Waiting For You

Hi could I please request a beetlejuice x reader fanfic where they are together or in love and reader is killed. Reader shows up in the waiting room panicking that beetlejuice will find their murdered appearance disgusting. And him just reassuring reader etc?

Love your work so much!

waiting for you

WARNING: Gore, descriptions of death, disfigured appearance, angst

PAIRING: Beetlejuice x Reader

NOTE: Thank you so much for this request! I’m so glad you enjoy my work, and I loved writing this one! Hope you enjoy! Stay safe, and take care!

SUMMARY: You are killed unexpectedly and end up in the afterlife’s waiting room, panicking over how Beetlejuice will react to your disfigured appearance.

You never imagined death would feel so... cold.

One moment, you were alive, your heartbeat thundering in your chest as you screamed for help, the world spinning, blood soaking the ground beneath you. The next, you were here, in this waiting room that smelled like mildew and decay. It was quiet, except for the soft ticking of the clock on the wall – the kind of quiet that gets under your skin. The silence pressed against your ears, and you had to fight the urge to scream just to break it.

You glanced down at yourself, at the torn, mangled flesh, and the panic rose in your throat again, thick and choking. Your hands trembled as you touched the edges of the wound, your fingers slick with drying blood. You could still feel the ache, the raw pain of the knife sinking into your chest, the way your breath had rattled and caught as life slipped from your grasp.

But it wasn’t just the pain or the cold that terrified you. No. What else terrified you was the thought of him seeing you like this.

Beetlejuice.

He loved you, you knew that. As twisted and unconventional as his affection was, it was real. His love was like nothing you’re ever experienced before – intense, overwhelming, and often chaotic. But now, sitting here in this grotesque version of yourself, you wondered if even he could handle what you’d become.

You caught a glimpse of yourself in the mirror hanging on the opposite wall and had to turn away. Your face was... wrong. Pale, sunken, smeared with blood. The gash in your neck gaped open like a grotesque smile, the skin torn and jagged. You looked like something out of a horror movie, something even Beetlejuice might recoil from.

What if he can’t stand to look at you? The thought slithered into your mind, and you clenched your fists, your nails biting into the flesh of your palms. He loved the bizarre, the weird, the macabre – but this? This was different. You weren’t just some oddity or a playful corpse in his world. You were broken. Ruined.

You were disgusting.

Your chest tightened, and you wrapped your arms around yourself, trying to steady your breathing. But every inhale was shaky, every exhale ragged. How could he ever look at you the same way again? How could he still want you, like this?

You didn’t have to wait long to find out.

There was a burst of energy as Beetlejuice appeared right in front of you, his signature grin plastered on his face. His mismatched suit was as disheveled as ever, his hair wild, that manic glint in his eyes brighter than ever. And then he saw you.

For a second, you held your breath, waiting for the inevitable – waiting for the disgust to wash over his face, for the revulsion to twist his features. But instead, he just stopped, his grin faltering for the briefest of moments before it came back even wider.

"Babes," he rasped, his voice a gravelly purr as he sauntered toward you. "Look at you... You look killer."

You blinked, unsure if you had heard him right. His eyes raked over you, taking in the blood, the wounds, the disfigurement, but there was no horror in his expression. If anything, he seemed... impressed.

"Y’know," he said, crouching down in front of you, his hand reaching out to brush a strand of your matted hair from your face, "I gotta say, you pull off the whole freshly murdered look real well. But hey, you were always drop-dead sexy."

You stared at him, your mind spinning. You opened your mouth to speak, but no words came out. Your throat was tight, your chest still heavy with the fear that had gripped you since the moment you arrived in this place.

"Beetlejuice," You whispered, your voice cracking, "I... I thought you’d... I thought you’d find me disgusting."

His expression softened, the manic energy in his eyes dimming for just a moment as he tilted his head, studying you. Then, with a laugh that echoed through the room, he leaned in closer, his hand cupping your cheek with surprising tenderness.

"Disgusting? Are you kiddin’ me?" he scoffed, his tone playfully offended. "Babes, you’re the most beautiful corpse I’ve ever laid eyes on." His thumb brushed over the bloodstained skin of your cheek, and you shuddered at the feeling – not from revulsion, but from the warmth in his touch. "I don’t care if you’ve got a few holes in you. I’ve seen worse, trust me."

You swallowed hard, your fear ebbing away with every word. "But I... I’m not the same."

"You think I fell in love with ya just ‘cause you were alive?" Beetlejuice chuckled, leaning in closer until our faces were just inches apart. His breath smelled faintly of decay. "Nah. I fell for the whole package – dead or alive, doesn’t matter to me. You’re mine, babes. Always will be."

His words settled over you like a balm, soothing the panic that had been gnawing at me since you arrived in the waiting room. You closed my eyes, letting out a shaky breath.

"You’re not afraid of this?" You asked, your voice barely a whisper.

"Afraid?" He snorted, leaning back just enough to give me one of his signature devilish grins. "Babe, I strive for this kind of thing! You should see some of the stiffs I’ve run into. You’re practically a masterpiece." He winked, his eyes gleaming with mischief. "Besides, who else would I wanna spend eternity with?"

You laughed, a small, broken sound, but it felt good. It felt real. Beetlejuice had always had a way of making the grotesque seem normal, of turning the terrifying into something almost... comforting. And now, as you sat there, bloodied and broken, you realized that nothing about you – not even death – could scare him away.

His fingers traced the edge of the wound on your neck, and instead of flinching, you leaned into his touch, trusting him completely.

"Besides," he whispered, "we make one hell of a couple now. Who needs a pulse, huh?"

You were dead, yes. But with Beetlejuice, death didn’t seem so bad.