Author's Note: Hey everyone! It's been a few years since I've uploaded on this site, but I'm back again. I've written Beetlejuice fanfics before, and they were such a joy to write and think about the character interactions. I originally wrote this particular piece in 2020/2021, but never published it and just kind of sat on it for a few years. Now, since we've got a wonderful sequel actually out for our beloved ghost with the most, I really wanted to dive back in and revisit this fandom, as it has brought me a lot of laughter and happiness over the years. This is a two part story, so there will be a sequel (both were originally finished years ago). I wrote and published a trilogy here before, and if anyone reading this has read that one, I feel this one has a darker tone and BJ is a bit meaner lol. I like to think this is Beetlejuice if it was a mature series on HBO or something, but maybe that's just me and you readers may feel different. I'm reading back over these stories and trying to correct them and post them as I go. Hoping to get as much out as I can, both in celebration of the sequel and because I work a lot (booo...) and don't get a lot of time anymore to do this (hence, why this is a few years old already). Hope you enjoy, and if not, thanks for giving it a try! Happy reading!


Chapter One: Awakening

Lydia coughed, opening her eyes as she stood in a bizarre, twisted room, furiously waving away at the thick, green smoke filling her lungs. As soon as it began to give way, she squinted her eyes , the parting clouds revealing a tattered, crimson carpet that she stood upon.

"What the-" she began, only to be immediately cut off by a strangely familiar, yet completely alien voice.

"Do you, Lydia Deetz, take this man to be your lawfully wedded..." the voice drawled, fading out of her focus as her eyes shifted to the haunting, skeletal figures of Adam and Barbara Maitland, crumpled to the stony floor, amidst horrified, wide-eyed parents, desperately bracing each other in terrified awe.

"Take who?" Lydia's voice reverberated from the stony walls and echoed among the deep chasm that separated Charles and Delia Deetz from her grasp. "Where am I?!" she gasped, as she turned, seeing her reflection in a strange mirror, her eyes growing wide with terror when she realized she was dressed head to toe in red. "No..." she began to mouth to herself in disbelief. How could this be? Why the fuck was she in that gaudy wedding dress again? "No!" her voice raised, along with the rush of adrenaline pulsing through her veins.

"Well, whaddaya say, Babe? Do ya?" A rough voice hit her from behind like a ton of bricks. She could feel cold breath on her neck. No. No, it couldn't be.

...

"NO!" Lydia nearly jumped out of bed as the alarm on her nightstand began to buzz loudly. She gasped, slamming her hand down on the button and silencing it. "Fuck..." she panted, running a hand through her long, tangled hair. She rolled her eyes at her own twisted mind. "Of course it wasn't real..." she muttered, as the figure on the other side of the bed shifted under the blankets.

"Lovey, could you keep it down? I have to get at least eight solid hours before my photo shoot or I'll get eye bags." he grumbled, much like a whiney, insolent child, yet Lydia chose to ignore that. She had to get to get to work early and start on the massive shit-ton of projects Delia had left for her.

"Sure, Rob..." Lydia muttered, stuffing down the growing resentment she'd been feeling for him over the past few months. She quietly sighed, sliding off the bed and pulling a black, satin robe around herself as she headed to get some coffee.

As she fixed her morning cup, she grabbed an extra thick, heavy folder full of papers. "God, Delia...You are killing me..." she huffed, looking over her plans for her step-mother and current boss's new art exhibit. Hopefully she'd like Lydia's concept and give her a bit of time to actually breathe. Being a curator was supposed to be her dream job, however, that dream was currently a nightmare, just like she'd awakened from.

...

Lydia straightened her skirt and blazer, as she looked over herself in the mirror, making sure her long ponytail was sleek enough to look professional. She swallowed, choking back her dread of speaking with Delia, who's pathological self-obsession had grown exponentially since she'd blown up in the art world. It was absurd, really. All of this was. From the high-rise, swanky apartment she was currently living in, to the Gucci stilettoes that were currently killing her feet. Never in her wildest dreams did she expect her psychotic stepmother to use him as her inspiration and actually turn heads. Never did she think Delia's work would start pulling six-figures with his stripes adorning it.

Now Delia could bask in her smugness the rest of her life, becoming both artiste and mogul, and, of course, having Lydia to crack the whip on whenever she pleased. She never expected to be working in Delia's museum, because she never thought that lunatic would actually have one, and surprise, most of the exhibits were her own. Lydia, unfortunately, was in charge of more than she'd dreamed to be, and Charles' wife could be an incredibly picky and shrewd woman to work for. Lydia would be lucky if she had one hair left on her head by the end of this day.

She smirked at herself in the mirror, trying her best to mask her defeat. "Heh...Maybe I should've said yes." she muttered, inhaling deeply and wondering just why those bizarre dreams had been increasing lately. She concluded that it had to be stress. It always was. Anytime those dreams about him came drifting back in it was during the rough patches, and that was enough for her to know that her life was quietly spiraling again.

Of course, before, she had the Maitlands to confide in when life became shitty or she felt pushed to the side and unstable. However, much to her dismay, they had crossed over early due to their predictably good behavior that she missed like hell right now. Since they'd left, everything had become so erratic and she'd began turning her pain and frustration inward. She loved them, and now their safety net of much needed platitudes, down-to-earth sensibility, and warm parental comfort were nowhere to be found.

Lydia pulled a long, fashionable trench coat over her business attire, bracing herself for the bitter winds of the city as she frowned to herself. She knew she was being a massive pushover with Rob, with Delia, her friends, practically everything and everyone, and she was all too aware that her weakness was going to lead her down a path she didn't want to travel. This time Barbara and Adam weren't there to hold her while her instability took its toll.

"Oh, well." she sighed, as she grabbed the giant folder and placed it in a slick, black suitcase. "What doesn't kill you..." she spoke to herself, her voice somehow loud enough to anger sleeping beauty.

"Lovey! Eight hours! Please! I'm only at six and a half!" Rob whined from the bedroom.

"Fuck you, Rob..." she narrowed her eyes.

"What was that, Lovey?" he cluelessly called out.

"Love you, Rob!" she mocked cheerfully, knowing he'd be none the wiser, before loudly shutting the door behind her as she left for work.

...

Beetlejuice checked all six of his watches, knowing damn well none of them actually worked. "What the fuck is she up to?" he muttered to himself, flicking the ashes of his cigar in the floor with little thought. He'd been up all night, unbeknownst to the she-devil he was currently waiting on.

Hearing a car pull up out side, he stomped over to the window, peering through the blinds. There she sat in some random dead guy's convertible, sniggering as she stepped out, waving him off. Beetle growled miserably, kicking an end table over and stomping up to the door.

He flung it open, and there she stood, cigarette pursed between her red lips, with a key in her hand and her eyes wide with surprise.

"Hey, Juicey, Baby. What're you doin' up so late? I thought you were-"

"Well, ya thought wrong, Doll." he glared, knowing that she was riding more than a stripper pole to make bank. "An' besides..." he held out his arms, grinning deviously. "It's early. You know what they say, Trixy Baby, the early bird catches the two-timin', dick ridin' girlfriend!"

It was at that moment that Beetle felt the sharp slap of a thousand bitches across his moldy face. "Fuck you!" Trixy screeched, her high heels clacking past him as she walked to the fridge, opening it to take out a cold beer.

Beetle growled, stomping over to her and slamming the door shut, as she stumbled back a couple of steps. "Who the fuck was that guy? He another one of yer friends?"

Trixy rolled her eyes, blowing smoke in his face and pissing him off even more. "He was the bouncer, dumbass! He took me home."

"Bullshit!" he seethed, knowing full well that she'd been screwing around again. "Fucker don't work there. I know! I go there all the time!"

"Oh, please, Juice! You haven't left the house in months!" she scoffed, sitting in a kitchen chair and taking off her very high heels. "It's not like your bum ass can come get me."

"Fuck!" Beetle wiped a hand down his face. "You know my ass is on house arrest! I can't do shit!"

Not my fault, Juicey." she spat, taking her bleached blonde hair out of the high ponytail she had it in. "Shouldn't have disturbed the peace."

"Hey, now! Don't act like you ain't never got trashed and broke into a liquor store in yer birthday suit before!" he huffed, pulling a beer out of the fridge and beginning to drown his completely fucked mood in it.

She glared at him, shooting what the fuck daggers at his face. "I haven't."

"Well, don't think yer all high an' mighty just cause you got a little get outta jail free card, Toots! The guards won't let me blow 'em to get out!" he scoffed, finishing his beer and tossing it to the side.

"That was ONE time, Juice!" Trixy snarled, yanking a large wad of cash from between her massive tits and waggling it in his face. "I'M bringin' in the dough, not you! If I depended on your broke ass, I'd be bankrupt!"

"Hey! Hey!" he huffed indignantly. "If you'll remember correctly, I was rollin' in the dough when I was gettin work! Ghouls were payin' me left and right to run breathers out! I'll get us some cash once I can get back out there and do my Bio-exorcist gig, ya follow?"

"And just how long will that be?" she spat, clacking her big, glittery nails on the table.

"You know I gotta few weeks left, an' I'm a free ghost! That shit shouldn't matter! Ain't strippin' yer specialty? I don't remember you hookin' when we met..." he glared, wondering just how fucking crazy he really was to think a hot stripper wouldn't get strange while she was with gross, horny, old poltergeist with zero bucks to his name. At least he got to bone her. Sometimes.

"Who said I'm hookin'?" she raised a thickly-painted on brow.

"The fuck's that s'posed to mean?" Beetle narrowed his eyes.

"It means I'm not! We had a deal when we met, Juicey..." she glared up at him, licking her teeth.

"What deal?" he grunted, not knowing what the fuck she was talking about.

"You and your smooth talkin'...You said you'd take care of me. That's what I expect. If you can't, then I'm not holdin' up my end." she stated matter-of-factly.

Beetle sighed through his nose, crossing his arms and leaning back against the refrigerator. "Er...So that's how it is, huh? We had fun, Toots. I make one little mistake, and now yer seein' some fucker behind my back."

Trixy stood defiantly, her words coming out unapologetically. "Don't play innocent, Juice. You knew what you got yourself into. You're no better. You practically live in the strip club. You were my regular. You know how shit works. I'm a business woman, Juicey! You can't live the fast life and expect a good girl to take home to your mama!"

"Pffft!" Beetlejuice scoffed. "I never said I wanted that shit! I just don't want you cheatin' on my ass! Yer livin' with ME! That's gotta mean somethin' to ya."

"Not if you ain't takin' care of me, Juicey. If you want a good girl, then go back to that breather and-" she began to walk past him, but he snarled, grabbing her forearm and stopping her in her tracks.

"Don't even say it, Doll..." he growled, feeling that nerve she'd just hit. "You know I don't like talkin' about that shit."

"Then drop it, Juice." she glared back.

He held her arm a long moment, wanting nothing more than to juice her out the door. Of course, he couldn't make any commotion until that glowing bracelet was off his ankle. He knew the good times wouldn't last. Hell, they never did. Sure, living it up was fun, until it wasn't anymore. He knew he was a dumbass, plain and simple. He loved his strippers, but they kind of never remotely returned the favor. This time wasn't any different. It was happening again. Hook up, shack up, fuck up, break up, repeat. Yup. Pretty predictable.

"Fine..." he muttered letting her go, yet feeling like a big pussy for not wanting her to leave him quite yet. "You stickin' around er?"

Trixy shrugged. "I don't plan on leaving. We can still bang. I'm just not bein' exclusive until our little agreement is met."

Beetle shrugged, realizing he was currently at the "fuck up" stage of said cycle. "Fair enough."