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The first thing you noticed was the silence.
Not actual silence—nothing in this house was ever truly quiet with Beetlejuice around—but the lack of chaos. No chains rattling through the hallway. No off-key crooning from the attic. No random severed hand skittering across the floor carrying snacks.
Just soft candlelight flickering against the bedroom walls and the faint sound of water dripping from your hair onto the collar of your robe.
You paused in the doorway.
The room looked…nice.
Suspiciously nice.
Candles burned low across every surface, wax pooling down mismatched holders. Fresh sheets covered the bed instead of the usual graveyard-colored chaos Beetlejuice preferred. The air smelled warm and herbal, thick with incense and rose oil.
And perched at the end of the bed like some oversized gargoyle sat your husband.
His striped suit actually looked brushed clean for once. His wild green hair was only mildly electrocuted. His elbows rested on his knees as he watched you with glowing eyes, sharp grin twitching at the corners.
“What is this?” you asked carefully.
Beetlejuice spread his hands dramatically. “What? A guy can’t pamper his smokin’ hot wife after she’s been gettin’ bent over by capitalism all week?”
You narrowed your eyes immediately.
“What did you do?”
His jaw dropped in theatrical offense. “Babes. Ouch.”
“What did you break?”
“Nothin’.”
“Who did you possess?”
“No one important.”
“Is there another corpse in the basement?”
“That zombie was temporary.”
You stared at him.
He stared back.
Then, slowly, he summoned a glowing halo over his head with a ding.
“…See?” he said smugly.
You snorted despite yourself.
That seemed to relax him. Just slightly.
“C’mere,” he murmured, patting the mattress. “Lemme take care’a you.”
The exhaustion in your bones outweighed your suspicion. Work had been brutal lately—double shifts, rude customers, managers barking at each other while somehow dumping everything onto you. You’d spent the last month running yourself ragged.
And somehow…he’d noticed.
You sat carefully on the edge of the bed, robe shifting around your legs.
Immediately his hands landed on your shoulders.
You hissed softly through your teeth as his thumbs dug into a knot near your neck.
“There it is,” he muttered knowingly. “Jesus, babes, you’re wound tighter than a funeral drum.”
You melted a little despite yourself.
His hands were rough and calloused, but surprisingly careful as they worked down the tension in your neck. He kneaded slow circles into the muscles at the base of your skull until your eyes fluttered closed.
A groan escaped you before you could stop it.
“There she is,” he said softly, sounding almost smug. “Been waitin’ to hear that all week.”
You leaned back into him instinctively.
He went still for half a second.
Then his fingers flexed against your shoulders.
“…Careful,” he muttered hoarsely. “I’m tryin’ real hard to be a gentleman tonight.”
You laughed tiredly.
“You? A gentleman?”
“Hey, I contain multitudes.”
His thumbs dragged lower, pressing firmly along your spine. Every sore spot he found earned another quiet sound from you, and every sound made his breathing rougher near your ear.
“You’ve been workin’ too hard,” he said quietly.
The sincerity caught you off guard.
“You don’t sleep enough. You forget to eat unless I remind ya. Your shoulders feel like concrete.” His hands smoothed slowly down your back. “Hate seein’ you worn out.”
Something warm twisted in your chest.
You looked over your shoulder at him.
For once, he wasn’t grinning.
He just looked…worried.
Soft.
Your chest ached a little at the sight.
“I’m okay,” you murmured.
“Yeah?” His eyes searched yours. “Then why’d you come home lookin’ like you wanted to crawl into bed and disappear?”
You didn’t really have an answer for that.
Instead, you reached up and touched his wrist lightly.
His pupils blew wide instantly.
God, he was easy sometimes.
His gaze dropped to your mouth.
Then lower.
To where the loose collar of your robe had slipped open slightly.
A streak of bright pink flashed through his green hair.
You caught it immediately.
Your lips twitched.
“Oh,” you said slowly. “So that’s what this is.”
“What?!” he barked defensively, immediately flustered. “No! I mean—yeah, okay, maybe a little, but that ain’t—look, I had good intentions!”
You laughed properly then, the sound warm and tired.
And Beetlejuice looked absolutely stricken by it.
Like hearing you laugh was the greatest thing he’d experienced all week.
“You’re ridiculous,” you told him.
“Yeah,” he said immediately. “But I’m your ridiculous.”
Your heart did something embarrassingly soft.
He cleared his throat loudly, obviously trying to recover.
“Anyway,” he said gruffly, reaching for a bottle of oil on the nightstand, “lie down before I lose my moral compass completely.”
You obeyed, settling onto your stomach against the fresh sheets.
The robe loosened naturally across your back.
Behind you, Beetlejuice made a strangled noise.
You smiled into the pillow.
“Oh my god,” he whispered. “You’re tryin’ to kill me.”
“You’re already dead.”
“Don’t get technical with me right now.”
Cold oil dripped onto your back.
You jumped.
“Sorry, sorry—” His palms immediately smoothed over your skin, warming the oil as he rubbed it in. “Relax, babes. Gotcha.”
And honestly?
You did relax.
His hands moved slower this time. Less teasing. More attentive. He worked carefully at every knot in your shoulders and lower back, muttering under his breath whenever he found another tense spot.
“You carry stress here,” he grumbled, thumbs pressing into your hips.
A loud pop echoed from your spine.
You moaned shamelessly into the pillow.
Beetlejuice froze.
The room crackled faintly with green static.
“…Babes,” he said weakly, “you can’t make sounds like that while I’m trying to behave.”
You peeked back at him.
His hair was almost entirely pink now.
“You’re failing pretty hard at behaving.”
“Hey, I lasted like…” He checked an invisible watch. “Twenty minutes. That’s personal growth.”
His hands slid lower.
Then squeezed the backs of your thighs.
A small whimper escaped you accidentally.
Beetlejuice went completely still.
Slowly, slowly, you looked over your shoulder.
His pupils were enormous.
Hair glowing bright magenta.
Mouth slightly open.
“Oh,” you said innocently. “Something wrong?”
“Babes,” he breathed, voice wrecked, “I am hanging on by a thread here.”
You bit back a smile.
He swallowed hard, eyes dragging over every inch of exposed skin.
“I really did mean to pamper ya,” he muttered. “Romance. Soft music. Emotional intimacy. The whole gross thing.”
“And?”
“And then you started makin’ those noises.”
His hands slid up your thighs again, slower this time.
Reverent.
“Now I’m thinkin’ thoughts that would get me exorcised.”
Warmth pooled low in your stomach.
You shifted slightly beneath him.
His fingers dug into your hips.
“Careful,” he warned softly.
The air around him sparked green.
You turned more fully onto your back, robe slipping open further across your chest and stomach.
Beetlejuice stared.
Actually stared.
Like he’d forgotten how to speak.
You smiled lazily at him.
“As long as I don’t have to do anything,” you teased.
His eyes narrowed instantly.
There he was.
That wolfish grin spread slowly across his face as he grabbed your hips.
“Don’t worry, babes,” he growled.
The world flipped as he dragged you beneath him.
“All you gotta do…”
His mouth brushed your inner thigh.
“…is scream.”
You flushed so hard it felt like heat was pouring from your skin in waves.
Beetlejuice’s grin sharpened immediately at the reaction, eyes glowing in the candlelight like he’d just cornered prey.
“There she is,” he rasped. “Knew I could get ya all flustered.”
“Beej…” you warned weakly, though there wasn’t much bite behind it.
He ignored the warning entirely.
Of course he did.
His hands slid beneath your thighs, dragging your hips closer to the edge of the bed until you let out a startled noise. The mattress creaked beneath you as he settled between your legs, broad shoulders forcing your knees apart.
Then his mouth found your inner thigh.
You inhaled sharply.
The scrape of his teeth against soft skin sent a shiver racing up your spine. He kissed slowly at first, almost lazily, warm lips lingering against your flesh before sucking hard enough to leave blooming bruises in his wake.
“Pretty thing,” he murmured against your skin. “Look at these thighs, huh? Could live between ‘em.”
“Beej—”
“Nah, seriously.” Another kiss. Another bruise. “You got any idea how insane you drive me?”
You whined softly as he bit at the sensitive flesh near your knee.
He groaned at the sound.
“Oh, that’s dangerous,” he muttered.
His grip tightened slightly as he worked higher and higher, leaving a trail of wet kisses and darkening marks behind. Heat pooled low in your stomach every time his breath ghosted where you wanted him most.
And he knew it.
The bastard absolutely knew it.
Because every time your hips twitched impatiently toward him, he’d laugh quietly against your skin and deliberately slow down.
“Patient, babes,” he crooned. “Romance takes time.”
“You’re literally making out with my thigh.”
“And I’m doing a fantastic job.”
You let out a breathless laugh that immediately turned into a gasp when his mouth finally, finally reached you.
“Oh—”
Beetlejuice groaned the second he tasted you.
The sound vibrated straight through your body.
“Holy shit,” he breathed, voice wrecked. “Sweetest thing in the whole damn afterlife.”
Before you could even process the words, his mouth sealed over your clit.
Your back arched violently.
“Shit—!”
He sucked hard, tongue circling with messy enthusiasm like he was trying to devour every sound you made. One clawed hand hooked around your thigh to keep you open while the other pressed firmly against your stomach, holding you in place as he worked you over with growing desperation.
You grabbed fistfuls of his hair instantly.
He made a pleased noise at that.
“That’s it,” he mumbled against you. “Use me, babes.”
The wet pull of his mouth made your thighs tremble.
Then he pulled away with a loud pop.
Cool air hit your oversensitive skin and you whined immediately.
Beetlejuice looked devastatingly pleased with himself.
“Aww,” he cooed mockingly. “Miss me already?”
You barely had time to glare before his tongue dragged slowly through your slick again.
Your breath caught in your throat.
His eyes rolled back briefly.
“Jesus Christ,” he groaned. “You’re absolutely drenched.”
“Beej…” you gasped, half warning, half plea.
Instead of answering, he spread you open with his thumbs.
The sight alone seemed to short-circuit him.
His pupils expanded until there was barely any green left.
“Fuck,” he whispered reverently.
Then his tongue unfurled.
You barely had a second to realize what he was doing before the striped length of it pressed inside you.
“Beej—!”
Your thighs jerked immediately.
He groaned deep in his chest as he pushed further, tongue stretching impossibly deeper than anything human could.
The sensation made your entire body seize.
“Oh my god—oh my god—”
He buried his face deeper between your legs with a muffled sound that almost resembled mine.
The wet drag of his tongue against your walls had your vision blurring embarrassingly fast. Every slow thrust hit somewhere deep and electric that made your toes curl against the sheets.
Beetlejuice was absolutely drunk on it.
You could see it every time you glanced down.
His eyelids heavy.
Hair flickering neon pink.
Drool glistening at the corner of his mouth.
Like he couldn’t decide if he wanted to worship you or consume you whole.
Probably both.
Your hands tightened desperately in his hair as your hips rocked helplessly against his face.
He encouraged it immediately.
“Yeah, yeah,” he rasped against you. “Ride my face, babes. Use me.”
The vulgarity should’ve embarrassed you.
Instead it made your pulse spike.
His tongue curled suddenly against a soft spot deep inside you.
Your entire body jolted.
“AH—!”
“There it is,” he growled triumphantly.
He found the spot again instantly.
Again.
Again.
Your thighs clamped around his head with a cry. You instantly snap them back open.
“Sorry—!”
Beetlejuice actually laughed against you.
The vibration nearly killed you.
“Sorry?” he echoed incredulously. “Babes, I’m havin’ the time of my life down here.”
Before you could recover, he hooked your legs over his shoulders fully and dragged you closer until you were practically folded beneath him.
Then he got serious.
His thumb found your clit again.
Rough circles.
Precise pressure.
Meanwhile his tongue kept driving into that same devastating spot inside you until your thoughts dissolved completely into sensation.
Your moans stopped sounding like yours.
Too loud.
Too needy.
But Beetlejuice reacted to every sound like you were giving him oxygen.
“That’s it,” he groaned. “Lemme hear ya. God, you sound so fuckin’ pretty.”
The knot in your stomach tightened violently.
Your fingers clawed down his shoulders.
“Beej—Beej—oh god—”
“I know, babes.” His voice was wrecked now too. “C’mon. Fall apart for me.”
The pressure built too fast.
Your thighs shook uncontrollably around him.
Tears prickled at the corners of your eyes.
“Right there—right there—!”
His eyes flashed up to meet yours.
Then he circled hard on your clit while thrusting his tongue deep one final time.
The coil snapped.
You screamed.
Your entire body arched off the mattress as pleasure crashed through you hard enough to blur your vision white. Your thighs locked around his head while you shook and sobbed through the overwhelming force of it.
And Beetlejuice—
Beetlejuice absolutely reveled in it.
He held you there through every twitch and gasp, drinking down every trembling sound like it was the sweetest thing he’d ever tasted.
Only when your body finally started going limp did he slowly pull back.
A strand of saliva still connected his mouth to your cunt.
His hair glowed bright pink.
His grin looked downright feral.
And between your shaking legs, he looked devastatingly proud of himself.
“See?” he said breathlessly, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. “Told ya ol’ Beetlejuice knows how to treat his wife right.”