First things first: This fic is old. I wrote it back in the year 2000 or so, and it was originally published on a now-defunct website called BJ's Fansite. I lost interest in Beetlejuice for a good few years, went on and lived my life — got married, had a kid and everything! — only to come back in the summer of 2017 and use the Wayback Machine to get all the old drafts for this and my other Beetlejuice stories.
I cringed upon re-reading them but decided to limit the reach of my revisionist's pen for the sake of preserving their place in Beetlejuice fandom history. I elected to clean up many of the technical issues, but keep the bones of the story the same. Those of you who know me from Fantastic Beasts will see the foundations of the writer I am today, even if she was still struggling to figure out the intricacies of human sexuality and consent issues.
Most movie-based but with elements of 'toon verse to be found throughout. Oh, and Lydia is 18.
It happened in the shower.
More than a year had passed since what her family referred to as "The Incident," and yet Lydia's mind tormented her with memories daily. The passage of time did little to lessen the bitter anger that had invaded her. As each memory wrought havoc upon her conscience, she knew what her subconscious was trying to whisper. Yet she refused to accept or believe it; guilt was simply too unfair an emotion to be experiencing. It didn't fit into the proper order of things.
While it was true that she had agreed to marry the frightening apparition in a fit of desperation, she felt she had no reason to feel the least bit of guilt over the ghosts untimely demise; he had brought it on himself, or so her way of thinking went.
The morning in question was more than a year after the incident, and it was the farthest thing from her mind when she woke. All she focused on as she stepped into the shower was the photographs she planned on snapping later that day.
Reality gradually came into focus as the heat and steam of the shower teased her senses. Wholly relaxed in mind and body, Lydia leaned into the full umbrage of the water, closing her eyes until a curious new sensation jolted them open: a feeling of falling, a slight tinge of nausea punctuating the sensation as her strangely hazy, grey-green surroundings came into focus...
Standing alone in the fog, aware that she was quite naked, knowing instinctively that the familiar surroundings she longed for were simply obscured by the force of the vision, Lydia looked furtively around as fear wrapped icy fingers around her heart. A gasp tore from her throat when a figure came into view, but the sound transformed into a cry when she recognized the shape of him, his unnaturally easy gait proving her theory when he finally stopped before her.
Mind yammering, forgetting everything except the cloying fear and remorse she felt when greeted by him after more than a year, Lydia tried to close her eyes against the pain of vision only to find that they stubbornly refused her command. They remained open, unnaturally wide and staring into the feral gaze that bore down upon her.
The figure stepped back a little, his bluish lips curling into a snarl, rotted green teeth coming into full view as he regarded her with the approving gaze of a starving dog eyeing a steak. Powerless to stop, Lydia's staring continued as the figure stepped further back, his striped suit flashing strangely in the light, his greenish-yellow hair fluffed around his head in a wicked halo. His sunken eyes were just as cruel as she remembered, the black-green rot that clung to one side of his mouth made all the worse by the damp environment surrounding them. He kept his lurid gaze fastened upon her for many minutes, taking in her subtly curved form before he swept into motion, his actions so fluid they would not register until many hours later.
One second he was many feet away, the next directly before her, his forehead a breath away as his eyes glowed down at her, livid yellow and deepest black. Fear crowding into her heart, Lydia listened as he spoke, the voice that haunted her darkest dreams now spilling over the pale flesh of her bared shoulders in an icy gale.
"Lydia, is it? Well, whaddya know… Edgar Allan Poe's daughter must have been thinking about me! Who woulda thunk it?" A cruel smile tugging his malign features into a rictus of mingled longing and loathing, the ghost brushed her shoulder with one icy finger before continuing. "You know, Babes, it's really interesting that you should have caused me so much trouble. Those two deadbeat spooksters you called friends actually caused me all the problems, but since you're here and convenient, I think I'll let you take the blame. It's much more fun to fuck with mortals, other ghouls don't do much for the Thrill-O-Meter, know what I mean?"
Lydia opened her mouth—to speak, to scream, anything—only to discover that the capacity for speech had been taken from her. She could only breathe in small choking gasps as the ghost continued to drag one finger over her skin, his breath a steady breeze on her face and neck, bringing with it the stench of dry rot and sweet decay. Strangely, his roaming finger was calming her, banishing her initial reactions for something much more pleasant. For long minutes the ghost simply glared, his finger never stopping its indefinable pattern across her skin as she almost unwillingly began to relax, until at last, she found the breath to choke out one question:
"What are you going to do to me?"
The ghost gentled his caress, his smile somehow stretching to suffuse his entire face with demonic delight, his eyes now gleaming brightly against the dark fog that surrounded them. "I dunno, Lydia. What do you think? I mean, I've taken care of the Maitlands already—now it's your turn. I should just send ya to Sandworm Land, but I won't enjoy that 'cause I won't be able to see you suffer." He added his middle finger to the strange contact, his languid stroking a stark contrast to his cold words as Lydia floundered.
He slowed his caress further as a thought crossed his twisted mind. When his smile faded to be replaced with a raw look she did not recognize, the feelings of remorse she had struggled with for more than a year decided to inopportunely rear its head. Self-loathing rising from the depths of her stomach to crowd her throat, Lydia fought the strange pity, earlier fear fleeing despite the panic that now also threatened.
The ghost stepped back suddenly, his movements again smooth enough to defy the laws of logic and sanity. That was when Lydia realized he was floating. Upon further scrutiny, she was no less shocked to discover that her feet no longer touched the ground either. Blinking, she raised her head and met the ghost's shadowed eyes levelly, challenging him with the blaze of her silent stare, refusing to fold to any outside emotion that may wish to bend her to its will.
The ghosts surprise was obvious, manifesting itself in a smile that attempted sadism but fell short as he moved back into her orbit. When his eyes found hers, she received a blow that would be the most startling revelation of her young life: The cruelty was gone from his gaze, replaced with an emotion she could not be sure of yet thought to be, of all things, sorrow.
Smiling, the apparition lifted his hand once more, this time to brush back an errant strand of raven hair that had fallen into her eyes, his icy fingertips dusting over her skin as myriad emotions coursed through her. Shocked to her core, again rendered mentally clumsy, Lydia watched the flickering feelings in the ghost's eyes as he regarded her until a brand of wicked awe dominated his features. When next he spoke, Lydia could have fallen over from shock had she not had supernatural buoyancy.
"Lyds, I'm sure you guessed I'm visiting ya for a reason, though why I'm doing this, I still can't figure out. Look, er—well, the Maitlands fucked up, no bones about it. You didn't do anything, hell, you even agreed to marry the biggest dick in the Netherworld. No physical reference intended, by the way, with that last comment. That worm damn near made a snack of me—good thing I juiced the fucker before he had the chance, but Juno sure wasn't happy. What a pity."
Beetlejuice's last comment was positively dripping with disdain, his sarcastic nature not lost on Lydia, nor was the word's meaning. Clearing her throat, Lydia fought against the stunned dizziness that tried to render her senseless and concentrated on forming coherent words. "What are you trying to say? In case you haven't noticed, I was a bit busy before you showed up. Now tell me what you want so I can return to sanity, okay?" Her acidic tone went completely against her softening features, forcing herself to maintain a chilly facade but finding the battle more difficult with each passing second.
Always the opportunist, Beetlejuice threw his head back in cold laughter before pressing a hand to his mouth and murmuring, "Funny, now I know what the deal is. Listen, babes, I'm not happy about this either, but if I wanna keep my afterlife intact I gotta do this. 'Selfless acts of redemption' and all that bullshit. I'm supposed to say sorry or whatever. So there, I said it, and now I'm blowing this joint."
He turned as if to leave, and then a miracle occurred: Lydia's hand on his shoulder, restraining him.
Beetlejuice turned to find that she was—truly, amazingly—smiling at him. For one split second, he felt that strange attraction he had felt for her initially before it was drowned out by the clamoring of his dark side. Arranging his face into a look he hoped feigned indifference, he went to shove her hand off only to find himself clasping her wrist tightly instead.
Lydia blinked as if waking up from some horrible dream. For one stunned second, the two beings regarded each other, the ghost's expression amazingly sparse yet as filled with shock as the girl's was filled with strained curiosity. She smiled then, a smile filled with wisdom beyond her years. After another tense moment, she opened her mouth and whispered, "I accept."
Now it was the ghost's turn to look surprised, and the expression sat so oddly on his hardened features that Lydia had to stifle a giggle. Instead, she relaxed her arm and tried to halt the chaotic swirling of her thoughts. Somehow, though the situation made no logical sense, the ghost who had tried to marry her was now coming back to apologize for… what? What did he, really, have to be sorry for? They had made a deal, he had held up his end, and she had been unable, at the last second, to hold up hers. If anything, he should be zapping her soul into a million flying particles right now, not waxing apologetically before her stunned eyes.
Though the situation lacked sense, the apology itself was enough to ease her distrust, and as long as she kept an eye out and didn't say his name, she knew she was in possession of a certain amount of safety.
Beetlejuice shook his head and for a moment, Lydia was touched by the almost human quality of his features. Despite what she had known of him, despite what she had been told and nearly done with him, she sensed the slightest bit of a heart beneath that frigid exterior, a spark of emotion carefully packed in ice and shrouded with barbed wire. As if to prove the point, the ghost resumed stroking her shoulder, this time all his fingertips making full contact with her skin as his other hand freed her wrist. No thought proceeded Lydia's next statement; it formulated itself and needed not the aid of thought or regret.
"Why are you even bothering to apologize? What can the 'Powers That Be' or whatever really do to you? And why the hell are you being so nice to me?!"
Again, that look of surprise before melting into a cold smile. "Babes, I told ya…they can do stuff to me that I'd rather not think about. Hot pokers and what-not, real scary shit. Well, almost as scary as me, that is. Why do ya ask, huh?" His eyes caught hers again, this time not ablaze with anger and cruelty but something else.
Lydia couldn't track his fickle moods; they changed too rapidly. One moment he had looked ready to tear her limb-from-limb. The next, he was talking almost peaceably and his fingers on her shoulder were gently persuading her to be just as civil. She didn't feel the weight of his stare, it's slow hypnosis; she only realized it all when his name slipped past her lips the third time and she found herself standing with him in the center of her bedroom, their stances unchanged.
He smiled then, a smile of such cunning, a fox could only dream of it. His hand continued to stroke her as Lydia felt her anger rise, only to recede just as quickly. His smile was devoid of malice, his eyes betraying his inner turmoil.
She noticed also that his breath had changed, the sickly sweet scent of decay vanishing to be replaced by something like dried cinnamon. His skin was still arctic but not unpleasantly so. As Lydia blinked dazedly against the full weight of her new reality, some things became startlingly clear. His hand was more than just not unpleasant; the caress was slyly sensual, slowly driving all other thought from her mind as her better judgment gave in to silence.
When the ghost increased the length of his strokes, Lydia did nothing to prevent it. When he lowered his head and caught her lips with his, she did nothing to evade him; rather, she caught his mouth with her own to silently urge him on.
The ghosts' arms came around her waist, pulling her flush against him, his desire a solid knot against the soft plane of her stomach. Beetlejuice's hands cupped the firm roundness of her bottom, lifting her off her feet as he turned and deposited her on the bed. She could feel his ragged breath washing across her skin, the resulting goosebumps only adding to the insanity of the entire situation. Somehow, the thought of intimacy with a ghost, even one as rotten as Beetlejuice, thrilled her beyond all imagined boundaries.
His strange teeth found her nipple, though he didn't appear to move. The sensation of cold against hot caused her back to arch fluidly against his mouth, her hand finding his shoulders and digging into them while he carved his fingernails in lines over her stomach. The sting of pain, the shock of pleasure, warm against cold all combined to make her dizzy.
Blinking against the dots that danced before her eyes, Lydia took a moment to realize her desires before the ghost towered over her, his weight pressing her into the sheets as his mouth bore with brutal intensity. Sensing her need, he wasted no time parting her thighs, growling at her hissed approval before maneuvering to experience the sweeter heat within.
No sooner had he joined her than he began to move, a hard rocking that sated the needs of the flesh as fully as any gentle, romantic interaction could. His icy hands were demanding upon her skin, almost painful with insistence yet still trembling with restraint as if he understood what a fragile being she really was. Despite the sudden lust that filled them both and the yammering of the aforementioned animal, he drew her only so close to pain before drawing back and allowing pleasure to fill the void. Soon, under his roughly gentle ministrations, she felt the surges of release build, and as she lost her sound of animalistic passion in the flesh of his neck, just as climax was bound to seize her and fling her over the waves of mind-blowing pleasure—
"Lydia! Pumpkin, did you fall asleep in there?"
Lydia jerked her head back from where it had fallen upon her shoulder, her mind coming sharply back from the fantasy she had so often experienced and yet had never had the opportunity to reach its final destination. Muffling a groan of protest with the back of her hand, Lydia managed to call out weakly, "No, I'm almost finished," before scrubbing off in record time and stepping out.
Her mind still blank yet filled with the images of that poignant fantasy, she dried her body and arranged her hair into its exotic upsweep before stepping into a dark skirt and top that was the perfect accent to her already brooding look. Opening the door, she smiled blandly at her grinning father before breathing, "I'm going to lay down for a while, rest my head. I have a headache."
Charles didn't see through the lie, as she had expected; instead, he hugged her slightly, bobbing his head in agreement before stepping within the steamy confines of the bathroom. Smiling to herself, Lydia tapped her throat before walking up the short hall to her bedroom, the door closing softly behind her as she stumbled to the bed and lay down upon it, closing her eyes and willing her mind blank while taking deep breaths, praying she was not making the mistake she so feared.
After all, she had a promise to fulfill.
Come find me on Tumblr katiehavok, if that's your thing.