"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.