The Other Woman - Beetlejuice X Reader
(I recommend reading the tags first, I'm not warning you up here because I don't want to ruin the ending. Enjoy!)
Beetlejuice loves you to bits and pieces, in his own little way.
You're not sure if he can ever really love in the traditional sense. He's always a bit distant no matter the situation, staring off pensively as he smokes, not really one for deep conversation, never one to talk after sex. He's chaotic and violent and a loose canon - those traits all together don't lend themselves to the perfect lover.
He's most definitely far from perfect, and you love him to bits and pieces in spite of it. Therefore you're content to hold his hand and sit in silence and let him clutch you dangerously tight at the end of the night, face buried in your hair. He really does adore that shampoo he wanted you to try. Odd for a guy who doesn't shower himself.
He does such sweet things, though. When you were sitting out by the pool, cheekily complaining about the lack of sunscreen (oh please conjure some up and rub me down with it), a large sunhat appeared atop your head instead. You had complained about needing one a few weeks back, so you gushed about how he remembered.
He takes you on adventures! You get to see the Netherworld, no death required. Before your last trip, he handed you a box beautifully wrapped in monochromatic striped paper. You opened it up to find a spider broach encrusted with rubies. It isn't really your style - a little too gaudy - but you pinned it on your black sweater and kiss him in thanks. You were only able to catch his cheek.
One day, you walked into your room to find that your bed had new sheets. They were a dusty purple and had a weird shine to them. They felt expensive.
"Thought they could... spice things up, 'f ya know what I mean, Babes." He waggled his eyebrows. You laughed.
He suddenly got defensive, straightening up and crossing his arms.
"Wha's wrong with 'babes'?" He's serious.
"Nothing, it's just... new. I like it."
"Yeah? Well ya better like it."
He said nothing more. He didn't kiss you, didn't ruffle your darkened hair, just passed by you and into the kitchen.
A few days later, you come home to a new surprise laying on your bed.
You can hardly make sense of it from the door; it's just this big red mass of tulle, lovingly laid out across your bed. You approach and discover it's a dress.
What kind of 1980s, Gunne Sax, polyester nightmare is this?
You do as it says, struggling with the boots and back fastenings. Once that's done, you turn to your full length mirror and run your hand over the ruffles along your collarbone.
Okay, dude's old. Maybe he has a 1980s Southern Belle fetish.
In the mirror, you see something you must've missed, fallen beside your bed. You pick up the strip of tulle and analyze the comb at one end. It's a veil.
Now you're filled with excitement! Is this it? Is he actually going to marry you? You shove the comb into your hair and turn to the mirror.
"Beetlejuice, Beetlejuice, Beetlejuice!"
There's no fanfaire when he arrives. He's leaned against your doorframe, a glass of liquer in his hand. He looks like shit. He looks sad.
"Give daddy a spin," he slurs, barely above a whisper. You awkwardly do as he says.
"Beej, are you-" He's on top of you, pushing you to the bed with his considerable weight, strong hands painfully squeezing your face as he kisses you. It's rough, long, twinged with melancholy.
"I love you," he breathes into your neck. Your heart flutters. It's the first time he's said it and you're about to cry. He kisses just below your ear, slurring direcly in your ear.
"I love you so fucking much, Lydia."
You freeze, your heart stops, the blood in your veins turns to ice.
By now you've realized he can love, truly love. And he's in love, in a way that's fiery and passionate and burns all it touches. He's madly in love, actually.
dededos
dailybridgerton
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