put the order in he reached for his wife's hand. "So. How's it feel to be independently wealthy?"

Her lips pursed at his rude way of addressing the waitress, as well as the rest of the diner, but there was nothing to be done about it. He was who he was and she liked him like that. Most of the time.

His declaration that she was "independently wealthy" brought a raised brow and a ginger smile to her face.

"It would feel a lot better if your bitch ex-girlfriend hadn't popped up out of nowhere."

They had ignored the subject for a bit too long and Lydia couldn't help reviving it.

"Seriously, there are how many dead people in the world? How many boutiques? And this particular dead bitch happens to walk into mine? I don't know what you saw in her."

This was a lie. Lydia knew exactly what he saw, the same thing that she did; large breasts, wide hips, a tiny waist, and legs for days. The truth was that Lydia didn't know what her husband saw in her. Their drinks came shortly and she claimed the chocolate coke before he could, the ghoul obviously meaning the strawberry shake for her. That's what he got for ordering for her so presumptuously. Just because they were playing around with the vintage aesthetic didn't mean they had to adhere to all of the rules of the era.

"I'm more of a cookies n' cream girl," she informed with sass, shaping red-painted lips around her straw as she nudged the shake his way. "Strawberry's a bit too… pink."

He raised an eyebrow. His girl had certainly grown a pair in the time they'd been together. He cockily popped both straws of the milkshake into his mouth.

"Well I like Strawberry. It's fruity. Who cares what color it is?"

He nudged his foot against hers under the table, smirking across the table at her. He made a mental note anyway. No pink.

"Well, to be honest I don't remember what I saw in her. I love you ten times more than I ever loved her... if I did. And the two of you are real different. I'm glad we didn't last."

The only thing he'd missed was the baby. And now she was somewhere waiting to be reborn to another couple. He shook off the melancholy the thought brought on. "So. Burgers and fries?"

"Oh, you aren't going to order for me again? After all, I'm just a silly girl with a tiny girl brain. All these options are confusing."

The meeting with Sarah had left Lydia in a mood, one that was only exacerbated by the bad girl outfit he had her wrapped up in. Everything she had to say was steeped in tease, arrogance, and a healthy dose of salt. It wasn't Betelgeuse's fault, she knew. But… he put a baby in that woman and it wasn't fair.

"Steakburger please," she decided with saccharine sweetness, leaning across the table to steal the half-crushed box of cigarettes sticking out from his shirt pocket. The greaser look suited him.

"Bloody. With onion rings. Feel free to tell the waitress on my behalf, I'll act surprised. Does this place serve alcohol? This coke could use some rum."

He couldn't help but gape at her. Where was his sweet, demure wife who'd rush to please him at any turn? Was she in there somewhere?

He leaned back, shaking his head. "Nah, no booze. But we could get a drink before the movie. You order fer yourself. Ya clearly know what ya want."

When the waitress returned he ordered his own basic cheeseburger and fries, asking for mushrooms on top with a blank face. He wasn't sure what he'd done to piss her off so bad, but clearly he had.

Maybe it was the way he spoke to Sarah? He shouldn't have brought up the kid. He sipped his milkshake, scowling softly.

Whatever mirth she was getting from teasing him fell off at his sour reception. What, he couldn't take a joke all of the sudden? It's not like she was the one going around having babies with other people. The waitress came, took his order, then turned her attention to a dour Lydia, who was leveling her equally stony-faced husband with a hard, deliberate gaze. No booze, huh? Order for herself?

Fine.

"I would like a steakburger, rare, with onion rings please. Oh, and could I switch this out with a rum and coke?" Thank God for lax Neitherworld laws. This would mark her first time ever buying a drink and she wasn't even getting carded. It was almost anticlimactic.

"Sure thing, hon!" The oblivious waitress gathered her barely touched glass. Betelgeuse's eyebrow twitched. Lydia smirked. Victory. For now.

"Thank you so much."

This girl was tapping on his last nerve. Through everything, she'd always trusted his judgment and here she was defying him in public? Who was this woman?

He didn't say anything, simply lighting a cigarette and turning to look out the window. If she wanted to play this game, then fine. He could play. But she wasn't going to like the rematch.

He took a slow drag of his smoke, making a mental list of exactly what he could do to remind her who was in charge here. The basement may finally get some use.

That her open act of defiance barely got a reaction out of him was more than disappointing. It was hurtful. The more she sipped at the forbidden drink in their awkward silence, the more his pouting disposition pissed her off. This was supposed to be a good day. This date was supposed to be "whatever he wanted." She was only teasing a little and she would be damned before she went crawling to patch things up when she didn't even do anything wrong.

Their food came and Lydia barely picked at it, taking out a third of her burger and a couple of onion rings before the knot in her gut forced her to stop. It was too much. Someone needed to speak and seeing as she was the only one with liquid courage at her disposal, it seemed like it would have to be her.

"You know what?" She stood while he was still eating, hurt and ready for the night to be over already. "Why don't you take this," she fished through her purse for the card, dropping the once-beloved piece of plastic at the center of the table callously, "pay the bill, and go do whatever you want to do. I'm done."

With that, she tore toward the exit, too riled up to wait and hear what he had to say. She wasn't sure how she would get home, but it didn't really matter. As long as she didn't have to sit in silence with her stupid husband, it was a win. Maybe Doomie would take her if she asked. He was a good car.

Great. Just great. She was more pissed than ever, and now the whole diner was looking at him. Growling he stood to follow her. "The hell are you all lookin' at?" He threw cash on the table and took up her card.

He found her maybe a hundred yards outside the door and in a blink he was standing in front of her, putting his hands on her shoulders. "Anything I want? I can do anything I want? Great."

He picked her up and slung her over his shoulder. He stormed toward Doomie, the automobile squealing and whirring, trying to avoid him. "Hold. Still." He managed to get a hand on the door and haul it open, dropping her in her seat and appearing on the driver's side.

"You and me are gonna go have some fun, baby. Gonna check out one of those locked doors yer so worried about. I'm done sharin' ya with the world for tonight."

Lydia didn't take the caveman treatment sitting still. Furious, she beat uselessly at his back, kicking out and struggling until he banded an arm around her thighs to put a stop to it.

"LET! ME! GO!"

What did he think he was doing?! Bastard! Once he got her wrangled into Doomie, she immediately flew for the handle, jiggling it violently despite the knowledge that it wouldn't budge.

"You're such a jerk!" She lashed out, still fighting with the door, then paused to throw her purse at his head. If she thought crashing or hurting him were even in the realm of possibility, she wouldn't have, but he was above petty mortal problems like that.

"You're the one who got pissy at me!" She reminded scathingly, leaking involuntary tears of frustration. "How is it my fault you don't know how to take a little teasing?! I didn't do anything!"

All through her fit he remained silent, a perpetual cigarette hanging out of the corner of his grimacing mouth, only one hand on the wheel. Eventually, without any give or take, she was able to calm to a pouting, sniffling state; arms crossed and body shrunk as small as possible into her corner of the car. Bits and pieces of impassioned muttering still hit his ear on the occasion through the rest of the drive.

"Just wanted to take you out… not my fault… stupid bitch ex-girlfriend…"

He let her get it all out of her system, silent as he drove them toward home. He glanced at her when she finally settled, sighing softly.

His hand found her knee. "I don't always pick up on teasin'... and you were so mad earlier, that I thought maybe it'd just shifted onto me." He rubbed his thumb in circles on her knee.

"Besides that, you know how I feel about sass. That back in the restaurant was pure sass and you know it." He turned to look at her fully, a dash of hurt behind his eyes. "I already told you. That bitch Sarah don't mean half to me what you do. You don't believe me?"

He wasn't sure how to convince her.

"Come here." She didn't move. He repeated himself. Still nothing. He growled and took hold of her wrist, hauling her out of the car and heading into the house. He went straight to the locked door beneath the master staircase, the locks clicking open as his hand met the doorknob. "Get in there. And strip."

The things he was saying were nice, but Lydia was too dedicated to being mad at him for them to take full effect. Maybe she gave him a little sass, so what? It wasn't that bad, and he deserved it for knocking up that stupid bitch like a horny frat boy. Therefore, when they pulled up to the manor Lydia was reluctant to let it all go and fall into his arms the way he was asking.

They weren't supposed to be here. They were supposed to be out celebrating, but they weren't and it was all his fault. Every part of her wished he would get back into the car, try again, and drive them out to the theater as planned— but that didn't happen.

In a flash, he was back to being snarly and angry, dragging her up the porch and through the house too quickly for her to even greet the babies, only to stop at one of the mysterious locked doors she'd tried to pick countless times.

Get in there. And strip.

Suddenly, any desire she had to know what was behind it flew out the window. Still crying and well aware that there was no other choice, she inched past the threshold into the shadowy room. It was too dark to make out much of anything, but she could see the faint outline of chains in one corner, leather in another.

Awkward and jerky with her motions, she ripped off her heavy boots first, chucking them in his general direction without aiming. Then the cropped shirt that used to be a sweater, then the leather pants that used to be jeans. Lastly, she followed his directions to the letter and removed her ruby beetle studs as well, one at a time. However, rather than tossing them away like everything else, these were shoved toward him within a shaking fist for him to do what he wanted with them.

Trembling just a bit from the cold and glaring through mascara streaks, she hugged her self with her only free arm and waited for him to make the move to accept them.

He was angry. More than angry, he was hurt. He watched from the shadows as she undressed, her face streaked with tears and makeup. He took the offered earrings, looking at them a moment before magicking them back into her ears.

"Welcome to my playroom, Lydia."

He circled her slowly, wondering where to start. Clearly there was something deeper here that he was missing. He ran a hand slowly across her stomach, stepping in close behind her. "Here's how this is gonna work. Yer gonna listen and do as I ask, or Daddy's gonna have to punish ya."

He stepped away to retrieve a flat leather flogger from the wall, holding her arm out and striking it once. "That's the hardest I'm gonna gut ya. Understand? Say yes, sir if you do."

She scoffed at this, rolling watery eyes and muttering, "… like you're not going to 'punish' me anyway."

The strike was enough to make her flinch and wince, but not to make her call out their quitter word. She had half a mind to shout it anyway, but maybe this is how they could reconcile. He was always sweet to her after they played games like this, and sweetness was what she desperately wanted from him but was too proud to ask for.

"Yes, Sir," she grit out painfully, hating the taste of it on her tongue. He didn't deserve honorifics right now, and using them definitely wasn't giving her any kind of rush the way it usually did. Really, it just made her want to punch him.

"Really? You're still sassing me? Lydia…" He sighed. "I'm so disappointed. I thought we were gonna have a real nice night…Then the drama at the store, then dinner and you disobeying me… now, this?" He shook his head. "So sad…"

He pulled her over to a low bench in one corner, sitting down and pulling her over his lap. "Now. Yer gonna tell me what has ya so upset." Nothing. Not a peep out of her. He sighed and turned her over, bending her across his lap and bringing the flogger down on her ass.

Still nothing. He scowled. Usually even this little bit of rough treatment would get a reaction out of her, but there was nothing. No response. He growled softly, his large hand massaging the firm flesh of her ass. "Ya want me to go first? I'm pissed because you deliberately went over my head to get yerself a drink. It's not all, but now it's your turn. Talk to me."

Disappointed. His little speech made her sob harder, a shudder wracking her naked, shivering form as he pulled her gently to the corner and sat her in his lap, giving her exactly what she wanted.

Why was she upset? She would tell him if she knew. All the possible reasons caught in her throat, none of them quite hitting her as correct. This wasn't good enough for him, and he let her know with an impatient repositioning before taking the flog to her backside.

Normally Lydia let him hear every sound that wanted to crawl up her throat from his abuse, but not tonight. Tonight she was stubbornly quiet, muffling the pained cry that wanted to escape from her first lash. Just one and then he was massaging the welts, grumbling out the reason for his ire. She already knew. It wasn't a surprise.

"Only did it," she whimpered out, head turned to the side and a fist curled up next to her mouth so she could chew at her thumb anxiously, "because you— you said you wouldn't order for me. It was mean. We were playing a game. You— you were supposed to keep doing— the stupid macho boyfriend thing."

His heart sank. He'd completely missed the mark again. He sighed to himself and shook his head, his hand running up her spine and back down. At least she was talking.

"I'm sorry, baby. I didn't know it was a game. You were angry from the boutique and I thought you were mad at me. I was tryin' not to push, and then ya stormed off and…"

He shook his head. He had fucked this night up royally. He leaned down to kiss her neck. "Ya still shouldn't have sassed me like that. I can't believe ya ordered that drink… I told ya I'd take ya for drinks after."

"I'm sorry," she finally hushed out, furious with herself for leaving him behind like that. Couldn't she have had a rational discussion right there without making a scene? Why did everything she do have to be so all or nothing? This was all her fault, wasn't it?

"She— she made me so mad!" Some of that vitriolic rage revived itself for a moment in the form of grit teeth and tightly clenched fists, but Lydia was good and stayed in place while he pet her, enjoying the affection.

"How— how could she even say those things?" A parasite, that wretched bitch called his child, and her heart panged again painfully at the remembrance that she would never catch the bug.

"She can— she got to— and I can't!"

The confession broke her down further until she was shamelessly weeping across the bench, face turned away to hide her shame.

"Not— not just because— because you're dead… but— but because I can't. Ever. With anyone."

Too much internal damage, the gynecologist told her on her first visit. At the time, she'd been relieved by the news, never thinking anyone would ever want to call her "wife" or "mommy" or that she would ever want to be called such a thing. Today, the loss was hitting her and it hit hard.

His heart sank as she confessed to him that she couldn't have children… even if he weren't dead. In a flash they were no longer in the dungeon, instead back on the rug in front of their fireplace.

He sat her up and pulled her into his chest, shaking slightly. Greg. Surely this was his fault. Her explosive rage and it's tie to Sarah suddenly made worlds more sense. He could feel his own anger burning under his skin. Greg was getting a visit that night, for sure.

"Baby… baby girl, look at me. It's okay… I'm so sorry. I'm so sorry, baby…"

He clung to her, rocking her in his arms as he processed what this really meant. "Thank you for telling me, babes. I'm so sorry you… I know you wanted…" He ran his hand over her stomach gently, shaking his head at himself.

"I take it back. Yell all you want. You can be angry with me. Okay? I don' mean at me, because… that would fucking suck… but. When I'm here you're allowed to get mad. You got that? Yer allowed to be pissed about all this fucked up shit that's happened to you."

"I don't know how…" She fell off, snuggling into his lap before the fire and changing the course of her sentence. "I'm not good at being mad."

The poor way she handled her emotions was what pushed her into his arms to begin with. If she knew how to compose herself more maturely, she wouldn't have stormed out to the cemetery that night, convinced that death was the only path for her, dedicated to "ending up just like her mother" just like Daddy said she would.

That life seemed worlds away. She wasn't that girl anymore. No, she was Mrs. Lydia Geuse and she could do better than that.

"I'll try," she promised, "Didn't mean to get so— so mad. Shouldn't— shouldn't have blown up like that. Wasn't nice."

Everything was much better now that they were on the same page again, both mourning the same nameless, faceless child that would never be. The hurt was still there, but it was out in the open now, bleeding where anyone could see it rather than festering beneath a flimsy Band-Aid.

"I didn't… didn't want any until…"

You. The reason for her change of heart was clear without need of being said.

"Seeing her… and knowing that she could? And did?"

Here, she fell apart again, losing the ability to string together coherent sentences for a long while.

"It's not fair," she sobbed childishly into his neck once she could speak again, every inch of her being dedicated to hating Sarah. "And why— why did she have to be so pretty?"

His heart was breaking. He was sure of it. He should have never mentioned Sarah. Certainly shouldn't have mentioned the baby…He had caused his wife this pain.

He held her tight, rocking her as she cried it out. "Baby, she's got nothin' on you. How can I make you see that? The only reason I stayed with her was 'cause she got knocked up. I'm with you 'cause I adore you."

He ran a hand over her thigh, not looking for anything more than a touch. "Can you tell me why? Is it his fault? The boyfriend?"

"I know, I know," Lydia prattled on, through with questioning the validity of his love. He loved her more than anyone had ever loved her and all she wanted to do was pay him back for it; do right by him, be better, give him everything he wanted. But, she couldn't give him this and it left her feeling terribly inadequate. Jealousy over the unworthy Sarah's fertility couldn't be helped. It showed itself in the form of physical insecurity.

"She's just so tall."

Can you tell me why? Is it his fault?

"Yes…"

Once upon a time, she might have blamed herself in some roundabout way, but it wasn't her fault. She was attacked. She didn't do anything to deserve it. It wasn't fair. Closing her eyes, Lydia recalled the words the doctor spoke to her and repeated the cold, medical terminology for her husband in a monotonous whisper.

"There's too much scar tissue on my cervix and uterus… sperm can't get through… It's like a dam."

Too much scar tissue.

Green was definitely gonna get it now. Castration seemed appropriate. His hold on her tightened, her warm breath against his neck a comfort. She was here, healthy, and relatively happy. They'd be okay.

He littered kisses on her bare shoulder, his lips finding any bit of skin they could reach. He squeezed her hips gently, shifting her until she straddled his hips, pressing impossibly closer to her.

"Hey. Look at me." He pulled at her chin until he could meet her chocolate eyes with his own, searching for a sense of understanding within them. "I love you. I want a family with you. But that doesn't mean you gotta carry my child. We have the pets. We're a family. We could adopt an unborn child. We could move into the mountains to become hermits. We'd still be a family. You are my family. Understand?"

"Mhm," she nodded an affirmative, holding his gaze while tears dried on her flushed, stained cheeks. Nothing he was saying was new to her. All the alternatives had already been dwelled on, save the concept of adopting an unborn soul. Motherhood wasn't even something she was sure she was ready for, young as she was. Yet, the desire had been sparked and Lydia wasn't sure what would put it out for good.

No matter what, it would be okay. They would be okay.

Their repositioning brought her flush against him to where she could feel his arousal twitching beneath the tight jeans, heavy against her belly.

"Just…"

Her head tilted, offering more flesh for him to kiss, embers of arousal helping to burn out the lingering pain.

"Just wanna give you everything you want… You're a good Daddy… You deserve it…"

The words were like honey in the way they dripped so easily from her lips. He groaned softly and pulled her tight against him, sucking at her collar bone.

"You're everything I want, kitten. Just you. Forever." He rocked up into her, his cock straining in his jeans. The pets seemed wise enough to give them a wide berth tonight, which he appreciated.

He sighed softly and nipped at her, reaching between them to undo his fly and relieve some pressure. "You up for this? Ya don't gotta be, baby…"

"Shhh…"

Soft lips ascended to his, silencing any further silly questions on whether or not she wanted to be intimate with her perfect husband. While they kissed, slow and bittersweet, charged with heavy emotions, she worked the shirt up over his torso, parting briefly to toss it aside before reaching between them to unbutton his jeans. The kiss became a tad messier while she did this, distracted by the endeavor, but no less passionate.

Once he was freed, she tilted her hips just so until the tip was kissing along her dripping netherlips, ready to be impaled upon.

"Please make me feel good," she pled against his lips, rocking without penetrating so as to leave the final push up to him. "You always make me feel so good…"

He groaned as she hastily stripped him of all of save his jeans, his lips sliding messily along hers as they sought each other out. His hands found her hips as she teased the head of his cock over her soft lips, a choked sound leaving his mouth.

"Oh fuck… ya make me feel good too, kitten. Ya make me feel so fuckin' good I don't know what to do…"

He pulled at her hips, his own lifting from the rug to impale her onto him, his head falling into her chest and his hands tightening to the point of bruising. "Fuck… just like that…"

He started to slowly thrust into her, his hands sliding up her back to hold her close against him. "I love ya, baby.. love ya so much, baby girl… ya got no idea…"

They worked off of each other with flawless syncopation, giving and taking whatever the other had to offer. Lydia kept one leg wrapped high around his waist while the other's foot planted flat on the ground, giving her leverage to push as he pulled her up, adding to the intensity of it.

They were so close. If he had one, Lydia would be able to feel his heartbeat as he squeezed her in tight, simultaneously pushing his hips up until he was buried deep. He grunted his love for her then, while they were as closely entwined as two people could possibly be, and Lydia thought she might shatter from the sheer magnitude of it.

He didn't care that she couldn't do this thing, this one thing that all women are supposed to be able to do. He didn't care that she was little more than a used, damaged piece of scrap he'd picked up out of the gutter and polished. She was enough, flaws and all.

Moved beyond words, she poured her emotions into another kiss, one that had her fist curling into his matted hair, teeth nipping, trying her damnedest to keep up with his impossible serpentine tongue. If she didn't focus on kissing him, she might cry again which might worry him and ruin the mood. Her hips moved with her mouth, increasing the weight and quickness of their rutting until it was too much and she couldn't focus on both at the same time anymore.

Gasping, she pulled away, head tossed back and eyes clenched so as to hone in on the pleasurable bubbling at their joining point, ready to burst.

"Daddy," she gasped in that breathy way he loved, using the moniker she knew he loved, sweat beading on her forehead, "I'm gonna cum. Please make me cum, Daddy…"

Each sweet pant and moan from his wife drove him further and further into ecstasy. True to their fashion, they'd found a way to fix the hurt they were both feeling by falling into each other, gripping and sliding along each other's skin with each thrust.

He kept his eyes locked on her face for as long as he could, taking in her long lashes and the way her lips darkened where they were parted in pleasure. She was perfect, in every way he could imagine. All her supposed damages had made her the woman he loved, after all. How could he hate them?

Daddy…

The moniker had a new weight as it hit his ears, his long-dead heart clenching in his chest. He wiggled a hand between them and rubbed his thumb firmly over her clit, working her higher toward her orgasm gently. "I got ya, baby… daddy's got ya… cum for me, Lydia… come on."

"Oh— oh oh oh… ungh… yes… yes!"

Her jaw dropped open in a silent scream as she approached the crescendo. The hold on his biceps loosened so that she could arch back against the weight of his arm, fist the soft fur rug, and use that purchase to ride out her oblivion. A choked, high-pitched mewl made its way past her parted, kiss-bruised lips, filling the master suite with proof of her euphoria.

She went weak and limp once all the tension released, but Betelgeuse was still pumping his hips up dedicatedly, chasing the same escape his wife was granted. Her breasts bounced at the ferocity of his fucking, internal muscles pulsating from the aftershocks of her orgasm. Porcelain flesh was slick with sweat from all the hard work, and she would have kept putting in the same effort for him if she had the strength to. But, she couldn't. She could only hold on feebly as he took over, assaulting her with hard, deep thrusts that wrenched more shrill sounds from her.

He couldn't help but imagine a very different scenario that could have once taken place on this rug. The image of Lydia, still panting and sweating but rounder, full of life in more ways than one sent him screaming over the edge, hunching over his wife as he emptied deep inside of her.

He groaned and pressed his forehead to her slick collar bone, panting as he came down from the intensity of his orgasm. The imagined scene still lingered, and he ran a hand over her flat stomach lovingly.

It was several minutes until he could pull himself away from her, settling her gently on the rug as he withdrew from her body. "Fuck… that was incredible, kitten. How ya feelin'?"

She stretched out blissfully beneath him, enjoying the feel of the fur on her skin, the way he was petting her so sweetly, the slick fallout from his release oozing out between her legs. Lydia didn't worry about the rug. While he didn't clean up after himself anywhere else in the house, this was somewhere he tended to show a little tact. When she looked later, the crusted remains of his release would be gone as if their tryst hadn't even taken place.

"Better," she hushed, still working on catching her breath. Her heart was too full of love for him to be weighed down by insecurities. The pain was still there, but it was muted for the time being; unimportant and insignificant. "I'm sorry I ruined our date. I'll take you out again, I promise."

She was in need of a bath before calling it a night. Raven locks were in a sweaty tangled mess, makeup smeared messily all around her eyes and cheeks, damp with sweat and bodily fluids. If it weren't for her husband's cool touch, the crackling fire and decadent rug would have made it unbearably hot.

"I'm gonna take a bath," she informed, but didn't make any moves to get up yet. "Would you please put the kettle on low so it's ready to boil whenever I get out? Tea sounds nice."

He scoffed. "Ya didn't ruin shit. I got ya… we'll try again another night."

Now, he had shit to attend to. He kissed her soundly and promised to start the kettle, which he did, before heading back to the cellar he'd so often visited.

Before Betelgeuse entered he took a moment to focus. Shapeshifting into someone he'd only seen in photographs was difficult but he managed. In moments, a five-year-old Lydia was standing in his place. He assumed a child's voice in the way he imagined she would have spoken and stepped into the light of the torch.

The sorry excuse for human life known as Gregory Green was now down to only one finger, the rest having already gone the way of his toes and become dog treats. The little girl pretended to cry, sobbing into the sleeve of her tiny jacket.

"Momma?"

Gregory Green was on his last leg. He was already skinny before coming here, but now he was little more than skin and bone strung up against that brick wall. How long had he been paying for his atrocities in this hellish pit? It felt like an eternity, but it couldn't have been that long. He'd eaten. He remembered eating. Couldn't forget. Rotten scraps dug up from the bottom of a trash can, molded and reeking, unrecognizable from decomposition.

"The missus is one helluva cook, ain't she?"

Beneath the rot, he could taste seasoning and had no choice but to agree. Sensation had long since left his arms, the scrawny limbs elevated and lacking circulation. He barely even bled when he lost his fingers. When God came to take them away, he was disappointed in miserable Gregory's lackluster response. He took his molars then as punishment, wrenching them from his filthy, dirty mouth with rusted pliers.

Visits from God were the best part of his day, though they usually meant it was time for him to sacrifice another useless part of his evil body. When he was alone, the visions would come. Roaches he couldn't swat away crawled up over his salted wounds. Little girls he hurt would giggle and mock him, just barely out of sight in the shadows. Sometimes a large white cat would come along and whisper things into his mind, things no human being should ever hear before fading back into the darkness with everything else.

God was real. God was concrete. God was good and merciful and showed evil, nasty Gregory the errors of his ways.

The telltale creak of a door wrenching open, marking the savior's coming drew the miserable creature from his jumbled thoughts.

"Momma?"

The weak, overworked organ that pumped his blood jump-started at full throttle.

"No," he whispered before ever seeing the child, terrified for her safety, "no no no no no—"

Gregory was not fit to be around pure, perfect little princesses. He would taint her. He would hurt her. She had to leave. God wasn't going to like this.

"Go home, baby," he wept, the sweet nickname tasting foul on his unworthy mouth. "Not— not your momma. Please go. Not safe... not here. You shouldn't— shouldn't be here. Gregory is bad, he's so bad, don't let him see you—!"

She stepped forward into the only source of light in the room, a dingy bulb flickering overhead. What teeth he had left bit down, digging into his tongue until he tasted metal. So shocked and taken aback by the clear, unwavering sight of Lydia Deetz was he that he broke the first commandment, the first lesson God ever taught him.

"L-Lyddie…?"

Really? Had he forgotten the first rule? He couldn't do anything about it now.

The pretend Lydia's eyes widened. "Gregory? I'm lost... can you take me home? I'll be good!" The words turned his stomach. He'd heard them so many times himself that they made him ill.

She stepped forward and a vice suddenly tightened around his balls, a stinging, searing burn that tightened with each step she took. "We can play our game... just don't put it in. It hurts." Her eyes were hardened as she watched the wire dig into his flesh. This bastard had to go, and go for good.

The charade dropped, though the form remained. "You hurt me real bad, Greg. You made me scared to be with my husband. Who loves me. Not like you." Another step forward. "You hurt me so bad that now I can't be a momma. No matter how bad me and Betelgeuse want a baby." Another step. The sagging flesh was nearly torn from his body now. "You fucked me up Greg! Me and Momma!"

It appeared he had some blood left after all. So much of it had been extracted from him over the course of his imprisonment that his muddled mind wasn't entirely sure he was still alive, pooling below to join the reeking build-up of urine, feces, and vomit. He was too busy screaming in agony to hear the plop of his testicles dropping down to join the grotesque pile of him.

"I'M SORRY!"

Horrifying, inhuman screeches bounced across the soundproofed cellar from his bloody, cracked lips, interspersed with choked apologies and her name; "Lydia", full and proper. Gregory was through pleading for death or mercy. He knew now that he didn't deserve such niceties.

He was bleeding out fast. The vermin was already barely hanging on to the last vestiges of life before sweet Lyddie came to exact her rightful revenge. Starved, dehydrated, and sleep-deprived, each moment spent in agony from his many mutilations, it was clear that his end was nigh.

Unfortunate, really. Even with all the limbs that had been sacrificed to the cause, every apology and admission of guilt, he wasn't anywhere close to repaying his mountainous debt.

Betelgeuse watched him writhe, shaking his head behind his disguise. With a snap of tiny, malnourished fingers Greg was falling to the ground. Finally freed, there was no way his legs could support him.

The little girl brought him a match and sat beside him. "Do you hurt, Greg? Your mind and body? Do you think you can understand how I felt now?" She held the match until his last finger could curl around it.

"I can make it stop, Greg. I'll help you. You know why? Because I'm a good person. The best! No matter what you put me through, you couldn't take that from me or my husband."

A can of gasoline appeared beside him. "You know how to make this stop, don't you? You'd better hurry. Betelgeuse will be back for you any minute."

Angel of mercy! It was no wonder God had taken her for his own. Gregory deserved everything he got and so much more for plucking this divine being from the sky and attempting without victory to clip her magnificent wings.

"Thank you," he sobbed and shook, kissing the ground at her feet as he repeated his gratitude over and over, knowing better than to even think about touching that flawless, glowing pale flesh. She was a beacon of light in this pit, too good and pure to even be here, and yet here she was; doling out goodness and generosity he didn't deserve as angels were likened to do.

There was a sneer darkening her too-beautiful face and miserable Gregory fell back at the sight of it. No more groveling. It was time. Retaining enough logic to know that he had to light the match first, he spent many pitiful moments scraping it against the concrete, hardly strong enough to apply the necessary pressure to make it combust. He grew paler and paler as he kept trying, and toward the end Betelgeuse worried that he might not have the faculties to do this on his own before bleeding out and dying prematurely.

Alas, there was nothing to fret about. A spark finally erupted at the end of the tiny stick and Gregory beamed, staring into the light of salvation like the caveman that discovered fire. It was moving quickly down the stem, so he hastened to fling his arm out to knock over the canteen until the pungent, flammable liquid pooled around him, stinging open wounds.

It was now or never. His last remaining finger uncurled, the match dropped, and the cellar was suddenly alight with a blinding flash that couldn't possibly hope to rival the angel of mercy's celestial glow.

As the fire ignited, Betelgeuse returned to his own form. A note was already sent ahead to Juno with his requests for the maggot he watched writhe in front of him. He'd spend eternity seeing Natalya at a distance, just out of her sight, but unable to escape what he'd done.

He left the cellar, wiping his hands on his slacks as he went. He fully intended to return to his wife for a second round, but was stopped in his tracks when he saw Tilly, her tail tucked between her legs.

"Matilda! I told you to keep mama in bed!"

Lydia had expected Betelgeuse to come assist her with her hair like he was prone to do when she was having a post-sex bath or shower, and was somewhat disappointed when he didn't. After getting out, drying off, and making tea, she sat cross-legged at the kitchen table with Percy in her lap and waited, listening. She couldn't hear the heavy pacing of his boots anywhere. Was he even still home? Why would he leave?

Tea gone, she went searching. He wasn't in his office, the den, or the home theater. On a whim she went to check his "playroom" only to find the door relocked and impenetrable.

"Tilly," she giggled, shaking her off when the sweet beast came to gently tug on the sleeve of her robe, turning her neck toward the staircase as of to say it's bedtime, mama. "We'll snuggle later. Come on, let's find Daddy."

He had to be around here somewhere. He wouldn't just leave without telling her, not when she was still awake. With a sad little sound, the hellhound's ears flattened against her head and she trotted toward the patio doors. Outside?

Puzzled, Lydia followed after and opened the door for her, pulling her robe closer as she stepped out and a chill swept over her, exacerbated by her still-wet hair. Matilda proceeded to slink around the corner and out of Lydia's sight. This is when she finally heard her husband's voice.

Matilda! I told you to keep mama in bed!

Curiouser and curiouser. Lydia revealed herself, turning the corner to see what exactly he was up to. Her eyes went wide at the sight of smoke curling up from the cellar doors behind him. It had a scent she had never inhaled before, an odd mixture of barbecue, charcoal, and sulfur with an unmistakable underlying tang of gasoline. He was obviously aware of it or else she might have worried more about the safety of their home.

"Beej?" She looked small and pale, shivering in her too-short robe. It was one of the sexier ones, one she knew he would like in a deep shade of emerald. "What are you doing? Why… what's burning? Why did you tell Tilly to keep me in bed?"

His eyes shot up to hers and he grinned brightly. "Ya like it? It's the divorce papers! I told the department to shove it. Yer all mine."

He went to sweep her up into his arms, kissing her soundly. He was running high on adrenaline and the mad power rush that it gave him to see Green destroyed. He'd cleaned the cellar to the point that even if she asked to see, all she'd find was a large pile of papers burning. He somehow doubted she'd want that.

"Ya feel better? Ya look great... damn I love it when ya dress up for me." He kissed her again, his hands sliding around to hold her ass. "I told Tilly to keep ya in bed because I wanted this to be a surprise! I mean, ya needed yer rest too. We've had quite the day, kitten!"

His good mood was contagious. She was instantly uplifted, emotionally and physically, mirroring his goofy grin when he swept her up. The divorce papers were gone, and he was all hers. Forever.

"I don't need a doggy babysitter," she giggled, scrunching her nose at him in faux annoyance. "And I can't sleep when I don't know where you are. You disappeared! Why didn't you just throw them in the fireplace? We could've made a thing of it. Toasted champagne."

Nevermind all that, the deed was done and who cared how it went down? She shivered again, wrapping her legs and arms tighter around him to seek warmth that would never come.

"It's cold, Beej."

He shrugged noncommittally, spinning her around excitedly. "Don't matter, they're gone now!"

When she started to complain about the cold, he carried her back into the house, the fire in their living room roaring to life at his whim. He set her on the couch and flipped on the television, pressing a kiss to her lips gently.

"I'll go make ya another pot of tea. We can cuddle and watch movies and think about eternity!" He clapped, rubbing his hands together like an excited child.

Eternity. That was a heavy word. Not for the first time, Lydia wondered what they would do about her status as a living, breathing woman in a marriage with an immortal soul. Once upon a time, she thought he would be rid of her once he tired of whatever charms he saw in her, but he had worked well to banish ridiculous notions like that.

But… she was still going to age. Lydia couldn't bear the thought of watching him lose interest in real-time as her hair greyed and skin sagged. He would have to kill her, fulfill their original deal. It was the only solution that made sense.

Lydia broached the subject when he returned with a stylized porcelain teacup filled with honey-sweetened chamomile. Warmed from the fire, she didn't hesitate to snuggle into his side, smoothly shaved legs sliding over his lap.

"Beej?"

She didn't have any desire to bring down the mood, but he told her to "think about eternity" and all her disobedience had been spent for the day.

"What's going to happen when…" There was a pause while she worked out the most tactful way to voice her concerns. "When I get too old? I don't… I don't want to be an old hag while you still look like this."

Betel lovingly set the tea and a plate of ginger snaps in front of his wife before snuggling in on the couch, his arm slung around her to keep her close.

Her questions caught him off guard, and he nearly asked her if she remembered... before realizing that he'd never told her. The plan had never been to keep her around this long, let alone live the marital bliss they now did.

He chuckled softly and ran a finger up her arm gently. "Well... we won't have to worry about that. You're immortal. It's part of bein' married to me. Ya won't age unless we divorce, which... ain't gonna happen. So don't worry about it, 'kay?"

Lydia blinked. Once. Twice. Her mouth opened, but no sound came out. What did he just say?

"Nuh-uh," she disagreed at first, the concept so beyond her grasp that she couldn't help but reject it. Then again, her boss was a talking spider. All things considered, immortality was almost mundane in terms of the supernatural forces she had been exposed to throughout their marriage.

Still.

"Bullshit. What do you mean I'm immortal?! When were you planning on telling me this?"

She wasn't upset so much as shocked. This was a pretty fucking important detail that had slipped his mind.

"But wait… I can't be immortal. Beej, I'm too short!" Sudden irrational panic kept her eyes wide and her grip on her teacup tight. "I need to get older! I've got at least six inches left!"

This was a stretch and she knew it. Lydia had been the same height since she was twelve and it didn't look like she was ever going to be any taller.

He chuckled at her little freakout. The things she thought of never failed to throw him for a loop. "Oh? Too short. Too short to be immortal." He scoffed. "You could probably age a little if you really wanted... but I personally like ya as is."

He dug his fingers into her sides, tickling her mercilessly and manhandling her onto his lap at the same time. He littered kisses over her face and neck, anything he could reach, before her elbow suddenly connected with his nose.

It was clearly an accident, and he was laughing as he freed her, rubbing at the sore appendage. "Damn! Okay! Truce." He leaned in to kiss her again firmly. "This is it, kitten. It's you and me... here on in."

"HAHHA BEEJ STOP! STOP!"

Beelzebub was excited by all the commotion and let Master and Mistress know he wanted in on the play by hopping up to the couch— he was big enough to do that now without Tilly's help— and yipping at them, his front hunched over while his nub wriggled with excitement. In an effort to avoid smacking the pup while Betelgeuse tickle-tortured her mercilessly, her elbow flew into his nose.

"Oh!" The torture ceased immediately, but her husband was smiling so she knew all was well. "I'm sorry!"

He still got a smooch on the injured bridge of his nose. It was already a little crooked, as though it had been broken at some point when he lived. Knowing him, it was likely.

This is it, kitten. It's you and me… here on in.

There was an ominous edge to his voice, but Lydia didn't indulge it with anything other than an elfin quirk of her lips before diving in to seal the agreement with a kiss.

"Deal."

Chapter Text

"Blackbird singing in the dead of night,
Take these broken wings and learn to fly,
All your life,
You were only waiting for this moment to arise."

— Blackbird
The Beatles

Six weeks. That had to be a record. They had six weeks of marital bliss before things started to go south again. They spent their days after work playing with the dogs and cuddled up in front of the fire, unable to get enough of each other.

Betelgeuse felt like nothing could touch this. Greg was gone, her folks hadn't come looking for her, and Sarah seemed to have fucked off back to whatever hole she'd crawled out of. His afterlife, for once, seemed perfect.

Then the vomiting started. Every morning like clockwork, his sweet wife was rolling out of bed and making a mad dash for the bathroom. He'd learned to keep up with her, ready to draw her long hair back and away from her face as she was sick. It seemed no matter what he fed her, what he had her sip, or gave her to settle her stomach, she was sick. Really sick.

That morning, nearly two weeks after the illness had started, Betel slipped out of bed, lifting her into his arms. He had to keep her close. If one of his many black-list peers was behind this, he couldn't afford to leave her unattended. He took himself straight to the waiting room, knocking at Carmen's window sharply.

"Cara mia, don't worry. I'm gonna fix it." He knocked again when she didn't answer. "CARMEN! I gotta see Juno. ASAP. My girl's sick, I… Ya gotta help me out here…"

Eventually, Miss Argentina returned from the back area, entirely too comfortable with her slow pace for Betelgeuse's tastes. Then, she saw who it was calling for her… and who he had with him. With the same curiosity of the family dog inspecting a newborn, Miss Argentina peered at the clammy living girl through the glass, eyes large and lips forming a perfectly surprised "o". How long had it been since she'd seen a living, breathing person? Not since the night she slit her wrists in her dressing room.

"Y-yeah," she stuttered, gathering herself. No snappy back-and-forths today. Betelgeuse meant business. "Sure thing." The phone was already in her hand, ringing. "Boss? It's Betel. He has his... wife with him. Says she's sick…? Alright, he's coming back."

Lydia was full of weak, half-hearted protests from the get-go. She had heard a lot about this Juno woman and didn't want to meet her whole she was so… disheveled. She wasn't even dressed yet, still wearing the nightgown she went to sleep in, hair tangled and flesh sheened with sweat.

"Beej…" She pouted, brows furrowed deeply, panting against his neck as she burrowed closer for the relief his chilled flesh offered. "It's nothing. Just a bug or something. It'll pass. Let's go home."

He gave Carmen a nod of thanks as he pressed through the door, Lydia still cradled to his chest. Despite her protests that it was just a bug, he was legitimately concerned. What if someone had poisoned her? What if she'd caught something terminal while waiting on a customer? Could the dead pass on illnesses? He himself had put her at risk if they could.

"Shhh… Mia, let me do this. Please."

He let them into the office, staring at the woman who'd slowly become like a mother to him. Juno had seen him through Sarah, through his break from the office, and his imprisonment. If anyone could help him now, it would be her.

A creature of habit, he settled in the chair across from her desk, adjusting Lydia in his lap to keep her comfortable. "Ma… ya gotta help us. My girl's real sick. I thought this was supposed to stop when we got married." He'd seen her sick before, curled up in the chair in the attic and nursing sniffles, but it had never been like this.

Ma? Lydia lifted up from where she was burrowed against him to inspect the woman he would address this way. He'd never said anything about Juno being his mother. Was this her mother-in-law? What a horrifying concept.

"Hello," she offered meekly, embarrassed by the circumstances behind their meeting. "I'm—"

Before she could finish introducing herself, Juno lit a cigarette. Just as she had done for the past two weeks whenever Betelgeuse lit up around her, Lydia very suddenly gagged, squirming in his lap to aim her retching to the floor. In an instant, a trash can appeared to catch the sick which was comprised of little more than water and stomach acid.

"Oh God," she groaned cringing and burying her face in Betelgeuse's jacket to drown out the acrid scent. The fabric smelled like tobacco too, but it was different. More muted, yet fresher and familiar in a way that didn't send her heaving. "I'm Lydia."

Catching the hint, Juno stubbed her cigarette out in a nearby ashtray, banishing any residual smoke with a flourish of her wrist.

"I know who you are, girl," the older woman informed not unkindly. "I've heard a lot about you. Your husband's right, by the way. A rare occurrence, I know." A flash of a smirk at the vastly unamused Betelgeuse did little to reassure him that all was well. "You're not supposed to get sick. Which means this is something else…"

Considering them both carefully through a shifting gaze, Juno's fingers twitched to light another cigarette, but she refrained.

"When was your last period?"

Lydia froze, counting back the weeks. She had missed one, hadn't she?

"But… I can't…"

The caseworker burst into a gale of laughter, interrupting the girl before she could continue.

"'Can't' is a word you should strike from your vocabulary, little girl. Betel, c'mon, you know how your powers work, don't you? Put two and two together. Have you been thinking about certain things while doing certain things?"

He winced when she started to be sick, his fingers twitching for the cigarette he couldn't have. He hated seeing his wife so miserable. All he could do was hold her hair and rub her back. It was terrible.

At the implication that this could be morning sickness of all things, he scowled. Impossible. Though for him, that didn't exist… He looked down at his wife with wide eyes. Was that… could that be?

"I… oh. Oh my god… How? I know how but… what'duh we do? To make sure?" He was staring at his wife's stomach now, his mind racing at the possibility that his child was growing there as they spoke. "Lyds…. I… I think yer pregnant…"

The whole scene was entirely too comical to be legal as far as Juno was concerned.

"How do you make sure!?" She repeated, cackling. "I'd start with a pregnancy test. You can find them in any corner store topside. I have to say though if this is what I think it, it's a… unique set of circumstances."

Juno had seen children birthed from the dead, born dead and meant to spend their entire lives in the Neitherworld, but they were recycled souls. They weren't biological products of their parents, even if the process looked the same.

"I'm not sure exactly what you two can expect. This isn't at all typical. I would recommend against seeing a living doctor. If there's no heartbeat, they might think something's wrong and take drastic measures when everything's fine."

They both looked shaken, like two scared children in way over their heads. Her mirth faded.

"I'd lay low for a while if I were you. Stay between home and work, no unnecessary outings. Keep an eye on that girl, Betel. If she's really having your kid… You know there are people who aren't gonna like that."

He nodded gravely. There were already people reporting him for bringing his wife to the Neitherworld at all. He didn't want to imagine what they might do when they found out she was growing an entirely new life right under their noses.

He turned to his wife and took her hand. "Let's go take a test. I don't want you to freak out until we know for sure… and even then, whatever the test says we can work through. You and me forever, remember?"

He stood and pulled Lydia back into his arms. "Thank you, ma. I'll let ya know what happens. Send ya a cigar or somethin'…" He carried his wife out past the Waiting Room. As they left a bouquet of yellow roses appeared on Carmen's desk, the note attached saying: Thanks, Car! You're a gem. Your Friend, Betel. P.S. Send ya an invite to the shower.

When they were finally home, Betel took her straight to the master bath, setting her on the counter and summoning not one, but three different pregnancy tests. "Gotta be sure here… lemme know if ya need anything. Tea? I'll get ya tea."

Lydia was stuck in a sort of shocked daze all through the rest of the conversation with Juno and all the way back to the house. She didn't even take advantage of the opportunity to look her fill of the waiting room, somewhere she had once wanted to visit very badly against her husband's wishes. Confused and still taken with nausea, she blinked down at the different pregnancy tests in her lap, all varying colors and brands and waiting periods.

"Peppermint please." Lydia hated peppermint tea, but currently, it was the only thing she thought she might be able to stomach. "No honey."

She waited until he came back with the requested hot beverage before even attempting the first test. Using a tiny cup she saved a sample of urine for each of them, dipped each stick for at least ten seconds to make sure it was thoroughly coated and there could be no errors, laid them out on the counter to wait, and then emerged from the bathroom, unable to stand checking on her own.

What if they were negative? What if they were positive? Both options were equally terrifying. With a pitiful little noise, she threw herself into her awaiting husband's arms and he caught her readily.

"They should all be done in ten minutes. What did she mean 'how your powers work'? I'm so confused. I can't be pregnant. You know I can't be pregnant. It's not possible. It doesn't make any sense."

Peppermint? She was really sick. He hurried to make it, his head pounding with confusion and elation. If this was really happening… it was a miracle.

He settled her beside him when she came back, taking her hand and squeezing gently. "It… could be possible… my magic all has to do with intent. If I wish it hard enough, it can happen… and… that night. After Sarah… I was thinking about it. Hard."

He leaned in to kiss her cheek gently. "Are you mad? Upset? Scared? I can't get a read here, babes… if yer upset, I'm sorry… I really didn't know it would work, I mean… I don't know what I mean."

Lydia focused to answer his question, trying to pull apart and dissect her muddled emotions.

"Not mad. Scared I guess? Juno, she— she said I can't go to a living doctor, and she didn't say anything about doctors down here. I guess that's not a thing, right? Why would dead people need doctors?"

A nervous stream of unnaturally high-pitched giggles escaped past her lips before changing into a dying groan, one that had her yanking at her hair anxiously.

"I don't— I've never even changed a diaper before! What if something's wrong? What if I need a C-section? How are we supposed to know?"

A deep-seated fear emerged, one that had never troubled her before but now seemed a terrifyingly likely possibility given her own mediocre parents.

"What if I'm a bad mom?"

He rubbed her back soothingly through her miniature panic, pressing kisses to her temple and cheek as she spoke. "The doctors down here ain't shit, but I'm sure we can find a midwife. She'll know all that shit, okay?"

The last question pained him, and he turned her to look him in the eye. "Lydia. You are gonna be a fantastic mother. You're caring, compassionate, and empathetic. Not to mention you cook and sew like nobody else. This kid is gonna be spoiled beyond belief! I mean… look at the pets! And those aren't even yer kids!"

He pressed a kiss to the middle of her forehead, sighing softly. "I think yer gonna be perfect. It's me we gotta worry about." A timer went off behind her and he jumped, nearly dumping her off his lap in his haste. "Time's up… come on, let's go see what the tests say."

He made a good point. The babies were all thoroughly spoiled by both of them, though Lydia often did most of the spoiling. Most nights they got fresh meat cut up onto their kibble, and Lydia always supplemented their meals with a tablespoon of salmon oil for their coats and joints. Betelgeuse told her there was no point in going to such measures for hellhounds, but they liked it and Lydia wasn't hearing anything to the contrary.

Terrified and excited and full of too many other emotions to sort and name, she followed behind him on lead-feet, heart pounding in her chest. It was ready to drop should the test come out negative and solidify that she really couldn't have babies, or contrarily burst through her chest if it was positive.

Once they passed the threshold into the bathroom, her face dropped into her palms in an effort to quell her residual anxious nausea.

"I can't look," she whimpered into her hands. "What does it say?"

He approached the tests slowly, as though they might bite. What does it say? None of them said shit! He frowned at them for a moment. "Uh…. where's the box?"

He fished them out of the trash to interpret, sliding his glasses on to read the small print. He looked like a grandfather, holding the box a good three feet away from him to read the instructions. Positive.

He checked the next box.

Positive.

The third.

Positive.

All positive. All taken correctly. He grinned, tossing the box over his shoulder and sweeping Lydia up into his arms. "We're havin' a baby, baby!"

Sudden overwhelming joy coursed through her as she was twirled through the air, so strong and surprising it was almost enough to overpower the churning in her gut from getting spun around like that. Almost.

Flailing, she pushed off of him to rush to the toilet and heave, losing a good bit of her tea. At least it wasn't too terrible coming back up.

"Gimme a minute," she grimaced, catching her breath, "I'm happy, I am, just… this part sucks."

Once she was sure this wave of nausea had passed, she straightened to melt back into her husband's chest. For the past two weeks, he was reliably at her back whenever she was having these bouts of sickness and now was no different.

"Oh my God," she breathed, awed, overcome with love for the being growing inside of her. Pale hands smoothed over her still-flat stomach as she slowly came to terms with the fact that they had done the impossible. "Oh my God. There's so much we need to do! I need prenatal vitamins and books, and— and—"

There had to be more to it than that. Immediately, Barbara Maitlands' disapproving face flashed across her mind and her own expression fell. Barbara would know what to do, but she also wouldn't want anything to do with this baby.

"Beej," Lydia turned in his arms, eyes wide with a mixture of excitement and trepidation, "all I know about babies is what I've seen on TV. I've never even held a baby and something tells me you're not much better off than I am. We're fucked."

He winced and followed her to the toilet, pulling her hair out of her way as she lost her tea. He was elated. They were having a baby! A real child that would grow inside his beautiful wife… hopefully would look like her too. He secretly hoped for a girl, though he knew not to get his hopes up.

He littered kisses down her neck and shoulders as she fell into him, his hand waving idly at the counter as she listed things she'd need. They all appeared, alongside a baby blanket, a stuffed hellhound, and a silver rattle that looked to be antique.

"We're not fucked. We can figure it out! I mean… maybe we should chat up someone who's had a kid. Or at least been around a kid… I think my neighbor and his girl have a kid now. We could ask them! Or Ginger! She knows everything."

Ginger did know everything. Maybe that wasn't such a bad idea. The spider would be over the moon to hear the news, she was such a sap sometimes, crying at the drop of a hat over the silliest things. Neighbor?

"We don't have any neighbors…"

That train of thought was abandoned once she witnessed all the baby things materializing on the counter, countenance crumpling at the rattle and stuffed animal in particular. It was completely different from the one she kept as a child, but she was immediately thrown back in time, back to a day when her mother was sober and Lydia had a stuffed black teddy bear that followed her everywhere she went. Quite abruptly, she was leaking tears, slowly crossing the tile to take the soft thing up in her arms and hug it close to her chest. They were having a baby.

"I'm," she sniffled, complexion blotchy, crying full force now, "so— happy!"

He was startled when she started crying, suddenly worried that he'd said something wrong. He followed her to the counter, relaxing when he realized that they were happy tears.

"I'm happy too, Lyds… I… I didn't think I was ever gonna get to…" He rubbed a hand over his face, trying to compose himself before he started in on the waterworks himself. "You're havin' my baby…"

He scooped her up, stuffie and all and made for the bedroom, settling her at the foot of the bed. "We're havin' a baby!" Tilly jumped up to lay her heavy head in her mistress's lap as though to remind them that she was the baby. Bubbie was right behind her, whining when he saw that his mama was crying.

Betel shook his head, starting to pace. A baby. A real baby… there was so much to do. They needed a nursery, and baby clothes, and a bassinet. They needed a midwife first and foremost… maybe Carmen could do some digging for him.

Three Months Later

By the end of the first trimester, almost all of the important boxes had been checked. From day one, Betelgeuse had set to work making sure everything was in place for the impending bundle of terror. They had a nursery full of furniture he carved and stained himself— he made a big show of dressing up like a lumberjack and cutting down a thick tree at the edge of the property, just to make her laugh.

True to Lydia's prediction, Ginger sobbed endlessly at the news and took it upon herself to start a new line of infant and maternity clothes in honor of the event, telling them they were welcome to anything they wanted from the shop. Betelgeuse hated that she was still going to work, but Lydia wouldn't be dissuaded. He would have been happy to keep her on permanent bed rest with a little bell to ring whenever she wanted something, just like the high-class ladies of his time were kept whenever they were with child.

It was only after she showed him statistics proving that inactivity was more likely to cause complications that he let up on the issue. Their compromise was to cut back on her hours; Fridays off, and four hours a day instead of six. While Betelgeuse rounded off sharp edges around the house and in general went wild with the big bad Daddy act, Lydia worked her way through the books. It was awful. Some of them said silly things like "not to hold the baby too much or it would be spoiled"— that one went directly in the trash. Others listed in explicit, gory detail all the things that could possibly go wrong in the delivery room. Betelgeuse had to take those away from her so she wouldn't stress herself.

All three of them, including the midwife— an absolute angel of a woman named Moira that was burned at the stake for the crime of successfully delivering too many babies in her superstitious village— had concluded that an at-home water birth was the best route to take given their limited options and the uniqueness of the situation.

Despite how much ground had been covered, Lydia still felt deeply unprepared. Today found her waking up at the crack of dawn to empty her guts into the toilet, the way she had spent every morning for the past three months. The morning sickness was getting better, but it was still there and now strange cravings accompanied it. Double-checking that Betelgeuse was still asleep, Lydia quietly beckoned the dogs off the bed to follow her outside. The hunger needed to be sated and under no circumstances did she want Betelgeuse to see this.

Once outside, she dropped to the ground and started digging through the dirt on her hands and knees until she struck gold; a fat, wriggling worm, almost as long as her hand. Disgusted with herself, she slurped it down like a spaghetti noodle, sighing in relief at the sensation of its wiggling down her throat. That hit the spot.

It was cute that she thought she could hide from him. The moment she slipped out of bed he started his usual count to ten before following. He watched as she went rifling through the dirt, raising an eyebrow. Definitely his kid then.

He put on a sleepy expression and trudged outside in his bathrobe and a pair of fuzzy slippers, yawning loudly. "Baby? What're ya doin' all the way out here? Tilly woke me up. She's worried about ya…"

The dogs had been even more obsessed with Lydia than before, her scent changing as the baby grew. Now, Betel was taken aback by the sight of his wife, realizing for the first time that her stomach was no longer the flat, nearly concave thing it had been. She was showing.

He grinned, reaching for her. "Lyds! Ya got a belly!"

The sound of his voice startled her out of her shameful scavenge for more snacks.

What're ya doin' all the way out here?

"Nothing!" She shouted defensively with wide eyes, hiding dirt-gritted nails behind her back. Something told her she had been found out. It wasn't that she thought he would disapprove so much as this new appetite was embarrassing and she wasn't quite ready to talk about it.

Lyds! Ya got a belly!

Puzzled, she looked down at her stomach as he pulled her up from the bothered soil only to gasp and smooth guilty, dirty hands over it. She did have a bump! It had sprung up overnight, just barely nudging forward beneath her nightie, making the delicate material pull taut. It must have been more pronounced when she was hunched over on the ground.

"Beej," she beamed, happy little tears already sprouting at the corner of her eyes. She was so emotional nowadays, it was gross. "You can see our bug!"

That was the cutesy nickname she'd taken to calling it since they wouldn't know the sex until birth. Considering her mouth was salivating for something crunchy with lots of legs, it seemed apt.

He dropped to his knees, his eyes welling with tears as he ran a hand reverently over the swell in her stomach. "Buggy… Look atcha… gettin' bigger every day!" He pressed his lips over her stomach excitedly, wondering if the baby could tell yet that he was there.

"You got ears in there? Can ya hear me? I'm yer dad… god, I can't wait t'meet ya.." He snuffled, a tear rolling down his cheek. He looked up at his wife, taken with how absolutely perfect she was.

He stood and kissed her roughly, pulling her against him until he could feel that firm bump pressed against his stomach. He wasn't at all bothered by the aftertaste of her little snack.

"Come inside. I'll make ya some tea and get ya somethin' better to eat than worms. We can cuddle before work, huh?"

Get ya somethin' better to eat than worms.

At this, Lydia flushed a shade of crimson he hadn't seen on her in a while. The jig was up, then. Abashed, she followed him inside, a rambunctious Beelzebub tumbling in after them. He was much bigger these days, but not anywhere near full grown. He was convinced he was still a lapdog, though, and was going to face a rude awakening when her stomach expanded to a point that made snuggling the way he liked impossible.

Lydia was dying for a cup of coffee, but all the books and the midwife had strictly forbidden that kind of caffeine intake. Instead, Moira had her on a special blend of herbal tea that was supposedly beneficial to pregnant women. It tasted okay enough sweetened with honey, but it just wasn't the same.

"Mmm," Lydia hummed, searching the pantry while Betelgeuse prepared her tea, "how about… pancakes. With bacon and eggs and toast. Oh! And fried tomatoes, and lots and lots of cheese and syrup and butter. Anything worth eating has butter."

She wasn't really asking his opinion. Ravenous, she was already pulling out all the ingredients to get to work on a full English breakfast. It wasn't a centipede, but it would get the job done and wouldn't leave her mortified.

His eyebrows shot up as she listed everything she wanted to eat, but he didn't comment. If his little Bug wanted to eat all that, then they could.

He settled at the counter to watch her cook, conjuring himself a bag of roasted crickets to munch on. He was sure she'd want some of those too if she could get past being weirded out.

"Can I put jam on that toast? How about I make us some orange juice too. I think I can manage that… lemme help. Just a little." He couldn't help but stare at that lovely little bump and how it displaced her nightie as she moved. He couldn't wait to watch it grow even bigger. Their baby was in there. For real.

Lydia bustled busily over the stove, one skillet frying eggs, another filled with bacon and sausage, and yet another sizzling tomato slices in borrowed bacon grease and butter. A griddle off to the side had pancakes frying and she didn't seem to be having any trouble hovering seamlessly between each dish, flipping and jostling and forcing herself not to just dig the half-cooked food out of the hot pans and eat it as it was.

"Uhhh," she dawdled distractedly when he started talking about toast and orange juice. "Yeah, sure, make toast." He could probably be trusted with toast. The mention of orange juice brought a nostalgic smile to her face, slowing the ferocity of her cooking for a moment.

"Beetle drink?" She quoted herself, grinning silly at him. "Beetle… breakfast?" A pancake flip punctuated the joke. "Beetle…. Juice?"

The draw of his crickets was too strong and Lydia hasted to grab a handful without meeting his gaze, groaning at the flavor as seasoned exoskeleton crunched beneath her teeth.

"It's so gross," she sobbed without tears, but threw back a few more anyway, "but so good."

He chuckled at her little joking walk down memory lane, leaning in to nip at her neck before going to make toast. He hummed as he spread butter, then jam onto the pieces.

He grinned when she went for the crickets. He'd really gotten them for her anyway. "It's not gross! You eat dead animals all the time. That's all it is. And it's good protein!"

He summoned a pitcher of juice as he set the toast on the table, sliding in behind his wife when he was finished. His hand found her belly, rubbing slow circles over it. "Buggy has her daddy's taste, I guess…" He wasn't sure why, but he was certain that it would be a girl.

Lydia found it sweet that he was so sure it was going to be a girl. Her father often lamented not being able to do "boy" things with her, so it was a refreshing change from what she was expecting. After loading two plates up high with everything, she gave him his and settled at the table to dig in.

Insects were tasty and all, but they couldn't replace a hearty meal. Pre-pregnancy Lydia would ordinarily eat a small amount, good enough for a girl of her size, before calling it quits. However, this baby was ravenous. She gorged herself, eating everything on the plate and then returning to the stove for seconds, barely even stopping to make conversation with her husband while she ate. She still retained table manners, but they were slipping in her urgency to devour.

Only once she had eaten an obscene amount of food was she satisfied, leaning back sleepily in her chair and rubbing her full, bulging belly. Lydia didn't seem cognizant of the fact that she was eating enough to satisfy three fully grown men, only that she wanted food and she wanted it when she wanted it, which was often.

"I'm stuffed," she yawned, making a move to transfer herself into her husband's lap as he had long since finished his one plate. Lazy and gorged, she felt ready to return to a hibernating state. "Don't have work for a couple of hours. You promised me cuddles."

He didn't comment on her food intake. After all, she was growing an entirely new person. If she was hungry, he'd feed her. As often as she liked.

He smiled and pulled her further into his lap as she settled there, her eyes closing before she even hit his chest. He chuckled softly and scooped her up, heading for the bedroom. "Cuddles it is."

Tilly looked up when they appeared, excitedly jumping up to greet them. She nosed her way in to put her chin on the baby bump, wagging her tail as though she could feel something they couldn't.

Betel settled his sleepy wife on her side facing him, lying beside her to let her use him as a body pillow. Lately, she'd been bullying him into any position she wanted, and he really couldn't say he minded. As long as she and baby bug were comfortable, he couldn't ask for more.

Chapter Text

"Every breath you take and every move you make,
Every bond you break, every step you take, I'll be watching you."
—Every Breath You Take
The Police

As soon as she was snuggled up into his side, she was out for the count. Were it not for her alarm, she would have missed getting back up for work entirely. Dressing and making herself up was a chore what with Betelgeuse constantly begging for her to stay, but when her face flushed red with annoyance and she snapped "I'm going and that's that!" he let up, seemingly getting the message.

It was only four hours, and Ginger had a stool set up behind the register so she didn't have to be on her feet throughout the whole shift. She wore simple black leggings and her favorite oversized sweater today, not in any mood to listen to Ginger prattle on about the bump and how cute it was. There would be plenty of time for that once she got bigger.

"Can I help y—… Oh."

It was the clown, the one that once offered her free "juggling" lessons when she was too naïve to understand his double meaning. She hadn't seen him since then and was surprised that he had come back at all.

"What do you want, Scuzzo?"

The clown mozied up to the counter arrogantly, leaning far over and invading her space, staring at her tummy under the shapeless garment. Lydia recoiled, wrapping her arms around her midsection protectively and leveling him with a sour glare. That was all he needed to see.

"So it's true," he accused, speaking in a squeaky voice that grated on her nerves, interspersed with an unbearable lisp. "Beteljerk knocked up his breathin' slam piece. Fuckin' bastard. S'a shame, really. Yer so hot. Now yer gonna get all fat n' bitchy."

Lydia's jaw dropped, face burning with shame. Who the fuck did he think he was? Betelgeuse had explicitly told her that if Scuzzo came into the shop again she was to call him immediately, but her pride couldn't bear the thought of calling him in to fight her battles.

"Ya should do yourself a favor n' get that abomination scraped, sweetheart."

He was done joking around. He wasn't even smiling while he said this. There was such raw contempt in his gaze, and Lydia didn't know what she could have possibly done to earn it. Most denizens of the Neitherworld were warm and kind to her. Shaking with rage, she pointed at the exit, struggling to keep from socking him right in his stupid clown nose.

"Leave, and don't ever come back. You're lucky I'm not calling my husband to kick your ass."

That was a light threat, really. If Betelgeuse heard what he just said, the clown would be off on Saturn making nice with Mikey Lapone.

Luna enjoyed following the human when she went to work. The animals bored her, and the mistress was much more enjoyable.

All kinds of people came through the mistress' shop, and Luna disliked nearly all of them. The clown was the worst. She bristled when he walked past and the Puća watched closely as he approached her human. He was bad news.

At the mention of the ghoul, Luna took off. He'd help her, certainly. And Lydia did need help. Luna could tell and she was always right.

Betelgeuse was working on the secret nursery that he'd begun to decorate when the creature tore into the room. He frowned and put down his paintbrush. "Luna?"

The clown is at the shop. Lydia is in danger.

He paled, his heart pounding. He was there in an instant, storming into the store.

Ya should do yourself a favor n' get that abomination scraped.

He growled and whipped out his pocket knife. The blade went straight through Scuzzo's hand, pinning him to the counter. "Ya wanna run that one by me, Scuz?"

Lydia released a high-pitched startled cry at the show of violence, jumping back at her husband's abrupt materialization. Some sort of black liquid was leaking out of Scuzzo's hand in a mimicry of blood, greasy fingers flexed and twitching.

"AHHH— ah haha heeeyyy, BJ," he tried to laugh the pain away and failed miserably, clear panic showing through on his painted face. Obviously, he wasn't expecting to get caught baiting the mortal. "Oh that? That wasn't nothin'. Just playin' around, you know? Inside joke? Haha… ha?"

The knife twisted. Scuzzo screamed. The sight of all the gore was making her feel faint. It was one thing to watch an H.G. Lewis movie in the comfort of her own home by her choice. It was another thing entirely to see all that carnage laid out in front of her. At the same time she dropped a little too heavily onto her stool, making the legs shudder, Ginger appeared from the back room, attracted by all the commotion. It didn't take her long to piece the scene together.

Hairy legs bristling, she made it to Lydia's side, baring fangs at the clown.

"Out," she demanded, enveloping her assistant protectively. "You ain't welcome in here no more, Scuzzo! And Betel! She don't need to be seein' this."

Betelgeuse looked up when the spider appeared, pulling his knife free and vanishing it. He rounded the counter hastily, rubbing his hands down Lydia's arms and then her thighs, as though looking for injuries.

"Are you okay? Luna came and got me, she thought you were in danger… and you!"

He pointed an accusatory finger at her employer. "Where the hell were you? You left her up here alone? After everything that's happened with that asshole and the others and Sarah you thought you could leave her up here alone?"

He was fuming. If he hadn't showed up, who knows what that asshole Scuzzo would have done to her. Creeps like him didn't take well to something so pure as a pregnant woman.

"And Lydia Deetz. You broke a promise. You promised me you'd call if he came in here again! Yer shift's done. Get yer ass up, we're goin' home."

Scuzzo was quick to take advantage of the opportunity to escape persecution, disappearing with a honk honk! Ginger immediately fell into apologies and tears when Betelgeuse turned on her, more susceptible than any of them to the pull of guilt.

"I'm sorry, BJ! I just— it was jus' gonna be a couple minutes— I didn't think— I'm so sorry!"

"It's fine, Ginger." Lydia had no such qualms. "You didn't do anything wrong. Leave her alone, Beej."

Part of her wanted to argue, stubbornly insist on remaining to finish out the rest of her shift— she hadn't even been there an hour— and tell him to calm down. Go take a walk. Smoke a cigarette. Higher reasoning told her that this was a bad idea. He was pissed, in no place to listen to logic or reason. All that aside, the truth remained that she was shaken. Maybe… maybe it would be best for her to just go home. As tearful and remorseful as Ginger was over the event, Lydia knew she would still have a job waiting for her when she came back.

Still, she made a nasty face at the crude way he insisted they go, muscling her up off the stool and toward the exit before she'd even given her consent.

"I'm coming! Just— slow down!"

He was fuming. He was beyond angry, now– at her, at Ginger, especially with Scuzzo… that asshole was going to get his reckoning when he was done dealing with his disobedient wife.

He fixed her with a stern look as they exited the store, yanking her into him with a growl. "I'm done, Lyds. I'm done with this. I can't deal with lettin' ya out of my sight like this. Clearly, Ginger can't be trusted to watch ya."

In a flash of lightning they were gone, and standing back in the dungeon he'd brought her to once before she'd revealed that she was barren. So much for that. "You broke yer promise, kitten. You promised me that you'd call if that asshole showed up. That you'd be careful. And you didn't. I let ya go to work with Ginge because it's good for ya and it makes ya happy… but I can't let you put yerself in danger like ya did today."

With a wave of his hand, Lydia was completely bare and secured to the wall with satin ropes, her arms held together over her head making her rounded belly stand out prominently. He ran his hand over the curve of it tenderly, looking into her eyes with a serious expression. "We gotta talk. Yer gonna listen. Got it?"

Lydia was equally distraught; by Scuzzo, by Betelgeuse's abrupt, vicious way of dealing with the situation, and most certainly by the swiftness with which he had her back strung up in his "playroom", a place she hadn't ventured since… since the night he managed to defy science, law, and reason and impregnated her.

Nevertheless, she was far from scared. What was he gonna do? Spank her? Terrifying.

"I didn't do anything!" She lashed out, struggling fruitlessly against her bonds as he ran his palm along the swell of her stomach. "He wasn't even there more than a minute! I told him if he didn't leave I was going to call you!"

Toward the end of her rant, despair started to leak through, tainting the indignant rage. How was this her fault? Didn't she do everything right?

"I— I would have," she insisted, on the verge of tearing up. "He— he was just saying mean things. I didn't think I needed you…"

"Oh, ya didn't think ya needed me… when a fucker was lookin' at ya like he wanted ya dead and was threatenin' our child! That was more than sayin' mean things, babes."

He ran his hand down her belly one more time before turning to the nearby cabinet and producing a kind of elastic harness. It was pushed onto her body, despite her wriggling; and nestled in against her crotch. A flip of a button on the remote in his hand set the bullet inside it to buzzing gently against her clit.

"There we go. Somethin' to clear your mind. Now… you're gonna tell Daddy Beej exactly what ya should have done when that asshole clown first showed up." She was silent, her frown still stubbornly in place. He turned to vibe up higher. "Go on… tell me."

Huffing and puffing in a way that made her milky, perky breasts heave, Lydia worked to quell the impending fit. It wasn't fair, but losing her temper never got her anywhere with him. When he raised his voice, yelling and using a tone he never took with her, she cringed and shook terribly, turning her face so far to the side to avoid his blustering that her neck twinged and her cheek hit the strange crushed velvet wall behind her.

Lydia really didn't like yelling, even less so when it was coming from a man. It reminded her of when her father was on one of his binges, or being small and her mother arguing with… but that didn't matter. He was quick to return to a normal speaking volume, reigning in his tangible rage.

Wanted you dead. Threatening our child.

Oh God, he was right. Why did he have to be right when he was being such an ass? Pouting deeply, bottom lip trembling, she remained stubbornly silent when he hooked her up to the sexually invasive mechanism, still coming to terms with how she could have possibly been wrong here when she was just minding her own business trying to do her job.

Then, the vibration increased. Expression faltering, she blinked, releasing a few residual guilty tears down her ruddy cheeks as he continued to stare her down, just as fierce and unwavering as when he began. Her legs, unbound and left to dangle with just enough give to keep her on her tip-toes, quivered under the force of the induced pleasure, thighs squeezing together in a misguided attempt to pause or slow the torrent. It did quite the opposite.

"Called. You," she finally bit out, eyes clenched shut, unable to face her misstep head-on.

He watched closely as she squirmed and twisted against the plush wall, her back arching beautifully and pushing her soft breasts toward him. All in all, it was a great show. Maybe they'd have to revisit this when he wasn't so pissy.

He growled softly when she didn't look at him. His hand slipped between her legs to press the bullet against her harder. "Open your eyes and try again. And tell me what else."

He really couldn't see where she was lost here. She was a precious commodity, not only because she was a living mortal, but because she was carrying a child. His child. There were too many assholes worse than Scuzzo who'd love to get their hands on her.

They couldn't afford to let their guard down.

When he shoved his hand between her legs, it was so large it encompassed the entire juncture, spanning thigh to thigh in a tight fit. The manacle he was using to torture her was surprisingly thin and made of some sort of black elastic material that pulled taut against her flesh like a complex piece of lingerie. His grabbing made the elastic pull tighter, cutting into cushiony flesh, but Lydia was far too troubled by other sensations to notice.

"Should have called you," she reiterated, eyes open wide and pleading with his as per his request, voice throaty with a heavy mixture of guilt and pleasure. The harder he pressed, the higher up it threw her pitch. "As soon as he came in. Should have— should have called you."

Where else did she go wrong? Frustrated, she backtracked all the way to that morning, saying whatever she thought might please him in her delirium.

"Shouldn't have even left the bed. Should have stayed home and cuddled with you. Please— please don't be mad at me."

Shouldn't have even left the bed.

"That's right… I told ya not to go in, didn't I? Said you should spend today at home with Daddy and ya turn around and get yerself put in harm's way!"

He shook his head as one might at a disobedient child, his fingers still pressing the vibrator cruelly against her clit. "Now. We're gonna drive this lesson home with some… overstimulation. When you cum I want ya to tell daddy yer sorry. Every time, no matter what I'm doin' to ya."

He pulled her hips away from the wall slightly to wiggle one thigh digit inside of her. "God, yer still so tight. Never fail to impress, kitten. Now. Cum when ya can…" He worked the finger inside of her, watching her face closely for signs of orgasm.

With a pitiable keening sound, she writhed against him, craning her neck up as he pushed closer. He was being so cold and rigid. When he was happy with her, he would lathe her face and neck with kisses, whatever his lips could reach to convey his deep love and appreciation. Now, he was statuesque, refusing her the affection she had been conditioned to expect at her peak.

Waves of pleasure crashed upon her craggy heart's shores and she sang for him; "I'm sorry!" sounding for all the world like a fabled siren of the deep, calling him to his damnation. The euphoric storm kept churning with the rutting of his knuckles and an increase in vibration, and she repeated the melodious cry as she was pulled under again. "I'm sorry!"

By now, both his hand and her thighs were slick with evidence of the repeat orgasms he was wrenching from her, pearlescent droplets almost reaching her knees. Third time's the charm. This one sent her shrieking and begging, giving him the name she only bestowed when he earned it, the one that felt so dirty and taboo and nasty on her still-innocent tongue.

"Daddy," she cried, losing stability of her legs until the satin round her wrists pulled tight, hindering circulation. "I'm sorry, I'm so so sorry! I'm bad! Please! Please don't be mad at me!"

When she started to cry, he was done for. He wasn't in this to hurt her, just teach her a lesson. Her sweet pleading was like a drug administered straight to his veins, a rush of power running through him.

He was hard, but ignored it. This was about Lydia and reminding her exactly where she needed to be. He was never going to let her out of his sight again.

He carefully removed his fingers and the toy, bracing her with a thigh between her legs as he took her down from her suspension. He kissed over her wrists as they were freed, slowly rubbing feeling back into the numb appendages.

"Yer not bad. You're not… you're a good girl, Lyds. Ya just gotta do what I ask. You understand?" He wiped at the tears still leaking down her cheeks. "I gotta keep you and our baby safe. That's my whole damn job… but I need your help. Understand? Can you help daddy, kitten?"

"I thought I could handle it."

Trembling and boneless, she surrendered to his care as if she had any other choice, relishing the way his cool flesh felt brushing against enflamed, abused places. Good girl.

"I don't want to be weak."

She choked on the word, releasing one last intrusive tear. It bothered her that she should need to call on him to protect her at all. Her entire life had just been her against the world, never anyone else to rely on or fall back to when things got tough … but she had a partner now, didn't she? It was them and bug, and everyone else could take a long walk off a short pier.

"I don't want to leave my job. Why… why did he hate me so much?"

A spark of trepidation bled through as she remembered the way the clown looked at her, spoke to her. Their first encounter was little more than harmless flirtation on his part if a bit lewd. This felt like an outright threat.

"Is it… because of what Juno said? How could anyone hate our bug?"

She was working herself up again at the very thought.

"People will always hate what they can't have. There are… a lot o' people who'd love to see me hurt. Right now, you and buggy are the easiest way t'get to me."

He pressed another kiss to her collar bone before standing and starting to put away the things they'd used. His anger was still sitting just under the surface of his skin, the air crackling around them with the force of it.

He didn't know how to make it clear to her how important this was. She had to stay safe and had to keep Bug safe. There was no way for him to ensure she wouldn't disobey him again… all he could do was try to drive the point home.

"You won't lose yer job. But yer not goin' in tomorrow. Rest of the week, maybe. Yer gonna sit here at home with me and remember why we do this. Why it makes me so damn angry when ya can't listen…. got it?"

Lydia's features twisted up in clear protest at the idea of taking a whole week off work. They had a large order coming up and Ginger was going to need her help. Nothing could be said to change his mind, however, and she was well aware, biting her tongue to hold back objections.

Got it?

"O-okay," she agreed hesitantly, battling aftershocks and shakiness as he departed briefly to put things away. Without him there to support her, she felt she might collapse, legs quivering badly as they were. She slid down the wall a bit, knees bent and pressed together to give her stability, hands fisted in the crushed velvet wall.

It hurt her to think that people wanted him hurt, wanted their bug hurt.

"Nobody's going to hurt us," she assured him— and herself— breathy and concerned, affected by his lingering rage. Something had to be done to calm him or else it would only fester. "You're too strong. Nobody's scarier than you."

"Yer still stayin' home. Flattery ain't gonna get you anywhere."

His anger was quickly becoming a very different kind of anxiety, his palms itching to take and claim his wife, lest any imagined enemies forget who she belonged to.

He paced instead, glancing at her as she stood there shaking. Her belly was more obvious with her bared to him completely, something in him purring at the sight of her with child. His child.

He came to help her to the bench where he'd bent her over his lap, this time helping her sit down while he considered his next move. "You gotta stay in. Just for a few days… for me. Okay? Can ya do that for daddy?"

Apparently, he was just as shaken as she was under that snarling, growling exterior. Again, he demanded she make a promise she already agreed to, and again, she bent to his whims. Melding her nude form against his stripes, she succumbed to exhaustion, trusting him wholly to care for her.

"I'll stay home."

As if she could go anywhere without his say so. Doomie could probably be bribed to go behind his back and take her on a joyride, but Lydia wouldn't dare disrespect him right now. As done with the day as she currently was, a week off was sounding better and better.

"I promise. Won't go anywhere. Just you and me and the babies."

He let out a breath he was holding for no reason and nodded, pressing his lips to her cheek. "That's my good girl… now. Daddy needs a little stress relief. You gonna help me out?"

He grinned at her, trying to put on their usual playful game, though it was lacking in the usual enthusiasm. He just needed her, under him, around him. Right where he knew she belonged.

He sat beside her on the bench and pulled her into his lap, his fingers trailing up her thigh gently. "I know you're tender, baby… I'm sorry. I shoulda done this right after ya finished cummin but… nevermind. You gonna let me have ya, sweet girl?"

"Uh-huh," she nodded simply, as if there was any other answer, lacing a feebly gripping arm around his neck as he pulled her into his lap. Guilty fingers traced up toward her pulsating core and she gently took hold of his seeking hand, pulling it the rest of the way so he could molest the hot, overly sensitive flesh. She trembled anew when the rough pads of his fingers made contact, but this was what made him happy. When he was happy, she was happy.

"You can always have me."

Teeth digging into her lip at the overbearing but not completely unpleasant needles-and-pins sensation down below, she hid from it against her husband's jacket, letting him touch his fill without complaint.

He sighed happily when she guided his hand the rest of the way to her hot, damp center. She was so good for him… always good, even when she'd been disobedient.

"That's it, sweetheart… you're so good for me." He shifted her just enough to get his cock worked free from its binds, letting it slap up against her solidly.

He pulled her and squeezed her until she was seated back against him, her legs spread just far enough for him to slide in against her wet core. He rocked slowly against her, groaning softly. This wouldn't be enough, but it was a start. "That's good, baby…"

Knees spread and hooked over his and feet hovering off the ground she was completely under his control. Sinking back against him, she gave in easily, going lax except for the sweet hand that trailed down to ever so kindly keep his heavy length angled up so he could slide and pleasure himself along her dripping slit, stimulating her madly pulsating clit as he went.

"I like it when you tie me up," she confessed in a hush, cheeks burning through the dimly lit dungeon. "It can be scary sometimes… but I like being scared."

Something honest and daring awakened within as she submitted to her capable husband's hands. Maybe it was the aesthetic of the room; all deep passionate colors, shiny metals and leathers, drawers upon drawers that contained who knew what. Maybe it was pregnancy hormones sending her libido into overdrive. In either case, she was suddenly eager to explore.

"There's a lot of stuff in here… do I only get to see it when I'm bad?"

He sighed heavily as her delicate hand found him, keeping him pressed deliciously against her exactly where he wanted to be. He pressed kisses over her neck and shoulders, his hands sliding up her thighs to rest over the steadily growing bump where their child resided.

I like it when you tie me up... I like being scared.

He grinned into her neck, nipping just a bit harder than before to begin leaving a mark on her soft, pale skin. "Well that's good, baby... because I like tyin' ya up. Ya looked real pretty all trussed up on the wall..."

He was suddenly remorseful that he hadn't taken the opportunity to fuck her up the wall, but with the state they'd both been in, he didn't want to hurt her too bad. The burn on her skin from the velvet would have been uncomfortable the next morning anyway.

"We can come in here any time ya like, baby girl... any time."

He brought one hand down to hers where she was keeping him pressed against her and pushed just so that the head of his cock popped into her tight entrance. He moaned and pulled her tighter against him. "Fuck, that's good... how are you always so fucking good, baby?"

This was a new angle, an unfamiliar position. Usually, when she rode in his lap, it was facing him, knees and legs plastered in a way to give her leverage. With how they were now, she was limited to arching, pushing her hips back and down to sink him deeper into her, holding onto his pant leg as he caressed wherever he wanted. She was completely open to him, everything vulnerable but today he favored her belly. All things considered, she couldn't really blame him.

A striped arm draped over her front, a large hand groping at her swelled breasts, the other spanning fully, territorially over her pouting middle. Slowly, achingly, he let her drop down over his girth, hissing cursing praise in her ear.

How are you always so fucking good, baby?

She never knew how to answer this question and now was no different. Choked sounds vibrated up her throat, calves squeezing under his thighs to pull him deeper.

"Oh— oh God…"

Lashes fluttering in time with the clenching muscles milking his cock, her grip on his pants tightened till her knuckles whited out. Everything was so sensitive. Every thick inch was swallowed eagerly until she was keening and panting, too full to think straight. They'd barely even begun and she was already near to popping off for him.

"Baby," she begged, shifting her well-fed hips to little relief in a moment of still, callouses rubbing loving circles over their growing bug. "Fuck… fuck me… please…"

He squeezed and pulled at her gently, rocking her up and down on his cock eagerly. Her soft pleading and wriggling making him all that more frantic in his motions. He pressed his face to her sweaty neck, her soft flesh giving in to his desires so readily that he almost felt like he was dreaming, fantasizing the way she was surrendering to him.

He picked up the pace, his cock slamming into her firmly on each upbeat. "God, baby you feel amazing...yer so beautiful... how'd I get so lucky, Lyds? Huh? God damn, I love you..."

He was going to lose himself at any moment. He could feel his balls drawing up already. "Oh, I'm close... gonna fill ya up, baby. Fill ya up so full of me... though I guess I already did, huh?"

Wet slaps rung out in quick succession as he neared his end, playing a background to his wife's heated moans. He fucked her with unwavering dedication and she worked with him every bit as adamantly, spurred on by the filthy things he said, the way his bulky form was so perfectly melded against her.

"I'm the lucky one," she corrected, gasping, barely able to string words together for him. "You… you're unreal."

He gave her everything; the things she wanted, the things she needed, the things she didn't know she wanted or needed. Lydia couldn't imagine an existence without him, without their family. How could she have allowed one of his enemies to get close enough to threaten that? The miracle in her womb was all that mattered anymore, the precious spark of creation he was cradling so tenderly as he readied to go for the overkill and seed her yet again with weighty thrusts.

Gritty claws tweaked her pebbled, oversensitive nipples and that was enough for her. Her entire body convulsed, stretched abdominal muscles twitching and legs flexing as she sang her completion to the dungeon. Beneath the spasming tendons, something shuddered, just for a moment, and they both felt it. A sharp, out of rhythm gasp parted her lips further and her tiny palm came to cover his.

Their bug.

Her body falling over the edge, as always, brought him right to the precipice of his own orgasm, a handful more stuttering, faulting thrusts making him moan and curse against her shoulder.

Suddenly there was a movement from deep within her. He froze in the midst of an aftershock, staring down at her with wide eyes. "Buggy... oh my god."

He couldn't help but chuckle, a tired and staggering sound. "Kid's got great timing. Just like her dad." He pressed a kiss to her cheek and pulled free of her body carefully, holding her close in his arms.

In a blink they were back in their bedroom, the linens still crumpled from their playful fight earlier over her leaving for work. He settled her in the bed and settled behind her, his hand pressed tight to her stomach.

"Think it'll happen again? Or did we wake her up fuckin'?"

"I don't know."

Two pairs of hands were settled all around her belly, each limb dead and alive struggling to keep still in its excitement to catch another movement. Both still bright and flushed from fucking around, all the negativity was forgotten in the wake of their bug's wriggling around. They were quiet for a long, perfect moment, wrapped up in one another, waiting. Nothing more happened.

With a happy sigh, Lydia gently detangled from his embrace, reaching from the cocoa butter on her nightstand she'd been rubbing onto her belly nightly in preparation for exactly this.

"Probably just bugged her."

Lydia wasn't convinced buggy was a girl, but she would humor Betelgeuse.

"Want to help?"

He snorted at her pun, shaking his head. "I rubbin' off on you, babes? That sounded a lot like a dad joke."

He reached for the little tub of cocoa butter and rubbed some onto his hands. They smoothed over her stomach firmly, the soft paste melting into her skin like it was starving for it. He settled himself sitting on the floor in front of her, his steady massage moving from her stomach to her hips, then down her thighs until they found her swollen ankles, pressing and rubbing firmly in an attempt to soothe the aching flesh.

"How's that, kitten? I know ya said they've been botherin' ya." He brought one up to his mouth, pressing a kiss to the inside of it in a way reminiscent of their wedding night. "My poor Mama Lyds."

Purring, she melted under his attention like she always did. It was still early in the day, but she was ready for another nap. Too much had happened in such a short period.

"Feels good," she murmured, stretched out nude and pliant on the soft sheets as he rubbed her down, easing tension and stress away. Why didn't she want to stay home and let him do this again? Work seemed like a hell of a lot of… well. Work when she had the option to lay around and let him pamper her.

The animals migrated to their room one by one, all but Percy curling up on the rug in a puddle of black and white fur as if drawn in by Lydia's sleepy energy. The prissy housecat, privileged and entitled to be the first baby, settled in on the crimson comforter near mistresses' hand so she could reach him to give scratches.

"Gonna fall 'sleep," she warned as he set in kneading her arches, in case he wasn't already aware. "You don't have to stay."

He always stayed with her until she was out, as per the unspoken agreement. Everything felt calm. It would be just fine to take a nap without forcing him to stay and hover needlessly. She was safe.

Chapter Text

"Guys my age don't know how to treat me,
Don't know how to please me, don't know how to read me,
Guys my age don't know how to touch me,
Don't know how to love me good,
Guys my age don't know how to tease me,
Don't know how to leave me, don't know how to need me,
Guys my age don't know how to touch me,
Don't know how to love me good,"

—Guys My Age
Hey Violet

As soon as she fell asleep, Betelgeuse slipped out of the bed and made for the nursery he'd spent his last few weeks painstakingly decorating and restoring. The room was now a pale blue-grey, a color of his choosing, and he smiled at the sight before slipping one door over to his workshop. The room may have once been a bedroom, but had since been gutted and turned into his private escape for his woodworking habit.

Currently on his workbench was the heavy, cherry wood rocking chair that he was making for the nursery. It was meant to be a surprise for Lydia's upcoming baby shower, the project being reserved for when she was sleeping or at work. He'd already finished the crib and it sat off to one side, waiting to be filled with blankets and toys for their Buggy.

He was so engrossed with the smoothing of one of the rungs that made up the back of the chair, that he didn't notice Luna slipping into the room. He'd learned quickly that wherever Luna was, his wife was sure to follow. He hummed to himself as he worked, an old folk tune that he'd picked up somewhere through the years.

The humming quickly turned to singing, his deep, gruff voice staying low as he sang.

"Come over the hills, my bonnie Irish lass,
Come over the hills to your darling,
You choose the road, love, and I'll make the vow,
And I'll be your true love forever.

Red is the rose that in yonder garden grows,
Fair is the lily of the valley,
Clear is the water that flows from the Boyne,
But my love is fairer than any…"

Lydia slept well and deep, more exhausted than she knew. When she awoke, all of the animals had found their way onto the bed. Tilly and Bubby flanked her sides while Luna warmed her feet and Percy curled around her head, doing his best to blend in with her hair.

The set up was cozy but entirely too hot. After gently encouraging the babies to let her up and out of bed— Matilda took the most convincing that nap time was over— she indulged in a long, hot bath. Wherever Betelgeuse was, he was clearly getting along just fine without her help. However, after everything was cleaned and lotioned, she found herself seeking out his company on her own. She couldn't relax on her favorite cushy lounging chair in the library without at the very least knowing where he was.

After finding his office, the backyard, the home theatre, and all of his other usual haunts empty, she thought to check the nursery. Maybe he was working on things in there. The last she saw of it, the wallpaper was peeling and there were nails sticking out of the creaking floors. Now, the hardwood panels were just as smooth and polished as the rest of the house, though most of the floor was taken up by a thick white and lilac striped plush rug that her feet sunk into pleasantly when they stepped on it.

Tarp covered the floor all along the wall, lines of tape marking where things were freshly painted, aside from the pungent smell giving it away. Lydia was enchanted. It was perfect. Everything was perfect.

One door over led to their bedroom, she knew. Technically, she wasn't supposed to be in here yet, but as pregnant as she was, she had a certain level of immunity. Another door was cracked open and led somewhere she'd never been. There was a low, gravelly humming creeping past the door, its source unmistakable. Tip-toeing quiet and gracefully despite the additional weight, Lydia leaned in the doorway to watch him sing as he worked, breath catching at the sight.

"Oh, Beej," she gasped at the end of his romantic ballad, swooning, glancing over all the finished and half-finished pieces, scarcely able to take it all in with a single look. "Everything's so beautiful."

He jolted at the sound of his wife's voice, spinning to look at her with a frown. "Hey! Get outta here, it's a surprise!" He abandoned his piece of wood and cake to chase her out of the room, closing the door behind him.

"I thought you were sleepin'… yer all clean. God damn… how long was I gone?" He'd only got half the back finished. With the baby shower in only a few months, he was feeling rushed to get everything done. He wanted everything to be absolutely perfect by the time their baby was anywhere close to making an appearance.

He pointed a playful finger at her. "Naughty. The naughtiest little thing I ever saw, you are." He was ready to round on her with a punishment of tickles when there was a flash of smoke over his head and a letter fell into his hand.

He frowned, popping open the envelope. Juno's voice emanated from the parchment, viciously angry.

"BETELGEUSE! I'M WAITING ON YOUR PAPERWORK! DO YOUR DAMN JOB!"

The letter burst into flames and he dropped it, stamping out the smoke. He grumbled, crossing his arms over his chest. "Bitch. Guess I better get back to it… come get me in a couple hours?"

A couple of hours?

That was entirely too long. Wasn't he the one who wanted her home? Unfair. Just as she started to work up a terrible pout he poofed away, robbing her of the chance to negotiate. Extra unfair!

"Jerk!" She complained to the empty room without any real passion. Fine. A couple hours wasn't so bad. She could do a couple hours. After gorging herself on a lunch of grilled cheese and whatever she could dig out of the garden, Lydia curled up in the home theater with all the animals and watched not one, but two Stephen King movies. She was being good, giving him the time he asked for, but inevitably, her patience dried up.

His office door was open when she came creeping, peaking past the door without bothering him. There were still three untouched boxes of paperwork yet to be filled out. Suddenly, Lydia felt terrible for her selfishness. Hadn't she promised to help him with this? Something told her if she offered, he would just tease her again, make it into a game before banishing her without any real work getting done.

Hmm. She had to approach it from an angle he was more comfortable with. Make it into a game before he could. Struck with inspiration, she tore for her closet without alerting him to her spying. Surely at least one of those sexy little outfits he bought her would still fit with her baby bump.

One stuck out to her more than the others. Oh. He would love that. Probably a little too much. Before Lydia could talk herself out of it, she had her hair strung up in perky pigtails just above each ear, little red ribbons tied in bows. It didn't take much digging around his drawers to find the choker and bell he once wrapped around her neck, the color matching perfectly. It provided a warning jingle for her husband as she pattered down the hall in white thigh-high stockings and a blue plaid mini skirt, not even long enough to cover her ass. Over the top she wore a little white bralette that barely encompassed her full breasts and her old school blazer from Miss Shannon's. It couldn't button all the way, her bump protruding obviously past the stiff material.

She stopped and took a deep breath before revealing herself, committing to the character.

"Ahem."

He was wearing his glasses. A dark glint sparked through the lenses when he saw her, and Lydia flushed deep, almost losing her courage.

"Sir? Would you like some help? I know I have a bit of a… reputation around school, but I promise I'm only a bad girl sometimes."

Betelgeuse hated paperwork. He hated this job! He hated Juno. Anything that kept him away from his lovely pregnant wife was on his shit list. Permanently. He was so tired of filling out the same pieces of information over and over again. Husband: Betelgeuse. Poltergeist. Living name unknown. Died 1464. Wife: Lydia Deetz. Mortal. Age: 16. Birthdate: March 8. Death date: N/A.

He hovered over a new stack that had appeared moments before. There was a birth certificate at the top of the stack, immediately followed by a death certificate. They didn't think the baby would survive. Assholes.

He was just about to throw his reading glasses across the room and quit for the day when he heard the familiar shy lilt of his wife's voice. The words were surprising though. He turned to look at her, his eyes about to bug out of his head. Holy shit. Was he dreaming? He rubbed his hand over his mouth, trying to focus on the little game she was playing.

"Well, well… Miss Deetz. Looks like you've gotten yerself in a bit o' trouble, huh? Who's the punk that knocked ya up?"

Oh, good. He was willing to play.

"You wouldn't know him, Professor Geuse Sir."

Lydia fell into the role easily, crossing the red carpet with demure steps and a ducked chin, leading with her stomach and playing at being ashamed of her sullied, pregnant status. The act couldn't be further from the truth, but playing pretend was fun.

"He's older. A bona fide villain and a scoundrel. Took advantage of my naïve feminine sensibilities and then left me all on my lonesome; young, pregnant, and unmarried without a man to call my own."

The story practically wrote itself. By now, she had come over to his side of the desk, saddling her bare ass and the trim of her skirt up onto its polished surface.

"I'm lucky my Daddy didn't just pull me out of school completely."

Betelgeuse was definitely a bad influence on her.

"Can I help you, uhm… grade these papers, Sir? I love helping out… but I guess that's what got me into this mess."

He snorted at the implication that she needed her father's permission for anything now. He was all she needed.

"An older man? Why, Lydia… don't ya know that those older men only want one thing?"

He spread his legs, gripping at his crotch hungrily. "Mmm…. I'd love t'get your help. Only got one chair, though. You're gonna have to sit in my lap."

He reached for her excitedly, pulling her against him and sliding his hands into her blazer. "You know, it's pretty warm in here. You could take yer jacket off if ya want. I promise I won't look at ya too hard."

He winked and begrudgingly returned to his paperwork, hiding the infant death certificate before she could see it. No reason to worry her now. "You can start on this stack here, okay?"

Tucking her ass back in a way that nestled his surging erection right at the crevice of her cheeks, Lydia mimicked the position he had her in earlier and curled her calves up under his thighs. Now she had the desk to latch onto, as well as Betelgeuse's unwavering support at her back.

"You can look at me, Sir."

Like a properly abashed schoolgirl, she removed the blazer at her tutor's request, unlatching the only two done up buttons and dropping it to the floor. Keeping up the game was taking a toll on her nerves, but she was dedicated to the cause.

"I like the way you look at me."

To Lydia's credit, she made an effort at actually getting some of the paperwork done; filling in what she knew the answer to, asking him questions when she didn't, and moving along quickly at the non-applicable queries. It was only once Betelgeuse's rough palms started wandering, searching the flesh along her thighs and beneath her little skirt that she baited him again, unable to help herself. This outfit was making her feel naughty.

"I have to confess, Sir… I've always kind of had a thing for older men like yourself."

Her cheeks were flaming, breath quickening just so as the weight of his petting intensified. Stubbornly, she kept at the paperwork, eager to take responsibility for some of it.

"You're just so worldly and commanding... You have so much to teach me."

He couldn't keep himself from rubbing his hands over her back tenderly as she worked, taking the opportunity to pause in his own work to just watch her. Her back arched temptingly in a way that was familiar, but the rounded belly in front added even more to her naughty little game. He loved thinking up scenarios like this, and it seemed his little schoolgirl had picked up the habit.

I've always kind of had a thing for older men like yourself…

He smirked, his fingers trailing up to press gently against her labia, just teasing across the soft skin. "Oh? Well. Yer right… I got loads to show ya. We might have to bring ya in for remedial lessons…"

His other hand came up to caress her stomach, the gentle movements within making him grin excitedly. He nearly ruined the game to comment on Buggy moving but pushed it aside.

"You know, you seemed like such a sweet, innocent girl Lydia… and here you are… already knocked up and seducin' your teacher?" He clicked his tongue as though disappointed. "Naughty, naughty girl…"

"Looks can be deceiving."

His encouragement emboldened her, solidified the character. She wasn't just his good, sweet obedient wife anymore. No, now she was a bad girl. A promiscuous pregnant teenage slut out for her own gain.

"I don't want to be alone, Professor Geuse Sir."

Still filling out paperwork, she rolled her hips firmly, purposefully, letting his stiff hard-on dig into her backside as she kept working.

"I need somebody to take care of me and my bug. Babies need Daddies."

Sliding a self-conscious glance backward that fit beautifully into her current facade's mannerisms, she was pleased to see him grinning as he felt her up, obviously just as into this as she was. Her hips dipped again and she purred more kinky, nonsensical things, forcing the game home with a heated grind.

"If I take good care of you, will you take care of us? I think you would be such a goood Daddy."

He rocked his hips back up against her as she pressed back, truly sinful things coming from her sweet lips. He growled softly and pulled her skirt the rest of the way up her thighs.

"Yer lookin' for a Daddy, huh? You sure it's for yer buggy and not for you, kitten? You seem like ya need… a firm hand…"

He was suddenly standing, pulling his jacket off and draping it over the edge of the desk to cushion her back as he bullied her onto her back on the desk. "You're a bit of a tease, ain't ya Lydia? No wonder yer knocked up. Bet the poor bastard… just… couldn't help it."

He licked his lips at the sight of her spread open on his desk. This was by far superior to the last time they'd tried to play in here when everything was charged up with anger and hurt. This was just pure, kinky fun.

He ran his hand up her thigh to tease over her clit gently. "I think ya got yerself a deal, Miss… yer gonna have to take real good care of me though… at least three times a week."

"Oh, yes," she nodded in eager agreement making the long pigtails spilling over both her shoulders bounce, a guilty pout drawing out her bitable bottom lip. "I'm a horrible tease. The worst. My bug's father…"

Using his broad shoulder for support as she sat trussed and spread out over his desk and all the paperwork, she caressed her calmed belly and held burning eye contact with him.

"He ravished me. Couldn't take my teasing anymore and had his way with me; anywhere he could, however he wanted."

The game had its hooks in her and she was loving it, getting bolder by the moment. While she made her lustful confessions, he plied her clit with firm little circular motions, making her core weep for him and her breath go short.

"It's all my fault, but you can't blame me, really. I've never had a strong male influence in my life. No one to put me in my place."

He chuckled darkly, nuzzling into her hair gently. "Mmm…. that's alright. I can teach ya…" He sat back in his chair, leaving her on the desk as he kissed down her stomach lovingly.

It was out of character, but who cared. He'd take any opportunity he got to love on her and their kiddo. He ran his hands down her thighs, then back up to rub at her clit again.

"That's my good girl…. you wanna tell me what ya want? Clearly ya want somethin'… look at ya. Drippin for me…"

He grinned and leaned down to run his tongue over her gently, sucking at her lips firmly before pulling back with a soft popping sound.

The delicate lace filigree tops of her thigh-highs along with the bunched up little schoolgirl skirt framed her pussy beautifully. The lips were shaved, but a soft tuft of raven hair was left to flower just above her mound, providing a pretty sight for her husband indeed.

You wanna tell me what ya want?

That persistent flush spread down her neck until it was coloring the snowy flesh spilling out of her bralette. As well as she had carried on the performance thus far, she'd never been any good at dirty talk. Shit, did he really want her to spell it out for him?

"I… I want…"

Tongue-tied and suddenly bashful, she flustered, not having thought the scheme out this far. She wanted to spend time with him. She wanted to help with the paperwork. She didn't want him locked up in this study doing boring things by himself and depriving her of his attention. Anything else on top of all that was just gravy.

"Keep doing… that," she finally strung together an answer as he tongued at her, rattling her speech further. "Or don't. I— I like everything you do. Sir."

The last was added in a rush, the girl eager to keep up with the game she started.

He grinned and repeated the action, scooting forward in his desk chair to get a better angle to suck and pull at her, his nose buried in the thatch of dark hair she'd left for his enjoyment.

His hands trailed over her thighs gently, tracing circles and hearts into her soft skin as he worked her over, his long tongue sliding into her and twisting once before he pulled back and stood, undoing the buckle of his belt.

"Come here and help me, kitten. Lesson number one… how to suck a cock." He smirked, his hands squeezing at her breasts firmly. "Maybe if ya learned this earlier ya wouldn't be in yer little predicament."

He pulled her up to sit at the edge of the desk, careful to support her back where she'd started to complain of soreness as the days of her pregnancy had passed. "Don't worry, I know you'll be a real quick study."

Flexible as she was, it wasn't too difficult a task with the added weight in her midsection to spread her thighs wide, sidle forward, and arch down to take him by the belt loops and undo his fly. Something about watching him undo his belt was so delicious. It was a purely masculine move, one that encouraged her slick pussy to weep further for him and form a little wet spot on the soft inner lining of his jacket.

"I can suck cock," she insisted petulantly, pouting, almost hurt by the implication that she wasn't any good. Wasn't she? She was so sensitive, especially these days. Would he lie to her if her service wasn't up to par?

… but she wasn't his practiced, talented wife right now, was she? She was a naughty pregnant whore earning her keep and bagging a Daddy for her bug. Eager to prove herself, she sucked him down as soon as he jutted forward from his striped trousers, rigid and excited. He was cold in her mouth, as always. The veins in his girth pulsated like any other cock's might, his below-average temperature and odd complexion the only thing giving him away as less than alive.

Lengthy spools of inky hair fell over her shoulders invitingly, begging him to pull and dominate her. Lydia extended the invite further by taking firm hold of his hips while she did her best to swallow the intimidating hunk of flesh without his help, providing stability should he wish to abandon her tits for her hair.

Predicament.

She would show him. She was good at this. The best. He said so!

He moaned as she took him into her mouth, pinching at her tits gently. "Fuck… that's it, kiddo… that's perfect."

He ran his hand up her arms, hopefully encouraging her to keep it up. He could feel her indignation at the suggestion that she couldn't suck him off like the pro she was, but this was all a game… right? He had to at least try to keep up the front.

He gasped as she sunk down further onto him, carefully wrapping one of her pigtails around his hand and pulling her into him. "Fuck yeah… you were right, Miss Deetz… ya sure as hell can suck cock…" He conjured and lit a cigarette, taking a deep drag as he watched her bob her head in his lap.

As much fun as this was, he didn't want her hurt. He popped the cigarette into his mouth and ran the hand down her back, gently checking in to make sure she was alright. "This okay for yer back, baby? We can change it up… if we need to…"

Her tiny, hot tongue ran up the underside of his cock, making him jolt and thrust against her, forcing his cock further down her throat. "Shit! Sorry… sorry, baby…"

Come to think of it, her back was bothering her. Just a little. Releasing him with a guilty little frown as he pet at the tensed muscles, she admitted, "Kinda. Maybe I should… just… a minute…"

With his help, once he realized how she was trying to reposition herself, she turned around and laid out with her head hanging off the edge of the desk. The stockings were slippery on his smooth, polished desk, forcing her to reach down and grab her ankles to keep her legs from slipping off.

"There," she gasped, a smidge out of breath from the effort. "Now fuck my face."

He watched her wiggle, finally catching on as she tried to rearrange. He helped her lay back, watching her with concern to make sure she was really okay before–

There… Now fuck my face.

He snorted, chuckling softly as he ran his hand down her neck and into her bralette. "Right to the fuckin' point… I like the way you work, Lydia… no wonder that man couldn't help knockin' ya up. Yer too much…"

He tangled his free hand into her hair, angling her how he wanted her before pressing into her mouth. He let out a low groan, his eyes rolling back dramatically. "Shit… Relax. Just relax, baby…" He rocked into her slowly, his hand on her throat checking to make sure she could still breathe.

His pace was steady but slow. Each push brought her further and further into his wife's tight throat. "God, that's nice… so fuckin' good for daddy, aren't ya?"

His wife spread out over his desk, dressed as a naughty schoolgirl and brimming with his child, was a vast improvement from sheets of tedious paperwork, now mussed and out of order much like how Lydia usually left these trysts. He grabbed hold of one of her handlebars and hushed directives to her in a soft growl, telling her to relax and ease the process of his sodomy.

He was being so gentle this go around, taking his sweet time and making sure she was comfortable every step of the way. Their bug had made him soft. There was a time when he would have curled his meaty hooks tight around each of her handlebars and fucked her throat with reckless abandon until she was on the brink of passing out from oxygen deprivation.

Granted, he always took it slow at the start when they took off down this path, but something told her he wasn't about to take her so punishingly right this moment.

You're so fuckin' good for daddy, aren't ya?

"Mm," she hummed her adoration for him on a drawback, taking the opportunity to suck hard on the tip and produce more saliva, lube her throat up good. "Lubth- thoo," she paused her work to murmur gently around his cock before getting right back to the task at hand.

He was entranced by the sight of her spread out and debauched, her belly nearly surpassed her pert breasts now, changing every part of the silhouette he was used to. He loved it… seeing her completely taken apart and full of his child made him impossibly harder.

Her muffled sentiment made him smile. "Love you too, baby… hold still…" He pressed himself deeper, the tight sphincter at the base of her throat squeezing and pulling at the head of his cock deliciously.

"Fuck…." He rocked into the tight pull a few more times, his hand squeezing at her breast roughly. "Shit… I'm close baby…'m gonna cum on that pretty face… and then I'm gonna fuck ya for real."

He grinned down at her, her throat stretched taught as he rocked into her. Moments later he was pulling free of her mouth and tightening his hands in until he was holding her pigtails by the base, rubbing his cock eagerly against her face before he was spilling haphazardly over her, some landing on her chin and cheeks and some going as far as the tops of her breasts.

He panted and reached down to rub her belly gently. "Fuck… that was amazing. But I… I think I got another assignment for ya." He desperately tried to fall back into their game, his smirk only growing. "Come sit back in my lap."

Shamelessly, Lydia used her discarded school blazer to wipe cum from her face, neck, and tits, admiring the way his release looked smeared next to Miss Shannon's crest, stark white against the royal blue corduroy. If she missed a drop or two on the tops of her breasts and the swell of her belly, neither of them were in a mind to care too much.

With his assistance, she slid down from the desk into his lap in the rolling chair with complete trust that he wouldn't let her fall. Legs hooked over his elbow and arms around his neck, he cradled her close for a moment like a precious bundle, seemingly still recovering from his explosive peak. The damp tip of his still twitching erection could be felt prodding at her ass cheek out of sight below, perpetually ready for more.

Savoring the closeness, Lydia felt safe to break character.

"Do you like… this?" She queried in a bout of self-consciousness, nuzzling into the mossy crook of his neck. She'd never been so forward, so deviant with him before, not without him first initiating and her just falling in line with his unspoken rules. No, this was an idea all her own, cooked up without any provocation on his part, excepting that he provided the outfit that implanted such perverse notions. Not to mention all the dedicated work he had put into expanding her sexual horizons.

Still. It was her idea.

What other kinds of thoughts might she one day conceptualize with Betelgeuse as her keeper? They would just have to wait and see.

"It's not… not too much?"

He happily took his sweet little girl into his arms, cradling her close to his chest a moment as he prepared for the next scene of their act. His nose ran long hers gently as he heaved heavy breaths, a habit more than anything now.

Her soft questioning made him chuckle. Sure, he'd been surprised when she initiated this but wasn't a game like this one exactly what he'd had in mind when they bought the getup that she was now proudly strutting about in? Of course, it was. Sure, the belly was a surprise, but he certainly wasn't complaining.

"Like it? Baby, I love it… this is amazing. I'm so proud of ya for thinkin' it up. I needed a break… and I dunno if I coulda taken it without you comin' in here to love on me."

He smiled and pulled her back from his neck to kiss her firmly. "And I was right… yer a real quick study. Ya ready for yer next lesson? It's a… pretty big unit. Don't worry, though… no test at the end."

His hand slid up the backs of her thighs, caressing the soft skin while his cock bounced against the globes of her ass. He was eager to move on, to get his girl off. Usually, that was his first priority, but here they were… unmatched in orgasms. That couldn't be how they ended things… he liked to have her a couple of points over him at the very least.

She grinned into the kiss in abject relief at his reassurances, letting loose a breath she didn't know she was holding. This was a big step for her, and so his approval was crucial.

"I told you you didn't have to do this," she reminded while they were still taking their momentary break from character. "You don't have to do any stupid paperwork. It's my fault. I can do it. It's not like I have anything else to do for the rest of the week."

Lydia would be perfectly content to settle in at his desk with a Neitherworldian dictionary or two and crunch through the rest of the paperwork without his assistance during her forced maternity leave.

"I'm an excellent test taker."

Her grades began to slip after Mother's death, but before that they were impeccable, a solid GPA that was sure to land her a full ride to a school of her choice. That was her old life and it didn't matter anymore, but she could garner lessons from her time among the living and apply them here.

"You can quiz me on anything any time, Mister Professor Geuse Sir. I'm always prepared."

"Mister Professor Geuse Sir. Now that's a mouthful… though I guess ya knew that first hand."

He smirked and rubbed slow circles into her inner thigh, his eyes wandering her body as they often did. Not necessarily sexualized, but definitely full of desire. Love.

He was struck again by how much more he loved her than he'd loved anyone before. In his entire existence, no one had wanted his company or his attention in the way she did. She was his whole world… well. Her and Buggy. But for the next few months, his whole world was contained right here… in the delicate body he held across his lap.

He pressed a kiss to her cheek, then her neck, pulling her closer into his lap, lifting her just enough to line the head of his cock up to her entrance. "Well… question one, then…" He rocked her, teasing over her lips playfully.

"Do ya want it? Answer honestly… ya want this cock inside ya, baby girl?"

"Yes, Sir, Mister Professor Geuse Sir," she answered very seriously, teasing. It definitely had a nice ring to it. Rolled off the tongue much easier than his proper name, which was so filthy-sounding it was practically a curse on its own. She was glad he approved.

"Pleeaase," she begged he continued to toy with her, sliding her back and forth along his cock without dropping her too low, nestling the fat tip comfortably between her puffy lips then removing it before she could arch and wriggle and manipulate it deeper.

"I need it. Want you so bad. I would do anything for you, Sir."

As with most everything else she'd said in the course of their play, this was steeped in tease with a grain of truth hidden in the intonation. No doubt he would be able to pick up on it through the silly act.

He groaned at the sweet way she begged, pleading with him on how badly she wanted him to take her. It was cute, the way she wiggled as though he'd let her manipulate the situation when sh so clearly wanted him to be in charge.

He leaned down to kiss her gently, the exclamation holding a grain of truth that resonated in a way that made his heartache. She really would do anything that he wanted her to do. The thought both terrified and invigorated him.

He carefully lowered her exactly where she wanted to be, the head of his cock sliding into her in a slow, torturous stretch. As she bottomed out he groaned, running his hands up her thighs slowly until he was gripping her hips. "Shit. Yer awful tight for all the fuckin' you've supposedly been doin'."

He smirked and nuzzled his nose against hers gently. "That older man of yours got a tiny dick, or what?"

Supposedly. As if he wasn't the one co-starring in all of this apparently alleged fucking. Lydia was too busy being stretched open on his straining girth at an excruciating pace to comment on his ridiculousness. This was a new, strange angle, one that had him hitting her with increased intensity at previously trespassed places. She loved it. He was so close, keeping her cradled and cherished near his chest as he often held her, but with a new type of intimacy.

"Oh… fuck…"

For the first few moments, while he let her sit fully impaled and weighted down by gravity on his cock, she was reduced to shortened breaths and gasped curses, a vocal outlet for conveying the sweet agony he was giving her. It always took her a minute or two to adjust to his substantial size. "Ghost with the most" was an apt title.

Just as this thought crossed her mind, he made his deeply sarcastic self-deprecating crack about the "tiny dicked" father of her baby. It took a great deal of self-restraint to keep from just smacking him across the face.

"Oh yeah," she grit out, baring teeth and holding him tight, quite obviously challenged by the sheer mass of what he had to give her. "Miniscule. Microscopic. Good thing he has such a great personality."

He couldn't help but snicker as she settled against him fully. His cock was a lot to deal with… maybe he should have shrunk it just a touch to make it easier on her. Regardless, she was on now and still seemed willing to play, so he ran his hand over the bottom of her stomach and gave her a moment to adjust.

"Can't have that good a personality of yer comin' to me to play house. I ain't complainin'. Just makin' an observational hypothesis…"

He rocked up into her gently, pressing kisses over her shoulders and neck gently. "How's that feel, Lydia? Ya like that big cock in ya?"

The worst of the sting had worn off, leaving behind a vaguely uncomfortable stretch and a full sensation that told her he was as deep as he was going to go.

Can't have that good of a personality if yer comin' to me to play house.

"If he stuck around," she panted lightly, still physically coming to terms with her impalement, "I don't know that I would have…"

The actress in her was making a show, a genuine bittersweet quality to her voice at the very thought of her husband ever abandoning her.

"I love him. So much."

Soft kisses dappled his jawline as she praised her unborn child's father, her core fluttering and pulsing around him with involuntary muscle spasms as he rocked ever so subtly, shifting his hips without withdrawing, prodding her for a response. She returned the favor in droves, breath hitching and grip tightening, her own hips grinding down to meet his gentle rocking.

"Everybody says he's a bad guy… but they don't know him like I do."

The sweetness of the statement caught him off guard a moment. His slow rocking faltered just slightly as he pressed into her gentle kisses. "Well… I'm sure he loves you too. Maybe just wasn't ready to be a dad… but don't worry, Lydia… I've got ya now. And definitely want that little bun ya got in yer oven…"

He changed his rhythm, his thrusts becoming deeper as he pulled her closer to him. He leaned down to kiss her, tangling his tongue with hers as he thrust into her steadily. The movements rocked her up into the air, only to have gravity bring her back down with a vengeance, soft grunts leaving him as she landed back in his lap.

His hands roamed up her back, then down over the soft skin of her sides until they could rest at her stomach, rubbing slow, smooth circles that juxtaposed his rough thrusts in an odd manner. "Goddamn, I think I love ya… how could I not when yer so goddam good?"

Lydia had never felt so loved, so wanted, so appreciated. Caught up in the act, she was momentarily convinced that she really was this broken-hearted girl left to raise a child on her own, and had finally found someone who would love and care for her despite her sullied status.

Was this what Mother was looking for?

Best not to think about her right now. His tongue was there to muffle her speech, nest along the crevice of her mouth and keep her from saying anything stupid as the terrible, inappropriate thought tainted her pleasure. Regardless, she wasn't given much choice to dwell on it, not with the way he started in on fucking her.

He was rougher now than he was in the dungeon, spurred on by the game most likely. Mewling, she arched back over his sturdy arm, stretching, involuntarily contracting muscles that tried and failed to push him out. She choked his thick girth this way, pitch rising as he continued rutting up into her, bouncing her off his lap with strong thrusts and forcing the stubbornly clenched tunnel of muscle to swallow him whole with the force of gravity.

"Fuck!" She cried brokenly, digging her nails into his knee for a sense of grounding. "Please! Oh, God, Beej! So good! Harder! Faster! Please fuck me!"

Her face had a strange look on it, one full of far too much emotion for him to interpret in the throes of passion. He simply held her close and tried to pour everything he felt for into their embrace. How could she not see how truly perfect she was? Even now?

He brushed off the thought, pulling her closer as he rocked up into her. His hands found her hips as his pace increased, doing his best to not actually hurt her, though he was sure she'd be sore tomorrow, simply from the positioning he'd bent her through.

One hand came up to caress the bottom of her rounded belly, his face pressing into her neck as he panted and grunted, bracing himself so he could thrust up harder into her as she'd requested. He moaned softly as she clenched down around him, nearly too tight to continue his assault.

"Fuck, baby… I gotcha.. relax, Lyds… relax… I'm here…"

Ever obedient, unable to deny him anything especially when he was begging like that, she forced herself to go lax to his furious thrusting. This allowed him to hit deeper, nudging something at the limitations of her inner parts that sent her into a fervor. Her peak, having been teased and denied for much of their romp, was loud and messy, desperate wails filling the office space as well as wet slapping as she soaked the crotch of his pants with her abundant release.

Once the explosive show subsided, she went truly pliant, barely able to keep producing noises for him as he kept at it, the punishing rhythm she pled for never faltering in pursuit of his own euphoria. It was bliss. Everything was perfect and calm in Lydia's world, despite the brutal fucking she was undertaking. He was here. He had her. He wasn't going anywhere.

If not for the occasional breathy moans spilling past her arousal swollen lips, she would have appeared asleep; countenance smoothed in serene contentment, head lolling gently against his wild hair as he burrowed into her neck to bite and suckle marks there. Gentle and sweet in direct contrast to his beastly motions, she trailed a small hand up to stroke up his mossy neck and hairline, softly coming to trace his stubbly cheek.

"M'yours," she assured her savage husband in between thrusts, finding the wherewithal to brush an angelic kiss across his clammy forehead. "No one else's… Ever again…"

Betel knew he wasn't going to be far behind. Their charade had fallen away completely by the time she was falling over the edge into her orgasm, spasming and wailing in his lap.

He panted as he continued his barrage, his hands gentling as she went lax against his chest, her soft breathing slowing until he nearly thought she was sleeping, through the soft sounds and reassurances were evidence that she wasn't. He knew he wouldn't last.

Her soft lips brushing his forehead did him in, and he pulled her down onto him as far as she could go, a choked moan of her name leaving his lips as he filled her, his cock twitching spasmodically inside of her.

"Fuck, I love you…I'm yours too… no one else's. Never again… Goddamn…" He collapsed back into his chair, grinning up at his wife lovingly. "You…. you are a naughty little thing, Mrs. Geuse…. who knew?"

That was a fun game. She would have to come to him to play out scenarios like this more often. There was something titillating about putting on someone else's skin and acting out scenes that would never see the light of day otherwise. She would never see a classroom again, he would never abandon her and their bug, and she would never be forced to whore herself for financial and paternal support.

You are a naughty little thing, Mrs. Geuse. Who knew?

Smirking softly through her sex-induced lethargy, Lydia tugged his jacket off the nearby desk, bringing it up to cover herself as her heart rated slowed and sweat-slicked flesh began to develop goosebumps.

"Would you believe me if I told you I really did just come in here to help with paperwork?"

The kinky sex was a pleasant side-effect, but not the goal.

"I don't want you to do anymore. You work hard enough. I can do it. I'm not dumb. Give me a couple of days and I can have it all filled out."

Would you believe me if I told you I really did just come in here to help with paperwork?

"Not for a second. Ya really got all dolled up like that and expected me not to ravish ya? Yer crazier 'n I gave you credit for."

He smirked and leaned up to kiss her. "I got no doubt you can do it, but you got a day job and I don't. Gives me somethin' to do when I let ya go back."

He stood, grimacing slightly as his back protested. Maybe they'd save that position for special occasions. He headed for their bedroom, settling her at the edge of the bed and kissing her lips, then the center of her clavicle, then her belly, his hands smoothing over the edges of the roundness gently.

"Besides. I'm not growin' a whole ass human bein'."

You got a day job and I don't.

What about bio-exorcizing? Come to think of it, he hadn't taken a job throughout the entire course of their marriage. Or, if he did, she didn't know about it.

"That's not a real job," she brushed off, petting her fingers through his hair as he knelt before her. "It's more like… a hobby I get paid for."

There were some duties, but they were light and insignificant compared to the joy that creating beautiful things with Ginger gave her.

"But if you're that committed to doing it on your own, then fine. I'll drop it. I just feel responsible."

He shouldn't have to stay cooped up in that office all alone doing boring paperwork when she was more than willing to help. He did make a compelling argument, though. Growing an entire human being was hard work. She was already ready for another nap. She took so many these days her sleeping schedule was all over the place. Luckily, Betelgeuse almost never slept and Neitherworld time was impossible to keep track of anyway.

"Beej? How does bio-exorcising work? If you take a job… will you have to… leave?"

Oh, now she asked about the job. He frowned softly. "Not full time. It ain't like with the Maitlands. I was stuck in that house the same as them… now I'm free as a bird! If I get a job, I'll probably work nights. You can sleep and I can work."

He leaned his cheek into her thigh. "And ya ain't responsible. Besides, there's shit in there I'd rather ya not see. They got real thorough." He looked up at her and chuckled softly.

"Nap time? I can see it on yer face. If ya really want, we can look for a job tomorrow. Though it's not gonna be easy to take ya with me, seein' as yer alive. I'd just as soon wait until Buggy is a couple o' years old."

He perked up then, standing and holding a finger out to her. "Speakin' of baby bug… I got ya somethin'." He popped down to the kitchen and back, handing her a bag of what looked like chocolate covered raisins.

"They're grasshoppers! Real tasty. And chocolate! You love chocolate!"

Salivating, Lydia tore into the insectoid bag of treats like a Tasmanian devil, scarcely waiting for him to explain what they were. She already knew. She could smell them, even under the coat of rich milk chocolate. The pungent flavor exploded over her taste buds, making her groan as it mixed with melting chocolate on her tongue.

"Thank you," she moaned through a full mouth, eternally grateful that he didn't seem interested in teasing her over her unnatural cravings. Hopefully, they didn't stick around after bug was born. She was strange and unusual enough without having to dig through the dirt for bugs to get a fix, thank you very much.

We can look for a job tomorrow.

Pouting terribly, Lydia's attention flew from the crickets to her husband, still standing and admiring her in her disheveled naughty schoolgirl outfit as she gorged herself on the treat he provided.

"No!" Immediately, she dialed back. She never got her way when making outright demands. She had to be more subtle than that. "I mean… I don't want you to go to work. I like having you home. I was just scared that maybe you would get called in or something and not have a choice. But that won't happen, right?"

He chuckled, starting to undress as she dug into the chocolatey bugs, shaking his head slightly. It had to be the baby. Maybe he and Buggy could bond over a love of insects as snacks.

He pressed his lips to her temple when she started to protest, shushing her gently. "Baby, no… someone tries to call me in I'm gonna tell them to fuck off until yer comfortable with me goin'. I mean what are they gonna do? Leave?" He snorted. "Hundred n' twenty-five years! Remember?"

He ran his hand through her hair, his tongue sneaking out to steal one of the grasshoppers. "It's just you and me and Buggy for as long as ya want. Well. And the babies." At the mention of them, Bubbie bounded into the room. He was now nearly the size of a Shetland pony. He wagged his stubby tail furiously, shoving his way in to put his head in his mistress's lap.

Betelgeuse sighed and patted the beast on the head. "Jesus. Look at this lug. How'd I fit you in my jacket, huh?" Bubbie wagged harder and growled softly, snapping at his fingers. "Oh! Is that how it's gonna be?" He shoved at the dog's rear until he moved and in seconds they were play fighting on the bedroom floor. Tilly trotted over and sighed as if to say "Boys."

Lydia giggled madly watching her boys wrestle on the rug, all except for Percy who was above such nonsense. He instead followed the snowy-furred she-beasts up onto the bed to snuggle Mistress and watch as Master and the dumb, drooly dog made fools of themselves. This was a mistake. Tilly, still quite convinced he was one of her puppies, took him by the scruff of his neck and settled him in against her belly, forcing him to stay put and let her bathe him. Percy seethed. Humiliating.

This sent Lydia into another laughing fit as she peeled the silly lingerie off, flinging the scraps of cloth across the room to deal with later.

"Percy!" She giggled and slid over to lay on her side to watch the amusing display, using Tilly's thickly furred hind legs as a pillow. "Did Tilly get you? You have to be faster than that, buddy."

Full of love and joy, Lydia settled in comfortably against the massive hound as she bathed her reluctant odd-puppy, watching on with lidded eyes as her husband continued to growl and rustle as good as any mutt, letting Bubby get the upper hand before flipping and taking him into a light headlock that had him snapping at the air and shaking his entire body for release.

"Beej," Lydia chastized, well aware that Beelzebub would never harm Betelgeuse, and therefore would never win. "Stop being mean. Are you going to come to bed with me? Or did you just undress to give me a show?"

He looked up from where he had the puppy pinned to smile and chuckled at the sight of his bare, pregnant wife curled up amongst the animals. There was something primal about it that tickled him.

He freed the dog and made his way up onto the bed. Before he could get there, Bubbie closed his jaws around his ankle. "Ow! Bubbie! Okay nice!" He flicked the dog's nose sharply.

He huffed and shoved Tilly back to curled around his wife, littering kisses over her shoulders. "Discipline yer dog. He's bein an asshole."

Bubbie jumped up onto the bed, wagging, to displace Percy and lay on his back, fully expecting to be groomed as well. Tilly huffed and complied, one heavy forearm over his stomach.

Discipline? The baby? Never.

"No," she sighed noncommittally in Bubby's general direction, sinking into her husband's embrace shortly thereafter with a heavy yawn. "Stop. Don't. Bad dog."

Beelzebub's only response was to pant happily and lick the air towards her, sending love without interrupting his bath. Luna, having grown a sort of appreciation for the mothering beast, was taking the time to delicately clean her ears and the top of her head while she busied herself with the darker animals. Tilly knew betted than to attempt bathing the Púca.

"Is everything always going to be this perfect…?" She hushed as he pulled the canopy closed, shutting them off from the rest of the world. She didn't really want an answer. It couldn't possibly be yes.

He rolled his eyes at the beasts and ran his hand over her round belly in a way that had become comforting to hiim. "Yer dog bit me and that's all I get? I see how it is."

He pressed kisses over her back as the canopy closed, the tiniest bump pressing against him from inside her. He grinned. A happy, healthy baby and wife was all he could hope for, now.

It seemed like nothing could touch this sanctuary of peace and love… how unusual. He wasn't used to tranquility or anything near it. But his afterlife with Lydia seemed to have a lot of the strange and unusual. He wouldn't trade it for the world.

Chapter Text

"Alabama, Arkansas,
I do love my Ma and Pa,
Not that way that I do love you."

— Home
Edward Sharpe and the Magnetic Zeros

The years were harsh to Charles Deetz. Following his daughter's abduction— he couldn't bear thinking of the event as anything else— alcoholism got its hooks into him. He had always had an unhealthy love for the bottle, but the old adage was true. You don't know what you've got till it's gone. The loss of his daughter was too painful for someone as weak-willed as Chuck to cope without a crutch. He quickly disintegrated.

Delia managed to tough it out for five more years before packing up and moving in with her sister in New York, happy to get out the shticks and leave that chapter of her life behind. The final straw for her was Charles spending their anniversary slumped over a creaky barstool in Winter River's only pub, having completely forgotten the occasion. When he came home stumbling at three o'clock in the morning, he found all of Delia's things gone, as well as a stack of divorce papers on his desk, every line already filled out and ready to be filed, just waiting for his signature.

He gave her the divorce without a fight, letting her take all she wanted. She deserved it, putting up with his bullshit as long as she had. Not long after losing his wife, he lost his job as well, unable to meet the required deadlines or show up to meetings without the stench of liquor on his breath.

He never could bring himself to leave the house on the hill, far too attached to the ghost of his daughter's memory. His wealthy family came to the rescue in his time of need; paying bills, providing financial stability, and giving him premature access to his inheritance, most of which had already been pilfered by Delia in the divorce. Like a true skeevy businessman, he was quick to take advantage. It didn't take long at all for him to blow through the already depleted funds. After that was gone, he was on his own.

The house was repossessed. All of his belongings as well as the scraps that Lydia left behind were carted out to the curb, where Charles Deetz sobbed brokenly over them until the garbage man came to take them away. Now, he truly had nothing. No daughter, no wife, no job, no home, no family.

With time, he grew a reputation. Clothed in reeking rags, he spent his days wandering Winter River, begging for spare change and going on drunken rants whenever he managed to save up enough for a bottle. He told his story to anyone who would listen; that a monster took everything from him. A striped vagabond, a boogeyman who snuck into his home like a thief in the night and stole everything that he held dear.

Unfortunately, no one was interested in listening to the town drunk's nonsensical ramblings. Nights were spent sleeping in the cemetery among the tombstones, the last place his daughter was known to be alive and well.

This is where Charles Deetz died, nestled uncomfortably between Barbara and Adam Maitlands' matching headstones, an empty bottle of cheap whiskey in his dirty mitts and a folded up photo of a garden spider tucked into his grimy jacket's pocket.

When the phone on his desk rang, he'd been wary. The only person who'd call him would be Juno, old-fashioned as she was. It made it even more of a surprise when Carmen was on the other end. "Carmen? What's happenin'?"

"OH! Mijo, you'll never believe it... guess who came into the waiting room drunk and rambling about your wife. He's asking for you too!" Betel immediately went on the defensive, scowling at his desk. "Who the hell would be askin' about my wife? Everyone knows better."

"Well, not everyone. Go on. Guess."

Just then, she was interrupted by a familiar voice. He was shouting, and clearly off his ass drunk, but it was him.

"WHERE'S MY DAUGHTER!? I know y'bastards got her! And B'tlejuzz. Where is THAT asshole?" Charles Deetz. Shit. He glanced over his shoulder at his office door. Lydia was asleep in their bedroom, hopefully dreaming peacefully. He shook his head.

"I'll be right there, Carmen."

He hung up and scribbled down a note to leave beside the bed with a red rose.

Running an errand. Love you. Home soon.

With that settled he popped himself into the waiting room, staring at the disgusting mess that was left of his father-in-law. "Dad. Good t'see ya. Heard ya were lookin' for me."

In the Neitherworld, when one died drunk, they stayed drunk. At least for a little while, until they were ready to sober up. Some people never got that far. Charles wasn't anywhere near the proper headspace. All he was cognizant of was that he was dead— finally— and could continue the arduous search for his long lost daughter. The cruel ghost hadn't allowed him to keep a single picture of her. He'd nearly forgotten what she looked like.

But he was here now and he could find her. Do the job he was always meant to do and make sure she was safe. At any cost. If only the stupid cow behind this counter would give him a second of her attention. The bimbo yapped on casually on her phone, not even giving him the courtesy of a response. Charles was far too belligerent to take in what she was saying and to whom.

"Lydia! Deetz!" He repeated, slurring but still somehow chewing the syllables. "D-E-E-T-Z. Jus' type it into your lil' machine and lemme see my daughter!"

The secretary hung up her phone, sighed, put up a little handwritten sign, then walked away, refusing the drunkard even a moment's consideration. Smoke break. Be back whenever.

There was a little cutesy kiss mark on it that sent Charles into a rage, banging both fists on the unbreakable, dingy glass pane.

"Come back! Come back!"

Dad. Good t'see ya. Heard ya were lookin' for me.

The sound of that voice cracked across his ears like a whip, drawing him away from the glass effectively.

"You," he hissed, sneering, eyes wide and bloodshot, wild with contempt. Fearless, he stumbled forward, grabbing hold of the detestable ghoul's striped lapels to give him a good shake. "Bring me to Lydia! Is she okay? What have you done to her? I want to see my daughter now!"

Betelgeuse was completely unphased, simply rolling his eyes at the way his father in law tried to intimidate him into seeing Lydia. That sure as hell wasn't going to work.

"Let's not do this here, Chuck." He turned to the window where Carmen has returned to snoop. "Thanks, Carmen. I'll handle him." In a blink they were standing in a sparse bedroom in the basement of the house he shared with Lydia. The guest room was yet another locked door that his wife hadn't managed to explore.

He shoved Chuck onto the bed and flopped into the armchair that sat across from it. "So. First of all, congrats on finally kickin' it. Second, Lyds is great. Happy, healthy. Got a job. She's a fashion designer. Makes beautiful stuff."

He fixed him with a stern look. "And she's pregnant. Due in a few months. Which means you better get yer shit together if ya wanna meet yer granddaughter. What the fuck happened to ya, Chuck? I mean I knew ya were a drunk, but this? Ya think Lyds would wanna see ya like this? Pathetic."

Everything the hated ghoul had to say about his daughter dug a proverbial knife deeper into his chest. Happy? Healthy? Fashion designer?! Pregnant?!

In any of his miserable years waiting hopelessly for her to return, Charles had never seriously entertained the possibility that Lydia might be well cared for by the ghoul. He remembered the meeting, the conversation they had all those years back in his study in which the poltergeist demanded information about the monster who attacked his daughter when she was too young to understand what was happening to her. Sometimes he thought he'd imagined the entire scene to comfort himself, but the album… the album was gone. It was real. That happened.

I knew ya were a drunk, but this? Ya think Lyds would wanna see ya like this?

His fierce, determined expression crumpled into something else as he looked down at himself with a blurry vision, taking stock of his appearance. He was a bum. The last time Lydia saw him, he was… well, he wasn't exactly sober, but he wasn't what he was now. He was cleanly shaven and wore one of his nice, tailored suits, barely any gray in his hair. The clothes he wore now were ill-fitted and grungy. A scruffy gray beard took up most of his sagging face, matching the unkempt length of whitish blondish hair on his head, greasy and hanging down past his ears.

"She's still… alive…?"

His head hurt, and trying to make sense of all this wasn't doing anything to help. Why was he still drunk? Would he be like this forever?

"Lydia can't… can't have babies…"

Surely, there was some sort of misunderstanding here. What witchcraft was this? Where was he even? The room was plain, barely furnished. Just a modest bed, a nightstand, a lamp, and a wardrobe. No real color or personality, like he imagined a dorm in a convent might look.

"M'still… still drunk," he informed as if his foul son-in-law wasn't already aware, rubbing furiously at his eyes as though it might banish his intoxication. "Don' wannabe… where am I? Can't— can't think… Just wanna see my baby…"

Lydia can't... can't have babies.

"Oh, so ya knew about that. Thanks for the heads up. She was real broken up about it. Never seen her like that... but I fixed it for her. I always fix it for her. Anything she wants she gets. Ya should be happy for her."

He lit a cigarette and offered one to his father in law. "Yer in our house. Though Lyds won't know yer here. And she won't til ya sober up all the way. I'm not about to stress her out and hurt her or the baby seein' ya like this."

He took a deep drag of his cigarette, staring at the man who'd reared his perfect, saintly wife. He didn't see the resemblance. Not for a minute. "If you wanna play Grandpa Chuck, yer gonna apologize. Understand? For all the bullshit she had to go through. I'm not lettin' ya anywhere near her til yer ready to do that."

He shook his head, thinking over all the damages he'd tried to fix in their time together. The scarring on her womb still worried him. The birth was going to be a struggle for her... it would be even if she were whole. She was so tiny...

His eyes snapped back to the bum sitting at the edge of the bed. He waved a hand and the man was dressed in a pair of cotton pajamas, not unlike the ones someone might receive at a rehab facility.

"Bathroom is through that door. When I leave, the one goin to the house will disappear. Just ask for food out loud, it'll appear. Don't bother askin' for booze. Won't come." He stood and gave the man a hard look.

"I'll be back, Chuck. And I'll wanna see progress. Lyds'll probably be excited to hear yer down here. When I tell her. If I tell her."

Charles was still stuck on the baby, showing a drastically delayed reaction when his tatted hobo rags disappeared to be replaced with plain prisoner's pajamas. It was the nicest thing he'd worn in years. Could it be? Was he going to be a grandpa? Was she as happy as the villain said? Betelgeuse hadn't lied to him yet.

Beyond words, he began to shake, tears streaming unbidden down his aged, colorless cheek. Betelgeuse scoffed at this and disappeared with a pop. He would comfort his crying wife, sure, but the old man was on his own. With the poltergeist's disappearance, Charles allowed himself to dissolve completely, crumpling onto the thin mattress and releasing choked, bittersweet sobs into the room. After a while, the corners of his mouth lifted, and it became impossible to discern if he was weeping or laughing, though it was likely a combination of both.

Once the waterworks subsided into weak hiccups, he found it in himself to try for some food despite his lack of appetite. Maybe it would help make the fuzziness go away.

"B… Big Mac…"

As if he'd walked into a McDonald's and purchased it himself, a perfectly wrapped Big Mac appeared on the nightstand, melty cheese and all. It was the best he had ever had. Sucking crumbs and grease from his fingers, he made to stumble toward the bathroom, exploring. There was a mirror above the sink… but no reflection. He stayed there for a long while, patting the looking glass where his reflection should have been and assessing the purplish hue of his hands. It was surreal.

The smallish bathroom— just a shower stall, toilet, and sink— was fully stocked with all the proper toiletries; toothbrush and toothpaste, shampoo, conditioner, and body wash, and shaving cream and a sturdy razor that looked like it would cut through the scruff on his face without issue. Triggering the nozzle until a fat dollop of foam formed in his hand, Charles started in on shaving himself, eager to right himself for his daughter and her impending baby. She wouldn't even recognize him like this…

Lydia was a wreck. Bug was due for arrival in roughly two months, guests for the baby shower were going to start showing up any minute, and her no-good rotten husband was nowhere to be found, leaving her to prepare on her own. She was finally going to be meeting the much talked about Jacques, "the monster across the street and his girlfriend"— whatever that meant, but Lydia was sure they were lovely people. Juno and the pretty secretary she once met briefly had also been sent invitations.

The heavily pregnant Lydia had been up since the crack of dawn, preparing hors d'oeuvres and hanging decorations. She insisted on gender-neutral colors despite his determination that they were having a girl. Just in case. Black, green, and purple streamers and balloons lined the halls, providing a festive atmosphere. Currently, Lydia was balancing at the top of a ladder in the foyer, attempting to string up a banner for welcoming their guests. She managed to get the other side pinned up with some difficulty, but she was running on fumes at this point. She didn't want to party. She wanted to nap.

"Damnit, Betelgeuse," she cursed, stretching up awkwardly with her extremely full, perfectly round belly to pin the other side of the banner. Just then, the timer on the oven went off, startling her and upsetting her balance. The ladder shuddered, then tipped, and in the blink of an eye, she was crashing toward the ground.

As Betelgeuse appeared upstairs, he was just in time to see his very pregnant wife go tumbling off the ladder. He had her in his arms in an instant, eyes wide.

"The hell are you doin'!? Jesus, Lydia I told ya I'd be right back! I coulda done all this with a snap." As if demonstrating, he snapped and the rest of the decorating was done. He lowered her carefully and pressed his lips to her temple. "Christ, ya scared me."

He brought his hand down on her ass firmly. "Don't do that shit! I leave for fifteen minutes to work on yer gifts and ya try to get yerself and Buggy offed."

Frazzled and shaken from the fall, Lydia clung to his side as he gently lowered her back to her feet.

"I wasn't trying to do anything other than make sure everything looks nice and that we have food for our guests!" She snapped, jerkily straightening out her hair and outfit, mussed from the fall.

"Fifteen minutes my ass! Where were you!?"

What planet was he living on? She was furious. How dare he up and disappear on her in the middle of the night right before the baby shower they'd been planning for months.

"You've been gone all day! People are going to start showing up any minute now and nothing's ready!"

Apparently, she was conveniently willing to ignore the perfectly dressed halls, bedecked with more beautiful decorations, courtesy of his juice, than she could have possibly put up on her own.

"I still need to make cupcakes, and mix the punch, and there's a sink full of dishes in there that haven't been washed and— and— the pigs in a blanket!"

Without further preamble, she turned her back on him in a flurry of royal purple fabric and ebony hair, waddling just as quickly as she could toward the kitchen to attempt saving the mini weenies before they could be burnt to a crisp.

He had the good sense to act thoroughly scolded, padding into the kitchen after her. "I'm sorry, baby... can I help? Summon the cupcakes or something?"

He slid in behind her, rubbing a hand over her stomach. "I was looking for one last gift and lost track of time on the mortal plane. I'm sorry, kitten. Really..."

He wasn't about to tell her the truth. He trusted Juno and Carmen to keep their mouths shut, but the fact that he was hiding her father from her in the basement was at the front of his mind.

"Come on. Before the guests show up..."

He led her carefully to the nursery, which had been completely redone. There was a twisting tree painted on one corner, the branches trailing over the walls on either side and up onto the ceiling.

The cherrywood furniture was finished. A crib, rocking chair, dresser, and changing table all matched in curling carved surfaces that mimicked the boughs of the creepy tree. A stuffed bat sat on the rocking chair, a fanged smile on its face.

Lydia had been a very good girl for him and hadn't trespassed into the forbidden nursery since the day she walked in on him doing his woodwork. It would be more fun to be surprised. Mood swinging rapidly in the opposite direction, Lydia kept her eyes shut in anticipation as he led her through the door, a gentle palm on her lower back.

"Oh… Beej…"

It was perfect. Absolutely stunning. Suddenly weak in the knees, she crumpled against him, too full of emotion to contain the tears.

"Gonna…" she hiccupped, wiping dampness from the corner of her eyes. "Gonna mess up my makeup."

She had been on forced maternity leave since about halfway through the second trimester, and without anywhere to go she hadn't bothered making herself up in any capacity. It was Ginger's idea. Apparently, she wasn't too fond of the way Lydia's gaze would sometimes stay plastered on her, staring at her like she looked like a good snack. She couldn't help it, really. Bug certainly had Daddy's appetite.

"I need to sit down…"

He guided her to the beautifully crafted rocking chair and she fell into it heavily, but gracefully, a heavy sigh parting her lips.

"It's so beautiful, baby," she breathed, eyes closing in exhaustion while she cuddled the little stuffed bat close. "I don't think I can do anymore. I've been up and moving all day."

He watched her fiddle around the nursery with a bright smile. He'd worked hard in here to make it match the rest of the house at the same time that it was unique for the baby. Something still felt off, but he couldn't put his finger on it.

The nursery was nearly as large as their bedroom, one corner dedicated entirely to toys they were too small to play with. "Oh! Check this out. Don't get up."

He lifted the lid of a wicker basket near the changing table and a current of air seemed to flow into it. "It's a link to Saturn. Too small for anything to come through and just big enough to drop diapers in!"

He continued in this vein, showing her everything he could think to in the room. Every corner was something he'd thought up and put in behind her back.

He turned to her as she leaned back in the chair, chuckling and dropping to his knees in front of her. "Aw, babes... you just relax, okay? I'll take care of it. Want me to zap you n' the chair down to the party? That way ya don't gotta move." He pressed a kiss to the top of her round stomach, now more pronounced than ever before. "Almost done."

"Please," Lydia acquiesced to the offer, petting over his hair as he loved on her, making sure to set the stuffed bat off to the side so it wouldn't transport with her. In an instant, they were magicked down to the cheerfully morbidly decorated living room. The couches had been arranged accordingly, and Betelgeuse placed her right at the edge near the burning fireplace, completing the circle and putting her in the coziest, most attention-grabbing position. She was the star of this show. The formal dining table was moved in and pushed up against the wall, one end designated for finger foods, the other empty for receiving presents.

Ginger and Jacques arrived first, the spider promptly bursting into messy, blubbering tears at the sight of her very pregnant assistant.

"You're just so… so… beautiful!" She sobbed over the pouting Lydia, who felt more like a beached whale than an idol of beauty and femininity.

"Oui oui, cherri," the skeleton agreed with his arachnid escort, brushing a bony, gentlemanly kiss across her knuckles that made Betelgeuse pull a face, though he appeared to understand and accept that there was nothing nefarious behind it. "You are... How you say? Glowing! Eet eez so wonderful to be meeting you! I did not believe Ginger when she told me Bee-attle-joos married une clean, polite, bootiful living girl, but here you are! With ze bun in ze oven! Mademoiselle, you must tell me. What eez Bee-attle-joos doing to win your heart?"

"He makes me laugh," she answered simply, sparing a warm glance her husband's way. Beelzebub chose then to break the softness of the moment, tearing through the living room to steal Jacque's leg and take off with it to parts unknown.

Betelgeuse hated having people in his house. If he had it his way, he and Lydia would never see anyone outside their immediate family ever again. But she'd insisted, so here he was. Hosting a baby shower.

He snorted as Beelzebub took off with Jacques' leg, making the skeleton fall to pieces in their hallway with a sputter. The look he received from all parties sent him grumbling after the dog.

When all was said and done, the only guest he actually wanted to talk to was Carmen, and the two of them stood off to one side to gossip. Once in awhile, he'd come over to kiss Lydia and rub a hand gently over her stomach.

The living room was packed full, Ginger and the Monster Across the Street's girlfriend flanking her sides to braid strange flowers into her hair. Everyone was so nice and welcoming, lathing her in compliments and giving Betelgeuse shit where shit was due.

Jacques brought a bottle of high-end wine from his fancy restaurant, meant for Lydia to partake in once the bundle of joy had been ripped from her body. Ginger brought nearly her entire infant fashion line, despite Lydia's multiple insistences that she could make clothes for the baby on her own. The Monster Across the Street and his girlfriend brought a gift basket filled with all sorts of essentials; diapers, baby powder, and binkies. That it was western themed raised an eyebrow or two, but Lydia was polite and didn't say anything cross. Betelgeuse had no problems being an ass and telling them they "already had all that shit", which earned a dirty look from his wife.

It was Carmen and Juno who came bearing the most useful gifts. The caseworker brought a box of fine cigars and a bottle of Jameson for her protégé, which Betel wasted no time in digging into. Carmen was the only one of any of them who thought to bring a breast pump, something that foolishly hadn't crossed Lydia's mind on the list of things she needed.

It was kind of her, and Lydia appreciated it… but she didn't appreciate at all the way the skinny dead woman was monopolizing all of her husband's time. It didn't help that he didn't seem to mind at all. He was smiling. Laughing. What was so great about her?!

"… Betel, that darn-tootin' dog…" she heard the Monster Across the Street mutter under his breath to Jacques. "… got a fine piece right here n' just can't help himself, can he?"

Lydia was going to be sick.

"Excuse me," she muttered, moving from her pregnancy perch abruptly and waving off Ginger and the Monstress when they made to follow, toddling quickly out of the room before they could see her cry.

She was being silly. There wasn't anything going on. But why did her heart hurt so fucking much? It must have been hormones. Barbara would know what to do.

Betelgeuse just barely caught the sight of his wife fleeing the room, her long dark hair flowing out after her. He frowned and turned to the Monster Next Door. "The hell did my wife go?"

The monster shook his head. "Where d'ya think? Ya got a beautiful, pregnant wife an' yer over in the corner chattin' up a beauty queen!"

Betelgeuse cursed. "I'll be back. Eat the food." He hurried to look for Lydia, checking their bedroom and the workshop before finding her curled on the floor of the nursery.

"Baby... what's goin' on?" Oh god. Crying. She was crying. He sat beside her and pulled her head into his lap, running his fingers through her hair. "Lyds... talk to me. Ya know Carmen's just my friend, don't ya? We were just catchin' up..."

"I'm not jealous of her," Lydia croaked back unconvincingly in a thick, choking voice as her husband pulled her head into his lap. How was it he always knew what she was thinking, but she never seemed to have an accurate read on him? It wasn't fair.

"It's nothing. Just pregnancy hormones. There's just… so many people here."

She loved her new family, her new friends… but. But. Some people just couldn't be replaced.

"I'm so fat. I look like a hippo. I wish everyone would stop coddling me and calling me pretty. It's such bullshit. They don't even know me. I want— I want—"

Shuddering, she sobbed out her impossible, unreasonable desire into his thigh, feeling a weight lift off her shoulders once the long-awaited confession finally burst forth.

"I want my Mommy. I want Barbara. She should be here."

His heart broke as she cried in his hold, his lovely, happy wife had been reduced to this far too many times for his liking. There always seemed to be another woman involved. Gears slowly clicked into place in his head.

I want my Mommy. I want Barbara.

He frowned. Well, he certainly couldn't get her real mother for her. The Maitlands, though. They were like parents to her, right? He could do that. He could fix this. "You're right, kitten. Babs should be here. And so should Adam." He carefully lifted her and settled her in their bedroom at the edge of the bed. "Rest. I'll be right back. I'm sure Ginge'll be up to check on you."

When Lydia had first arrived, he'd taken the time to track down where the Maitlands were living. Off in one corner of New Yuck, right along with the other drowning victims. They shared a tiny apartment provided by the Big Wigs for dealing with... well. Him.

He appeared at the front door and braced himself for an attack as he knocked firmly.

Chapter Text

"There goes my baby,
Movin' on down the line,
Wonder where, wonder where,
Wonder where she is bound?"
—There Goes My Baby
The Drifters

The Maitlands were no longer unhappy with eternity. Now they were more… resigned to it. Their neighbors were loud but friendly. Their apartment was small but cozy. Their jobs were monotonous but easy. Adam bagged groceries at their local supermarket while Barbara demonstrated her talents in the bakery. They worked the same hours, walked home together every day at the same time, and drank tea and read books and lived. Sans the living part.

Still, something was missing…

Knock, knock, knock.

"Can you get that, honey?" Barbara was busy in the kitchen fussing over a pot of something rich and savory while Adam fiddled with painting details onto a miniature figurine to join the model of their apartment building‒ his current project. "It's probably Diane. She's been hounding me for this recipe."

"Just… a… second… aaand… done!"

After placing one last vital but subtle detail, Adam scurried to answer the door, putting on a nice welcoming smile for whoever was behind it. Then, he saw who was behind it. Adam had many times fantasized about what he might do if he ever ran into the striped bastard ever again. He thought he might throw punches, maybe exercise some locker room vocabulary he hadn't dusted off since high school. He didn't do any of those things. Instead, he revolted, jumping back as if he'd been slapped while his still-tan complexion visibly whitened.

"B-b-b-b-b—"

"Adam," his wife called from the other room, a smile in her blissfully unaware voice, "who is it?"

"Betelgeuse!"

Betelgeuse rolled his eyes and put his hands to his face in mock horror. "A-a-a Adam! Good to see ya, brother how's the afterlife treatin' ya?"

He bullied his way inside, which wasn't exactly difficult, and looked around, taking in the nicknacks and belongings that he recognized from Lydia's attic. He sneered at the model in progress. He hated models.

"Oh, Babs! Aren't ya gonna come greet yer guest? I got some news that's gonna blow yer goddamn minds. I need ya to come with me, so ya might as well turn off the soup or whatever it is ya got goin' in there."

He flopped onto their couch, kicking his filthy boots up onto the spotless coffee table. Sure, he was here to ask for their help but he wasn't about to stop being him in the process. He produced a flask, filled with the fancy whiskey Juno gifted him, and took a deep swig.

Adam was helpless to do anything but continue stammering nonsensically in shock as the poltergeist jostled his way through, making himself right at home. Barbara kept it together marginally better, her emotions leaning toward rage over fear or shock.

"You!" She griped, throwing her oven mitt across the room and crossing her arms stiffly, coming to hover over his slovenly form on the couch like a scolding mother with a rebellious teenager.

"What are you doing in our house? What do you want?"

"We're not going anywhere with you!" Adam, bolstered by his wife's bravery, found his voice and took up mantle at her side. They were both flustered and bristling, ready and waiting for things to turn ugly.

"Wait—"

There was a crack in Barbara's fiery countenance and she spared a wary glance with her husband. They only had one thing in common with the filthy ghoul taking up residence on their couch.

"Is this about... Lydia...?"

Betel easily dodged the oven mitt, sighing as Barbara stormed in. "The hell do you think? Of course, it's about Lydia." He held up his left hand and wiggled his fingers. "We finally got hitched."

He sat up, his demeanor serious. "We got married and she's pregnant. The baby shower is happenin' right now. She's afraid that you two hate her. Seein as ya up and left... but she's askin' for Babs."

He ran his hands down his face. "Look, I'm just tryin' to do right by my wife n' kid, but Lyds is scared. N' alone, 'cept for me. Her dad's dead, but I don't think she knows. Drunk off his fuckin' ass and died between your headstones so... so just cut me some slack and come see yer daughter already, will ya!"

He growled, standing up to pace. "I can't fix this for her, do you know how frustrating that is? I mean, it's my fault she's knocked up in the first place!"

That was a Hell of a lot he just unloaded on them. As far as Adam and Barbara Maitland were aware, Lydia was on the mortal plane living her life safe and sound. What the villain on their couch was describing was their worst nightmare.

It's my fault she's knocked up in the first place!

This was too much for Adam Maitland. Whether anything Betelgeuse said was true or not, he was due for an ass whooping on principle alone.

"GrrRRAAAAHH!" With a surprising guttural cry that built up in his belly and ruminated around his chest before exploding past his throat, he lunged right over the coffee table for the moldy bastard, only for Betelgeuse to curse and pop away.

"Get back here you son of a bitch!"

He was by the hallway now, more bullshit spewing from his wretched mouth, but Adam was beyond hearing it. He wasn't allowed to speak, not after the horrendous claims he'd just made. No, he deserved a broken jaw and some missing teeth. Pop! He disappeared again, showing up next to the front door this time.

"Adam!"

Only the sound of his beloved wife's voice was able to get through to him. She sounded scared. Chest heaving with breaths he didn't need, he managed to see through the red to her panicked countenance, a wild sort of fear in her deep chocolate eyes. A lioness whose cub was in danger.

"Lydia needs us."

"Woah! Adam, congrats on growin' some balls." This wasn't the right thing to say, as Adam immediately charged for him again. He ducked out of the way, his hands held out and ready to defend himself.

Barbara's voice made them both stop and stare at her. Lydia did need them. Desperately. He dropped his hands and sighed softly. He hated this. "Look, ya know I wouldn't be here if this was somethin' I could fix on my own. But it ain't. She just wants her mom."

He clapped Adam on the back and reached for Barbara. "Come'ere. I'll take ya to her. No doubt she's still curled up where I left her, cryin'. I gotta tell ya, she's due at New Years and I cannot wait for the pregnancy hormones to get the fuck outta my house. She's a mess. I fuckin' love her, but she's a mess."

Both Maitlands recoiled from his touch, sneering and repulsed, but ultimately allowed it. However, their jaws dropped at the sheer grandiosity of the manor he dropped them in front of after pulling them through the void. It was enormous and beautiful, a couple of large dogs immediately running around from the back to greet their new guests. Adam yelled out and clung closer to his wife while Barbara pet the beasts kindly, unintimidated.

There were all sorts of cars filling the driveway, streamers and balloons everywhere. Fuck. He was telling the truth. There was a baby shower going on here in this beautiful mansion he allegedly shared with their daughter. A cigar-smoking, whiskey-drinking Juno greeted them in the foyer, high on festivities.

"Look who it is!" She laughed, elbowing Betel right in the gut amicably. "Can't believe you invited 'em. Look at my boy, finally growing up. Showing a little maturity. Being the bigger person."

The decrepit caseworker dabbed away a fake tear for the crowd, really putting on a show. Rarely was Juno given an opportunity to entertain and socialize away from her eternal pencil-pushing, and was cherishing the experience. If Betelgeuse didn't know any better, he might have thought she was drunk.

"Where is she?" Barbara was out of sorts, trying to make sense of everything she was seeing and all she'd been told.

Betel sneered as his surrogate mother put on her little show. He took her cigar and dropped it into her glass of scotch. "Buzz off, Ma. Lyds wanted em."

He could tell from their faces that the Maitlands hadn't expected the grandeur of their house. He gestured toward the main staircase and led them to the upper floor. "Ya know I took a page outta yer book, four-eyes. I restored most o' this place myself."

He slowed at the door of the nursery. "Lyds? Baby, I got a surprise for ya..." He went in first, pulling his wife to stand beside him. He turned back to the Maitlands and ran his hand down her back.

"I couldn't exactly get yer real mom for ya... so I thought maybe both of these bozos would do instead."

Lydia spent his entire time away sobbing and pacing madly between their bedroom and the nursery. What had she done?! Betelgeuse was off upending the Maitlands' happy afterlife right now, all for her selfishness. Why did she have to go and tell him that? Why did Miss Argentina‒ "Carmen" as her husband so familiarly addressed her‒ have to wear that tight dress showing off her perfectly flat tummy? Why did he have the audacity to be such a good, perfect husband?!

"It's not fair," she wept unreasonably to an overwhelmed, but supportive Ginger, the only guest she had deemed worthy of allowing into the master suite when all the ghoulish women made to follow after her in the wake of her random hysterics.

"It can't be all that bad, sweetie… I thought you wanted to see them?"

"I do," she insisted, near pulling her hair out, "but I don't! It's complicated. They don't want to see me."

"Now, I know that can't be true."

"Ginger, the last time they saw me I was wearing a school uniform and studying for a biology exam! They can't see me like this! What if they hate me? What if they hate bug? What if they never want to see me again? What if—"

Just then, Betelgeuse cleared his throat at the threshold of their bedroom, drawing Lydia's attention with a horrified gasp. There they were. Just as she remembered them, curls and glasses and all. Her husband swiftly came to her side before anyone else could move, erecting himself as a solid beacon of strength and protection at her side. Ginger, sensing that this wasn't her place anymore, awkwardly sidled past them all, muttering something about getting some punch before the pencil pushers could spike it.

"Lydia…" Barbara's expression was unreadable, this only building on the fluttering anxiety in Lydia's very full belly. She took one step forward, then another, as if pulled down by led weights. One of her immaculately manicured hands came to comb through a strand of silky black hair, admiring how long it had gotten.

"You're so beautiful."

It wasn't the first time Lydia had heard this today, but it was the first time she believed it. They broke simultaneously, falling into each other's arms and blubbering how much they missed one another in a girlish, emotional display that nearly made the men feel unwelcome.

Betelgeuse cleared his throat as the women embraced, clearly beyond caring that their husbands were so much as in the room. He shuffled toward Adam, keeping just enough distance between them that he could get away if the man started swinging at him again.

"So…. how's the afterlife? You uh… ya live near my ex, actually. Lyds met her. Didn't go well… or well. Guess it did, since that's how we got here. Anyway. Forget I said that."

He ran a hand over his face. He hated when women cried. Especially women he cared for… and if Lydia cared for Barbara, then so did he. He hated that his wife had to resort to these nobodies for a source of family.

His mind went to the man in his cellar-turned-guestroom. Would Chuck ever get to the point that he could come and see his daughter? Lydia was due in only a handful of weeks. If he couldn't get it together, then he'd miss the pregnancy entirely.

Once the initial waterworks exhausted themselves and Barbara loosened her grasp enough to let Adam squeeze in and get a hug too, she started right in on the mama bear act; cupping Lydia's flushed cheeks and checking her head to toe for injury, buzzing with concern.

"How did you even get here, sweetheart? How did this happen?" Her pitch dropped with suspicion and fear. "He's not forcing you, is he?"

"What?! No!" Lydia immediately shut down that line of thinking, shooting a wary glance to her husband to make sure he wasn't too offended by the implication to act on it. He seemed to be soldiering on well enough. "It's not like that. At all. I… I'm the one who called him. We made a deal. It's— it's kind of a long story."

Not only was it long, but it was also complex, nuanced, and made her look like a fool. Recalling how eager she used to be to die was painfully embarrassing.

"Beej?" Both Adam and Barbara had a visible negative reaction to the cutesy nickname, making Lydia wince. "Could you let us be alone for a couple minutes? We'll be down soon and then we can enjoy the rest of the party properly, okay? I'm sorry I got like this—"

"Don't apologize to him," Adam cut in, offended by the very notion. "Not ever. You cry if that's what you want, and make him do whatever you want him to do whenever you want him to do it! It's his job. Apparently."

The implication that he was forcing his wife into loving him made him bristle, his scowl deepening. These two had better watch their damn mouths.

He looked up when his wife called his name, nodding firmly at request. "Of course, kitten." He moved toward their embrace to kiss her gently, brushing her hair out of her face.

It's his job. Apparently.

Betelgeuse sneered at Adam. "It is my job. Because she's my wife and my first priority. Ain't yer wife yours? Or do you just sit around and paint while she deals with the real shit?" With a look from his wife, he left grumbling.

It didn't take long to find Juno and Carmen muttering together. "I need a drink. Now."

Lydia flushed deeply when he took his kiss while Barbara was still holding her, unconcerned for their audience. After one last pissing contest with Adam, finally, she was alone with the only parents she had left in the world— to her knowledge.

Once they were all comfortable, Barbara practically forcing her into bed while Adam gingerly explored the room, hating how much he loved the exquisite craftsmanship, she told them their story. Everything. From Mother's death— to which they both expressed deep and sincere condolences— to her foolish desire to find her, to the way Betel tricked her into thinking he was going to murder her in exchange for marriage when he never had any such plans.

There were moments where Adam had to grit his teeth and hold himself back from storming down those stairs and socking the moldy ghost right in his jaw— in particular, when he put two and two together and realized that Lydia and her foul husband married and consummated their union on the same damn day they made this God-forsaken deal.

Alas, it was too late. Lydia was here, she was pregnant, and for all intents and purposes, she seemed…

"Are you happy?" He asked, stopping his mad pacing to come to the opposite side of the bed to assess her once again, more thoroughly this time. "Is this really what you want?"

"It's okay if it is," Barbara assured, squeezing their hands tight. "We don't… quite understand. Not yet. I don't know if we ever will. But we can try. But… it's also okay if you want out and you don't know how to leave. We can help. We know people—"

"I'm happy," Lydia interrupted, smiling and uninsulted. They meant well. "This is what I want. I'm sorry I didn't contact you guys sooner. I just thought… maybe you'd be mad."

"Lydia. Honey." Adam leaned over to kiss her forehead, taking hold of the small, pale hand Barbara wasn't occupying. "I'm livid. But not at you. Never at you. There are more important things to worry about right now than old grudges. Now, come on, let's get you downstairs. A pregnant woman can't miss her own baby shower. It's not right. Besides, I want to meet these 'friends' of his…"

Betelgeuse was terrified. For all the times Lydia worried self-consciously about him leaving, he was now faced with the possibility that the Maitlands would whisk her away from him. After all, he wasn't their favorite person on a good day! And here he was with their pregnant daughter sequestered in their house.

He drank glass after glass of whiskey with shaking hands until Juno put her hand on his wrist. "Betel. It's not going to help."

He looked at her with wide eyes. "What if she leaves, Ma? What if she's not really happy and she takes Bug and goes? With them?"

His fears were somewhat put aside when his wife appeared with her parents in tow. He hurried to her side and took her hand, bringing it to his lips. "You look tired, tesoro. Wanna sit back down?" His hand ran up her arm, just feeling the warm skin.

The last thing in any dimension he could want would be to lose his wife and child. Any circumstances would be painful, but if she were to leave because she was unhappy? That would destroy him. He pressed one last kiss to her hand.

"Come on, Mia cara."

With heavy reluctance, Barbara let Lydia go so that her detestable husband could fawn over her and escort her back to her circle of worshippers. She wasn't far behind, pulling up a seat next to the rocking chair so she could remain close.

"I'm sorry we don't have anything for you. This was kind of… last minute."

"Don't mention it, Barb. Just you guys being here is enough. Besides, we have plenty. I'll show you the nursery before you go. Beej has been working on it pretty much since the day we found out."

Smiling softly, she aimed a warm gaze at her husband, who had stepped back to allow the rest of the mostly female crowd to congregate around her. This was her party, after all. Her and bug. When she jumped, face lighting up in delighted surprise, the rest of the birds fluttered their wings as well.

"She kicked!"

That was the first time Lydia had referred to their daughter as such. Suddenly, she had limbs upon limbs on her belly, everyone fighting to get a feel of the impending baby Geuse's gymnastics. There was a large furry mitt or two, a spider leg, an aged hand bedecked with heavy rings, as well as a skeletal group of fingers, not counting all the humanoid palms.

The only hand not there was Betelgeuse's, who got to feel his bug's kicking and prodding on the daily. It was a bit much, but Lydia was willing to let them all in on it for at least a moment or two.

"I felt 'er," the Monster across the street cried, grinning joyously.

"Zat cannot be," Jacques disagreed, "she eez over here!"

"Betel, what the hell is your kid doin'?" Ginger laughed, also able to feel little movements here and there from her position.

"Okay, guys," Lydia giggled nervously, quickly having grown uncomfortable with this many people touching her at once, not to mention Bug's sudden excitement, "I think she's calming down now."

Betelgeuse stood back as their company all fawned over his wife, hands and paws pressed to her stomach as the baby moved. It wasn't lost on him that she was finally calling Bug their daughter.

He stepped in when she started to get overwhelmed, sliding his hand gently onto her chest, just over her sternum. "That's enough." The gruff tone of his voice made them all step back, immediately removing their hands.

He leaned down to kiss her cheek firmly, lingering a moment to press his nose against her warm skin. "Now. Someone tell Lydia about Christmas in the Neitherworld. She's due right before the holidays."

Ginger snorted. "Bee-jay I have never seen you celebrate Christmas in all the years I've known you!"

Carmen giggled. "Not since he left the office, anyway. He used to be the highlight of the office party."

He grimaced. "Never had a reason to celebrate. But I got a family now. I'm a changed man."

"Christmas?"

Lydia immediately lit up, like the revered holiday was already upon them and a giant, shining pine tree was illuminating her pale features. Halloween had always been her favorite, but not even the dourest of tortured souls could deny the magic of Christmas. The way time worked in the Neitherworld, she wasn't even aware it was coming up. Did they miss Halloween? Oh, well. There was always next year. Really, every day was Halloween in the Neitherworld.

"Oh, Christmas is magical," Ginger batted her long, spidery lashes dreamily. "Everybody on this end goes waaaayyy over the top, bigger and brighter and more maaarvelous than anythin' you evah seen topside! N' that's not even mentionin' Sandy Claws—"

"Dagnabbit, ya got-danged spider!" The monster started up at this aggressively, pointing a firm, furry finger down at the arachnid. "He ain't real n' y'ought not be puttin' silly ideas like that in Miss Lydia's head when she don't know no better!"

"He IS real!" Ginger insisted, her face growing a darker shade of fuchsia. "You're just mad because you always get coal!"

Betelgeuse smiled as the party started to dissolve into bickering. He chuckled softly and turned to Adam, clapping a hand onto his shoulder.

"You n' the missus are welcome here for Christmas. Can't guarantee that Lyds will be in any mood to celebrate, but the invitation is open."

Juno scoffed from behind them. "You, Betel? Celebrating Christmas? This I'll have to see. You're the biggest Grinch I know. Last year you threw rocks at the tree in Central Park in New Yuck!"

He glared and stepped closer to his wife. "Hey! If my wife is only gonna get one Christmas without kids, then I'm gonna make it goddamn special!"

"We'll be there," Adam promised, a hard glint behind his glasses as he shrugged off the filthy hand on his back. It wasn't even a question. Now that they knew where their daughter was and who she was with, they'd be seeing a lot more of the Maitlands. They needed to make sure this "loving husband and father" act wasn't an act at all.

The party was dying down. People were beginning to filter out. Juno and Carmen offered to let the Maitlands share their cab— likely a ploy to keep from going back to that dreadful office as long as possible— and they politely accepted, no matter how much they would have liked to linger.

It wouldn't have ended well if they tried, anyway. Lydia was tired and Betelgeuse was beginning to lose his patience with everyone who wasn't his very pregnant wife. After hugs and goodbyes were given all around, they were finally… finally… alone.

"Oof."

That's the sound that puffed past Lydia's lips as she fell back onto the blissfully empty couch, sprawling herself out selfishly to take up every last inch she could.

"Why did we want to have a party again…?"

Betelgeuse was more than ready to usher his friends and family the hell out of his house. His wife was exhausted, physically and emotionally, and he wanted nothing more than to put her in a nice hot bath and rub her feet until he could get some semblance of a smile and maybe a hand on his cock.

If he was lucky.

If she was up to it.

Why'd he wanna have kids again? This lack of sex really had him on edge and it was only going to get worse. Even after Buggy was born, he'd have to wait at least six weeks.

He chuckled as she flopped down on the couch. "Oof is right. And I think it had something to do with the free shit." He glanced at the gift table, still piled high with things he didn't fully understand. What the hell was a breast pump for? They were already twice the size they had been.

"Come here, kitten. Let's get you and buggy all relaxed n' ready for bed. I'll come down n' clean up later."

"You're such a good husband," she moaned in exhausted delight as he came near, picking her up effortlessly to carry upstairs toward the tub, which was already full of hot water and bubbles, candles bedecking the porcelain perimeter. He was absolutely spoiling her, just like he once promised he would back in that hotel room when she was scared and nervous and wanted nothing more than to die. That was lifetimes away.

"I still can't believe you actually got Adam and Barb. I'll make them come around, I promise."

It wouldn't be easy, but half the work was already done. He got them through the front door, after all, which was more than Lydia could have done on her own. With a blink, he had her naked and was carefully lowering her into the deluge of bubbles.

"They just don't know you like I do. You can't really blame them. Don't get me wrong, you're perfect in almost every way, but you don't make a great first impression."

He chuckled as he lowered her into the water, leaning down to kiss her gently. "I'm just doin' my best, baby. Gotta make sure my family's happy or what good am I?"

He settled into the air chair that sat near the tub for just this reason. "You said ya wanted Babs. I figured havin' Adam there couldn't hurt. Besides, they were worried about ya. Thought I might be abusin' ya."

He could see where their concern came from, but the thought alone was appalling to him. "They don't gotta come around, ya know? If you want them here... in Buggy's life... then they're gonna be here. Even if they can't stand me."

"I want Bug to have grandparents. I never knew mine."

This was calmer and more diplomatic than her embarrassing admission that "she wanted her mommy", curled up and crying on the plush nursery carpet.

"My mom's parents disowned her, pretty much. Cause they were religious and... You know. I'm a sinful bastard born out of wedlock." An emotionless smirk accompanied this. Lydia was too far removed from these nameless, faceless people to care about their rejection. It was something she'd gotten over a long time ago.

"Dad kept me away from his parents… or, they kept themselves away from me. I'm not sure which. They're rich wasps. Old money. I don't think they approved of him having the gall to claim his illegitimate bastard. In any case, I hope the news of 'me' was very embarrassing for whatever hoity-toity crowds those old nazi farts were running around in."

At his puzzled expression, she laughed and explained further.

"Have I not told you this? My father's family is German. I don't have any proof, but I very strongly suspect they were not on the right side of World War II."

He snorted at the piece of family trivia. "Yeah, I'm glad I missed that one. Italy would not have been the place to be." He pulled the chair closer and gestured for her foot.

Foot rubs had become a source of intimacy for them as she got heavier with child. He was horny as hell but refused to do anything that he thought might hurt Buggy or Lydia just to get his rocks off.

So he settled for rubbing her feet, hearing her moan, and then taking care of himself when she wasn't looking. He dug his fingers into her sole, frowning softly at the memory of her fleeing the party.

"Hey, baby? Why were you so upset that I was talking to Carmen earlier? You know she's just my friend. And she ain't got shit on you."

Pft. Friend. Lydia shrunk deeper into the tub at his inquiry, until she was practically buried in bubbles all except for her mountainous belly.

"I know you slept with her."

It wasn't an accusation. Just an admission of fact. No one needed to tell her. How could they not have slept together? They used to work together and Carmen was beautiful; all the right curves in all the right places, as well as a tiny, perfectly compact waist. There was no way Betelgeuse didn't notice and unleash his lust on her. It was the only logical conclusion.

"We haven't fucked in two months."

This is part of what made Lydia hate all those bullshit compliments all the guests were spewing at her. Beautiful. Glowing. Who gave a fuck what they thought when her husband was disgusted by her?

"I get it, okay? I look like a whale. You don't have to force yourself to sleep with me just to boost my ego, but that doesn't mean I want to watch you flirt with your pretty ex-girlfriend either. Who wears a dress that tight to a baby shower, anyway?"

"I'm sorry, what?"

His mind was spinning. "I... yer not wrong. I used to mess around with Carmen, prolly fifty years ago. But she n' I got an understandin'. She's about as interestin' to me as Tilly is to Luna. She's nice to have around but I don't want her touchin' me!"

He dropped the foot and got out of his seat, kneeling beside the tub to rub a hand up her belly and onto her chest. "Baby, I've been holdin' back... 'cause you haven't felt good n' I don't wanna hurt Buggy."

He bent to kiss her firmly. "You are the only woman for me. That's why I've been goin crazy tryin' to make stuff. Distracts me from wantin' to pick ya up n' fuck ya into the wall." He took her hand, kissing over her knuckles with a dark look in his eye.

"Y'know, ya coulda just asked. I dunno shit about pregnancy but I'm never gonna pass up the chance to rock yer world. Let's go to bed, kitten. Come on..."

What!? He thought he would hurt them?

"Beej…" she breathed softly, lacing wet arms around his neck as he came close, her breath growing short at his mere touch. Everything was so sensitive. She'd been aching for him, waiting for him to come to her every night only to be disappointed when he only wanted cuddles. "I thought you didn't want me… I didn't want to put myself out there and get rejected…"

What a silly, stupid misunderstanding. They were both idiots.

"Please fuck me," she begged as his rough palm traced over her swollen breasts, causing her body to shudder, the water to ripple. "All I want is for you to fuck me. It's all I've wanted for weeks. I'm dying. All the books say it's okay, and Moira said it was fine. Just no missionary. Pretty much anything that includes bending me in half is out."

Pulling herself up as best she could with her increased weight, she went straight for his ear, nibbling and sucking along the lobe.

"You still think I'm sexy?" She hushed, heart pounding in anticipation as she ran a gentle palm down the front of his suit, emboldened to discover a rockhard erection straining to get out of his trousers.

"Prove it."

Prove it.

That dare alone made his blood sing with excitement. He pulled her up and into his arms, making for the bedroom quickly. "Can't bend ya in half. Got it. Not a problem, babes.

He thought quickly through positions he thought wouldn't cause her too much strain. A snap of his fingers brought a stack of pillows to the middle of the bed. He lowered her over them on her hands and knees, carefully supporting her back as her round belly was suspended beneath her.

He growled at the sight of her like this, ready for him after so long apart. He pressed eager kisses down her spine, fingers trailing up the inside of her thigh until they were rubbing across her folds. "Goddamn, I love you... missed havin' ya all spread out for me... how's that feel? Ya comfy? Cause you're gonna be here a while. I'm not stoppin' till ya beg me to..."

"Ah— fuck!"

Everywhere he touched was on fire in direct objection to his supernaturally chilled flesh. By now, Lydia was more than used to it. She craved it. If a set of warm hands touched her, she probably would have blanched in revulsion. Mewling, she arched into his touch like a bitch in heat, more than prepared for the ravishment he was threatening.

"Feels so goood... Fuck. Please give it to me, Daddy. All I want is your big cock. Why did you make me wait so looong?"

She was practically weeping into the blankets, begging shamelessly with vulgar phrases the way she had learned he loved.

"I'm so horny. Everything's so sensitive. It hurts. Never felt like this before… I need it."

He kept his touch light, teasing, though he knew that it wouldn't last long. He was as desperate for her as she was for him. He continued his kisses, rubbing firmly over her clit.

"You're gonna get it, baby... just be patient." He shuffled backward until he could dip between her legs and run his tongue over her hungrily. "Missed you... fuck, ya still taste so good." He repeated the action, wanting to savor the taste of her a moment.

He was getting impatient, however, and stood back to strip out of his suit, the layers going flying save his jacket, which he gently draped over her back with a kiss to her neck. "Stay." He ordered, summoning her camera. Another photo was added to his collection with a click and whir, a grin spreading over his face. "Fuck you're so sexy, kitten..."

Twisting and writhing, she pulled the jacket tighter around her as if it was him, unable to stand the way he was denying her.

"You're so mean," she whined, leveling him with a vaguely hurt gaze as he tortured her further, collecting more photos for his spank bank. He knew how self-conscious she was right now. Jerk.

Hadn't she suffered enough? Put in the work? She was having his baby for fuck's sake! She was a good girl and she deserved this. Teeth digging into her bottom lip, she pushed her round, plush ass back as far as she could, releasing a pitiful noise when she only succeeded in just barely brushing against him. The way he growled orders at her like she really was just a cock-hungry bitch— wasn't she though?— only exasperated her great need.

The only thing she was missing was her collar.

He took pity on her eventually, leaning down to kiss the small of her back as he set the camera aside. "You're so perfect, baby... can't believe I got lucky enough to have ya. N' yer havin' my baby..."

He shook his head, his cock twirling hungrily where it sat against her ass. "Damn. Look atcha... still so needy even knocked up. See. That's why yer always gonna be better than any other woman. You can take it all and beg for more."

He teased the head of his cock over her for the briefest of moments before he was pressing into her, a ragged moan leaving him. It was like getting a fix after months of sobriety. "Fuck, Lyds... shit."

She let loose a chest-deep groan as he finally pressed forward, breaching her ever-tight walls. When he didn't start moving fast enough, Lydia took it upon herself to start up setting a rhythm, gripping the blankets tight for purchase and pushing her body back against him, greedy for more.

"Fuck," she cursed, panting, bouncing off of him without any help whatsoever. The added weight gave her good momentum, causing an audible slap to ring through the room with each desperate, eager thrust. Rough and reckless, she rode him like her life depended on it, using his stationary cock like a dildo suctioned onto a shower wall.

"So— good— fuck! Fuck! AH!"

And just like that, without her cruel husband having to do much of anything, she was cumming around him, letting loose her vice grip on the blankets to slump onto the pillows beneath her in a pile of euphoric convulsions.

Before he could blink it was over, his wife bouncing back and freezing as she came, convulsing around him. He growled softly, gripping her hips tight and trying to stay still. Poor thing had to be oversensitive.

"Fuck. Shit, baby... I'm gonna need a little more'n that... come here." He repositioned them, settling her on her side and laying behind her. With a little maneuvering, he was sliding back into her and groaning into her hair as he started to thrust.

She had found her release, and now it was his turn. His hand rubbed lovingly over her stomach as he chased his release, panting and huffing into her hair as he thrust against her lush ass firmly.

In minutes he was falling over the edge, pressed into her deep as he moaned and shuddered behind her. "Fuck...Lyds..."

She found her completion once more as he humped against her, spooning and fucking at the same time. At one point his rough fingers brushed ever so lightly over her nipples, and that was all it took to send her shuddering against him again, arching and mewling, internal muscles milking his cock for every last drop of seed.

Was that it? He was motionless behind her, breathing deep, unnecessary breaths into her tangled mass of damp hair, making the baby hairs on her neck stand up with the chill. That couldn't be it. She wasn't done with him yet.

"Move," she ordered, pushing him onto his back so she could climb on top with clumsy, impatient movements and impale herself.

"God!" She cried out, leaning over him to plaster her hands flat against his chest, using that stability to bounce up and down in a heavy, rapid patter.

"Never— make me— wait— this long— again!"

Two orgasms deep and still bossing him around? Maybe he'd lost his touch. Still, he was happy to be used to her whims, pushed onto his back as she impaled herself on him again. He growled and took hold of her hips, bucking up into her eagerly as she dropped down on him over and over. He watched her face, one hand coming up to brush her hair out of the way.

"Never, baby... I'm sorry I made ya wait. Just didn't know... didn't wanna hurt ya..." He shuddered beneath her, his hands sliding up her sides to squeeze at her full breasts. "God damn, you are so sexy, baby... why would ya think I'd ever want someone else? I already got the best there is..."

He grinned and sat up to kiss her firmly. Her stomach was largely in the way, so he was forced to drop back down, completely at her mercy. "Fuck yeah... ride that cock, baby I know ya love it..."

This orgasm took a little more work than the previous ones, but she got there, helped along by his dedicated bucking. They worked in tandem with one another, his strong thrusts providing a perfect counter to her incessant bouncing.

"I dooo…" she moaned at his lewd insistence that she loved riding his cock, sounding almost as if she was in pain, though she couldn't have been further from it. "So big… so good… the best! Ah— fuck! More!"

Even as she fell apart for the third time, she continued to demand all he had to give, relentless in her lust. In the throes of passion, she didn't seem to notice that her breasts were leaking. It wasn't the first time this had happened, but it was the first time Betelgeuse had bore witness. Usually, she would clean the mess away discreetly and change tops before he could notice, but there wasn't hiding anything now. Not here.

He wasn't far behind her, cursing as he came a second time, pulling her flush against him and keeping her still as he rode through the waves of pleasure wracking his body.

He stared when he felt an unfamiliar sensation against his fingers, his eyes darting to where she was leaking a thin, yellowish substance. Curious, he leaned in to run his tongue over one pebbled nipple.

It didn't taste of anything, but he was intrigued. Did this mean she was close to delivering? He was suddenly very invested, sitting up with her still in his lap to press at her breasts gently, more of the thin substance dripping free. "Woah... that's... should we call Moira?"

Out of breath, good and fucked, she slumped limply against him as he started showing fascination with the premature milk dripping from her engorged nipples.

"No," she panted, reaching for his discarded button up to gently dab the moisture away. "It'll stop soon. They've been doing this for a couple of months now. You just haven't seen it."

It had been far too long since they'd indulged in carnal pleasures. Her body was doing things he'd never seen before, performing feats he'd only heard of without ever viewing in practice.

"It just means they're getting ready to start producing milk more regularly. It's kinda... gross, so I just… kept it to myself."

Gross? "What? No... it's kinda... it's fascinatin'..." It was shocking to him that he'd missed when this started. The concept of her body doing something that he hadn't noticed was uncomfortable in the least.

He squeezed again, his eyebrow raising when more of the liquid beaded on her nipples. He looked up at her and ran his tongue over her again. On the second pass, the milk just tasted like her skin.

He pulled her closer and pressed kisses over her chest and up her neck, his hands sliding to her ass. "Damn, I missed havin' ya like this. I love it when ya get all pink and sweet after sex." He grinned against her neck, squeezing her firmly.

"We ain't ever goin' that long without fuckin' again. I don't care if we gotta schedule that shit."

Now that she was coming down from her lustful haze, the sad reality was crashing down on her. He hadn't read any of the books, not like her. He'd been too busy babyproofing and going to town in his workshop to immerse himself in the medical aspects of pregnancy and birthing.

He didn't know.

"Beej," she began with a deep frown, caressing his wild hair and pressing a sweet kiss to his cheek to placate before delivering the bad news. "You'll have to. We'll have to. We can't have sex for six weeks after I have Bug. Maybe longer if there are complications."

She felt terrible delivering information like this after such a lewd, desperate display. How could she beg him like that, make him promise never to make her wait knowing that he would have to? It really, really wasn't fair.

"I'm sorry…"

He frowned softly. "Well, I know that! I read y'know." He dug his fingers into her sides, tickling her gently. "That doesn't count. Yer gonna be healing from literally pushin' out a human."

He leaned in to kiss her gently. "Besides, you'll probably hate me after ya have Buggy." He leaned down to kiss her stomach, feeling a sharp jab back against him. "Hey! Fuckin' rude."

He shook his head. "She ain't even born yet and she's already sassin' me! Can you believe that?" He carefully lifted her off his cock and settled her beside him, turning to face her with a smile. "Now. Can I get ya anything before bed? Ice cream? Grasshoppers?"

"Oh," Lydia winced, leaning back heavily against the pillows as bug started in with her gymnastics. "Jacques and Ginge were right. She's doing crazy things in here. Just… just a minute. She's on my bladder."

After waddling to the bathroom to relieve herself and clean whatever cum was left trickling between her thighs, she made her slow trek back to bed, Betelgeuse hopping up to help her the short distance with persistent diligence.

"I really… really want a deep-fried tarantula. Extra crispy."

Ginger's presence may or may not have had something to do with this sudden, overwhelming craving. Thus far, Lydia had managed to keep her appetites away from spiders, her favorite type of bug. The thought of eating one was usually repulsive, but tonight, Bug wanted what she wanted.

"Thank you, baby," she expressed her gratitude sweetly, landing a lingering kiss on his cheek. "I love you. I still can't believe you actually got Adam and Barb here."

He grinned at the request, summoning up two of the requested treat on sticks. He pulled her into his arms and accepted the kiss happily. "I love ya more. You know I'd do anything for you. Even if it means more in-laws."

He chuckled and pulled her to sit beside him, handing her the spider with a raised eyebrow. He'd noticed the way she'd been eyeing Ginger. Luckily he could satisfy this craving without losing a friend in the process.

He winced as he saw what was definitely a foot push at her stomach. "Hey! Settle down in there, Buggy. Daddy got yer snack, now leave momma alone." He ran his hand over her belly gently. "Don't take this the wrong way but... yer gettin' real big. Moira say anythin' about that? She just a big girl?"

Contrary to everything they had just done and his explicit instructions not to take it the wrong way, her eyes narrowed, teeth snapping viciously right into the unfortunate arachnid's fat, egg-filled thorax. To the deliriously pregnant Lydia, it was like eating the most decadent caviar.

She was the only one who got to notice how big she was. Where did he get off?!

"Yeah, well I can still pull your jacket most of the way around my stomach, so what does that say about you, buddy?"

With a childish poke of her tongue in his direction, she was finished getting her recompense and continued happily devouring the unusual snack, vengeance sated.

"At first, she thought it was twins—" His eyes went wide with strange, unexpected delight and she felt a pang that she had to disillusion him. "But she only heard one heartbeat. It is your baby. If you haven't noticed, you're kind of a big guy."

Twins? The thought was exciting and made sense with everything that was going on in there, but the prospect was quickly shot down. Of course, he was nearly a foot taller than his wife, so maybe Buggy just took after him.

In more ways than one.

He offered her the other spider, nuzzling into her neck happily. "Well, either way, she's gonna be perfect. Can you imagine twins? That'd be insane."

He shuffled down to resume his favorite hobby, laying with his ear pressed to her stomach to hear her and Buggy's hearts beat in unison, the deep thrumming he was familiar with from listening to Lydia's when she slept, and the new, faster beating of their daughter's. He smiled when he found the right position, pressing a kiss to the taught skin.

"Hey, baby girl… you'd tell Daddy if you were a twin, right?" Both of her tiny feet pressed to his cheek. He chuckled. "That's my girl. Love you baby."

Chapter Text

"I'll have a blue Christmas without you,
I'll be so blue just thinking about you,
Decorations of red on a green Christmas tree,
Won't be the same, dear, if you're not here with me."
— Blue Christmas
Elvis Presley

The holiday season was upon them and things were in full swing. Bug was due any day now. Both Lydia and her husband were on edge, jumping whenever the baby made the slightest move. Betelgeuse was just as diligent and attentive as always, becoming overbearingly so as they came closer to the due date.

"It's fine," she had to brush him off more than once any time she grunted from a particularly hard kick or had to sit down suddenly without warning. Today found them toasting smores over the fire pit in the backyard, enjoying the unusually brisk weather. It was colder even than the night she went for her suicidal little swim in the pool. Tilly hadn't left her side all day, acting as a hulking white shadow wherever she went as if she was expecting something.

Betelgeuse would have preferred to keep her sequestered warm and cozy inside, but Lydia insisted. She was restless. She couldn't stay locked up in that house another minute.

"Good girl, Tilly," she praised, passing the gentle beast yet another marshmallow. Just then, a flurry of something very cold and icy brushed her face, and she puzzled a look up to the sky. It was swirling with white, lilac, and baby blue clouds; an unusual color for the Neitherworld. It looked more like something that would be seen above, in the living world.

"Beej," she gasped, smiling through the discomfort as bug gave a sudden, sharp kick. "It's snowing! It's—"

Bug kicked again. The muscles in her belly contracted painfully, making her double over and cry out, dropping her skewer right into the fire. There was a gush of wetness between her legs; copious and unpleasant, staining through the white gown she unwisely chose for their excursion.

"Moira," she panted, leaning all of her weight into him as he swiftly came to her side. "Need Moira."

As they got closer and closer to her due date, Betelgeuse became more and more anxious, lingering at her side in a way he hadn't before. There were so many things that could go wrong now. He was terrified, but he couldn't let that side show to Lydia.

The little break outside was a good idea. The roaring fire and the smile on his wife's face were enough to appease him until she was suddenly doubled over in pain. He stared at the sky, then his wife. Snow? In the Neitherworld? Unheard of. He scrambled to call for the midwife, the old witch appearing in a pop of sweet, sage-like smoke.

"Showtime, huh?" She nudged Betel and patted Lydia's hand. "Come on, dearie! Let's get you into the tub. Hubby, time to call anyone you want here."

He was still staring wide-eyed at the pinkish staining on her dress. Buggy was coming, and coming fast, it seemed. He hurried to the phone while Moira helped Lydia change into a birthing gown, for modesty's sake, and settle into the tub. It wasn't big enough. He shot a burst of juice toward it, widening it until she could stretch out and move comfortably without getting up.

"Babs? It's happening. Like happening... now happening. You guys gotta get here."

Contractions were Hell. This put every menstrual cramp Lydia had ever felt to shame. They'd had her in this godforsaken tub for hours. She didn't know how many and was afraid to ask, but it felt like an eternity had passed since the initial bout of muscle spasms that told them bug was coming.

"Ye can stay now, laddie," Moira warned Betelgeuse early on in the process, "but once it's time to push, ye will have to be on yer way. No men in the birthing room. Ye get too emotional. S'bad luck."

When Betelgeuse looked like he was about to object, another contraction came and Lydia squeezed his hand until his ancient fingers cracked.

"You listen to her, Betelgeuse!"

Adam and Barbara showed up not ten minutes after he made the call, flustered and worried and full of nerves like any proper pair of parents would be at the birthing of their grandchild. With her pure white slip floating in the water, Lydia would have looked for all the world like a virgin sacrifice were it not for her expansive belly.

The Maitlands were on… better terms with their unofficial son-in-law, but by no means could they be called chummy. They tolerated one another for Lydia's sake, and she loved them all the more for it. Today, however, their individual patiences were waning. In a rare moment when Betelgeuse left her side to light a smoke, Barbara jumped down his throat about it, never mind that Lydia had been permitting him to smoke around her since about midway through the pregnancy.

Too busy writhing in pain now for her to speak up on his behalf, he had no choice but to stub it out on the counter stubbornly and return to her side, rubbing soothingly at the tense neck and shoulder muscles.

"Aye," Moira started up an eternity later, tapping at the cracked pocket watch hanging from her neck and leveled the dead men in the room with a severe look, "three minutes apart now. Time for you and you to skedaddle."

This was the worst day of his existence. He was forced to do nothing more than watch his wife writhe in agony and live with the knowledge that he put her there. He stayed at her side as long as he possibly could, kissing and rubbing her face and shoulders, holding her hand through contractions. He was grateful in a way that the Maitlands were there. Their panic somehow justified his.

But then the contractions got closer together, and Moira was telling him to leave... that meant it was close, right? Bug was about to make an appearance. He pressed one last firm kiss on her lips and brushed her hair off of her sweaty face.

"I'll be right outside. I love you, Tesoro."

He went out into the hallway just outside their bedroom, pacing up and down the hall for several agonizing minutes. Adam just sat there and watched. He growled softly. "Say something, Maitland. Ya want to."

Adam Maitland was having a similarly horrible day. He was having to watch the only daughter he'd ever had or ever would have cringe and cry in agony with the knowledge that his worst enemy had put her there and he hadn't been there to do anything about it.

"We didn't leave because we wanted to."

The statement seemed nonsequitor and unrelated to anything, but it was clear what he was talking about. He was referencing the event that ultimately led Lydia to this hideous ghoul's arms, the day that Juno showed up and offered them a reprieve from their haunting.

"We left because we didn't want Lydia to waste her life away in that house with us. She would have, too. You know it. We knew it. We wanted her to get out of there. Live."

Adam didn't even question whether or not this horrible man loved her. How could he not? He waited on her hand and foot, she never wanted for anything. Oftentimes, he found himself jealous and bitter, wishing he could provide for Barbara half as well as this monster did for their daughter. Mr. Maitland had no doubt in his mind his granddaughter would get the same treatment.

"This isn't exactly the life we pictured for her… but I have to admit… I don't think she would have done any better with any of the assholes in that one-horse town."

This was the closest to a "good job" that Betelgeuse would ever get from the bespectacled ghost. It was an approval; a blessing. The blessing Betelgeuse had never asked for or even wanted. But there it was nonetheless. Before he could accept or mock it, or whatever his instincts inclined him to do on this awful day, a horrific cry made them both start, two sets of eyes locked on the forbidden door.

"BETELGEUSE!"

He halted his pacing to look at his unofficial father-in-law as he spoke. His arms crossed right across his chest, he nodded and stared at the man with a tired expression. "You're right. She either woulda ended up with some asshole that didn't love her right or turned into a spinster. I don't blame ya for goin'."

He recognized the acceptance for what it was, but it held little weight for him. He was about to say something more when the heart-wrenching cry came from his wife. He stared at the door, eyes wide.

"Fuck it!"

He popped in to the room, immediately at Lydia's side and taking her hand. "I'm here. I'm right here, baby... I got ya. You're almost there, kitten..." He had no idea of that was true, but he was desperate to get her mind off of the pain.

This baby was ripping her apart from the inside out. Indescribable pain wracked her body while Barbara comforted her from one side, Betelgeuse on the other, Moira assessing the situation between her legs and poor Adam banished to the hallway by his lonesome. That their no-nonsense midwife didn't bother shooing Betelgeuse out once he appeared was troubling.

"I'm scared, Beej," his wife wept before getting swept under by another wave of crippling agony, her broken cry echoing horribly around the tiled room. "I'm really scared. It hurts. I forgive you," she gasped, well aware that he was blaming himself for this pain. "It's not your fault. It's not—"

A choked cry cut her off, Barbara shushing and muttering to her sweetly all through it, though terror was clear on the Maitland woman's face as well. Moira's expression was frustratingly unreadable as she knelt in the tub-turned-pool, watching closely.

"Aye, sweet lass, it's time to push now. The babe is crowning. Now one… two… three… push!"

Giving it her all, an agonized groan tore from her throat as everything clenched up at once in an effort to squeeze their long-awaited bug out.

"I can see the head," Moira informed the room, ever calm and calculated. "Again, child."

"I can't," Lydia shook her head, sobbing and out of sorts, "I can't do it, I can't—"

"You can," Moira insisted with a hard gaze, imbuing as much confidence as she could in the girl with that one look. "One… two… three… push!"

The barbaric process was repeated a handful of times until Lydia was sure she would pass out from the sheer agony, but then she heard it. A baby's cry.

"It's a lass!"

She barely had the wherewithal to lift her head, stare at the fleshy pink little body and recognize that this was her daughter before yet another deluge of pain took over, pulling more screams up her hoarse throat. Moira's momentary joy passed over into shock.

"I knew it was twins," she muttered lowly, inaudible beneath the screams. "Come take your babe, Da. We got another comin'."

There was too much pain. She couldn't do it, didn't Moira hear her? All he could do was hold Lydia and fight back his own tears as she screamed and fought through the delivery. Suddenly, a baby cried.

His eyes flew to the squirming pink baby. He heard something about twins but was already taking up a receiving blanket to take his daughter in his arms. She was beautiful... pink, and squished, and very much alive and warm. He could feel tears on his cheeks but didn't bother with them.

Another baby. It finally registered. He cradled his daughter in one arm and took his wife's hand as she began the process again. He watched as another girl was delivered, but... something was very wrong. She was tinged blue, contrasting with the shock of blonde hair stained with blood covering her little head. Moira cut the umbilical cord. She didn't cry.

Betelgeuse hastily handed his living daughter off and went to take the other up into his arms, rubbing her back vigorously, looking for any sign of life. Nothing.

Meanwhile, he could faintly hear Moira speaking through all the white noise and chaos. Too much blood. She's not going to make it. Give her her daughter. His eyes flew to his wife, pale and still in the water as a shaken Barbara lay their crying daughter gently on her chest. He fell to his knees beside her, the dead infant still cradled in his arms. "Lydia? Mia cara... no... no, please... please, you have to be okay!"

Losing Lydia had never even passed his mind. He pressed his forehead to hers, sobbing. "Please, baby... please don't leave me..."

Lydia was fading. She was barely conscious through the second delivery but forced herself awake through the pain to make it happen. Both their bugs were making it today, whether she did or not. That was non-negotiable.

The water, as much of it as there was, was beginning to tinge pink from the sheer amount of blood she'd lost. Barbara helped her keep the living babe on her chest, too weak to hold her up on her own.

"She's okay," Lydia whimpered nonsensically, a lidded gaze locked on the little blue bug in her husband's arms. "S'just a trick… like her Daddy… It's okay, Beej… Don't worry…"

Then, everything was very still and quiet, all except the pink baby's whining and crying on her mother's achingly still chest. Tilly, who had stayed close but out of the way through the entire spectacle, let loose a mournful howl that gathered all the other beasts from every corner of the house. Barbara was in hysterics, calling for her husband to join them in the room and urging Lydia to please wake up, baby. Open your eyes. Look at your beautiful babies. Please, please, please come back to us.

Moira kept her face down, having witnessed many scenes like this in her lifetime. Not so much since she'd died, but none that she could recall were ever as painful as this one. Best to make herself scarce soon before the grieving husband had a chance to turn the blame on her.

But then something happened that brought the room to a standstill. The babe on her mother's chest was glowing. An impossibly tiny clawed hand grasped at her mother's still, clammy flesh, and then Lydia began to glow too. Just as quickly as the heart-stopping phenomena began, it ended, with everyone including the gobsmacked Moira holding air frozen in their dead lungs to see what would happen next.

Lydia opened her eyes.

Betelgeuse could do nothing more than cling to his wife and daughters and just weep. He couldn't be bothered with seeing how the Maitlands reacted to his weeping, and he didn't watch the life ebb from his wife. He couldn't. Logically, nothing would change. He'd collect her from the waiting room and bring her home. But it hurt.

He didn't even see the child glow. All he was privy to was the gasping of the people around him, and then the excitement of seeing his wife open her eyes. He sat up and put his hand to her cheek, fully ready to kiss her and celebrate when the child in his arms started to cry.

He hurried to place her beside her sister, letting both infants find comfort in one another as he rubbed their tiny backs and littered kisses over Lydia's face. "I gotcha... we're here. Ya did it, Lyds. Look at 'em... they're perfect!"

Lydia was wide-eyed and shaken, still very pale and weak from the experience. Still, she found the strength to pull the sweet bundles closer and keep them above the pinkish water, with Betelgeuse's help. She loved them so much, more than she could ever put into words. Perfect. They were perfect, just like everything else Betelgeuse had ever given her.

"My babies…"

Moira, a true professional, put her astonishment aside and went into business mode. She began gently barking orders to the shell-shocked crowd, instructing the grandparents to bathe the babes in the sink to get them out of the way while she helped Lydia finish delivering the afterbirth.

"Da, help me get our brave lass dry and in bed. She needs rest."

"I'm fine," Lydia objected weakly, unable to even hold on to her husband as he obeyed the midwife without question, carefully toting a magically dried and dressed Lydia to their bed. "I want my babies…"

Not much later, but far too long in Lydia's opinion, she had her clean and dried twins cradled against each breast. Adam and Barbara were shooed out so Moira could walk her through how to breastfeed. The twins were ravenous and latched on easily, so the lesson wasn't much of one at all.

"Aye, folks. I believe my work here is done."

With that, the crone disappeared just as appeared; in a puff of smoke, no thanks necessary, all in a day's work. Adam and Barbara stuck around long enough to coo over the beautiful girls, marvel at how different yet alike they were, then were polite enough to take leave and allow Lydia to rest. Finally, things were quiet and the parents were alone with their newborns. Lydia had a babe on each teat, her tired form propped up against a mound of pillows in the center of their bed while she took turns looking between each of them with awe and wonderment.

"Look what we did, Beej," she cried, overcome with emotion. "We did it."

With the room finally cleared out, Betelgeuse couldn't help but watch his wife as she fed their daughters for the first time. He was enthralled, the twins polar opposites in appearance.

The firstborn, pink and very much alive was the spitting image of her mother, dark hair already curling over her tiny head. In opposition, her sister was a white-blonde, clearly dead infant. Blue tinged and without a heartbeat.

His heart ached as he remembered the halting of Lydia's own heart. He fell into the armchair beside the bed and put his head in his hands. "They're perfect... they're so beautiful, but... but you were dead, baby. I lost you for a minute... it was terrifying."

He forced himself to move up beside her, pressing his lips to her temple. "I love you so much, Lyds..."

The residual terror he was holding onto broke her heart.

"I remember…" she whispered, recalling the hazy white mist, the feeling of contentment and peace that washed over her even as the room around her dissolved into chaos.

"I was holding this one," she dipped her chin toward the suckling dark-haired babe, "and everyone was screaming and crying… but I just knew everything was going to be okay. It was like… she was telling me. I don't know how to explain it. One moment I was there, with you and everyone… and then I was somewhere else, walking down this path toward the most beautiful music I'd ever heard. Like singing, but too… too perfect… not human…"

The memory of that beautiful sound was enough to bring another crystalline tear up to kiss her lashes.

"But then something pulled me back. Not with words, but like… a feeling. That I wasn't done yet. That somebody needed me."

He leaned into her as she spoke, running his hand over the blonde twin's hair until she started to fuss and he pulled back with a chuckle.

"Well, we all needed ya. I just kept beggin' ya to stay with us and ya seemed to fight for a long time, but... there was so much blood."

He shook himself, taking one of the babies as they finished eating to burp her how Moira had shown him. "These little princesses need names. God damn miracles... It ain't never snowed down here before, babes."

He laughed as the tiny blonde infant let out an enormous belch, her face twisting as the gas escaped her. He brought her down to cradle her against his chest. "Best Christmas presents I've ever got, goddamn. I can tell ya really put the effort in."

He nudged her gently, crooking a finger to summon the bassinet to the side of the bed. With a snap, it was doubled in size, ready to receive the twin babies. "I think... they should have holiday names."

"Holiday names?"

Lydia smiled a funny little smile at his cheesiness. He was such a sap. Too worn out to do much else other than lie there as he tended to their babes, she watched, heart full and body weak. Something may have brought her back from the brink of death, but it didn't restore her to full health.

Out of it, ready to fall into a deep sleep, she began humming lightly; a Christmas song, one of her favorites. The notes turned into words, whispish and faltering here and there, but every bit as lovely as her usual singing voice. Lydia never sang in front of him. He only ever got to hear her warbling when he was eavesdropping on her showers or when she was doing chores. That she was doing so now spoke to how very badly she required rest.

"The holly and the ivy,
When they are both full grown,
Of all trees that are in the wood,
The holly bears the crown…"

He was just tucking the girls in, careful to lay them on their stomachs to keep them safe from any of the breathing issues that newborns could develop when he heard her soft, melodious voice start up in the bed beside him.

He grinned, turning to kiss her cheek gently as he joined her, his voice rough and off-key.

"Oh, the rising of the sun
And the running of the deer
The playing of the merry organ,
Sweet singing in the choir."

He turned to the girls, pondering the suggestion for a moment as his wife started to doze. "Holly and Ivy…. I like that." He continued the song on his own, reaching out to brush the blonde baby's cheek.

"The holly bears a blossom
As white as lily flow'r…"

The other girl twisted and cooed at the sound of her parents' voices, as though she recognized them.

"The ivy bears a berry,
As red as any blood…"

Her pink skin was so strange to him. She was so alive… so real and human. It was hard to grasp that he had a hand in her creation. "Holly and Ivy. That's perfect, Lyds."

Chapter Text

"Later on, we'll conspire,
As we dream, by the fire,
To face unafraid,
The plans that we've made,
Walking in a Winter wonderland..."
— Winter Wonderland
Various Artists

Sobering up wasn't as easy as Charles Deetz hoped it would be. It wasn't like when he was alive and could just wait, sleep it off, drink some coffee, and down some carbs to soak up whatever foul swill was swirling about his stomach. When he woke up that first night after passing away, his breath still reeked of whiskey, his vision was still tripled, and he was still having a difficult time processing where he was and what had happened.

For a moment, he thought he was still alive and back in the house on the hill. But, this bed was too small. The walls weren't the right color. Wasn't he looking for something? Someone...?

Lydia.

It came back to him in bits and pieces. He clung to what he could, stumbling through pacing the comfortable dungeon. He was pretty sure he was dead. He was also fairly certain the bastard poltergeist locked him here. Why? He couldn't remember. On his next visit, Charles tried socking him in the jaw again on mere principle only to get laid out flat on his ass.

The next visit was marginally better. He was still foolish enough to spit insults at the unfazed ghoul, but Charles remembered why he was there and what he was doing. Sobering up. For Lydia. She was pregnant. She needed him.

Today was the best day he'd had in a while. He could walk in a kind of straight line. His vision was only a little wobbly. In fact, he was sober enough to be bored. There wasn't any television down here, no books, no nothing. Just miserable Charles Deetz and his miserable thoughts.

The lock unclicked. He scrambled to sit upright from where he was laying with his head hanging over the edge of the bed, blinking rapidly at the rush. He had to look good and in his right mind or he would never get out of there.

"I know why I'm here," he said first as soon as the striped fiend was in his sights, chewing the syllables to make sure he didn't slur by accident. "I know I'm dead. I know Lydia's pregnant. Will you let me out now?" He swallowed, hating that he'd been driven to this. "Please?"

In the first week of the twins' lives, Betel didn't bother leaving them to go and check on Charles. He was far too obsessed with his daughters and his healing wife to bother with his drunken father-in-law in the basement.

But now, with the twins a week old already and Lydia starting to recover, he figured it was time to check-in. He kissed his girls on their foreheads, all three of them asleep, and called Tilly in to keep watch. Bubby had the task of curling around his mother to keep her warm and safe. He made his way down begrudgingly, surprised to find the man as alert as he was.

"Well, hello to you too, dad. N' yer wrong. She ain't pregnant no more."

He pulled a stack of polaroids he'd taken in the first few days from his pocket. Miraculously, Holly showed up on film, comforting her father into thinking she wasn't entirely dead. They were mostly tasteful. One of the girls with their foreheads pressed together. Another of them holding hands in their sleep. One of Lydia, asleep with a baby on each shoulder. One of her feeding them both, a tired smile on her face. He plopped down beside his father-in-law and handed him the stack.

"Yer close, Chuck. Real close. If ya keep it up, ya might get to see em by New Years."

"Twins?!"

Grinning deliriously, Charles filtered through the photos, quickly the first round, then again more slowly. They were beautiful, even the one that favored her hideous father's coloring. Seeing Lydia so unquestionably happy knocked the breath out of him. Had he ever seen her look like that? So weightless and carefree? Ever once her entire life?

"My mother was a twin," he muttered on his third run-through of the photos, committing his granddaughters' tiny, perfect features to memory. Charles' mother was also a dreadful, heartless cunt, but that didn't seem worth mentioning. "So was her great-grandmother… Guess it skips a couple generations."

Now, he was more determined than ever to get out. This was his legacy, the most important thing he had ever done. Fuck all his work in the real estate industry, fuck every building he ever renovated, and every cent he ever swindled. That was nothing compared to this beautiful mark he had helped to make on the world. The dark-haired infant in particular stabbed a knife deep into his heart. These babes were far too beautiful to keep any of the poltergeist's features. They took entirely after Lydia, which meant this was probably what his daughter looked like when she was an infant.

When he wasn't there to be her father and protect her.

He deserved to rot in this hole.

He wasn't sober enough yet. He couldn't be trusted to hold one of these angels. What if he tripped or stumbled? No, he couldn't even stomach dwelling on the thought. More time was needed before he would be worthy of acting as their grandfather.

"I'll be ready by New Years," he promised with fierce determination, finally lifting glassy eyes from the photos. "What are their names? Please tell me it's not anything insect-related."

Hopefully, Lydia retained enough sense to not allow him to name their children anything as silly as Beetlejuice.

Betelgeuse watched him pour through the photos of his grandchildren, again and again, wondering if he was remorseful to have missed this stage in his daughter's life. Surely it was becoming more real. His daughter wasn't coming home.

He snorted when he asked about the names. Taking a photo of the two girls, he pointed to the dark-haired one first.

"This here is Tara. Short for Tarantula. And this is Maggie. Short for Maggot."

At the look on his father-in-law's face, he burst into laughter. "Oh my god! You're too easy. Hell no, they ain't named after bugs!" He chortled to himself as he started over, beginning with Lydia's mini-me once more.

"This is Ivy, and this is Holly. You know... the Holly and the Ivy. Like the Christmas carol." He patted the man on the back firmly. "Merry Christmas, Chuck. I'll see ya at New Year's."

He left the man with the photos and went back to his family. Their first Christmas was upon them. Holly was laying awake and stared at him when he came in. He grinned and whispered to her. "Hey... wanna be my elf for momma's presents?"

Lydia awoke to the gravelly voice of her husband whispering conspiratorially over the twins' bassinet. Something about elves… and Christmas? Bolting up with a gasp, suddenly energized despite her suffering sleep schedule— Betelgeuse was good about changing diapers while she slept, but she was the only one that could feed them, which meant lots of late-night wake-up calls for sleepy mama— she flounced across the bed to hug him from behind, grinning over his shoulder at their wide-awake babies. It was good of them to lay there quietly and let her get a little sleep.

"It's Christmas!"

The blizzard from the night of their birth, which according to Betelgeuse was nothing short of a miracle, had raged for three days before finally calming. Everyone across the Neitherworld was snowed in for the holidays, making it impossible for anyone to visit. If she could get her husband in a good mood, he would likely poof Adam and Barbara there for her— who was she kidding? He would do anything she asked of him— but Lydia was inclined to keep it just the family today. Grandma and Grandpa could bring their gifts later.

She was still aching in places and unhappy with the state of her body, but her healing was rapid. Every time she fed the twins, it seemed like she was just a little bit stronger, more vibrant. She felt good enough to venture into the Winter Wonderland outside and play in the snow… if Betelgeuse gave his blessing, of course.

"Let's build a snowman, Beej! I've never done that before. Unless you think it's too cold…? Holly will probably be fine, but do you think it would be okay for Ivy if we bundled her up good?"

He grinned as his wife's lithe arms wrapped around him. "Hey! You were supposed to be sleepin'!" He turned in her hold to kiss her gently. "N' it's only Christmas Eve."

He ran his hand through her hair, relieved to see the life that had returned to her overall countenance. Even a week later, he couldn't shake the image of his wife lying in that tub out of his head.

At her request to go out and play in the snow, he chuckled, crooking a finger and summoning an old-fashioned baby buggy from the nursery. A wave of his hand secured a ball of warmth within it. Carefully, he transferred the girls from their bed, taking the time to kiss them each before wrapping them in a blanket and laying them in the stroller.

"Well, I think a snowman is a great idea. Go get dressed, momma. Wear somethin' warm. I got the girls." Holly started to cry the moment her mother was out of sight. He rolled his eyes and picked her up. "Now, how ya gonna make yer old man look bad like that. On Christmas! Good lord."

It's only Christmas Eve.

"Christmas is Christmas is Christmas!" Lydia prattled on excitedly, already on her way to the walk-in closet before he gave his permission, conjuring that enchanted stroller and readying their girls for a day in the snow. There was already a towering… well, not quite a pine, but something Neitherworldian and pine-like that Betelgeuse cut down from the edge of their property. It was erected in the living room and strung up with bright lights like any other Christmas tree. Better, in Lydia's opinion.

They were saving ornament hanging for today, establishing their own family traditions.

"I say we build a snowman, then I'll make hot cocoa and we can hang ornaments together." A soft sound puffed past her lips, not quite a laugh but more than a sigh. "Dad used to put the star up every Christmas Eve. He was usually too busy with work stuff to help with actual ornament hanging, but he always made time for that…"

A pang in her chest slowed her as she pulled on thick tights under her heavy Winter dress. Did she miss him? Even after he said that horrible, unforgivable thing? She was only human. It was natural to miss the man who raised her, wasn't it?

It didn't matter. She would never see him again. It was better that way. He didn't want her anyway. He was probably happier without her wherever he was. Hurrying along, Lydia emerged in the lovely dark coat she hadn't had an opportunity to wear yet, as well as a pair of sleek gloves that melted snow wouldn't leak through and luxurious fur-lined boots.

"Warm enough?" She was already beginning to work up a sweat wearing such heavy items in their toasty, fire-warmed bedroom.

He looked her over, whistling low as he eyed her.

"Damn, baby. Did I buy you that? I don't even remember it." He quickly ran his hands over her, checking to see if the layers beneath the coat were up to his standards. "Well, seems warm enough to me!"

He snapped and was suddenly dressed in a heavy wool pea coat complete with signature stripes, of course. A plush blanket was tucked in around the babies, their father stopping to kiss them just one more time. He found he couldn't get enough of them. Maybe that was normal. He didn't know.

"Well, family. Let's go play with some snow."

The dogs scrambled up at the mention of play, running downstairs for the front door, tails wagging and claws scraping along the hardwood. Betelgeuse wrapped an arm around his wife and kissed her gently.

"Come on."

"Nobody bought it," she flushed under his attention, only partly having to do with the heat. "I made it."

Her seamstressing skills were only honed during her maternity leave. Though it wasn't a full leave. Betelgeuse converted one of the empty bedrooms into a workshop for her, Ginger provided the fabric and orders, and she went to town creating in her spare time. The soft quilt currently wrapped around the babes was a creation of hers. The long jacket was something she worked on for herself in hopes she would fit it once pregnancy was done and over. It was a little snug around her middle, but she would be starting a pilates regimen soon to get to work on that.

"You really think it's that good? Like something Ginger would make?" She'd put countless hours into the thick fur trim and stuffing the inner lining, perfecting every little detail, so her husband's misconception was validating indeed. The thick blanket of snow covering the property glistened beautifully, reflecting the crimson and orange sky to give the illusion of warmth despite the reality of how cold it was. A chill nipped at her nose and flushed cheeks, but she grinned through it, enraptured.

"Look, babies," she lifted a handful of the powdery stuff, bringing it close to her daughters' faces so they could coo and aim gummy smiles at the mysterious substance. "This is snoooww. See how pretty it is? Daddy said you made this."

"That coat is damn beautiful. God, yer gettin so good at that shit."

He had spent many hours in the corner going over his paperwork while she sewed. The silent togetherness was something he looked forward to. Maybe when the twins were older they could get back to it.

He smiled as she showed the girls the snow, Holly immediately landing a heavy hand on the pile and scattering it. Carefully, he packed snow into his hands, waiting until she wasn't looking to land the snowball square on her ass. He cackled, holding his stomach as he laughed.

"You were right, babes. Playing in the snow was a great idea!" He plopped himself down in a snowdrift, leaning back into it like an armchair.

Lydia gaped at him relaxing back in the snow like a slob after smacking her in the ass with a snowball like that.

"Jerk! Bully!"

This only made him cackle harder and sink deeper into the pile from the movements.

"Never marry a man like your father, girls," Lydia instructed the amused infants, flustering as she stooped down to gather more snow, enough to build a large snowball to slug him in the face with. "The bad boy types are all fun and games until he takes you out into the cold to build a snowman. Then, betrayal. Icy… cold… betrayal!"

On the last word, she spun around to launch her attack on him, only to miss entirely without him even making an effort to dodge, the ball of snow flying off several yards to the left. Lydia was a terrible aim. He about died again from laughter. Positively tomato faced, Lydia shrieked her frustration and made to try again, determined to show the bastard what was what.

Back turned to him, she completely missed the gigantic snowball materializing out of thin air behind her, spinning rapidly in place to build momentum. The twins, aware but not, smiled precious toothless smiles from within their warm enclave, hands clasped as they often were. Someone had to defend Mommy from their villainous father.

He couldn't help how hard he laughed as she tried to get her revenge and failed beautifully. When he finally calmed, he stood up and reached for her, only to be hit square in the face with a snowball the size of a Subaru. It knocked him clean off his feet and across the yard, managing to daze him as he sat up with his head spinning, literally, and reached up to still it.

"Jesus fuckin'..."

He sputtered, looking around for the source of the attack and failing to locate anyone but his family. He frowned at his wife, then gaped over her shoulder as another snowball started to form midair, closely followed by another that pulled itself together from a pile of snow on the ground, then levitated to hover beside the first.

"It's... it... HOLLY? Are you doing that?" The baby giggled and twisted as though denying it. Ivy grinned wide, the second snowball launching toward the back of his head. "IVY GEUSE! WHAT THE ACTUAL HELL?"

He shook his head, pointing at the twins accusingly. "Lydia! Control your daughters!"

It would have been Lydia's turn to laugh if she wasn't reeling with astonishment… and worry. She knew the girls would likely inherit their father's juice, even the very mortal-looking Ivy. It was something she often dwelled on throughout the pregnancy. However, she didn't think it would manifest so soon. They were only a week old! Lydia herself was only human, no special abilities, no nothing. What would it look like if she ever needed to ground them? Put them in time out?

Her pale complexion whitened further at the horrifying possibilities, watching on as a tidal wave of snow rose from the ground only to come avalanching down on her unsuspecting husband, burying him. The babes were making happy shrieking sounds, obviously pleased with themselves, and despite her inner turmoil, Lydia couldn't deny the primal joy that sound gave her.

Smiling, trepidation shelved for the time being, she hunched over their stroller to distract them with tickles.

"You got him, yes you did! Who are my big, strong girls? You're gonna give us a run for our money one day, won't you? Little handfuls…"

At their mother's voice, they calmed their pranking, entranced, and Lydia bent down to give them a kiss each.

"Leave Daddy alone now, okay?"

He sputtered and unburied himself, laying on the pile of snow and pouting.

"A week old and already ganging up on Dad! I'm outnumbered!" He got to his feet and brushed the snow off. "Alright, you girls. No more powers against Dad. Or Mama. You gotta be nice!" He wrapped his arm around Lydia's waist, kissing her cheek.

"Ivy, ya wanna make our snowman's head? Huh? Can you make Daddy a snowball?" She gurgled and did nothing more. "Oh, I see. Can't do it when I ask for it, but you'll run me over with an avalanche when I'm not lookin'." He pulled Lydia away from the stroller and started a snowball on his own.

"Let's make this snowman! Come on, baby... lighten up. Ya look upset. They were just playin'."

He knew that the girls having powers was bound to unnerve her, seeing as she was now the only one in the family without otherworldly manipulative abilities.

"They might grow out of em ya know."

"I'm fine," Lydia brushed it off, fixing her tight expression and kneeling in the snow with him to help build the base of the snowman. "I don't want them to grow out of it. It's a part of who they are. It's how they'll keep themselves safe. It's just…"

She nibbled at her bottom lip, shooting a wary glance at the as of now harmless stroller.

"Did it have to happen so soon? Why couldn't they have kept being normal harmless babies for a couple more years? What am I supposed to do once they start walking and talking and using their powers against each other? Against me? You can't be there to play big bad Daddy all the time, Beej."

Brows furrowed deeply, she patted some more snow onto the ball that would be the base, flattening the top so its midsection wouldn't just roll off.

"I can see it now. 'Holly, you're grounded' and then zap! And I'm locked in a closet all day. Or worse. It's just… a little intimidating."

He paused his rolling to hear her concerns, his face tensing as she went on. "Well... once they can control it better... or understand it better... the office'll prolly want t'put some rules on their powers anyway. Ya gotta remember... just 'cause I'm a family man now don't mean they've forgotten why I was locked up in the first place."

He hefted the ball of snow onto Lydia's, packing snow into the space where they met to smooth it out and make it more stable. "They're sweet girls already, and they don't even have personalities yet. I'm not worried about it. We raise 'em right and they'll know better than to use their powers against ya. Ever."

He peeked around the snowman at her, smiling softly. "Christmas from now on is gonna be crazy. A birthday and Christmas back to back? These poor kids will have to wait all year for presents!"

It was a blatant lie. They'd already multiplied in belongings since their arrival. Every time they looked like they might need something, Dad conjured it. Maybe it was watching him that had inspired this awakening of their abilities. He suddenly felt responsible for his wife being so uneasy.

"Baby... they're a week old. We have time t'figure it out."

The office will probably want to put some rules on their powers.

This only poured gasoline over his fidgety wife's anxiety.

"They'll keep their filthy hands off of them if they know what's good for them," she growled the venomous threat as if it meant anything, as if she was just as magically apt as the rest of their little family. Almost violently, she slapped more snow onto the midsection, scowling horribly. The prospect of her own children turning on her was not nearly as upsetting as the idea that those fucking suits would come anywhere near them, especially if they intended to bind them in chains like they would their father given the opportunity.

Juno told them both when they first discovered the pregnancy that there were people who wouldn't be happy about this. Lydia, her pregnancy, and the twins; they'd all been sequestered from the rest of the Neitherworld pretty much since Lydia began showing. Who knew what enemies were out there lurking?

Ivy began to fuss and whine, sensing her mother's upset, and Holly wasn't far behind, always on the same wavelength as her twin. Lydia flew to them, abandoning the snowman to fake a happy face for the babies. Making sure they were bundled good and snug, she very briefly brought them out from the warm cocoon and into her arms so they could experience the magical, snowy landscape first hand.

"Look," she twirled around slowly, the heavy drape of her long coat swinging with her, "look at what you did. You're amazing..."

The rest of their evening was spent playing in the snow before taking the babies in and giving them a warm bath, dressing them in their matching Christmas jammies, and tucking them into their bassinet at the base of the Christmas tree. Betel carefully made him and his wife each a large, steaming cup of cocoa and plopped a Santa hat onto his head as he carried them to her on the couch. The fireplace roared into life and a Christmas movie came on the big screen over it.

He settled in beside her, passing her mug and kissing her cheek firmly. "First family Christmas Eve! I think it's a keeper. We should build a snowman every year with the girls. Even if it don't snow down here. Can always take a Holiday vacation topside."

He wrapped his arms around her and nuzzled into her gently. "You gotta go t'bed after this movie. Santa Juice has some magic t'make."

Not ready to let the day end, Lydia argued with him childishly, fighting through a large yawn that belied her true exhaustion.

"But I'm not sleepy—"

The yawn won, and once it worked itself out she pouted at the look on her husband's face, the one that said See? Told you so. Lydia was always sleepy these days. Even if she went down now, she would be up again in a couple of hours to feed the twins. They were finicky about taking milk from the bottle. They would with some coaxing, but they preferred it directly from the source.

"I still wanna make cookies, and Ginger said Sandy Claws would come."

Given the bizarre atmosphere of the Neitherworld, Lydia was more inclined to believe her than the cynical Monster Across the Street. As much growing as Lydia had done throughout her marriage, she was still very child-like in many ways when compared to her ancient, jaded husband.

It's a Wonderful Life was nearing its end, her eyelids were drooping further with each passing moment, but Lydia was stubborn to a fault.

"At least let's make cookies…"

He chuckled, waving a hand and sending the girls up to bed. He lifted his wife into his arms and carried her, enjoying half a moment alone.

"Well, whoever's comin' he can't show up until yer asleep! We can bake cookies tomorrow. After presents." He grinned, already excited to watch her face light up when she received hers. Maybe he had gone a bit overboard, but he only got to spoil her with presents once in a while. She complained if he did it too often.

With a blink, he had her clothed in a pair of soft, red velveteen pajamas, her hair piling up on her head so she wouldn't get too warm as he tucked her into their big bed. A glance at the bassinet revealed their twins snoozing happily in each other's embrace.

"Merry Christmas, kitten. I love ya so much..." He climbed in behind her, pressing kisses to her neck and shoulders gently.

The twins only woke one time throughout the night, and once they latched on Lydia went right back to sleep as they suckled away, her husband staying up and watching to put them back in the crib and button her pajamas closed when the process was done.

However, once what passed as daylight in the Neitherworld began to peek through the edge of the heavy drapes, Lydia awoke on her own just as she had the previous day, full of childlike excitement and wonder.

"Beej, wake up," she shook him, not bothering to give him a gentle good morning. "It's Christmas! It's Christmas!"

Flying up and out of bed, the twins were the only thing that stopped her from running down the steps two at a time to investigate the tree. She was a mother now. She had responsibilities. Impatient but lovingly, she took the time to change their diapers and clothes before touting them carefully, but hastily, down the steps. The sight that met her was wondrous. Presents upon presents spilled out from beneath the tree. All of Betelgeuse's, even the ones addressed to her, were tagged from Daddy, but the boxes that especially had her attention were wrapped in a shiny red metallic paper, from Santa Claus written in a beautiful, tidy cursive with red ink.

Eight stockings lined the mantle, one for each member of their family even the furry beasts, full to the brim with treats and trinkets in line with their individual tastes. After favoring the girls with a shiny new pacifier each, giving each of the dogs a big, aromatic bone to chew on, and doping both Percy and Luna up with premium catnip, Lydia dug into her own stocking. She was pleased to find it filled with quality Belgian white chocolate, as well as an eyeshadow pallet and a tube of mascara from the living realm that she had been eyeing before ever coming to the Netherworld.

With a gasp, she brought a bright gaze up to her cranky husband, floating out of the kitchen with a mug of coffee.

"He is real."

Chapter Text

"Santa baby, just slip a sable under the tree for me,
Been an awful good girl,
Santa baby, so hurry down the chimney tonight..."
—Santa Baby
Eartha Kitt

Betelgeuse had spent most of his night between laying with his wife and grumbling at the round, fat man that invaded his house at midnight. Seemed he could only come if you believed in him. Betel resigned himself to the idea of seeing this guy once a year for quite some time. His own gifts, carefully wrapped and placed in front of those from the jolly intruder, were numerous and personalized.

He had just started to fall asleep when Lydia was shaking him awake and urging him downstairs. He took his time, making a pot of coffee and pouring eggnog into it. Festive.

He  is  real.

He chuckled softly. "And how do you know that I didn't do all this? Huh? I'll have you know that I got ya the makeup. He just brought the treats."

He flopped down onto the couch, sipping his coffee slowly. "Well? This is all you, babes. All fer you or the twins, and they can't exactly open their own gifts, can they?"

"Right, and you gave yourself a stocking full of coal?" She jabbed back, now completely convinced in Saint Nick's existence.

"Don't worry, Santa," she whispered under her breath, looking up to the ceiling with wide, hopeful eyes as though conversing with God himself, clutching the makeup close to her chest, "I know it was you."

On hands and knees, she crawled to the edge of the tree to begin unwrapping presents, a secretive smirk curling her lips. Betelgeuse had at least one present, but she would let him keep thinking he was in the clear if that was what gave him joy. She worked through the ones for the girls first, showing them each trinket as she went though for the most part they were unfazed, jade and honey eyes glazing over the many, many things they probably didn't realize were theirs.

"You're going to be so spoiled," Lydia giggled, adding yet another cushy stuffed animal to their growing pile. A gift striped with red and green caught her attention. It came with a personalized note, and she grinned further at the contents therein. That surely was not her husband's handwriting.

To: Beetlejuice

From: Santa Claus

Enjoy the wait for Spring, and thanks for the snow. It's been lovely.

"Beej," she sing-songed, waving the gift his way, "look who has a present from Santa!"

Betelgeuse was more than happy to sit back and let his wife open presents. He'd bought her a new sewing machine, fancier than the one she borrowed from Ginger, and several bolts of rich, soft materials in everything from silk to wool. He looked up from his coffee when she held up the gift, then sighed and held out his hand for it.

"Well. Look at that... Sandy's an asshole." He tossed the note into the fire and pulled open the gift.

For a long while, he stared. Handcuffs. Santa had given him... handcuffs. Beneath them was another note. "Be careful! These resist magic!" Shaking his head, he cackled at the absurdity.

"Jesus Christ, it's like he knows we can't fuck for another month!"

Lydia watched him unwrap his gift with interest. She had found it incredibly difficult to shop for him and was dying to see what Santa brought him. All of her presents for him were smuggled away upstairs still. She meant to hide them under the tree yesterday, but he hadn't given her an opportunity.

Handcuffs?

Blushing, Lydia trudged closer on her knees until she was kneeling before him, snatching up the other note before he could burn it. Resist magic?

"Aww Beej. I'm sorry! You only get one present from Santa and it's something for me to use."

Sweet and sympathetic, she laid her head in his lap, pressing a lingering kiss to his inner thigh.

"You know… just because we can't have sex-sex doesn't mean we can't do… other things."

Another kiss to punctuate her meaning was placed higher up his thigh this time before she pulled back entirely to return to gift unwrapping. It wouldn't do to get him too excited. She wasn't sure if she was comfortable servicing him like that in front of the babies anyway… but it would probably be fine if they ended up messing around in their presence.

Along with the fancy new sewing machine, she also got a state of the art digital camera, a new laptop to replace the one that was confiscated by the police following her disappearance from the living realm, a Gameboy that came with several games including the newest generation of Pokémon, and a white-gold and emerald bracelet in the shape of a snake. These were just the highlights of the haul, of which there were countless thoughtful treasures.

Finally, she was done, a mountain of wrapping paper shoved off to the side and the twins asleep in a pile of stuffed animals and plush blankies.

"Beej," she gushed, linking the lovely bracelet around her wrist. The emeralds were lovely and fetching next to the deep red of her pajamas, providing a festive aesthetic. "Nothing I got you is half as good as any of this stuff…"

A tiny smirk accompanied the side-glance she shifted his way, the girl excited to see her husband's reaction to the revelation that yes, he had presents.

His breath hitched when she pressed her lips to his thigh. He growled softly, his hand holding her head there just a moment before he freed her. "Just remember. The more you tease, the less I hold back when yer all healed up."

Her gentle teasing was going to be the death of him. Leaning down to kiss her firmly, he silently cursed and thanked Sandy Claws at the same time. He sat back and smiled as they opened gifts, holding Ivy when she started to fuss, then putting her back when she complained about being away from her sister. Women.

The mention of gifts for him startled him. Raising an eyebrow, he pulled his wife into his lap to rub a large hand over her back.

"You didn't have to get me anything. This Christmas was supposed to be about my girls." He nuzzled into her gently. "I'm sure they're great, though. Lemme see 'em."

Brimming with excitement, Lydia pulled him along upstairs to her sewing room, trusting Tilly to watch over the sleeping babes.

"I wanted to get it all under the tree yesterday, but you wouldn't give me a minute alone."

They were all stuffed in the closet with the rest of her bolts of fabric and half-finished creations, a place she knew Betelgeuse wouldn't have any interest in venturing. First, she pulled out three small wrapped boxes, each in varying shapes.

"This isn't all of it. The last one is in the closet still, but I want you to open these first. It's not much… but…"

He was already ripped into them eagerly, and Lydia bit her lip hard, extremely nervous. She had never given him a tangible gift before. He had everything. Would he even find any use in these things? They were so sentimental and sappy.

The first box contained a heavy brass locket, polished to perfection. The chain was long and sturdy, so he could hide it beneath his jacket when worn. The face of the locket boasted an intricately carved firefly— a type of beetle— atop a bed of swirling woven metalwork. Inside were clipped photos of both Holly and Ivy lost in peaceful slumber. Lydia had bought it while pregnant with intent to put a photo of herself and her child in the frames, but with the arrival of the twins, cutting herself out seemed more appropriate.

Inside the second gift box was an aged flask. Whatever metal it was made of used to be silver in color, but no amount of cleaning or polishing had been able to remove the bronze tarnish that came with age. Lydia thought it suited him. A smooth round ball made up the clasp and an imprint of a twining serpent decorated the front, its mouth open wide, fangs ready to strike. The flask itself was already full, and when he opened it to take a whiff she informed him that it was Vietnamese-style snake wine she bought from an odd little shop in the mall full of oddities.

The last gift looked ordinary on the face of it. It was just a watch, antique and expensive-looking like the other gifts, with hands and numbers that resembled any other living world watch.

"To replace the one you gave me," Lydia fidgeted as he inspected it. "Check the back."

Never to suffer would never to have been blessed.

Yours Eternally,

—Lydia

"The quote isn't mine," she added in a humbled rush as he continued to stare at the engraved words, still silent. "It's Poe. I couldn't think of anything… good enough. Do you like it?"

Each of the gifts was so personalized and beautiful that he was nearly moved to tears. The locket was immediately put around his neck, the photos of his daughters hanging just over his long-still heart.

He took a swig from the flash, his ears steaming and his head spinning at the sour, odd taste of the wine. "Woah! That stuff packs a punch!"

He turned the watch over in his hands, his breath catching as he read the inscription. "It's perfect. Poe is perfect... ya know I used to call ya Poe's daughter? Maybe ya did..."

He grinned and pulled her into a deep kiss, pulling her into his lap. "You're so good at this... my gifts look like shit now! How can there possibly be more? This is so... perfect."

He put his hand over the locket and closed his eyes a moment, his chest welling with emotion. "I don't deserve this... I don't deserve you, or our daughters or... or this perfect life..."

Ya know I used to call ya Poe's daughter? Maybe ya did…

"I didn't," she grinned at the charming coincidence. That was a cute thing to call her. She checked this onto the list of reasons why Adam and Barbara never told her anything about him. She would have been decidedly flattered if they let her in on this little tidbit, more than they would have approved of.

Speaking of Mr. and Mrs. Maitland, they would surely be calling any minute now to request a poofing seeing as everyone was snowed in. They would let missing Christmas Eve with their daughter and granddaughters fly, but not Christmas Day.

"Nooo," she disagreed with the derision of his many, many gifts, nuzzling their noses together and pressing light, fleeting kisses across his stubbly mug. "You deserve it all and more. I loved all of my presents, every last one." She pulled away to let him see her serious expression. "Beej. Baby. You don't even know. I'm going to spend all my time on that laptop or playing with the Gameboy. It's gonna be annoying, you're going to regret getting that for me. Now close your eyes, I didn't wrap the last one."

Once he obeyed, she slunk off his lap to roll the mannequin out of the closet. It had been a difficult process sneaking this one finished without letting him see, but it was done and Lydia was exceedingly proud. The mannequin wore a dark forest green suit, black vest, and white button-up. The shirt wasn't a creation of hers, just the cleanest she could steal from his closet for the sake of building around and getting his proper measurements. Little pinstripes in a darker shade of green barred the material, paying homage to his usual bold stripes. The inner lining he couldn't yet see was made of bright purple silk, the most masculine shade she could find.

"There," she breathed, scrutinizing one last time for any threads out of place before giving her permission. "Open your eyes."

He obediently closed his eyes, fingers tapping on his knee while he waited. He loved his gifts. He loved his wife, his life, and everything about it. He never felt this way before Lydia. Sighing happily, in a dreamy state, his eyes opened when she instructed him to.

"Woah! Holy shit… baby, did you make this?" He reached out to touch the soft wool fabric it was made from, standing to shed his sleepwear hastily. In moments he had the suit on, the fit perfect.

"Damn… this is beautiful, baby. I love it… I'm gonna wear it everywhere!" He turned and picked her up into his arms, kissing her soundly. "Thank you…"

As if on cue there was a tingle at the back of his skull. "Yer folks're callin'. I'll meet ya downstairs. There's stockings n' shit for them in the hall closet."

Barbara came through the door toting arms of groceries, Adam carrying all the presents. The Maitland woman insisted on making Christmas dinner for everyone despite Lydia's half-hearted objections— Barbara was a phenomenal cook— and immediately set to work acquainting herself with Lydia's kitchen. She and Adam had already exchanged gifts.

For Lydia, they brought the miniature figurine of the house on the hill, the original from the model she spent years looking at, in hopes she wouldn't forget where she came from.

Also socks.

For Betelgeuse, they brought a new tie. Plain and black. Though Barbara did shock them all by going as far as to compliment his new suit without even knowing beforehand that Lydia was the one who made it. "Much better than that old tacky thing," she commented backhandedly, prepping the honey ham for the oven.

Just like his wife, he also got a package of new socks.

Even more stuffed animals were added to the twin's collection. Lydia was already taking mental stock of the ones she liked looking at the least and would therefore be donated to charity. In what world did they need this many toys?

On top of all of that, Adam and Barbara also promised free babysitting for life, the most valuable of their offerings. Lydia wasn't ready to separate from her daughters quite so soon, but she knew an offer like that was sure to come in handy one day.

Betelgeuse was happy to let the Maitlands control the kitchen. It gave him that much longer with his wife in his arms, after all. He made up a round of adult hot chocolate for everyone, offering Kahlua or peppermint schnapps as they preferred. The twins were passed between parents and grandparents incessantly, seemingly happy for the attention. Betel even put on the tie the Maitlands brought for him in a show of good faith.

He let Adam pick a set of dishes from the expansive china cabinet and helped set the table, doing his best to make Christmas go smoothly. The Maitlands seemed to be waiting for something more to happen, but he was on his best behavior. This day was all about his family. He wasn't about to fuck it up.

After dinner, he pulled their stockings and gifts from the hall closet and passed them out. A cookbook signed by Julia Child for Barbara, and new brushes and high-grade paints for Adam. Everyone seemed pleasantly surprised.

By the time he poofed them home and got back, the twins were asleep upstairs and his wife was working on cleaning. A wave of his hand banished the mess, leaving them in the gently glowing lights from the Christmas tree.

He fell into his armchair and lit a cigarette. Whata fuckin' day. "Ya have the Christmas ya wanted, kitten?"

Grateful for the magical eradication of the mess, Lydia curled up into his lap just seconds after he plopped down in the armchair, basking in the beautiful multicolored tree lights and glow from the fire.

"Better than I wanted," she pressed her lips to his jaw, whispering her adoration into his mottled flesh. She'd changed into a red velveteen dress just before the Maitlands arrived, and next to his nice green suit they made for a very Christmassy sight.

"Let me…" She stole the cigarette from his lips, taking several long, deep drags before passing it back his way. "That was nice."

Lydia hadn't smoked or had a drink since before learning of her pregnancy, and so just one boozy hot cocoa and a couple drags from his smoke had left her good and buzzed.

"You know…" Her lips began moving over his neck again, leaving little nips and licks here and there. "I still have one more present left for you… if you want it…"

It didn't matter that he couldn't return the favor. This was just for him.

She was somethin' else. So cute and innocent-seeming, despite the vengeful vixen he knew lay beneath. Her red velveteen dress was soft under his fingers as he rubbed her back.

"I'm glad it was good. You were a perfect hostess, babes. Adam even told me I did a good job. High praise."

She had a mischievous smile on her face. He was about to ask what it was about when she started in kissing his neck. He chuckled perversely, his hand sliding up her thigh and into her skirt.

"Another present? Yer kiddin' me. I already got all this..." The teasing way she asked if he wanted it got him fully up to speed. "O' course I want it. I always want what you give me."

Still suckling at a mossless portion of his neck as if she would actually be able to leave a hickey there, she blindly went about unbuttoning his jacket, vest, and shirt. After so many months working on it in secret, she knew the garment by heart.

"You just sit back and relax, Daddy," she hushed into his wiry chest hair, sliding down his body until she was kneeling between his spread legs. The sight of the locket splayed in full view over his chest made her heart ache for him all the more.

"Let me take care of you…"

Her poor, wanting husband. He was suffering. She knew. He was a lustful beast and this waiting had to be torture to him after so many months of taking her however he wished. They hadn't been intimate for several weeks now, in any form. He didn't think she knew about the stack of lewd photos of her hidden in the medicine cabinet in their bathroom, but she did. She knew what he was doing when he took a little longer than usual coming to bed. That he actually masturbated to photos of his own wife blew her mind, inflated her ego, and made her eager to serve him.

"My poor baby," she pouted sympathetically as she took her time unbuckling his belt, enjoying the feel of the leather in her hands. A thrill ran through her at the idea of him one day taking it to her backside. "I know you want me… I want you too…"

Oh. Well, this was going in a direction that he liked very much. He sighed and leaned back as she undid his suit, her nimble fingers finding the buttons easily. His legs spread to accommodate her and he could feel cock start to twitch in interest.

"Of course I want ya... I always want ya..." He ran his hand through her hair gently, his eyes lidded and heavy with rekindled lust. He suffered through most of her pregnancy thinking they couldn't have sex, and now they really couldn't for another month at least. If Satan himself were to design him a punishment, it would be to look at his wife and be unable to touch her.

He watched her as she pulled his belt free, running his fingers over her cheekbones and jaw reverently.

"Ya know how much I love ya, don't ya?" She did, but with her penchant for melancholy, he didn't think it hurt anything to remind her. "Are ya sure we can't do anything together? I could just finger ya, maybe? Ya know I don't like receivin' without givin'..."

Her thighs clenched in displeasure at the idea of him fingering her, the area between her legs twinging. She wasn't anywhere near ready for anything like that. Her desire to be with him was bred of a need to please her wonderful husband, be close to him and keep his favor. She knew how talented he was, how easily he could get her screaming with little more than a quirk of his digits. But, she was a wreck.

"I'm still sore," she frowned, pulling his rigid cock from his pants and pressing a sad little kiss to the thick vein just beneath the tip. "You could maybe go down on me… If you were nice about it…"

This concession was more for him than herself. Lydia would be just fine to service him and call it a night, but he deserved any and everything he wanted. Finished with conversation, for the time being, she dropped her mouth down over him succulently, taking her sweet time to build him up to a fever pitch with long, soft strokes.

"Still sore? Jesus... I'm so sorry, kitten..." He couldn't begin to imagine what pushing a human out of your body was like, but he'd seen the process. Saw the blood and the aftermath, and understood that she wasn't ready.

"I ain't gonna force ya to let me touch ya. I mean, you could hate me for makin' ya... m-makin' ya..." His thought cut out completely as she pressed her soft lips to his cock.

He had wanted her so badly and for so long that even the simple touch of her mouth to him made his cock twitch. It wasn't any better when she took him in all the way, stroking and sucking at him just how she knew he liked it. He reached down to shove her dress down over her breasts, rubbing his hands over them gently. He knew they'd been sore, but he wanted to touch her however he could.

The multicolored Christmas lights danced over her skin, making her look ethereal in a way that nearly distracted him from her service on his cock.

"God damn... you're so beautiful, baby... god, ya feel so good."

The gentle touch of his perfect, roughened hands over her aching breasts was sublime. It was enough to make her moan around his length as she worked at him, squirming closer between his legs to push her chest harder into his grasp, his cock deeper toward the back of her throat.

What she couldn't fit in her mouth was worked at with her soft palm, the other scratching up the hair on his belly until it could splay flat over his still-heart, the locket the only thing separating their flesh. His hips were rocking slightly, marking his impending orgasm, and she slowed even further to drag it out, edge him a little.

Achingly slowly, she pulled up and off of him, breaking to swirl her hot tongue around the fat leaking head.

"You taste so good," she moaned breathily, brows furrowing as he squeezed her tits just enough to make her abused nipples leak. "Careful," she warned, kissing down the rigid shaft until her soft lips were caressing his heavy, drawn tight sack. "Don't squeeze too much… your daughters need that…"

He was so close already... she was just so soft and warm, her tiny hands working him over like a professional. He couldn't help but twitch his hips up into her mouth, his fingers circling her nipples gently.

Her hand sliding up his chest made his heart feel tight in his chest. He put one large, rough hand over her delicate one, just over his heart where his daughters sat. He made a note to get a picture of her holding them to put in one side. He wanted her with him everywhere.

Her warning caught him off guard. He smirked, bringing the milk to his lips to taste it gently. It was a lot like before, though thinner. He hummed softly.

"God, every part of ya is delicious, ya know that baby?"

He was entirely too cognizant of his surroundings in her esteemed opinion. Lydia wanted him gasping for breath he didn't need, writhing and begging for release. Maybe it was the handcuffs Santa gifted them, maybe it was the lengthy leave of absence they had taken from their sex life, but Lydia was emboldened. She felt powerful, despite being the only member of their family without any powers to speak of.

After swiping her tongue gently over his hairy testicles, she returned to sucking him down, cheek muscles pulled taut, head bobbing quickly to drag him back to the precipice quickly. Just as he was about to bust for her, she stopped again, returning to gentle licks and kisses, easing him down from the edge.

"I can do this all night, baby," she lied with a pleasant smirk, tweaking his nipple just once. "You don't want it to be over too soon… do you?"

She was being naughty and she knew it, but she had been good all year. Something told her Santa would forgive the lapse.

What a fuckin' tease. But he'd made her this way... had been her first. Had groomed her into the perfect bed partner that she was now, but... he was finding himself regretting it.

"Naughty thing... look atcha. So happy on yer knees, aren't ya?" He ran his hands through her hair, massaging her scalp gently. "You still think yer in control, don't ya? You know better."

With one quick pull, he all but impaled her throat, his hips rocking steadily as he fucked her face a few seconds before releasing her. He smirked and put his hands behind his head, leaning back. "As ya were, little elf.

Jerk. Well. That's what she got for biting off more than she could chew. He wasn't in those handcuffs yet. Little elf. Was that supposed to be some kind of crack at her height? Double jerk.

Humbled after the borderline violent show of dominance from her teased husband, Lydia returned to a beautifully submissive state. This was supposed to be a gift, after all, not a punishment.

"I'm sorry," she kissed along his length, slicking her hand up and down in apology. "I just want to make you feel good… you deserve it… Tell me what to do, Daddy. I want you to be happy."

"That's better. You were doin' a great job until ya got cocky on me." He stroked her cheek gently, leaning down to kiss her gently before settling back into his chair.

"You just keep suckin', kitten... I'm gettin close." As much fun as edging could be, he was in no mood to be teased. All he wanted in that moment was to get off, then take his girl upstairs and cuddle in with his family.

He groaned as she continued her ministrations on his cock. "Shit, baby your mouth is so good... so fuckin hot.."

"Hey. We should go out when you're feelin' better. Get Ginger to babysit or something... go have a date like normal people and get a hotel room for afterward. What'd ya think?"

It had been a long time since Lydia had left the perimeter of their property in the woods. Playing in the yard with the dogs and Betelgeuse's companionship kept her from getting cabin fever, but there was still a restlessness lurking within her that needed to be quenched.

"Sounds like…" Her hand flew along his length while her tongue teased the tip, pulling him toward orgasm without any intention of stopping this time. "… a good idea."

Date night could be fun. She was brought back to the first couple days of their marriage where he kept her holed up in a honeymoon suite, acclimating her to his cock. It was time for him to cum. Ready for it, Lydia sucked him down as deep as she could go, savoring the way his grubby mitt tightened in her hair. Before he even busted she began swallowing, fluctuating the muscles in her cheeks and throat to milk every last drop.

Moments like these really solidified for him that he'd made the right choice of picking her as his spouse even before she knew he existed. She had been molded and formed into his perfect woman. The fact that she birthed his children only exceeded his expectations.

Her soft, warm throat constricted around him and he was suddenly thrown off the edge into orgasm, his hand in her hair tightening as he came, moaning her name.

"Fuck! Lydia... oh my god. Shit... don't choke." Despite his frequent masturbation, he was a bit backed up, so the release that hit her tongue was more like a flood than a trickle. He carefully pulled her back, the last of his spend landing on her full breasts.

"Shit... sorry, baby. Ya okay?"

Because she had already started contracting her throat to swallow before he reached his peak, she was ready when it came gushing, muscles forced into relaxation so that he could fist her hair and hump up into her mouth to his heart's content. She had been taught well.

Her breasts were large enough now that she could lift them to her mouth with her hands and use her tongue to clean up what splashed there; give him a show.

"I'm fine," she assured with a smile, charmed by his worry. That was nothing compared to some of the brutal throat-fuckings she'd endured at his hand. Reaching for him with both arms like a small child asking to be picked up by their parent, he obliged, resettling her in his lap the way she was before they'd begun.

"I think I do want…" she began with a heavy shade of nervousness, nibbling at her bottom lip. She didn't look the same. What if he was grossed out? "If you want, obviously… I'm just… I miss you… I'm horny..."

She was so good for him... no matter what he put her through, she always came back to him for more, ready and willing to serve. He ran his hands through her hair as she licked herself clean, his cock giving a halfhearted twitch.

"God you're so beautiful, baby... fuck I can't believe you." He shook his head, pulling her into his lap and holding her close. She was so soft and pliant. He felt as though he could nearly fall asleep before she spoke.

He was suddenly wide awake again, a slow grin spreading over his face. "Oh, absolutely... I always wanna make my girl feel good." He picked her up and carefully lay her under the tree, her head just beneath the lowest boughs to let her look up at the decorated evergreen while resting her back on the cushy tree skirt.

He pressed a deep kiss to her lips before slowly working his way lower, her dress banished by his questing hands. He ran his fingers over her core gently, testing the waters. "Ya want my fingers or my mouth, kitten?"

A wave of self-consciousness swept over her as he banished the dress completely. The flesh on her stomach was still loose stretched from pregnancy, the flesh between her legs raw and overgrown with a thick bush of raven pubic hair from her inability to shave. With all the time dedicated to mothering, it didn't seem important. Her breasts were larger, hips wider. Everything was just different. This wasn't the body he was familiar with, the one he loved.

Terrified of what she might see in his eyes, she kept her own flitting over the twisting branches of the tree, from one gleaming ornament to another.

"I'm sorry," she choked, squirming. "I know I don't look…" How was she supposed to finish that sentence? Nothing seemed right.

"Mouth, please." The barely-there touch to her center made her hiss, and she finished by answering his question, hoping he wasn't too turned off to change his mind.

He watched her closely, hating the way she wouldn't even look at him. What was she so worried about? She was as gorgeous as she always was, just in a different way. He started at her collar and worked kisses down her body, paying careful attention to her breasts, stomach, hips. Anywhere that was new in a way, he wanted to explore.

He nuzzled into the thatch of dark hair at her core, humming softly. He didn't mind it at all. It was just a part of her, something she'd grown as a part of carrying their daughters. "Gorgeous. Yer so fuckin' gorgeous, baby."

He pressed a gentle kiss to her clit, his tongue sliding out to test along her labia, not wanting to hurt her. He looked up the length of her, watching to see every reaction.

The introduction of his chilled tongue to her healing, inflamed nethers made her draw in a long, hissing breath, expression twisting with discomfort.

"Easy," she breathed a reminder, petting gently through his tangled hair, unaware that he was already being as gentle as he possibly could. It would feel better the longer he kept on, she knew, but right this instant the touch was sharp and uncomfortable. She almost asked him to stop.

But… she was horny. It had been far too long since she'd lost herself in his touch. Now that they were here, she wasn't about to let a little pain ruin her good time. Braving a glance down, she was flustered to find his predatory gaze unflinching on her as his tongue writhed. Evidently, he didn't have any issues whatsoever with her changed body.

It would get better. He knew what he was doing.

Easy.

He shot her a look as though to say Watch It. I'm still in control here. His pace continued, carefully sucking and pulling at her tender flesh as he settled into his meal like a starving man. In a way he was. It had been far, far too long since he last had her stretched under him like this. Even before her pregnancy, he wasn't eating her out on the regular. Now, that was going to change.

He had done the research, of course. Knew the risks of penetration too soon after delivery. The last thing he wanted was for her to bleed out again, and for it to be his fault. She was so soft under his fingers. So ready for more even though she was pleading for him to be gentle.

He slid his tongue between her folds, raking it up the entire length of her before stopping to suck at her clit roughly. "God damn, ya taste so good. Missed ya like this, kitten." Her taste had changed somewhat but was still as delicious as ever. He blamed hormones.

This was a special kind of torture for poor Lydia, who should have known what she was getting into when she made the initial request. It was too late now and here she was, spread out beneath him and the tree like a tasty Christmas tart. The slimy, cold wriggling of his tongue was simultaneously painfully intense and blissfully numbing. After a bit, she could only really feel him in the places where it mattered, pleasure overtaking the bites of pain from his agitation of tender flesh.

Creamy thighs trembled on either side of his head, the girl struggling to keep from closing them around his stubbly cheeks as he worked her over with maddening, merciless lashes of his tongue. It took her longer than usual to reach her peak, her dedicated husband relearning what it took to get her there. When was her last orgasm? It had to be the night of the baby shower when she took charge and pushed him into the position she wanted him. That was fun.

Her bully of a husband had another thing coming whenever she got him into those handcuffs.

"Ungh!" She twisted and arched as a wave of pleasure snuck up on her, the bright rainbow of lights above her blending as her vision crossed. Not ready to stop yet, Betelgeuse kept going, still ravenous.

"Beej," she begged breathless, pulling weakly at his hair and bucking her hips. "Can't… no more… please!"

He grinned as she finally fell over the edge for him, though it had taken a little more work than usual, he was still thrilled by watching her fall apart, the twirling of the lights over her skin making her look like a stained glass goddess, painted in technicolor.

He was far beyond listening to plead for him to stop. She may be sensitive, but as he had just proved, she could push through it and find the pleasure easily. He pulled back just long enough to press a kiss to her stomach and smirk at her.

"One more. I know you can do it." And he was right back at her, his tongue curling against her g-spot firmly.

"Please!" She begged again, the plea falling on deaf ears. It was no use. Once Betelgeuse got it in his head that he wanted something, there wasn't any stopping him. History had proven that. Not even two sets of protective parents, a hungry sandworm, and a prison sentence could keep him away from his chosen bride.

"Why are you so mean?!"

Most likely, this was some sort of punishment for forcing him to sit through an entire evening with Adam and Barbara. Or a reward. He had a habit of keeping his true feelings secret, primarily conveying displeasure through sexual torture. It was better than yelling at her or giving her the silent treatment, she supposed. She would die if he locked himself away from her in that office again.

"Please, please, no please!" The desperate cries came in a high-pitched, warbled string that sounded much more like yes! than anything else.

If they weren't careful, they would surely end up waking the twins on the second floor.

Pleading never worked on him. The more she begged, the more he knew she wanted it. But she was getting loud... loud enough to wake the babies, and that would be a moodkill like no other. He pulled back to look at her, his thumb rubbing circles over her clit slowly.

"Hush. You need to quiet down and gimme what I want or I'm takin' ya to the dungeon where they can't hear you. Understand?"

It wasn't much of a threat. She seemed to enjoy the dungeon as much as he did, but it was worth a shot. He went right back to it, pulling her hips up to meet his mouth as he sucked at her lips, then slipped his tongue back into her. It wasn't a punishment as much as a claiming. So long without taking her made him antsy. He needed to be able to stake his claim or he risked someone else going for her. He learned that with Scuzzo, that asshole.

The threat was more effective than Betelgeuse knew. As much as Lydia enjoyed their time in the dungeon, his hunger was intimidating. Could he stop himself if she needed him to? The aesthetics of an environment like that would only tease him further, and he was already on a tight leash. It was unwise of her to open the door for him like this, but the call of pleasure could only be ignored so long.

"Yes, Sir… please, I'm sorry," she panted, straining to dampen the shrill quality of her voice as he kept on torturing her. "Not the dungeon… please not there…"

She bit into her hand to muffle herself, enough to leave teeth indents in the delicate flesh.

"I'll be good. I can be quiet. I can— I'll— Just— ah!"

She broke her promise in record time, crying out to the heavens as he dragged her down into a euphoric abyss.

Well, now he was conflicted. She had gone against his instructions by shouting like that, but she also gave him what he asked for by orgasming as she did. He pulled back with one lingering kiss to her cunt. He missed having her any way he liked, but this was good progress. He would eat her out as long as he needed to for her to heal up and be ready for his cock.

He hovered over her, smiling softly. "Well, how was that? You okay? A little sore, I hope. Gotta remind ya who ya belong to." He ran his thumb over her nipple, a bead of milk pooling on the pad. He brought it to his mouth with a hum.

"Let's get ya upstairs. The kids are awake."

He had developed a kind of sixth sense with his daughters. He could tell when they were asleep or awake, seemingly could sense their moods, too. Maybe that would come in handy.

"I was already sore."

Lydia worked up a terrible pout once the crippling aftershocks wore off and she could catch a breath. It wasn't nearly as bad as she was making it out to be, but the dramatics couldn't be helped. Unwilling to take the stairs after a show like that, she laced her arms around his neck good and tight before he could pull away, silently demanding to be carried.

The bracelet he gave caught the gleam of the Christmas lights, and it worked to soften her to him just a bit. To make sure he knew she wasn't really upset, she pressed little kisses to his neck and jawline as she was carried like a Princess up to their bedroom.

"Oh, I know. Did mama wake you up? She's so sorry. Come here, my loves," she cooed sweetly to her girls as they were delivered to her one at a time, each immediately calming once they found a nipple and latched on. Breathing a sigh of relief as pressure in her breasts was alleviated by their feeding, she relaxed back into the mound of pillows, still fully nude.

"Merry Christmas…"

Spoiled. He had thoroughly spoiled her, but he couldn't find it in himself to complain. She was perfect. As he carried her upstairs, he hummed to himself. Have Yourself a Merry Little Christmas seemed appropriate.

He let her settle in and went to get the girls, cooing at them softly. "Mean ol mama. Wakin up my babies!" He settled them in to feed, happy to stand back and watch the ethereal scene before him. He still couldn't quite believe this was his afterlife.

Perfect wife. Perfect house. Perfect daughters. He didn't have a single thing to complain about. Except maybe his father in law in the basement. He stripped to his boxers and curled into her side, rubbing the backs of the infants tiny necks with his thumb.

"Merry Christmas, kitten. And you too, buggies."

Chapter Text

"Give your heart and soul to me,
And life will always be,
'La vie en rose',"
— La Vie En Rose
Louis Armstrong

In the days leading up to New Year's Eve, Betelgeuse was ravenous. He ate her out at least once a day as if convinced his saliva had healing properties. Unsatisfied until she was begging for mercy, he feasted of her, often insisting upon her returning the favor.

Therefore, when the ending of the year came upon them, Lydia was exhausted. Little voices began fussing from their crib far too early in the morning and she groaned, pulling a thick pillow over her head. She knew that cry. This was something Betelgeuse could take care of on his own just fine. Besides, after the way he forced his cock down her throat the previous night while she was tied up and helpless, she deserved a few extra hours of sleep.

"Beej," she whined, pushing feebly at his chubby back. "They need changes. Pleeeaaase."

He was ecstatic to have some way of making love to his wife again. No matter how rough he was on her, everything he did had love behind it. Even tying her up and fucking her throat.

He groaned when she woke him but dutifully rolled out of bed to change tiny diapers, kiss tiny cheeks, and pop levitating bottles into tiny mouths. Today was the day. Time to see if Chuck was ready. With a round of kisses, all three girls were put into a deep, dreamless sleep.

Dressed in his green suit with a snap, he made his way down to the cellar bedroom. He let himself in, clearing his throat. "Deetz. Feelin' ready? Sober?"

Charles was sleeping on the floor. He didn't remember falling asleep. He remembered pacing the bland carpet over and over and over again, committed to reteaching himself how to walk in a straight line. He was pretty sure he had it down, but he was also pretty sure he was losing his fucking mind.

Human beings were not meant to be sequestered from civilization like this. This would be considered "cruel and unusual punishment" to any judge. In his time since their last visit, he had read and memorized the fronts and backs of all the cheap, off-brand soap bottles in the bathroom, gorged himself on whatever meals he could think of as a form of entertainment— was he gaining weight? How dreadfully unfair— and looked over every single photo of his daughter and grandbabies that the ghoul had been kind— cruel— enough to leave behind.

He was ready. He had to be ready. At the telltale sound of the lock unclicking, he was wide awake, standing up and alert to prove his sobriety to his loathsome son-in-law.

"Z, Y, X, W, V, U, T, S, R, Q..."

In lieu of a standard greeting, Charles jumped right into the dog and pony show. After fully reciting the alphabet in reverse, he proceeded to walk in a perfectly straight line across the width of the room not once, not twice as, but three times, all while touching two fingers to the tip of his nose.

"There," he finished, bubbling with excitement and trying his best to bury the hatred he harbored for his jailer. "I'm sober. Thanks for rehab. Now let me see my daughter."

"Not even a hello? It's the holidays, Chuck. Don't be so cold."

He wasn't impressed by the show. Sober wasn't enough. He had to be really ready. He had to be sure that Charles deserved to see his family. They were too good for him. Always would be.

While Betelgeuse leaned against the wall to light a cigarette, a lit cigar appeared in Charles' hand.

"Slow yer roll, Daddikins. I'm still not sure you're ready." The reaction he got was bordering on violent, and he shot him a look. It wouldn't do to have him swinging fists again. "Maybe ya need another week."

Part of this was retribution. He wanted Chuck to suffer the way he let his daughter and her mother suffer. Just because he was dead didn't mean he deserved to rest in peace. He took a deep drag of his cigarette, then spoke again.

"Yeah. I think a week'll do it. I'll come check on ya then."

"No, no nono— NO!"

It was too late. The door was shut and the poltergeist was gone.

"COME BACK! COME BACK, YOU SON OF A BITCH!"

He yelled and screamed for he didn't know how long, beating relentlessly at the unfinished door until his blues fists turned violet splintered.

"Come back… come back…"

On a whim, he tried the handle, only for his still heart to jump into his throat. It was unlocked. Betelgeuse forgot. He forgot!

It took everything Charles had to keep from yanking it open and running for freedom. He had to be smart about this. If he just went prancing off and was caught, he would be back here with even more time tacked onto his sentence‒ or worse. No, he had to wait. Bide his time. Leave at the right moment.

He would see his daughter.

Betelgeuse would be the first to admit that fatherhood made him tired. He had gotten sloppy, though he didn't realize, and no one was stupid enough to say so.

When he got back to the bedroom, the twins needed changing. Again. So he did that, took the empty bottles, dressed them, then woke them with kisses to their foreheads before climbing in behind his wife and lifting her sleep as well. He knew she'd likely continue snoozing anyway without his influence.

He had plans for today. Ginger was coming to watch the twins so that he could take his girl out on the town. She deserved a night of pampering, and to get out of their house for once. Ginger was trustworthy. The dogs were protective. It was going to be fine.

True to his prediction, Lydia slept until the crack of noon, when Ivy and Holly became dissatisfied with their father's attention alone. They obviously loved him, but he couldn't replace their Mommy's soft, warm skin and sweet voice.

"Oh, Beej," she sighed with love over them as they suckled at her, admiring the plump cheeks, silken hair, and thick, dark lashes. They only grew more beautiful with each passing day.

"I don't know if I'm ready to leave them yet. What if something happens? What if they need us?"

It was Betelgeuse's idea to get them out of the house for the New Year, to party until midnight and have a good fun adult time, but Lydia was wrought with anxiety over the proposition, much too attached to her babies. They'd scarcely been separated a moment since coming into this world in a torrent of blood and snow and joy and death.

"Ginger doesn't know which toys are their favorites, or which blanket is whose. What if they don't want to take the bottle from her? What if they start crying and don't stop? What if they use their powers on her and no one's there to take care of them and they're all alone? I saw this documentary once about a woman who died in her sleep and her toddler was left all alone in their apartment for days until someone found them and— oh God, it was just awful."

"Baby, baby... that ain't gonna happen. First off, Ginge is already dead. N' we can walk through favorite toys n' all that shit when she gets here."

He wasn't really ready either, but he trusted Ginger to call if something went wrong, and he especially trusted Tilly.

"Look. Tilly will come get us wherever we are if she thinks somethin' is wrong. N' Ginger can call me. My name might not summon me for anyone but you, but it still hurts like hell when someone says it." He kissed her cheek gently.

"I just don't want ya to feel stuck here in the house. We earned a night out. Just one. Then we can come home n' snuggle our girls to our heart's delight." Holly was done eating and staring at her father in the way that meant she would like to be burped, so he took her and brought her to his shoulder, patting her back gently until she let out a belch.

"That's my girl... good job, Buggy."

"They're just so small…"

While her husband cared for Holly, Lydia burped little Ivy, whose tiny pointed ears and little claws were the only physical attributes she had that marked her as not completely human.

"I guess you're right…" she conceded with a frown. It was easier letting him have his way. Ginger adored the babes, and none of the beasts would ever let anything happen to them.

When it came time for them to leave, Lydia wasn't any less anxious than before, walking Ginger through any and every detail no less than three times. It was incredibly important the spider knew that Holly preferred the stuffed hellhound while Ivy preferred the bat. If there was a mix-up, the consequences could be catastrophic.

For the occasion, Lydia wore ruby earrings shaped like beetles, the ones Betelgeuse gifted her on the night of the twins' conception, as well as the emerald bracelet from Christmas. Oodles of raven hair were piled atop her head in an intricate chiffon bun, held together by the ruby hair ornament he gave her to wear on their first date. The dress she wore was made of a glimmering material akin to woven moonbeams and clung to her curves, no back or sleeves to speak of. Betelgeuse had only gotten glimpses of it, the dark fur-lined jacket of her own creation cloaking her from view.

"Ivy likes her milk warmed up, but Holly prefers it cold straight from the fridge." Ginger nodded, having already highlighted this on the long, long, long list of to-do's Lydia had typed and printed out for her.

"They do everything together. They sleep together, they wake up together, they eat together. If one needs a diaper change, you can bet the other one will too… Are you sure you can do this? It's okay if you can't, Beej and I can stay home, it's really not a big deal."

Betel couldn't wait to give his beautiful wife a night on the town. She was a vision in all the jewels he bought for her, and that dress... that was a keeper for sure, and he had only seen part of it. He wrapped his arm around her waist as she went over things with Ginger for what had to be the third time.

"C'mon, baby. We got tickets." He'd found a jazz dinner club he thought she would really like and had gone through the trouble of getting them on a list.

"Ginger. Anything seems off ya call me, we'll be right home. Otherwise, we'll see ya in the morning." With that, he steered his wife into his arms and transported them to the promised club, where Ella Fitzgerald herself was crooning onstage.

"Ya look great, baby girl. I'm glad we're doin' this."

"Oh, Beej," she gasped in that way he loved, stars lighting up her eyes as she took in the romantic, star-studded atmosphere. Only the crème of the deceased crop was here. Elvis and Marilyn Monroe were cozied up in a booth in the corner while Frank Sinatra put the moves on Katherine Hepburn at the bar, anybody who was anybody getting their thrills and rubbing elbows. A marquee next to the stage said that Louis Armstrong would be up next after Ella was done with her set.

Betelgeuse handed the host a generous tip right after Lydia passed off her jacket, allowing her husband to pull her deeper into the exclusive club. It was like the joint he once took her to on their first date, but quieter, more intimate. There was still gambling going on in certain corners, but it was the classy kind; where they took you out to the alley to bust your knee caps if you welched on a game rather than doing it right there on the floor.

Anxiety forgotten, taken by the romance of it all, she pulled him toward the floor for a dance before even getting any alcohol in her system, not wanting to miss the opportunity.

"I love this song," she purred, plastering against him fully, swaying in time with the slow, heady beat.

"Stars shining bright above you,
Night breezes seem to whisper "I love you",
Birds singing in the sycamore trees,
Dream a little dream of me…"

It had been far too long since he got to dance with his wife. When they were newlyweds he thought that maybe they would find time to dance once a week, but that certainly hadn't happened. He hummed in his usual gruff, off-key voice, his hand splayed against her lower back as they swayed. He led her across the bar and closer to the stage, nodding to the singer. He'd put in a request. As the song ended the next started and a grin spread over his face as he started to croon along with Ella, low enough for only Lydia to hear and giggle.

"You make me feel so young,
You make me feel as though spring has sprung,
And every time I see you grin,
I'm such a happy individual.

The moment that you speak,
I wanna go play hide and seek,
I wanna go and bounce the moon,
Just like a toy balloon…"

As his request ended, he spun her toward the bar, settling her into a stool and waving down the bartender.

Lydia loved his voice. It was horrible and off-key, but undeniably attractive to his wife. He didn't sing often, but when he did it always managed to pull her into a trance. Swept up in a whimsical daze, lighter than air, she swayed and whirled at his direction, twirling in a circle for him with a joyous, laughing smile when he drew her arm up over her head. At the end of the song, he escorted her to the bar like any other gentleman of class, pulling out a stool for her and ordering them both champagne with fresh cut strawberries.

The bubbly brought a pink glow to her cheeks, and after taking a bite from the alcohol-soaked berry, she pressed a kiss to her husband's lips so he could taste the sweet juices too.

"I didn't know how badly I needed this, Beej," she hushed, overcome with love and gratitude, taking the cigarette he passed her way. "You know I love you and the girls more than anything… but I'm so young, you know? I never thought I'd be a teen mom. I never went to prom, or college, or dumb house parties, or any of the stuff I was always told I was supposed to do before getting here."

Tapping ash from the end of her smoke, she leaned closer to him, resting her head on his shoulder.

"Sometimes I'm feeding them and it's just so surreal. It's like… I skipped all the messy bits and dove headfirst into the best parts of adulthood. It's like I cheated. Does that make any sense?"

"Well if anyone deserved to skip the shitty parts, it's you."

Their glasses clinked together, then magically refilled. He leaned into her gentle embrace, relishing the time alone without the kids. He adored them, but also liked to have his wife all to himself.

"We earned this. You more'n me. Ya pushed two kids out!"

He chuckled softly and gestured to the waiter, having a plate of chocolate-covered strawberries brought to them.

"Here, kitten. Ya still like these, don't ya?"