#beetlejuice fanfiction

[myveryownfanfiction]

18+ MINORS AND THOSE WITHOUT AGE IN BIO DNI

tags: @illiana-mystery, @iobsessoverfictionalmen

warnings: swearing, Beetlejuice

“killing children is illegal right?” I asked as I slammed the door. Beetlejuice appeared with a pop. He looked at me for a second before pressing a kiss to my cheek.

“I mean are we talking your own or someone else’s?” He asked, flopping on the couch. “Because if we’re talking your own, we’re gonna have to get to work on that first.” Beetlejuice grabbed his crotch and squeezed, raising his eyebrows seductively at me. I rolled my eyes and smacked his shoulder.

”don’t make me send you back.” I pointed a finger at him. Beetlejuice held up his hands in surrender.

“alright. Alright.” He said. “But unfortunately yeah it is. Why?”

“why?” I asked with a laugh. “Did you not see what happened? I know you were there. They destroyed the display. They scared the scare actors. And I swear to god one of them had a real knife!” Beetlejuice nodded with a frown. “If that doesn’t warrant it then I don’t know what does!”

“honey…don’t get mad…” Beetlejuice said, getting up and holding his hands up again. “But I think you should take a nap. Maybe things will be better later.” I sighed and rubbed my forehead.

“I can’t beej.” I shook my head. “I have to fix the display and…”

“hey. Leave it to me.” Beetlejuice put his hands on my shoulders. “I’ll take care of it. Make a few calls.” Beetlejuice kissed me softly, making me hold onto his shirt slightly. “Trust me.”

“I guess I could…” I said, brushing my hand through his hair.

“good. Good. Good.” He muttered. “I got this babe. Call in the finest contractors the underworld can offer.” I nodded as I headed off to bed. The next morning, I woke up to Beetlejuice sprawled out on top of me.

"Beej." I groaned as I climbed out from under him. He jolted awake and blinked at me sleepily.

"Wha?" he mumbled, rubbing his eyes and turning to snuggle into the pillow more. "What time is it?"

"Time for you to stop suffocating me in my sleep." I teased, poking his ass as I headed into the bathroom. "What time did you get in last night?" There wasn't a reply so I assumed he went back to sleep. Shrugging to myself, I quickly showered and went to the kitchen to grab something to eat. "Shit." I muttered when Beetlejuice looked up at me from his spot at the table. "Warn a person why don't you." I mumbled as I went about making myself breakfast. Beetlejuice slid a cup of coffee over to me with a small smile.

"What are you doing today?" He asked, sipping his own coffee. "Aside from me of course." I rolled my eyes as he chuckled at his own joke.

"Checking on the display. Seeing where you left off and finishing putting it back together." I shrugged. "Why? Did you have something planned?" Beetlejuice shook his head.

"When did you want to go?" He asked, voice surprisingly soft.

"How about after we eat?" I asked. Beetlejuice nodded, getting up and kissing me softly. "What has gotten into you today?" I laughed as he sat in my lap. He shrugged, smiling at me.

"Aside from the fact I'm dating the most wonderful breather ever?" He asked. I smiled at him and cupped his cheek. Beetlejuice kissed my palm. "I think I have a new appreciation for you after working most of the night to get the display back up. All the work you put into it. All the work you are still putting into it with the scare actors. All of it."

"Oh." I felt my cheeks heat up at that. "Well...I mean..." Beetlejuice kissed me.

"Don't sell yourself short sweetheart." He whispered. "You did a lot of good work and you deserve the praise." I nodded, accepting that he would keep going until I let it go. We ate breakfast like that, Beetlejuice sitting in my lap and trying to make me laugh so hard milk came out of my nose. He nearly succeeded but stopped when I gently shoved him off my lap. Beetlejuice snapped his fingers and the dishes were done. I stood up as he popped over to the bedroom. "Hurry up and get dressed. I wanna show you what I did." He rocked on his heels as he waited for me to get dressed. When I finally exited the bedroom, he took my arm and transported us to the display.

"I still hate that." I mumbled as I grabbed his arm to try to steady myself. "Always makes me feel weird." I shook my head to try to fix whatever it was I was feeling. Beetlejuice chuckled before covering my eyes. "Ah man! Come on Beej! I'm already unsteady and now you wanna do this crap?" I was slowly walked further into the park before he lifted his hands.

"Ok. Now look." I opened my eyes and my jaw dropped. "I know it isn't exactly the same but..." I turned around and grabbed his tie, pulling his towards me. Beetlejuice squeaked before his hands settled on my hips. I kissed him as hard as I could, trying to put all the raging emotions I was feeling into it.

"Fuck me Beej." I breathed out when I pulled away. Beetlejuice gave me a shit eating grin and a wink before turning to look at the display. "I love it. I can't wait to show everyone." He wrapped an arm around my shoulders and smiled.

"Yeah? You really like it?" He asked, voice going soft at the end.

"It's amazing Beej." I breathed out. "Now give me a tour." He nodded happily before leading me around the work he had done.

[itsawritblr]

OK . . . about this . . .

For the Beetlejuice fans who still Follow me.

I've said before that I'm biting my nails that Burton's trailers are showing us content that he's cut from the final film (this happened A LOT with Dumbo. The trailers were better than the movie.) I've worried that the sequel will be less Shippy than it seems right now.

However . . .

I've heard from some that the sequel -- and don't quote me on this -- is Burton's reply to the musical.

Tim Burton had absolutely nothing to do with the musical (unlike the animated series, which he helped with and even supervised a lot of). He doesn't own the rights to Beetlejuice; Warner Brothers does. So WB hired playwrights who had their own agendas.

Friends of mine, actors and other creatives who regularly work on Broadway, say that, despite the producers' and actors' begging (particularly Brightman), both Burton and Michael Keaton refused to see the musical. Word was they hated how the story was rewritten, especially Beej.

I was told that if the sequel seems determined to make Beej x Lyds canon, it's very intentional. That Tim Burton and Michael Keaton "want to set the record straight."

And it may be that some fanfic reading was involved at some point. Maybe.

[beetlebabe]

Another piece for Get a Life! It's rough and I may redo the background at some point xP but for now it is what it is !

[themagicalmolly]

Lydia wakes up in bed to find Beetlejuice there beside her.

Set directly after the events of Beetlejuice Beetlejuice, like literally after the very last scene.

Read the full fic here.

[bunnys-beetlejuice-blog]

How to Win Friends and Influence People - Chapter 1 - moonbunnyblues - Beetlejuice - Perfect/Brown & King [Archive of Our Own] Things are going well. Shockingly well. Surprisingly, unbelievably “after so many years of horseshit the ol’ B-Man’s luck has finally turned” well. He lives in a perpetual state of anxiety over it. He’s never been in a position like this before. Never had something work out for him so consistently and for so long. Sure, his annoying angel stalker had been an unwelcome addition to the cast, but by this point even Otho has seemed to sort of relax into the mundanity of their stalemate. Neither of them can relent, Otho for the sake of his assigned duty, and Beetlejuice because, and not to overstate it, but shit has never worked out this hard and this long for him, and he’s not about to leave the life he’s made here. So every day, a demon and an angel sit a few feet from each other, all their respective extra limbs and eyes wrapped up in two tight little human forms, and they pretend to know what things like “taxes” and “fiscal years” are.

[rtfics]

OMFG, Beetlebabes, I have so many ideas for a Beetlejuice Beetlejuice fanfic that takes place immediately after the events of the sequel that my brain won't shut up . . . .

[elizabethcrumb]

-Past Lifes pic 2- Photo edit graphic art. This is made for my co writer's and I's upcoming story of the same name. It will be posted in the future after a few others are. It's in the works as I speak. :) Hate it there's not any other good pics of alive Beetlejuice that I can find.

@lanibb @afterthefuneral @fanfic-she-wrote @yaztheangel @itsaship-literally @bd-z @mordellestories @polgara6 @sad-puppet-show @betelgeusing

[afterthefuneral]

A preview of a fic I’m writing. I love writing these two together, especially making Beetlejuice act like an increasingly unhinged pervert asshole.

This will be an AU of the sequel, centered around the relationships between Astrid, Lydia, and Beetlejuice and the conception and birth of the beetlebaby.

[royalwhumpness]

Beetlejuice Beetlejuice - Reimagined [Fanfic]

Beetlejuice Beetlejuice didn’t quite live up to my expectations. I was disappointed by some of the creative choices, particularly in how certain characters were portrayed and the story direction. This fic is my re-imagining of the movie, reflecting how I feel the characters and story could have been better developed. ’ve removed the fiancée/manager character entirely. I found him unnecessary, and his execution felt lacking. The overuse of mental health terms to villainize him and, by extension, the mental health movement, struck me as lazy and problematic. While his manipulative nature was meant to control Lydia, there was no positive representation to counterbalance his portrayal, leaving the audience with little context for his misuse. Instead, these issues were treated as punchlines, which, in my opinion, trivialized the subject matter. In my version, Betelgeuse’s ex is introduced more subtly, with hints of her greater role as the main antagonist in a potential third installment: Beetlejuice, Beetlejuice, Beetljuice. Her character was completely underutilized in the film, and I felt she was given one of the most anticlimactic ends for any villain. Bob is not in this story. I’ve slightly re-imagined the detective, a character with a lot of untapped potential. On the other hand, Jeremy was the standout character for me and should have been the central antagonist. I’ve developed his relationship with Astrid more deeply, creating a stronger emotional impact leading up to his betrayal. Astrid, in my version, is a more realistic teenager—not the stereotypical brat she was in the movie. She and Lydia have a complex relationship, which, while strained, is more balanced. (Let’s not forget that Lydia herself was once a moody, gothic teen. She had personality, moped around, and resented her stepmother, but her characterization felt more nuanced and authentic than Astrid’s does here.) I was also disappointed by Delia’s treatment in the sequel—she felt like a mere caricature of her original self, and I believe she deserved much more. As for Betelgeuse, he went from being an outcast in the first film—someone you were warned against—to having an office and a legitimate business? That felt completely out of place. Much like Delia, he seemed like a caricature of his former self, and he’s significantly overpowered in this version. I’ve returned him to the chaotic, outcast anti-hero we all know. If you enjoyed the movie, that’s great—everyone has different tastes, and I respect that. But I hope you’ll give this version a chance and maybe find something to enjoy here too. If, like me, you were left wanting more from the sequel, perhaps this re-imagining will help scratch that itch. It’s been a cathartic project for me, and I hope you enjoy the read.

You can visit my AO3 if you'd like instead of reading here! Kudos would be much appreciated <3

PART ONE

“I can’t believe he survived that crash,” Lydia said, kneeling beside Delia and her daughter Astrid in front of her father’s gravestone. His likeness was etched into a chunk of stone shaped like a shark’s fin. Under the portrait, the inscription read:

Charles Deetz Husband, Father, Grandfather Peace Embraces the Dead Ones 1946-2024.

“Yes, well, I can’t believe that dreadful shark has his head in its belly.” Delia replied wryly, dabbing her eyes with a black handkerchief.

Silence hung in the air until Delia broke it with a sharp, ill-timed squawk: “Welp!” She slapped her knees and stood up abruptly. “Time to sell the house.” Lydia’s mouth fell open as Delia walked away, and after a brief moment of shock, she scrambled to chase after her. “Sell? Wha-why? You can’t, I-“ Lydia stammered. Delia silenced her with a raised, gloved hand. “Lydia, I’ve tried dressing this house in as much metaphorical gold as possible, but it’s still painfully clear that it is shit.” She lowered her hand, “I only stayed because your father loved it, but now I can finally rid myself of its stench. Not to mention that it is now an ugly reminder that my husband is no longer here.” With that, she stormed off, leaving Lydia frozen, watching her retreat. Every fragment of her life she held dear seemed to slip through her fingers, and with each heartbreak, the weight of grief grew heavier. She started bracing herself beneath the looming shadow of yet another impending loss.

Astrid came to stand beside her mom, gently placing a hand on her arm. Lydia glanced down at her daughter, and for a moment, she marveled at the beauty she had brought into the world. She saw herself in Astrid’s smile, but her inky black eyes, high and rounded cheekbones, and even her cute, small ears were all her father’s. At 15, Astrid had endured more than her fair share of losses. For years now, it had been just her and Lydia. Before she turned four, her grandparents had been a constant presence, always nearby. Then one day, with arms full of suitcases, they drove off, their car shrinking into the bright summer horizon. Only her grandfather reappeared from time to time, sitting with her to watch the birds while her mother tended to grieving clients. And instead of growing up surrounded by the warm, steadfast presence of her father, Astrid and Lydia had to confront his absence, mourning him when she was barely seven. Lydia placed her hand gently over Astrid’s. “I’m not going to let her sell the house.” Astrid remained silent, but she didn’t need to say anything. Astrid had never shown any affection for the house or its bygone charm. She had never known its vibrant, ghost-filled days. The town was small, and Astrid had eagerly accepted the chance to go to boarding school when she started her freshman year. To Astrid, this place, steeped in Lydia’s memories, was just a house. Instead, Astrid extended a soft, comforting smile before quietly following Delia’s path.

A little while later, Lydia found Delia in Charles’ office, researching how to list the house for sale and how soon after a death it could be done. “Delia, you don’t even live here anymore. I live here, and Astrid lives here. Doesn’t that mean something?” Without looking up from her screen, Delia replied, “You live here. Astrid goes to boarding school.” Lydia just stared. Where there should have been a beating, pulsing red glob of muscle in Delia’s chest, Lydia saw a yawning, gaping void. She watched as it seemed to draw in and distort the light around it, bending and warping everything towards its dark, insatiable center. Noticing the silence, Delia looked up. “Why are you so determined to stay? The Maitlands have moved on, Astrid is rarely home, and your ex-husband and father are both gone. I don’t see-“ She paused, her gaze meeting Lydia’s. The expression on Lydia’s face made her feel foolish. “I’m making an ass of myself, aren’t I?” Lydia responded with a slow, exaggerated nod, her eyes widening and lips pursed as if to underscore the obviousness of the answer. “I have a business here,” Lydia said quietly, “and memories.” Delia’s face softened. Lydia could see that her usual scowl had melted into something of a motherly expression of genuine compassion and sympathy. “Oh, Lydia.” She rose from her chair and approached her, reaching out to gently touch her face. “We’ve never really gotten along, have we? But you’re still my daughter, and we only have each other now.” “Then why are you uprooting my whole life right now?” Delia had no answer. She hadn’t lived in the house for over a decade. She and Charles had bought a condo in New York, allowing her to pursue her artistic endeavors and escape the ghost house. Charles would often travel back and forth, spending months at a time with Lydia and Astrid to indulge in his seasonal bird watching hobby. Meanwhile, Lydia remained behind, raising Astrid, supporting the house with her psychic business, and keeping Charles company during his visits.

“Alright,” Delia began, “I’m going to wait. But I still intend to sell the house.” Lydia started to interrupt, but Delia raised the same gloved hand to silence her. “I’m going to sell it eventually. But I’m not doing this out of spite. I want you to have the chance to move on, Lydia. I’m giving you a year.” Lydia sighed, lowering her gaze. A year might as well have been next week. The pause stretched long. An overwhelming urge to argue or plead spread through her bones and soaked into her throat, but she swallowed it down, managing a quiet, “Thank you,” paired with a soft, sullen smile. Delia’s expression brightened, and she gave Lydia’s nose a playful boop before leaving the office.

Astrid found her mom sulking on the couch, playing with her wedding ring. “You haven’t worn that in forever,” she said, sitting beside her and resting her head on her shoulder. Lydia returned the gesture, gently resting her own head on Astrid’s. She showed Astrid the ring and the inscription inside: ‘I will be with you, always.’ “Why can’t you see him, Mom?” Astrid asked softly. “I wish I knew, Astrid. Why can’t you?” Astrid lifted her head abruptly and shifted towards the edge of the couch, as if preparing to leave. Lydia, sensing Astrid’s frustration, said, “You can see them.” “So you say, but I have never seen one.” “You saw one when…“ “That I remember,” Astrid interrupted, cutting Lydia off before she could remind her, yet again, of the ghost she saw when she was four. It had been just over ten years since then, and she hadn’t seen one since.

“I’m going to ride my bike around town. I’ll see you later.” Astrid said. Lydia reached out to lovingly rub Astrid’s back before she left. “Okay. Be safe.” Astrid gave a slight smile and stood up. She often felt frustrated whenever her mom brought up her ability, or inability, to see ghosts. Thoughts swirled in her mind: Why can’t I see them? Am I not good enough? Are they even real? Would my mom really lie about something like this? She found it best to distance herself in these moments to avoid lashing out at her.

It had happened once before. Lydia was attempting to teach Astrid how to see ghosts, despite not fully understanding her own abilities. Frustrated by her failures regardless of her mother’s guidance, Astrid snapped. She accused her mother of being a fraud, claiming her psychic abilities were fake and that her business cheated clients out of their money. Astrid instantly regretted her harsh words. Though she didn’t see her mother’s reaction, she sensed it— the subtle shift—and prepared herself for what felt like the beginning of a strained relationship. It became routine then that at the first sign of rising anger or frustration, Astrid would remove herself from the situation to avoid confronting it altogether.

Astrid walked out the front door without a backward glance. Lately, her words had grown fewer, the once-eager stories about her day fading into silence. She barely met Lydia’s eyes anymore, and though small gestures of affection remained, the growing distance was unmistakable. Lydia’s heart ached as she watched her daughter go. Rising from the couch, she looked around the empty house. It was now haunted not by spirits, but by the echoes of a time when it was alive with the Maitlands’ presence and her family’s warm company. Longing to reclaim those cherished moments, she wandered through the house. Her eyes settled on her room, and a deep wave of sentimentality washed over her. An irresistible pull drew her toward the attic, driven by a quiet hope that revisiting the past might help her reconnect with what had been lost.

In her room, Lydia pulled out a small drawer from her jewelry box and carefully took out the old, familiar skeleton key. She smiled at it wistfully before heading for the attic. The stairs were draped in cobwebs and spider silk, hinting at years of neglect. Lydia unlocked the attic door and, after a struggle to unstick it, pushed it open and stepped inside. Waves of familiarity and longing enveloped her. Everything was covered in thick sheets and layers upon layers of dust undisturbed on top. It was clear that neither Lydia nor any other Deetz had ventured into this attic in years. She pulled the sheet off the town model and flicked on the switch. The model illuminated, instantly rekindling its old charm and wonder. Lydia leaned on the table, taking in the intricate details of the small buildings she hadn’t seen since before Astrid was born.

“Oh, I miss you so much,” Lydia said with a sigh. “I wish you had never moved on. We could have stayed a family, even in death.” She spoke aloud with the same reverence and cadence as one might when addressing an unseen deity. Speaking with the departed had always come easily to her—unless they had crossed beyond the reach of the afterlife. At that point, she was merely talking to herself. She knew they couldn’t hear her, but she needed to talk to them anyway. She lowered her head. “Why did you leave me?” She poked absentmindedly at a red toy car in a miniature driveway. “I wish you could have met Astrid. She would have loved you both.” She saw visions of Astrid coming home with her class drawings, eagerly showing them off to the Maitlands. She wanted Astrid to experience the joy she felt when they used their silly ghost powers. “You barely knew Richard before you were given your ticket to the Ethereal Express. Gone forever. And now Richard is gone, too. I can’t even see his spirit. My father is gone, my daughter is unreachable, and Delia is going to sell the house.” Lydia rested her head lightly on the table. She could feel the emotions bubbling up in her eyes, but she wasn’t willing to cry just yet.

She straightened up, sniffling back her tears and swallowing the sob in her throat. She lingered for a moment in silence, watching the dust particles swirl around the model town. Her gaze, initially soft, allowing herself to be at ease watching everything blur, suddenly sharpened. A vivid neon red light flickered on in the model, casting eerie patterns across her face. A soundless gasp escaped her as she saw Betelgeuse’s gravestone had materialized, and above it, a marquee sign surrounded by bulbs flashing in a captivating chase illuminated the words: "I'm still here, Lydia." Panicked, Lydia yanked a sheet over the model, turned off the lights, and rushed out of the attic, locking the door behind her before bolting down the stairs.

[somedaylazysomeday]

A Deal with a Demon - Part Seven

Things keep going missing at your house and at the shop. You finally decide to confront the most likely cause.

Demon!Beetlejuice x fem!witch!reader

Rating: M

Word Count: 4,050

Warnings: Hauntings, irritation, mentions of witchcraft and demonic activity (obv), descriptions of burnout, crying, hopelessness, and mentions of seasonal affective disorder, nonsexual intimacy. This part is a little more serious than the others have been - please mind the warnings!

Previous | Masterlist

---

If you didn’t know better, you would think that you were being haunted. 

It was ridiculous to even think that was possible… but there were a lot of things going on that you couldn’t quite explain. 

Weird noises came from the shop  - a low groaning that you had shrugged off as part of the building settling, until they had been offset by a higher-pitched whine that couldn’t possibly come from a reaction to the brisk nights. 

Certain items had gone missing from your personal supply at your house and the small workshop you’d eventually created in the basement of Sinful. That one had made you grumpy, far more so than the strange noises. You hadn’t wanted to leave materials at the shop for exactly this reason. It was dangerous to leave items used to perform magic around non-magical humans, even if you locked the door as carefully as you always did. 

But after you had gone back over the security camera footage and set special wards on every entrance to the basement workshop. When you were still missing supplies without catching intruders with either method, you were forced to consider other possibilities. Besides, there was no way anyone was breaking through the layers of stacked wards you had woven around your house. 

And that was ignoring the Presence. 

It came and went - never lasting too long, but each incident was randomly spaced and impossible to predict. You would be mind your business one moment and in the next, you would be seized by the creeping sensation of being watched. Sometimes, the feeling was so strong that you could find a way to sit with your back against a wall, if only to know that nothing was waiting behind you. 

Honestly, if your place and the shop weren’t warded to hell and back, you would think there was a ghost haunting you. 

Beetlejuice had been your immediate first guess for the culprit, but he had never been shy. You would have expected to see him lounging on your sofa or chatting with customers in the middle of the store - you had unexpectedly found him in both scenarios over the time you had known him. 

The only problem with that was that you hadn’t seen Beetlejuice in a while. You had counted the dates carefully when he still hadn’t appeared in the days leading up to Samhain, and the last time he had visited was in late August. So you were at a loss about what was going on. 

Samhain had come and gone, leaving you energized by your renewed closeness with the source of your gifts and the enjoying the temporary spike in ambient magic in the air. All witches could access that magic, but most had gorged themselves on it during the festival. You had done the same in the past, storing magic like a bear trying to fatten up before hibernation, but the shop changed things. Now, there was so much magic flowing out through your potions, charms, and spells that you were always hungry for a little more.

So you decided to take full advantage of that post-Samhain increase in magic to prep some potions. If you could get them ready over the next week, most of them needed to ferment over the dark days of winter. 

The memory potion you were working on was one of those brews, and it was almost ready. Now that everything had come to a boil, you just needed to add some rosemary and decant it quickly into an opaque glass bottle to ferment until the winter solstice. 

The large jar where you kept the sprigs of fresh rosemary - enchanted to keep them in a state of infinite freshness - was suspiciously light when you lifted it from the back of your pantry. When you pulled it out into the light of your workshop, your suspicions were confirmed: it was empty. 

No, not empty, you realized with a start. There was a single scrap of paper lying on the bottom of the glass jar, folded neatly in half. 

You stirred the potion with one hand while you unfolded the paper with the other, hoping to keep the pot from boiling over entirely while you read. 

I.O.U. - BJ

“What the hell?” you asked aloud, staring at the note. The potion let out an unhappy hiss, then a sour smell filled the air. When you ripped your gaze away from the paper, you found that the potion had turned. You grimaced, pulling the half-scorched spoon free as you repeated, “What the hell?!”

You crumpled the note in your fist, wheeling away from the stove. The smart thing would be to dump the remains of the potion before it solidified in the pot. Memory potions were known to be very sticky when allowed to sit in containers after they expired. 

All you could think about was getting an explanation.

“Beetlejuice, Beetlejuice, Beetlejuice!” 

It was a trick you had figured out shortly after opening Sinful. If you skipped the rest of the demon’s summoning incantation in favor of using his name - the section with actual magical significance - you could call him without agreeing to make a deal. It was a workaround, a loophole. You had no idea how long it would last before someone in the demonic hierarchy figured out what was happening and ended that gap in contracting, but you would use it until then. 

Beetlejuice appeared as he always did. Instead of his typical friendly greeting, he scowled when he caught sight of you. You scowled back, but it faded when you caught a good look at him. 

The circles under Beetlejuice’s eyes were darker than normal and his hair was limp. His skin looked dull beneath the typical pallor. His expressions were subdued, like it was too much effort to be as dramatic as usual, and he was slumping slightly against a nearby counter. Even the moss on his face was a pale gray-green instead of the vibrant emerald you had grown accustomed to.

“You look rough.” 

Beetlejuice made a rude gesture in your direction, but there was no fire in it. “Like you look so great. Except that you do. Fuck. Why’d ya have to look nice today?”

You shook your head, choosing not to point out that your shirt was two washes from the rag pile and you were wearing a truly crusty pair of pants. If Beetlejuice was being sweet, you weren’t going to go out of your way to talk him out of it, but you really were concerned.

“Seriously, Beetlejuice,” you said, starting forward. 

He held up a trembling fingers. “That’s one already, babes. Ya gonna send me away? I could maybe use the break.” 

You stared. “You… want to go back? You never want to go back. What’s going on?” 

“Is it so hard to believe that someone would wanna leave the human realm?” he shot back. “Humans aren’t as great as you all pretend ya are. Now, I know ya didn’t summon me here to ask about my well-being, so what the fuck do ya want?”

It was a transparent attempt to make you mad, which made it extra embarrassing when it worked. All of your anger about the memory potion roared back to life. You glared at him, brandishing the burnt wooden spoon in his direction.

“What have you been doing?” you snapped. “You took all of my rosemary and left an IOU? Are you serious? What do you even need rosemary for?” 

“Halloween is a busy time of year for a demon,” he reminded you, tone so condescending that it put your teeth on-edge. “I needed the rosemary and some other stuff to keep my concentration while I made deals.”

“Concentra-?” you started, then thought better of it. You didn’t want excuses or circular explanations. “No, never mind. You need to refill all of the ingredients that you took. Starting with the rosemary! I was in the middle of a potion and now it’s turned.”

Beetlejuice’s lip curled. “Why don’t ya just magic some more?” 

You don’t know what made you the angriest: his careless tone or the way he wiggled his fingers when he said ‘magic’, but either way, you were seeing red.

“You had better be messing with me,” you seethed. “You came into my workshop, in my house, stole my ingredients! And you never bothered to even say hello. I haven’t seen you in months! You don’t talk to me unless I summon you, and now you’re being petty about replacing the items you used for whatever random bullshit you do when you’re making contracts and fulfilling deals. You need to-” 

“Fine!” he snapped. “I’ll go get more rosemary.”

He avoided making eye contact with you as he disappeared, but you couldn’t look away. 

When Beetlejuice left somewhere, he always disappeared with noise. It had been a pop for most of your early interactions, and you had theorized that it was the sound of the displaced air. When he was feeling ostentatious, that sound changed to a loud crack! You had even heard it turn into a rude noise when Beetlejuice was feeling cheeky. 

This time, the process was utterly silent. And it was a process. Every other time, Beetlejuice had simply disappeared from view, vanishing between one instant and the next. This time, he faded slowly from view, becoming a shade of his corporeal self until he was finally gone from your field of vision. 

You sat heavily on the stool at your workbench, letting the scorched spoon fall to the countertop with a clatter. Something was wrong. You had known something was wrong, but you let yourself get angry and overlook it instead of narrowing your focus on the problem and working to solve it. Or at least understand it. You had never seen Beetlejuice be anything but energized by signing contracts and doing deals. 

By the time Beetlejuice returned, you had managed to calm yourself down, fighting back both the anger and the guilt to keep a fairly level head. 

He held out a large bundle of fresh rosemary. It was what he had used and more - enough to cover all the memory potions you intended to brew for the rest of the season. “Thank you. I really appreciate this.” 

He just nodded, leaning against the wall and letting his head tip back against it. 

“How have you been?” 

Beetlejuice cracked one eye open, looking at you as if to gauge how sincere you were being. Whatever he found there seemed to reassure him, and he shrugged. “Fine.” 

You sighed. Rote platitudes hadn’t been what you were looking for. “No, really. I haven’t seen you in a while.” 

“Yeah,” he agreed caustically. “Ya said that.”

“I’m sorry,” you apologized, catching his eye so you could try to convey how much you meant that. “I snapped at you and I shouldn’t have. You took my rosemary, but you didn’t know I would be brewing today. Now I’m worried about you. Is everything okay?” 

Beetlejuice sighed, the harsh lines of his face falling into a more relaxed expression. “I’m just tired.”

“Do you have another open deal?” you asked, worried. “Do you need someone to meet their terms? Because I can try…”

That hadn’t happened in a while. Beetlejuice was still being summoned more than he had in hundreds of years, but more of those summonings were turning into actual deals thanks to your spell. It was just a prototype, but as long as it was working, it gave you a shorter list of tweaks it needed for any future versions you might cast. If someone summoned Beetlejuice and it didn’t result in a deal, it could end up putting him in a bad spot. 

To your surprise and minor horror, Beetlejuice pulled an expression of deep disgust and horror. You recoiled from him, trying not to be offended as your ego took a hit. “No, babes. Absolutely not. I’m good. In fact, I’m lucky my dick hasn’t fallen off from overuse. Yet.” 

“Gross,” you complained, recoiling for a different reason. “And… congratulations, I think? Being busy is a good thing, right?” 

“Sorta.” 

When he didn’t seem inclined to give any further explanation, you narrowed your eyes at him. “Have you been hanging around lately? I’ve had some weird things happening, even ignoring the missing ingredients.” 

Beetlejuice studied his shoes and you were fascinated. He wasn’t embarrassed as a general rule, and you were eager to find out what had made him shy now. 

“I’ve been droppin’ by here and Sinful, even when I’m too tired to fully manifest,” he admitted. 

So that was the presence you had felt. He had probably also been the source of those strange noises. In a way, you had been haunted, just by a demon you knew rather than some unfamiliar spirit who had managed to circumvent your wards. It was a relief, even if you were concerned by the idea of Beetlejuice being too tired to gain corporeal form.

“Why?” 

The question had slipped out before you could bite it back, and you guiltily watched the way it made Beetlejuice flinch. “You don’t have to answer tha-” 

“There’s always some residual magic where you’ve been workin’,” he said quietly. “It makes me feel better. I usually take a pinch of an ingredient or a little of whatever potion you’ve got goin’ so I can pull some extra magic from it. I took the rosemary to help me concentrate. I was gettin’ sloppy with my contracts. I was too tired to focus, but bein’ home always makes me feel a little better.”

You nodded slowly, trying to conceal how touched you were at the idea that he thought of your home as his home, too. 

“I dunno,” he shrugged off, forcing a smile. “Guess I’m just off my game right now. But don’t worry - I always come back. I’m like an infection.” 

“You know, most people don’t compare themselves- Actually, never mind. Sure, an infection,” you agreed eventually. “But you’re taking care of yourself, right?” 

“Sure,” he said, sitting on the stool you had abandoned. It put him closer to you and you were struck once more by how tired he looked. “I’m eating and catching some sleep when I can. I don’t need much of either, ya know.” 

“Yeah, demon stuff,” you waved off. “But what about other things? Activities you’re interested in, seeing cool places, eating something delicious just because you can. That type of care.” 

“I-” Beetlejuice frowned, looking disconcerted. “That’s not really… my thing. Not right now, at least. It used to be, but I kinda… stopped.” 

“Maybe you should start back up again,” you suggested gently. “Some of the experiences you’ve mentioned sound like depression.” 

“I’m a demon.” Beetlejuice’s grin stretched impossibly wide, showing off far too many sharp teeth to make his point. “I don’t get depressed.” 

“Just because you haven’t in the past doesn’t mean you can’t.” You crossed your arms, leaning back against the table with a thoughtful hum. “How long has it been since you spent this much time in the human realm?” 

He was silent for a long moment. “I’ve never spent this much time in the human realm. Not without being banished at least once.” 

You shrugged, letting the idea speak for itself. 

“Are ya saying that this place has infected me with depression?” 

It was hard to fight back a smile at that. For someone who had called himself an infection only a minute before, Beetlejuice sounded enraged at the idea of something else infecting him. 

“Probably not, but it might have some kind of effects that you’re not used to having. You aren’t interested in things that used to make you happy, you’re tired and irritable, and you’re having trouble concentrating. Has that ever happened before?” 

Now Beetlejuice’s silence was the one that spoke. You gave a small nod, avoiding eye contact so he wouldn’t take your point as a confrontation. “That kind of stuff can sneak up on you.” 

“Nothing’s sneakin’ up on me!” he bit out. 

You paused to gauge his mood and eventually decided to keep pushing. “I have seasonal affective disorder. I don’t know if I’ve ever mentioned that to you. I don’t like the winter. Especially after Samhain. I know the darker months are better for witchcraft and there’s more time for light-sensitive workings, but I’ve always leaned more toward the warmer months. I get distracted easily during this time of year. It’s hard for me to focus, even on basic tasks. I forget to check whether I have all of my ingredients before I start brewing a potion. I sleep a lot and the world feels really empty. Just… you know, so you know.” 

The inelegant ending of that made you cringe, but you let it stand. 

“That sounds real shitty,” Beetlejuice admitted. 

“Yeah,” you agreed. “But I learned some coping mechanisms that help, and I know how to handle it if things get really bad.” 

He nodded slowly. “What, uh- What are they?” 

“There’s a few of them that work for me.” You watched Beetlejuice in the reflection of a glass pan you had left standing in the drying rack. From what you could tell, he was listening intently. “I make sure to have a routine, which helps me regulate how much sleep I’m getting. I try to eat healthy and get some exercise whenever I can. And I keep in contact with friends.” 

“Thought ya didn’t have friends?” Beetlejuice asked. Despite the directness of the question, his tone was mostly curious, so you didn’t take it personally. 

“I fell out of contact with most of them, but I reached out to some old friends I lost touch with,” you explained. “Plus, I joined a gardening group online. They were very helpful when I was trying to grow an indoor herb garden. I hit it off with one of the other group members and now we chat pretty often.”

Beetlejuice gave a wordless hum in acknowledgement. “What if ya didn’t have friends?” 

“I’d find someone to talk to, probably. Like you or some of the employees or even random people on the street. Any halfway pleasant interaction works, though it helps if you have enough history with them to talk about something deeper than weather or a late train.” 

You glanced sideways at him. “Plus, it helps to say nice things to yourself.” 

Beetlejuice snorted. “I don’t think talkin’ to yourself is a sign that you’re all there, toots.”

“I wouldn’t be so sure,” you countered. “Self-talk is common and even healthy. Especially when you’re saying things that you need to hear from someone. That’s helpful even if the someone is you.” 

“Whaddaya even say?” he asked. 

You shrugged. “Depends on what I think I need to hear. Usually, it’s something like…” 

You turned to face him directly, making full eye contact and putting on the soothing tone you’d used to talk yourself out of a panic attack in the past. “Hey. You’re doing fine. Actually, you’re doing great. I see how much work you’re putting in and I see how hard you’re trying. You’ve got this. Everything is going to turn out. Just keep going.” 

Beetlejuice blinked frantically, nodding too many times as he broke that eye contact to stare at the floor. “Yeah, I can… Can see how-” 

He cut himself off, swallowing harshly. 

“You know,” you said softly, “it’s fine if you need to hear those things, too. I’m sorry no one else has said them to you yet. And that it took me so long to say it. But I meant every word I said. You’re working hard and I’m proud of you. More importantly, you should be proud of yourself.” 

He was openly weeping by the time you finished your sentence, and it quickly escalated to heaving sobs. You abruptly found yourself with a crying demon wrapped around you, holding you as tightly as he could while you patted his back and murmured soothing nonsense. 

“I’ve been going contract-to-contract for weeks, and I haven’t had time to take a breath.” 

“I know.” 

“No one even says ‘thank you’! Then half the time, they pretend I tricked them into it.”

“I know, honey.” 

“And I didn’t even get to watch that video of the dancing guy in September!”

You bit your lip and nodded sympathetically. “You can watch that video now..?”

“It’s not the same!” he wailed. 

“Let’s go sit down on the couch,” you suggested. Beetlejuice nodded, following you like a lost child. 

The instant you settled onto the well-worn sofa, he flopped down with his head in your lap. The tears had slowed, but you stroked gentle fingertips through his hair. “That’s it. Everyone needs to blow off a little steam now and then. It’s a good thing. Completely natural.” 

Beetlejuice tensed, his expression shifting to one of apology. “Sorry, babes, but I’m really not interested in gettin’ down and dirty right now.” 

Your first reaction was amusement. Beetlejuice had sounded surprised by his own admission, even a little dismayed. But then you felt a little sad for him. If that was how he reacted to someone attempting to comfort him, it was really no wonder that Beetlejuice was so starved for positive relationships. 

“I’m not interested in sex right now, either,” you reassured him after a beat to collect yourself. “If this is making you feel better, that’s the entire point. There doesn’t need to be anything more to it than that.” 

He nodded, blinking slower and slower until he was lying utterly still with his eyes closed. You half-thought he had fallen asleep, but a tiny frown put furrows between his eyebrows.

“What am I gonna do?” he asked quietly. 

It was hard to tell if he was speaking to you or to himself, but when you made a soft, curious noise, he kept speaking. “I stored up some favors and freedom and magic, but we’re goin’ into the slow season. I won’t start gettin’ summoned until the solstice, then it’ll be dead again until early next year. I don’t like the cold, and I sure as hell don’t wanna sleep in it-”

You shushed him. “First, you need to get some rest. And when you’re feeling less tired, you can just stay home with me.” 

You put the slightest emphasis on ‘home’, trying to convey to him that you were okay with him thinking of your living space as his own.

“Ya mean I can stay here?” Beetlejuice’s eyes flew open to search your face. “Do ya really mean it?”  

“Of course,” you agreed easily. “I’ll need help with the potions since I’m so absentminded this time of year. Plus, you’re a good focus for when I stock up on the charms and spells for Sinful. I think we can get a lot done around your work schedule and mine.” 

“You’re really gonna put me right to work?” he complained, eyes twinkling playfully. “I guess I do owe ya a memory potion. I can start on it in a few minutes.” 

“I have a better idea,” you countered. “You take a nap and I’ll go get some dinner.” 

Beetlejuice beamed. “Can we have Thai?” 

“Sounds good to me,” you agreed, pulling your phone free from your pocket and typing out your usual Thai order with an extra pad kee mao for Beetlejuice. Once he had some sleep, you were willing to bet that his appetite came roaring back to life. 

Despite Beetlejuice’s loud complaints, you wriggled out from under him. “I need to change! I can’t go to the restaurant in these clothes – I’d freeze.” 

“Get it delivered,” he suggested, voice muffled with the way his cheek was pressed against the couch cushions. 

“Absolutely not.” You put on a jacket and hat, then headed back out to the living room for your boots. “They charge almost double for-” 

You stopped short, unable to fight back a grin at the sight of Beetlejuice sprawled - already sleeping - across your couch. By the time you put on your boots, he was snoring. You were still smiling as you locked the door behind you and felt the wards slide into place. 

It was startlingly domestic for a witch and a demon, but life could be strange that way.

---

Author's Note - I was so proud of myself when I thought up this chapter. I was going to write about Beetlejuice suffering through some sub drop after a night with our witch. But then everything was stressful, and I burnt out at work, and my seasonal affective disorder kicked in, and the election was a trainwreck...

After all of that, this fic is what I ended up with. A little too much relationship development and far too little smut, but I promise to write something truly filthy for next time. Thanks for reading anyway!

[venture-someplace-scary]

Chapter 60 of Catch 22 is now up and ready for your reading pleasure. Catch 22 - Chapter 60 - GhostlyHauntings - Multifandom [Archive of Our Own]

[myveryownfanfiction]

18+ MINORS AND THOSE WITHOUT AGE IN BIO DNI

tags: @illiana-mystery, @iobsessoverfictionalmen

warnings: slight sex, unprotected sex (wrap it before you tap it kids), swearing, saying the wrong name during sex, Beetlejuice

AN: I know I'm a day late but this works out anyway so Happy (late) 73rd Birthday Michael Keaton!

I panted as VA thrust into me, head buried in my neck as he kissed and sucks along the skin there.

“(Y/N).” He moaned as I tilted my head back. VA ground against me as he pulled back to look at me. “I’m gonna cum. Cum for me. You need to cum first.” I nodded as he thrust hard into me.

“Beetlejuice!” I screamed as I came. VA grunted as he came, collapsing on me as his arms gave out. “Oh fuck VA.” I breathed out as he kissed his way to my lips. “That was…that was…” he hummed against my lips.

“yeah that was.” He chuckled, pulling out and moving to my side. VA pulled me into his arms, making sure to put my head on his chest. I hummed happily as I traced circles over his heart. “Who was that you were calling out for?” VA was looking over in the corner, smirking slightly.

"shit." I muttered. "Look. I'm sorry I said my ex's name during sex." VA hummed and rubbed my back.

"Three times." VA said. I pulled back to look up at him.

"Three times?" I asked, eyebrows shooting up. VA nodded, gently turning me so I could see who was sitting in the corner.

"Three times." Beetlejuice said, smirking at me. "Hi sweets. Long time no see." I gasped and jumped back, hitting VA in the chest. VA chuckled as he wrapped his arms around my waist. "I gotta say when you left me, I didn't think you'd shack up with someone who looks like me. Let alone me when I was living. Let alone you'd shack up with the living." I rolled my eyes.

"Come on Juice." I groaned. "Get outta here."

"Why should I?" He asked, getting up and sitting on the edge of the bed. "I get a free show and I get to see the love of my life again." He laid down, head dangerously close to my legs. "Come on sweets. Give me another chance. What do ya say?" I shoved him away with my foot.

"What do I say?" I asked. Beetlejuice nodded. "I say..." Beetlejuice's smile grew and VA smirked at me before kissing my head. "Beetlejuice. Beetlejuice. Beetlejuice!" Beetlejuice disappeared with a pop and VA pulled me back to his chest. "Next time you catch me saying that, stop me." I said as I reached up to run my fingers through VA's hair.

"I'll do my best." He chuckled. "But you have to admit, he is kind of fun."

"Wait...how long was he watching?" I asked, horror creeping over my face. VA just laughed before rolling back on top of me for another round.

[diamondzart]

My first Beetlejuice fanfiction is out!

Huge thanks to @arbuzyansky for pitching the idea, @annchanorsomethin for helping with translation, and @blackteaarts for taking part in creating this cover artwork!

Description: Maybe communicating with living people who can see you wasn't as bad as Beetlejuice first imagined. Maybe communicating with living people who don't think you're weird by default wasn't as bad as Lydia first imagined. …or was it?

Rating: Teen and up audiences

Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence

>>>READ IT ON AO3<<<

The story takes place in musical-verse, a few months after Beetlejuice returns to Maitland/Deetz’ household. NO BEETLEBABES! I write Beej and Lydia as some kind of weird siblings, and I do not approve shipping of these two!

Again this whole “monster-true-form” thing originates from @nonbinary-arsonists idea so I think I need to credit them as well! Thank you for the huge inspiration again! <3

[beetlebabe]

Frantic, desperate, she could only manage to shriek,

“BEETLE--OOF!”

Gravity suddenly returned and Lydia felt a cold, solid pair of hands clasped around her waist. She was whipped skyward once more.

“SHE'S BAAACK!" screeched a gravelly voice, followed by a peal of cackling laughter.

Get a Life! Chapter 1 on Ao3

[drklushka]

Historical moment here lol

[bunnys-beetlejuice-blog]

How to Talk So She Will Listen, and Listen So She Will Talk - Chapter 3 - moonbunnyblues - Beetlejuice - Perfect/Brown & King [Archive of Our Own]

its a new office au chapter! against all odds!