Ok, so maybe BJ's touches had started feeling the tiniest bit uncomfortable when his hand had begun to move lower and lower even more so, but the warmth his touch is providing her is perfect enough to completely overlook it – she snuggles herself further into his chest. Even though she typically had some trouble getting to sleep, that was when she was in her old stone-cold bed, and not snuggled up on top of what felt like the warmest human alive. She nestles her cheek against the fuzz on his chest, faltering only a little when he fiddles with the edge of her panties, and then dismissing it.

Besides, what was he going to do? Lydia disregards any apprehensions as his calloused hands move perfectly along her little body.

Her eyes slip shut easily, comforted in the attic's ringing silence by the gentle sound of his painfully alive heartbeat. BJ was huge compared to her – easily the size of her old little kid's bed, maybe even bigger. Despite the tickle attack earlier, she begins drifting peacefully into a gentle, shallow sleep when she hears him say her name, shifting slightly.

"Mmh...?" Comes Lydia's sleepy reply – she doesn't lift her head, just turns it slightly, long locks of silky hair slipping off his chest. Maybe he's uncomfortable? She moves upwards, drawing her knees further up his body, hoping that that's the extent of what he wants from her so she can go to sleep.

The question he poses her sounds like it's out of a dream. In between unconsciousness and feeling awfully cozy, she giggles sleepily and nods.

"I wiish…"


The way she curled up higher, dragging her creamy thigh torturously over, and then away from his cock, soft baby hair sliding like water over his bare chest drove him mad. His heavy mitt was already digging into her backside, just what he knew he could get away with, before she ever granted her dreamy, half-awake permission.

Emboldened, hanging on to too thin of a thread to think much further past that she said yes, he moved. Without much thought or effort at all, he pulled her up gently by his grip on her hindquarters until that pink little mouth was scant centimeters away from his. He could smell her; baby powder and clean laundry and dried, sweet herbs and flowers.

His breath was quickening, heartbeat pounding harder and harder beneath her fragile, ethereal form. Why was he so excited? It was just a kiss. After taking in several deep, savoring breaths of her, his lips fell— softer than he knew he was capable.

He didn't have to be.

He could bite, and stuff his tongue past her lax, pliable lips, rip those little panties out of the way, and make her pay a toll for the privilege of staying here. It's not like she could run and hide anywhere. But... that seemed wrong. Not when he could get what he wanted from her the sweet way, and oh was she sweet. Instead of plundering her depths for all he could take, he simply moved his lips over hers with great gentility and patience, enjoying the way they molded perfectly beneath his.

Two thick digits slid between her thighs and over her covered mound— lightly, unthreateningly, just exploring— and he was tortured further to find the barest hint of moisture there, hidden just behind those tiny, pretty panties. He groaned, holding her tighter to him— maybe too tight— and couldn't help but suckle at her delicious, velvet lips, tongue occasionally lashing out to demand entrance.

She tasted so good…


Lydia doesn't think too much of it when he pulls her upwards, just assuming he's maneuvering her to his comfort so that he can get to sleep. When she feels his breath quicken on her cheek, and his heartbeat thud harder against her own chest through the thin layer of fabric between them, however, Lydia drowsily opens an eye, and is surprised at how close his face is.

"..Bj..? Is ever-" And then his lips were on hers. Warm, slightly chapped, toothpaste-flavored and oh so carefully gentle, Lydia's eyes widen in shock, every muscle in her body tensing – and then they slide back closed, fingers curling at their place on his chest. He was kissing her. Shock and an overwhelming array of emotions and feelings course through her. For once, her tummy actually feels warm for what seems to be another reason besides BJ's touch. Although it did seem to be directly caused by BJ's touch. Lydia decides that this is, in fact, a dream, and relaxes into him, feeling herself tremble gently against his sturdy form.

Even when alive, she'd never felt anything like this. He smelt like soap, and tobacco, and something earthy that she couldn't quite place, like freshly mowed grass that had been set on fire. That was why she had to tell herself it was a dream – even if the last time she'd dreamt anything was over ten years ago – because this happening was impossible. She was a ghost, and he was so undeniably alive – and he looked like one of those guys on TV that's always beating up nerds and breaking hearts. The feelings bubbling up in her throat make her choke up a little, and then she does, gasping against his mouth sharply when his fingers slide against her center. Lydia wriggles against him, whining in her throat, and buries her face into his shoulder.

"B-BJ, you… you can't t-touch there..." Comes her meek voice as she shivers, trying to draw her hips upwards and away from his fingers, accidentally rubbing herself against him instead – scared more of how it makes her feel than the touch itself. "That's – no one's allowed, o-okay?"


Oh fuck, she was so good. She had to be into it; the way she tensed, then relaxed so deliciously on top of him, getting used to it. Her very first kiss and it was all his. What a power rush. He never wanted it to end, and so nipped her little breakable neck lightly in reprimand when she gasped and pulled away from him, jutting her quickly dampening panties harder into his hand.

Can't touch there? No one's allowed? Why not?!

He almost pouted, ignoring her silly request and leaving his fingers right where they were. Frowning severely, he flipped in an abrupt motion, placing her firmly on the pillows beneath him while he hovered overhead, heavy and panting. Now, he could see her and touch her, drink in all that opaline flesh steeped in moonlight.

"You don't like it?"

He pressed harder, undulating his thick index finger over her covered slit and clit, biting his lip in frustration at the feel of how easily her slick labia moved aside to make room for him beneath the meager protection her underwear provided.

"Does it hurt?" Once he had confirmation of what he already knew, he continued. "I like you, kitten… don't make me stop. Please. Don't you feel good?"

Unable to help himself with so much of her bared, her dress ridden up with all their moving around, he dropped to pepper lingering kisses over her smooth chest, one directly on each nipple, a warm tongue briefly dipping into her belly-button.

"Just… let me… shhh…"

His finger breached the hem of her panties without any permission whatsoever, dragging slowly along her nearly hairless, virgin cunt.

"You're so wet, baby…"


All the questions he's asking, all the jitters of near unbearable pleasure skittering down her legs and up her spine…

She feels breathless after he flips her over, and she never catches it back – head clouded with conflicting feelings that well up heavily and weigh down on her tiny chest.

You don't like it? Does it hurt?

Squirming and trembling, tears gathering yet again in her lashes from overwhelm, Lydia shakes her head from side to side to side, and then up and down and up and down, whimpering and clutching helplessly at his chest.

"H-hurts," She squeaks out, choked and strained, fingers twitching on his skin as he plays with her like a cat toying with a mouse it's about to completely devour. Her tummy isn't warm anymore, it's burning hot and it hurts, just like she's telling him. When he kisses over her chest, her back arches straight into his touch. "Nuh-uh… pluh.. please, please… BJ…"

Then he really touches her. Those tears piling on her lashes spill over her cheeks and fall onto his pillow behind her head, and the heat becomes absolutely overpowering. Lydia arches right up into his touch, her tremours becoming shakes, eyes squeezing shut in pain and awful, rippling pleasure spreading all the way to her toes and fingertips. She falls apart in his hands, her first kiss and now, first orgasm belonging only to him.


It was done and over before he could even grasp what had happened, her little body shaking and crying out beneath him in rapture from just that single swipe of his finger. Sweet little tears kissed her blushing cheeks on their way to dampen his pillows, the girl so clearly overwhelmed from her first taste of bliss.

BJ looked down at her reverently, in awe of her very existence as she slowly descended from her peak, his finger still happily snug between her puffy little netherlips, tucked under her panties.

"You're beautiful…"

That was a pussy thing to say. He didn't even care. She deserved to know. He'd barely touched her at all and she exploded for him, driven to tears by the sheer intensity of it. All these years up here all alone, no one to kiss or hold her, none of the knowledge necessary to touch herself and give her body what it didn't know it wanted.

"Poor baby," he coddled as she trembled and cried, lost in his thoughts. "That's so good. You're doin' so good. It's okay…"

The decision was already made before either of them could talk or think about it, hungry hands moving on their own to pull her panties down until they were hooked around her knees. If he could do that to her without even trying, what would happen if he put some real effort in? He had to know. She made him ravenous.

"It's okay…" he repeated over and over again, hot breath rushing over her sweet little pussy. Evidence of her release glistened over hairless pale lips, only a fine dusting of raven fur just beginning to appear on her pubis. Just then, a tiny, cold hand found its way into his hair, and the weak thread holding him back snapped.

He devoured her mercilessly, opening his big mouth wide to encompass the entirety of the sensitive area; suckling and licking and lathing up everything she had to take, unwilling to let a single drop go to waste. Nothing would be able to stop him from enjoying his meal.


The pause isn't long enough at all for Lydia to even begin to catch her breath – let alone stop crying. As he stares at her in wonder Lydia covers her face, wiping her cheeks harshly with the backs of her hands while she tries to calm down, chin wobbling and lips quivering at both her painful, searing embarrassment and the leftover stings of pleasure.

His words just make her choke on the sobs rising in her throat – a tearful, almost unrecognizable "thank you" blubbered out, and only because she's always been taught it's the right thing to say in the wake of compliments. And then he starts to touch her again. When her underwear is bunched up around her ankles, she starts shaking her head, fingers and toes still twitching and tummy still full of hot coals.

"N-no, no nonono – BJ, I cuh- I can't...!" Lydia shivers at the feeling of his hot breath on her center, trying to draw her legs up to her chest, scramble away, tug his hair, anything, anything at all to make it stop so that she could catch herself up, process what was going on, figure out what just happened… But he shows her no such mercy.

Lydia all but screams when he begins. Every single muscle in her body tenses, fingers tugging harshly at his hair and digging into the freezing skin around her mouth in an attempt at keeping herself quiet, and the floodgates open. Each bittersweet, harsh, raw and searing crash of pleasure wanes her grip on reality until she can feel herself flickering in and out of existence, sobbing hard, quivering and sitting up to curl into him, unable to control the way her hips buck harshly up towards his mouth. Before she realizes her limbs are translucent and realizes one of her tears has splat against her forehead, he nibbles just a shy too harshly in just the agonizingly right place and again she climaxes, unable to let out more than a squeak of "BJ" before she flops backward – and everything else does, too.

Alice's hands, his Gameboy, a few locks of her hair, some loose-leaf paper and a handful of her tears fall back down from where they'd been hovering weakly in the air, and she would've jumped if she wasn't so tired her fingers were see-through.


His hips rocked heavily into the mattress as he feasted on her, thrusting against the scratchy sheets, pantomiming what he would like to be doing to his little bedmate. It was too good. He wanted her bad, hunger building the longer he carried on with her like this.

What had started as a passing curiosity had turned into an obsession. She wasn't just his ghost because she haunted his house. She was his ghost because she shared his bed, her first kiss was his, her first orgasm was his, and everything else she had to give— or take— was either already his, or it was going to be.

He'd lost track of how many times she'd cum on his tongue, each of her subsequent orgasms after the first blending together in his lustful haze. A particularly harsh buck into his mouth— he wasn't even bothering to hold her down, the weight of his head alone keeping her in place— paired with a lovely little shriek took him by surprise, knocking him out of it.

He pulled away, blinking rapidly as common sense returned, only to gape in wonder at the sight, or lack thereof, she presented. She was translucent. He could see right through her, could view where his hands were still beneath her, holding on tight with foolish confidence that she wouldn't disappear. Aside from that amazing sight, everything around them in the room was floating, just an inch or so from the ground; the bed, his boxes, the two dolls he allowed her, everything. And then…

CRASH!

He came back to Earth at the same time his stuff did. She was solid again beneath him, crying and red-faced, clothing in disarray. Fuck. Sudden and immediate guilt stabbed him through the gut like a jagged, rusty knife, harsh and sickening. What had he done?

"Benny?" A weak feminine voice carried up the stairs, slurring slightly. It was about that time of night. "You okay up there?"

"EVERYTHIN'S FINE, RUTH!"

In reality, he was on the verge of panic. Shit, she didn't like that, did she? Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck… Blustering and clumsy, chewing on curses under his breath, he carefully pulled her cute little panties back into place, then her precious little socks, and finally her flimsy nightgown, piece by piece putting her back together with just as much care as he had taken her apart.

"Shit… fuck, Lyds… don't cry, baby…"

What kind of monster was he? Desperate to stem the constant flow of tears leaking from her too big, too beautiful eyes, he tucked her on top of his best, softest pillow, pulling the blanket over her delicate form until she was secured up to the chin. Lastly, he placed her discarded doll right next to her, going the extra mile to straighten her tiny dress and messy curls as well with a trembling hand.

"I didn't mean ta— yer just so— so pretty… and I like you so much… fuck, I'm sorry. I'm sorry, Lyds. Please don't hate me…"


She barely even flinches when BJ yells down to his mother – hands finally solid enough to wipe again at her eyes, jaw aching from her thick sobs. In fact, everything was aching: her legs, as BJ pulls her socks up, her hips, as her underwear is put back in place, her arms, while he fixes her nightdress properly onto her shoulders.

Lydia's sniffles are weak and pitiful. Though they grow quieter as he speaks and fusses over her, she doesn't flinch away from his touch only because she's so exhausted. There are still tremors throughout her body – she shivers actively, even after Alice is placed neatly beside her and she's thoroughly tucked into her blanket.

"I-I.." She croaks. Her eyes slide sadly open to look at him, and she's struggling to hold the tears back again, feeling them swell painfully in her throat, "I to… I told you no… But you still did, BJ…"

Chewing on her lip, Lydia sits up slowly, and then pushes her face into his chest, crying again. She didn't want to touch him, but the way he fussed, and trembled, and cared about her made her heart ache awfully… She just needed comfort. He was the only person who'd ever be able to give it to her. There was no one else.

"I don't hate you," Comes as a hoarse, rasped whisper, her ice-cold cheek squished against his chest, freezing tears sliding onto his hot skin. "I just don't understand… I said stop, BJ.."


Guilt turned into despair as she crumpled in his arms, whimpering out things that twisted the knife in his gut deeper. Despair turned into frustration as he mentally sorted through all of his different options and realized that nothing was good enough to fix this, short of turning back time and stopping himself from… from…

He didn't have the courage to apply a label to his actions. Not the proper label anyway. Not the one he deserved.

"I thought you wanted it," he reasoned, lying to either himself or her, it wasn't clear. "You kissed me and— n' your clothes and… the fuck was I supposed to think?"

There was a bite of defensiveness harshening his tone, even as he held her poor sniffling form close and gentle.

"Just— just— fuck, I said I was sorry! You're fine! Stop crying!"

He needed to calm down. It made him angry that she was upset. That he couldn't do anything about it. That it was his fault. Everything about the entire situation just pissed him off more and more; thinking about it, looking at her and remembering the way he selfishly brushed off her begging him to please stop—

It was too much. Almost violently, he released her to drown her tears into his pillow instead, lurking across the room to a specific box. After a moment, he retrieved a cigar box. Goods procured, he sat heavily Indian style at the corner of the mattress like a chastised dog, fiddling around until he had a glass pipe packed full of a dank-smelling green herb.

Some weed could fix this. Weed fixed everything.

"Wanna get high?" He grunted after taking a deep hit and holding in the smoke for a long while, too experienced of a smoker to choke on the exhale. "I assume this is one o' those things mama never let ya do."


That concern and care seem to disintegrate into horrifying, awful anger still while Lydia weeps into him. When he speaks – tone completely shifted, harsh and tearing into her – she looks up at him with her big, cloudy eyes full of fear and more, endless sparkling tears.

He was right, though, wasn't he?

Lydia's fingers grip onto the hem of her dress under the covers again, and she worries her bottom lip between her teeth, trying her absolute hardest to stop crying so he wouldn't be mad at her anymore. Whenever mama had spoken like this, it was always Lydia's fault, no matter what. Even if she didn't understand – which she didn't a lot – it was always on her, and Lydia was certain it was in this case, too. Often it'd come down to her sickness and fragility, which Lydia always felt responsible for – like when daddy stopped coming home as often, or the neighbors hadn't come to check in that week, but, of course, this time it was because she was an awful, dirty, dead little girl.

When he all but throws her down, her heart feels like it's shattered into a million pieces. Lydia does continue to sob and hiccup into his pillow, wrapping herself around it and trying to feel safe while he roots around in his boxes in his room where he was letting her stay. She didn't even belong here anymore. She was being ungrateful, crying to him for what he'd done when truly it wasn't his fault.

The bed's movement makes her look up, fearfully, and she's about to apologize when she sees what he's doing and has no idea what's going on, yet again. It smells bad, and whatever he's blowing into looks scary – and then he exhales it in her direction and she coughs wetly, waving her hand in front of her face. At his offer, she shakes her head, wiping the tracks from her cheeks and sitting up to face him, pillow still clutched between her arms.

"I'm sorry, B-BJ… I don't … know what that is."


That did the trick. The potent effects of the THC took hold in seconds, unwinding tension from his neck, back, and shoulders, clouding his mind to the point that anger seemed exhausting and useless. Only sadness and guilt were left behind, unaided by the way she sniffled and admitted to not even knowing what the fuck weed was.

She was a baby. He was a monster.

Very slow and cautious, not wanting to spook her or cause her any more undue stress, he inched closer until she could see the pipe and its contents more clearly. Then, he very patiently and calmly gave her a crash course in smoking.

"This is called 'marijuana'. It's a plant. Think it's a flower technically, but I dunno, might be an herb… Some people call it 'pot' or 'weed.' It's like tobacco, but s'not bad for ya. Ain't gonna give ya cancer. Also, it tastes better." It seemed unwise to remind her that she wasn't in any danger of contracting terminal illnesses.

"There's two different kinds o' weed; sativa n' indica. Sativa makes ya feel more creative, makes ya wanna do stuff n' have fun. Indica relaxes you n makes ya sleepy. This is indica. Strain's called 'Northern Lights.' Grew it m'self, s'good shit."

He could scarcely look at her all through the lesson plan, instead keeping a sad puppy dog gaze stubbornly locked on the black and white striped glass piece in his hand.

"I dunno if it'd even do anythin' to ya, you bein'… you know… But… I got it. N' you can smoke some if ya want… feel better… I dunno…"


BJ's tone had shifted again. Cautious and kind, as opposed to that awful and harsh reprimand from earlier… Lydia watches him approach her like a wounded mouse, eyes more on his face than the pipe – but peers into it when he shows her. It smells … awful. She wrinkles her nose, though listens to him patiently explain it to her, trying her best to understand.

She'd read books on the studies of wildflowers before, and even gardening books, but had never come across anything like this.

"You're a … gardener?" Lydia asks, in response to his statement about growing the herb himself. He didn't seem to be the type – it was such a surprising thing to learn about BJ that Lydia feels her cheeks warm. Her fingernails clink faintly against the glass of the pipe when she touches it. She doesn't take it out of his hands, though, just examining with piqued curiosity that stifled her prevalent sadness. He was offering her something like this… and yet she hesitated because smoking anything was bad, right?

"Is it like medicine? I've never seen anything like this before, just pills and liquids…" She really didn't know much about medicine despite how much she took when she was alive. Was it like those drugs mama had told her to never touch? BJ was right in that it didn't really matter anymore since she was… dead. And it wouldn't hurt to try… Nervously, Lydia looks up at him, trying to make eye contact, and nods her head gently.

"If it's not dangerous, can you, uh… can you show me?"


"Yeah… sure. Gardener."

Sounded a lot better than "drug dealer." It hurt how cute she was. She didn't even have to try, not like his usual girls; heaps of makeup, fake tans, little outfits that just barely skirted by the dress code. Everything Lydia said and did was genuine to a fault, no guile or pretense to be found. She just didn't have it in her.

He should probably feel bad about teaching her how to smoke, but he didn't. There was only capacity for so much guilt in his ill-used conscience, and weed was harmless.

"Ain't dangerous. I'll show ya how."

Given permission, he once again felt entitled to close the space between them. With a steady hand, he brought the mouth of the pipe up to brush her delectable, kiss-swollen lips.

"Yer gonna wanna suck in when I light, but not too hard or you'll get too much n' choke. Once ya can't suck in no more, hold yer breath. When ya can't hold it no more, let it out smooth as ya can." He leveled her with a serious look, the line of his mouth unflinchingly straight. "Fair warnin'. Yer prolly gonna cough. Everybody does their first time."

With that, he flicked his bic, held his large thumb over the carb, and watched intently as she followed his directions to the letter. She still trusted him. Fuck.

"Good girl," he purred as the smoke began to pull through the glass, ready to lathe her in praise and affection again if she was ready to receive it. "Just like that…"


"Alright..."

Though reluctant to have BJ so close again so soon, Lydia does as she's told, fully aware that she did ask for it. She's nervous, and his seriousness makes it worse, but drawing the smoke into her lungs is fairly easy. It burns her throat. It's thick, acrid and hot, but just as instructed, when her chest feels strained, she stops inhaling. Gingerly she lets go of his pipe and visibly struggles to hold the smoke in – it tastes bad, smells bad, tickles her throat and makes her dizzy – managing around 15 seconds before exhaling, a little panicked.

It doesn't come out smooth. (Though she's obviously trying her best.) When Lydia exhales, spurred on by his thorough instructions and words of praise, she's just absolutely terrified of how much smoke was coming out of her mouth. Her eyes water and she splutters, beginning to choke in her surprise, jerking forward and then regretting it immensely as her brain takes a second to catch up.

"Ah," Lydia gasps, putting her hands on BJ's arm to steady herself, still coughing a little from the assault on her respiratory system. She feels significantly less close to tears, head a little fuzzy, and gazes at BJ, scrunching up her nose. "I didn't like that very much…"


Frowning sympathetically as she coughed harsh and dry, exactly as he predicted she would, he held her through the fit until she was stable and breathing again. Must have been a reflex.

"Aight, that's 'nuff for you, lightweight."

With another hit, he killed the entire rest of the bowl, letting out a cloud of smoke much larger and smoother than the one she released. The way her nose wrinkled was cute too, like everything she did, and managed to inspire a weak smile in the downtrodden giant.

"Give it a minute. Nobody smokes pot for the smokin' part. They do it for the effects."

Effects of which BJ was feeling pretty much immediately. Everything seemed just a bit simpler now. She wasn't crying anymore. Terrible thoughts were no longer battering through his skull like a pack of wildebeests. In fact, he wasn't thinking about much of anything at all.

Exhaustion was catching up to him. Though he had the build of a titan, he was only human. With a heavy sigh and thud, he plopped back onto the mattress, making the coils squeal in protest.

"Ya don't… have ta stay. If ya don't want. I get it."

He was silent for a long while after offering her this out, deep, steady breaths and shut eyes giving him the appearance of being asleep. Then, he murmured more with a slight slur, brows furrowed just so as if in the midst of an unpleasant dream.

"Didn't mean t'hurt ya… wanted t'make ya feel good… m'sorry…"


Lydia, tiny and completely unused to the aforementioned effects of weed, suddenly feels very heavy. Sleepiness clouds her brain and sits behind her eyelids like a fog, thoughts and fears settling underneath the shroud. She sits, swaying a little, and watches him as he lays down, wanting so badly to lay on his chest and fall asleep like before. It had been so comfortable… She catches herself moving towards him and stops short, remembering absently that it wasn't really worth the risk. He'd been nice, but not enough for her to forget what he'd done. For a while after he lays down and speaks, she just sits there, thinking slowly about what he'd just said.

He was human. Humans make mistakes… Lydia plops down beside him, curling up around Alice and snuggling into the mattress. She doesn't say anything, keeping her mouth shut in favor of watching his face. He was so … Alive. The sound of his breathing is loud and comforting, steady – it feels like it's grounding her, like without him she'd just… float away.

The way he next speaks, she almost doesn't catch it, drifting slowly into a calm sleep from the warmth and rumble of his presence. Tears well up, big and wet in her eyes. In trying to blink them away, a few spill down her cheeks.

"It's ok," Lydia whispers back, shuffling forward until she can feel his warmth again, radiating on her icy, pale skin. "I'm sorry, too." And then, in the comfort that he really, truly was sorry, she lets her eyes slip shut, falling truly, deeply asleep.