#afterlife x reader

[ozzgin]

Due to a rather embarrassing bureaucratic mistake, you - a mere human - have been appointed as the new Death of the Monster Realm. The monster souls are confused (and unexpectedly aroused) to find a small, frail creature as their guide through the Underworld. Content: gender neutral reader, monster romance, collab with Kafka

“Who the hell are you?”

Before you stands a Beast. Your body is frozen in sheer terror, crumbling under his all-knowing stare. You feel like you’re facing God Himself. Could it be? Have you died? God certainly looked a little more merciful in those Christian depictions.

You swallow dryly and open your mouth, words rolling out clumsily.

“I-…it’s (Y/N). I’ve been told to come in.”

The creature continues to glare at you incredulously before abruptly turning and speeding towards an enormous desk, a sudden realization occurring to him. He throws papers around, as if searching for something, occasionally releasing a thundering curse. Aha! There it is.

He collapses into a chair, head resting in his clawed hands.

“There has been a mistake. You're not supposed to be here", he growls, defeated. "And yet, it can't be fixed."

He scans your features briefly, taking his time and searching for the words.

"Listen, kid. I don't know how to tell you this any better: you're going to be guiding souls into their Afterlife. Monster souls."

You blink.

"Alright. Is there some training for it?"

The Beast is a little taken aback by your nonchalance. Given the extraordinary circumstances, he expected you to cry, beg and scream. Perhaps you won't be such a terrible fit, after all.

"You will learn from me. I am the previously appointed Death, and have been here for the past millennium."

Formalities finally aside, he takes you through the colossal, arched halls, explaining your job through words shrouded in mystery and cosmic terror. You nod and scribble obediently in your little notebook.

Thus begins your task as the new Death of the Monster Realm. A never-before-seen peculiarity: the ferocious, departed creatures are greeted by the small frame of a...human. Their eyes widen in disbelief.

In Monster culture, Death has always been described as the creature above all creatures. A blasphemy of gargantuan dimensions, with many eyes and horns, a pitch-black blight of dread. Even the highest-ranked Monsters shudder upon his arrival.

You wave your hand dismissively. It's the hundredth time today you've received this reaction of utter shock. Let's move on, shall we, you think to yourself sarcastically.

The path to the Gate feels like an eternity. Without exception, the monsters will ask you too many questions. Not about their situation, mind you, about yourself. Are you truly a human? How did you come to be the legendary guidance of souls? What was your life like before this? Surely you must have some interesting stories from your life as a mere mortal.

The former Death stands up from his seat.

"What do you mean, there's an increase in lost souls? Is that damn human not doing their job?" he demands, turning to the servant who'd come to announce the latest statistics.

"They are, Sir. It's just...Well..." the beast is visibly tense. "It's the monsters who don't want to leave."

"And? We've had plenty of those before. Why're they refusing to pass this time?"

The answer is clearly of a sensitive nature. The short, stocky butler fidgets and stumbles, then finally confesses meekly:

"They claim to have fallen in love with the human."

In all his eternity working as the Soul Collector, he'd never imagined such ridiculousness. He'd always been feared and well-respected, performing his task swiftly and without issue. It never occurred to him that he'd have to include as a guidance step "how to handle the monster souls flirting with you." He grabs his scythe and marches outside with an exasperated sigh.

Somehow, he doubts his retirement will come anytime soon.

[More Monsters]

[lowkeyrobin]

TREVOR SPENGLER ; you make loving fun

summary ; you, Trevor's first proper non-toxic partner shows him true love, and how great it really is when you find your person

warnings ; language, mentions of making out, talk about toxic people/exes, verbal abuse, and emotional neglect

disclaimers ; Trevor is described as bisexual, reader is a garbage fan (green flag)

word count ; 1k

I'm working on reqs rn dw guys 🙏

masterlist

Trevor knew that the second he'd met you, he'd fallen head over heels.

The only thing he was worried about, after being reassured by both his mom and Pheobe, was how you'd treat him. His last ex was terrible to him, and by that point, he felt like he was an abuse magnet.

Thankfully, nothing was ever physical, he thanked whoever or whatever was looking over him for that, even fate itself.

Talking about past exes, his last ex-boyfriend first, he'd essentially treat him like shit and try to hide their relationship. He'd use him for pleasure and attention and then ignore him and act like he didn't know him. Trevor was always there for him, but he was never once available for Trevor. That shit ended quickly thanks to his mom convincing him to end things, plus moving away again made it easy.

His ex-girlfriend was slightly the same way.

For context, Trevor was never popular, but he wasn't ignored or bullied in school either. He was attractive enough to be boasted about, I guess, but he wasn't gathering hoards of girls to swoon over him either.

She used him as popularity points, as she was one of the half-popular girls who wanted brownie points for dating someone on a lower social level than herself. Trevor never saw it and had to deal with the consequences. The fighting, the way she'd scream and yell and argue with him over the simplest things. She treated him like a charity case.

So, he was fairly afraid to hurt himself again. He wanted to pursue you, he did. He was just fucking scared.

But, with enough pressure and reassurance from Pheobe, his mom, and new friend Lucky, he gathered the courage to ask you out. During that process, he rambled about how smitten he was for you and had to genuinely stop himself as he realized he'd never felt like this for anyone before. You weren't someone he just wanted to occasionally hold hands with and kiss. He wanted a genuine, healthy relationship with you. He wanted to be treated right, just this once.

But you, knowing about his past relationships, knew what he needed. And you were dedicated to showing him what actual loved looked like, what a real relationship felt like.

From dates at the roller-rink, to movie nights inside, you showed him that you could love him like how he needed to be loved. He needed to be shown that what he went through before wasn't normal and that you would never think to hurt him like people in his past did.

You made loving fun for him, he'd never smiled and had so much fun with someone, ever.

He loved making out with you in his new bedroom at the firehouse, and your soft kisses of reassurance when he was upset or stressed. He'd always find his stomach and lungs genuinely in pain from how much he laughed with you. He was infatuated with you, with holding your hand and caressing said hand with his thumb, with wrapping his arms around you to just hold you like that in silence.

His photos app is filled with pictures of you, over 500 through the past year. His lockscreen? A picture of you two at the county fair under dark blue neon lights.

He watches you sitting in the window, your body barely fitting onto the ledge. Thank God for bay windows, but christ, the people who made this building over 120 years ago needed some better architectural design here. What was the bay window for if not to sit in it?

He'd only woken up a bit ago, having been in the shower as you entered his room, awaiting his arrival. His family thankfully loved you, and would let you in no matter what.

"You look nice today," He comments, running a hand through his hair.

You turn to face him, raising an eyebrow. "Do I not usually look nice?"

"No, no, I mean, yeah! You always look nice!" He quickly sputters, "I-I like your shirt. Garbage, they're cool"

You lightly smile, reassured in his loyalty and kind-heartedness by his answer. "You're fine, Trev, I'm playing" You chuckle, "You've never even listened to Garbage"

You pull the sleeves of your undershirt down, feeling a cool wave hit your body like the wave of water at the beach. Your baggy jeans cover you perfectly as the sun peaks out from the clouds.

"You don't know that!" He exclaims, crossing his arms, "All your Spotify playlists are public, I can listen to whatever you are with a couple clicks"

"Okay, bud" You throw your hands up in a sarcastic annoyance. "Whatever you say, pal. I guess we gotta break u-" You quickly stop yourself, looking up at Trevor with slightly widened eyes. "Holy shit, I'm so sorry"

You quickly hop off the ledge of the window, your hands clenched into fists as you stand in front of him awkwardly, awaiting his reaction.

"I'm so sorry, that was uncalled for, I didn't mean to say that-"

"It's fine, Y/n/n" Trevor looks at you with a confused yet laid back expression. "Why are you apologizing?" He catches himself, finding the answer on his own, "Oh, well... it's not that big of a deal, it's okay" He shrugs, "It's fine"

"Sorry, uhm-"

Trevor quickly wraps you in a hug, resting his arms over your shoulders. "I love you, okay? I've never loved anyone so fun and amazing to me, joking about shit is fine"

You nod into his shoulder, "Sorry"

"It's okay" He chuckles, rubbing a hand over your back. "You're fine, it's alright"

"You're the fun one, by the way" You mumble.

"Hm?"

"You're the one who makes loving fun, Trev"

He silently smiles, his face flushing as he holds you a little tighter.

[reareaotaku]

headcanons for trevor spengler from ghostbusters??

Hmm... I've never personally seen that movie, but I'm pretty sure I know what/who you're talking about

Not good with jokes. He tries to tell you some and they always land flat [But that might have to do more with him not knowing how to act around you because of his crush]

He lied about his name when you made a joke about how silly the name 'Trevor' was when Phoebe was telling you about the guy she met named Trevor

He gets really awkward around you and stutters over his words

Will come to your job when he knows you're working and be surprised when you're there

"Oh my god, Y/n? You work here? Wow, what a coincidence." [Elbows Phoebe when she almost calls him out on the lie]

"Uh, yeah. My dad owns the restaurant" [He already knew that, but still acts surprised]

Grade A stalker

Phoebe called him out on it and he tells her to shut up or he won't drive her anywhere [She quickly shuts up] [She's a little bit of a stalker herself, but she'd never admit it]

He lied to you about his age, because he freaked out and didn't want you to think he's some loser

Though, you do find out how old he really is when he gets arrested

"Why'd you lie about your age?"

You were more confused than angry about being lied too

"I freaked out"

You're still confused, but you decide not to push it any further

"You know, if you needed a ride, you could of asked. I would have given you a ride."

"You have a car?"

"And a license. Plus an up-to-date registration"

"I've never seen you driving a car-" [How could he not know you drive and have a car?? ]

You blush, looking away from him, because you're kind of embarrassed. "Well... I mean, it's, uh... It's a fixer upper kind of car-"

"So, it's a piece of shit." [He hadn't meant to be rude, it just kind of came out.]

You chuckle, "I prefer fixer upper, but yeah... Kind of. It's a '98 Honda Accord. It's really good on miles." [ You then start to ramble, trying to justify the car, because you felt kind of offended by his comment]

"Yeah!" He interrupts you mid rant, causing you to stop and look at him confused and he continues, "I mean- Yeah, if I need a ride, I'll call you"

"Good. It'd make me feel better knowing you're safe."

He's losing his mind when you say that. You care about his safety??? God, his face is probably red as a tomato

Grows a mustache to try and impress you; Saying he's a 'man'

You just think it's funny and he quickly shaves it

[stanfordpines-enbyboyfriend]

Egon looks really fucking good with a beard

That's it that's the whole post just me noting the fact that Egon looks really good with facial hair

[ifangirlalot]

˗ˏˋ 𝐒𝐀𝐔𝐂𝐄 𝐖𝐈𝐓𝐇 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐁𝐎𝐒𝐒 2ˎˊ˗ | starring the fellas

︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵

~smut!~ [𝖜𝖆𝖗𝖓𝖎𝖓𝖌𝖘:] too many to pick out, just a shit ton of nsfw shit.

︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵

✧˚ mike ۫ ׅ ✧

Is he a top or bottom? Mike is a perfect even split between sub and dom. He's kind of a pussy, so don't expect any hardcore shit when he's on top. But like?? He expects?? Rough treatment?? When he's the sub?? Lmao, what a hypocrite.

What are his favorite positions? Sub Mike likes to be ridden while being tied down, it gives him a good view. Dom Mike also likes to be ridden, except this time your hands are the ones tied, behind your back, and he has the tail like a leash and he can pull it to make your back arch, thus putting boobs in his face. So he can *blublublublublub* all in them mfs.

How freaky is he? Depends on the day and the mood. Sometimes Mike can be quite adventurous. He can wanna fuck in the bathroom or the janitors' closet at school, but he can also pussy out and just wait until you get home and just fuck in the basement or in his bedroom. He can wanna be teased and edged, or he can just give you a quick pound and that's that. And then sometimes, he'll want to experiment with new kinks and then sometimes, he wants to be boring and basic.

How noisy is he? Mike is a whimperer and a whiner. So, he's pretty noisy most of the time.

How long does he usually last? Usually right at twenty minutes.

Protection or no? Are you kidding? His parents would kill him if he got you pregnant, of course he uses protection.

____________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

✧˚ trevor ۫ ׅ ✧

Is he a top or bottom? Trevor is a top. He did genuinely try to be a bottom once, but being called a "good boy" just made him feel like a dog.

What are his favorite positions? Doggy, but specifically over the Ectomobile hood. He likes the idea of driving it and thinking Yo, I fucked her on this thing. Even if he does get a hard-on in the middle of the road because of it.

How freaky is he? Moderately freaky. I mean, he's not looking to call you a bunch of names or beat the fuck out of you for pleasure, but he's down with some car sex in a parking lot, and for the occasional spank to your ass, and also for some teasing with sex toys. How noisy is he? He's more of a heavy breather, but occasionally you'll slide across a vein on his dick that he's sensitive about that gets a moan out of him. How long does he last? Somewhere in twenty-five-to-thirty-minute range. Sometimes it's longer, sometimes it's shorter. Protection or no? Yeah. His car floor is like covered in condom wrappers, it's kind of funny because he doesn't clean his car and he drives Phoebe and Podcast to school sometimes and they're like "?? The fuck??" ____________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

✧˚ richie ۫ ׅ ✧

Is he a top or a bottom? Both, but he thinks he's way more of a top than he actually is. Which is a lie. Richie Tozier is your bitch. Period. What are his favorite positions? All of them. He can't pick a favorite. He likes reverse cowgirl, because ass. He likes being rode, because boobs. He likes going down on you, because he likes to see your face contort in pleasure. Yeah, any position you do he can find a reason to love it. How freaky is he? He's freaky, but a lot less than you'd think. He does have his limits. One of them is that he refuses physical violence. He'll degrade you all you want, but he won't lay a finger on you in a negative away, no matter how much you beg. How noisy is he? It's Richie- when the fuck is he ever quiet? He's noisy, he's loud, and he's not ashamed of it. He wants everyone to know that he's getting laid. How long does he last? Eh. Fifteen minutes or so. He makes it count, though.

Protection or no? He's like Boris in the way that he sometimes he does forget, but that's alright, you're on the pill anyways. ____________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

[urmom-richietozier1]

OK SO HEAR ME OUT ON THIS

THEIR THE (almost) THE SAME PERSON!!!

WHY??? OH HERE:

●gay

●fell in love with someone's who's dead or dies.

●makes shitty unfunny jokes that are so unfunny that there funny in a weird unfunny way.

●where's nerdy glasses.

●falls in love with best friend (me too pookies)

LIKE OMG THERES MORW BUT IM NIT WRITING ALL THAT OUT

ANYWAY LIKE OMG

[blkkizzat]

y'all new kinktober ideas wont leave me be, halloween is my fav holiday too so im all about it....so i went to the movies tonight and omfg.

what about beetlejuice!gojo ?????

lmfao no but like not really he wouldnt be as gross kjdhajsh, but i was thinking what if gojo like was a ghost who couldn't move on and was like obsessed with you and played all kind of pranks on you and especially scared away any type of guy you brought around.

idk... ill think about this more lol.

[egonspenglerectoplasm]

That smile... 🔥

[strwberryblast]

𝐓𝐈𝐌𝐄 𝐋𝐎𝐎𝐏 | Gojo x Fem!Reader

tw ; death and poorly written graphic scenes.

•·•·•·•·•·•·•·•·•·•••·•·•·•·•·•·•·•·•·•••·•·•·•·•·•·•·•·•·••

Gojo cries out in frustration, his body slumped with exhaustion. For months, he’s been trying desperately to bring you back, but time and time again, he fails. He’s tried over 382 times, each in a desperate attempt to save you, his beloved wife, from the grasp of death. But no matter how many times he returns, Sukuna wins. He always wins. Every time he returns, you end up limp, lying in a puddle of your own blood, your eyes, once so full of life, now lifeless, reminding him of his failure.

The relentless cycle has begun to wear on him, fraying his once unshakeable resolve. Each time he rewinds, the pain of seeing you die anew is as fresh and unbearable as the first. The memories of your final moments haunt him with a visceral intensity—your eyes wide with fear and pain, the way your blood stained the ground, the chilling stillness of your once-vibrant form. He can’t escape the relentless torment of these images, and they compound with every failed attempt.

In this iteration of the loop, Gojo finds himself back in the dimly lit alley where it all happened. The aftermath of his battle with Sukuna lies scattered around him—debris, broken weapons, and the residue of chaotic energy. The alley is eerily silent, the air heavy with the lingering scent of smoke and blood. Gojo's breathing is ragged, his face streaked with tears and grime. He feels as though the weight of the entire universe has settled upon his shoulders, crushing him with its immense burden.

Desperation drives him to his knees beside your body, and he clutches his head in his hands, his sobs escaping in ragged gasps. He slams his fist against the cold, unyielding ground, the pain barely registering compared to the emotional anguish that consumes him. Each thud reverberates through his chest, mingling with the crushing weight of guilt and helplessness.

The memories of your last moments together replay in his mind with excruciating clarity. He remembers the warmth of your laughter, the sparkle in your eyes, and the way your presence made the world seem brighter. And now, all he’s left with are these fleeting, precious memories and the stark, painful reality of your absence.

“Why can’t I save you?” he cries out into the void, his voice cracking under the strain. “Why can’t I change this? I've tried everything—every strategy, every possible outcome. What am I missing? Why does it always end like this? What happened to me being the strongest? Why can't I be strong when it comes to saving you?”

The night sky above offers no answers. The stars, indifferent and distant, provide no solace. The silence of the alley is oppressive, a cruel reminder of his isolation. Gojo feels a profound sense of solitude, the weight of his endless failure pressing down on him like a leaden shroud. He's fought valiantly against Sukuna, explored every possible avenue, and yet the outcome remains the same.

Each attempt to save you has left him more weary and disheartened than the last. The cycle has become a cruel parody of hope, where each attempt to alter the past only reinforces his sense of futility. The weight of 382 failures bears down on him, each failure a knife twisting deeper into his heart.

But despite the overwhelming despair, a flicker of determination still burns within him. He knows that if he’s ever going to break free from this tragic loop, he must confront not only Sukuna but also the limitations of his own understanding and strength. He can’t accept that this is the end of his journey, that he’s doomed to watch you die forever.

With a heavy heart and a steely resolve, Gojo pushes himself to his feet. His body is bruised and battered, his spirit nearly broken, but his love for you drives him onward. He refuses to surrender to the despair that threatens to engulf him. He must find a new way, a hidden possibility he hasn’t yet uncovered.

As he steels himself for another attempt, Gojo casts one last glance at your lifeless form, his heart aching with every beat. He knows that each attempt brings him closer to the truth, but the cost of each failure is increasingly steep. He has no choice but to continue, driven by the hope that somewhere, somehow, there is a way to change the past and bring you back to life.

In the stillness of the night, Gojo’s resolve hardens. The battle is far from over, and he won’t give up until he’s uncovered the key to breaking this tragic cycle, no matter the personal cost. He embraces the pain and frustration, transforming it into a fierce determination to finally end the loop and save the woman he loves.

Attempt 383

Gojo's senses snap into focus as he emerges from the crushing void of the time loop. The familiar alleyway stretches out before him, marred by the shadows of countless failed attempts. You are there, alive and standing amidst the chaos, a sight that both invigorates and terrifies him. The briefest flicker of hope ignites within him, only to be immediately overshadowed by the crushing weight of past failures. His heart races with a mix of anticipation and dread.

He's been here 382 times before, each attempt marked by his desperate, relentless fight against Sukuna. Each time, he’s failed to save you. The memory of your lifeless body, so cold and still, haunts him. Every attempt ends with him unable to alter the tragic outcome. And now, as he sees you alive once again, he is driven by a fierce determination to make this attempt different.

With a mix of emotions within him, he has one thought on his mind: saving you.

Sukuna's menacing presence is not far behind. The malevolent aura fills the air as Gojo prepares for the inevitable confrontation. He's exhausted by every strategy, every maneuver, but this time he feels an unyielding resolve to make it work. The weight of every past failure drives him forward, fueling his determination to finally succeed.

The fight with Sukuna is fierce and chaotic. Gojo's moves are a blur of precision and power, his techniques executed with a desperate urgency. The alleyway becomes a battleground of light and darkness, a testament to Gojo's unrelenting will to protect you. He fights with a raw, unrestrained intensity, driven by the desperate need to save you from the fate that has befallen you so many times before.

Despite his best efforts, Sukuna’s power remains formidable. The battle stretches on, each clash of their abilities a testament to their respective strengths and weaknesses. Gojo's frustration mounts with every failed attempt to gain the upper hand, every moment where Sukuna seems to slip away from his grasp. The weight of past failures presses heavily on him, and the crushing realization that he may not succeed this time grips him with a cold, relentless hold.

As the fight reaches its peak, Gojo's focus is entirely on defeating Sukuna. His strategies are complex, his attacks relentless, but the familiar pang of inadequacy starts to set in. He can feel it slipping away—the success he’s so desperately fought for, the chance to save you. The battle is a chaotic dance of fury and despair, with Gojo’s hope wavering with every passing moment.

In a heart-wrenching moment of realization, Sukuna’s malevolent force overwhelms Gojo. The fight is brutal, and despite his best efforts, Gojo's strength begins to falter. He's driven to the brink of exhaustion, each blow from Sukuna a reminder of the futility of his struggle. The weight of his past failures and the fear of the inevitable final moment hang heavily over him.

Then it happens. A final, crushing blow from Sukuna sends Gojo reeling. The world around him blurs as he staggers, his body battered and weak. He turns desperately toward you, his heart shattering at the sight of your pained, bloody figure. The realization hits him with a devastating finality—he has failed again.

“No!” Gojo's cry is a raw, anguished scream that echoes through the alleyway. His voice cracks with the weight of his despair as he collapses to his knees, the once vivid hope now dimmed by the crushing reality of his repeated failures. He looks at you, his vision blurring with tears, and sees the inevitable outcome he’s tried so hard to prevent.

“Again! Again! I need to try again!” he cries, hitting his forehead against the concrete floor, tears pouring from his eyes and staining the alleyway. As he sits up, an overwhelming feeling of defeat swirls through him. “I need to try again!” he screams, sending himself back once more.

Attempt 384

In the alleyway once more, Gojo’s heart sinks as he sees you lying lifeless, a haunting scene he’s come to dread. Blood pools around you, staining your clothes and face with a terrified expression frozen in time. “Fuck! Again!” he cries out in frustration, tearing at the seams of reality as he restarts the cycle for yet another attempt.

Attempt 456

Gojo's hands tremble as he surveys the scene yet again. You lie on the ground, a haunting reminder of his endless struggle. Every attempt to change the outcome has ended in the same tragic result. “Why am I unable to fix this? Why can’t I save you?” he mutters, a deep sense of despair seeping into his voice. The crushing weight of failure drags him down as he restarts the cycle once more.

Attempt 689

Another attempt falls apart as Gojo watches helplessly. Your body is once again lifeless, blood staining the grimy alley. The look of terror on your face is etched into his memory, a constant reminder of his failures. He slams his fist against the wall, the frustration boiling over. “This can’t be happening again!” he shouts, his voice breaking as he plunges back into the cycle.

Attempt 812

He clenches his fist angrily as you fall limp once more, his eyes hollow, his body aching with exhaustion. “Why? Why? Why!” he screams, tears spilling out over his face and onto his cheeks. His body collapses onto the floor as he cries. “I need to try again. I can't give up on you,” he says to your limp body, blood seeping into his own clothing, as he restarts the cycle once again.

Attempt 902

Another desperate attempt to save you. He’s lost count of how long it’s been, but it doesn’t matter to him; you’re the only thing that matters to him. He needs to save you. He needs to. But it ends the same. You are once again sprawled in a pool of blood, the terror in your eyes as vivid as ever. Gojo's breath comes in ragged gasps as he looks at the destruction he cannot prevent. His voice cracks under the strain. “It’s always the same…” With a shuddering exhale, he restarts, each cycle a new level of anguish.

Attempt 1002

Gojo stands amidst the ruins of his thousandth attempt, staring at your bloodied, lifeless body. The hopelessness of his endless failures weighs heavily upon him. “I've done everything,” he murmurs, his voice barely more than a broken whisper. Tears stream down his face as he forces himself to begin once more, the crushing reality of his despair almost too much to bear. This tiring cycle crushed his hopes, causing him to doubt more and more if anything will ever change.

Attempt 1003: The Final Attempt

Gojo steps into the alleyway for what feels like the millionth time. Each attempt has bled into the next, the cycle of failure, a relentless loop from which he cannot escape. This time, he feels a profound weariness settle deep within his bones. The sight of you, lifeless and bloodied, has become an unbearable ritual. The image has now tainted his memory of you, your once happy image becoming lost in the newfound, bloodied image of you.

The familiar scene unfolds before him. You’re lying in a pool of blood, your once vibrant eyes now dimmed with terror. The same pang of anguish strikes him as he kneels beside you. Every detail is the same: your clothes, stained and torn; your face, etched with the final, painful expression. His hands tremble as he reaches out, desperate to feel any sign of life.

“No…” he chokes out, his voice breaking. He desperately checks your pulse, but the lifelessness is a cruel reminder that nothing has changed. His heart pounds with a mix of fury and sorrow, the crushing weight of his repeated failures bearing down on him.

His body screams at him out of exhaustion, wanting nothing more than to just collapse. The relentless effort of fighting, failing, and trying again has worn him thin. His legs feel like lead, his arms heavy and unresponsive, each movement a painful reminder of his limits. The weight of his exhaustion is matched only by the weight of his despair, dragging him further into a pit of helplessness.

He tries to stand, but his legs betray him, collapsing beneath him. He doesn’t fight it though; he can’t save you, he’ll never be able to save you.

Sukuna’s laugh echoes through the alleyway. “Satoru Gojo? Surrendering? Do my eyes deceive me?” he taunts as he closes the space between them, Gojo too exhausted to even respond, his eyes refusing to leave you.

He can barely muster the strength to lift his head, his eyes meeting Sukuna’s with a final, hollow resolve. He looks back down at you, his lips moving slowly, struggling to form the words that have been on his mind through every failed attempt, every heartbreaking loop.

“I love you, [name],” he mutters, his voice cracking with a weak tone. Gojo's eyes flutter, the last vestiges of his strength waning as he braces himself for the end. The energy from Sukuna’s attack builds to an unbearable intensity, casting a stark, harsh light over the alleyway. Time seems to slow, each second stretching into an eternity as Gojo takes one last look at the scene of his failures and the memory of your smiling face.

Gojo opens his eyes, a serene warmth enveloping him as he lies in a field of vibrant flowers, the sun casting a gentle glow over his face. A smile tugs at his lips.

“So, this is the afterlife?” he murmurs, his voice barely more than a whisper. He frowns, remembering his last moments.

“No, it’s not,” you reply, your presence beside him snapping him out of his thoughts. Your fingers brush through his hair tenderly. Gojo's eyes widen in disbelief as tears begin to stream down his face. He sits up, staring at you, his voice trembling. “[N-name]?” he asks, as though you might vanish at any moment.

You nod, your smile tender. “You did good. Thank you for trying to save me.” Your words are soft and soothing, and Gojo’s tears flow more freely. You close the distance between you, wrapping him in a tight embrace. “I’m so sorry,” he croaks, a frown on his face, “I-I couldn’t save you, I failed.” His voice is muffled as he buries his head in your shoulder.

“No, you did good. Don’t forget that,” you say, holding his head against you. “You kept fighting just to save me, and that’s more than enough.” You say soothingly. He stays silent, his mind full of doubt, a crushing feeling of guilt overwhelming his sense of self.

“Do you want to go to the afterlife? I can take you,” you offer gently, your voice filled with warmth, noticing his distress.

Gojo buries his face in the crook of your neck, his voice muffled and trembling. “As long as you don’t leave me again,” he whispers, his voice cracking.

•·•·•·•·•·•·•·•·•·•••·•·•·•·•·•·•·•·•·•••·•·•·•·•·•·•·•·•·••

please read request rules before requesting ! :)

back to masterlist

this is on my a03 and wattpad too

[sonicscrewdriverstantz]

Headcanons, Being Ray Stantz's Child

gender neutral!reader, child!reader

Being born during the groups college days, and just adding a dose of daily chaos to their otherwise uneventful studies.

Three men and a baby. Enough said. It's absolute pandemonium.

Ray being the mother hen. Egon being the irresponsible father, and Peter being the fun uncle.

You have an entire family, even if not by blood.

Ray bringing you to college with him, and multitasking because he can't afford childcare.

Him using you as someone to rattle off all his theories about the occult and paranormal to before you can even crawl.

Peter uses you as a 'mini wing-man'. Women flock to him because they think you're his child and find the fact that he's a seemingly decent single dad attractive. (GIRL, IT'S THE BARE MINIMUM) Peter being himself, of course, doesn't bother to correct them.

Constant compliments being directed towards you by women, to which Peter's reply is always the same.

'Mhmmm, yeah, they get their looks from their father' *insert cocky, arrogant smirk*

Ray then reminding him that he's not actually the father.

'Oh, no, I know, I was complimenting you, honey' *cocky, arrogant smirk still in place, this smug guy knows exactly what he's doing*

Ray immediately becoming quiet and turning a bright, red colour, stumbling, tripping, collapsing over the English language, of which he's usually quite eloquent with. Then picking you up in his arms, and walking off muttering variants of profanities and insults directed at Peter

This section was greatly inspired by a ficlet my friend, @xraylovers wrote for me :) Thanks for letting me use your idea bestie.

Egon views you as a science experiment... problems ensue.

Days spent leaning over old occult books, the dusty aroma worn like a birthday badge as a testament to the age of the journal drifting into his child's face as Ray carefully reads each line.

Him having no concern as to whether this is proper bedtime story material for a 5 year old, as long as their happy, which, judging from the small inquisitive smile and plethora of questions asked, they most definitely are.

Ray is so excited to have a mini replica of him, just as interested in the occult as he is, someone to share his special interest with and experience the excitement and wonder of it all for the first time through their eyes.

Peter looking upon Y/N as his niece/nephew and calling them 'Baby Stantz' or 'The Littlest Ghostbuster' or variations upon. All the while, Y/N constantly complaining about wanting to be a Ghostbuster now.

Naturally, Peter buys a mini Ghostbusters suit with 'Baby Stantz' custom inscribed as the name tag, as well as a toy replica proton-pack. Which Egon promptly turns into a miniature, but fully-working proton-pack... until Ray confiscates it, sharing some harsh words with Egon about children's safety.

'Ray, I was merely teaching Y/N the proper way to operate a proton pack to prepare them for when they become a Ghostbuster'

'EGON! You can't give a child an unlicensed nuclear accelerator!'

Winston becoming the only semi-normal parental figure you have: Egon knows nothing about children, your dad is an extreme mother hen, and Peter is... himself.

Your dad would often take you out in the Ecto-1, wheels spinning, sirens blaring (after you begged ro have the sirens on, and every time he agrees because he has no backbone when it comes to you). You roll down the window and hold your hand out, letting the air rush through your fingers in quick succession as you take in the sights of New York City.

Despite his initial protest, when you became a little older and he realised how serious and passionate you were about following in his footsteps, your dad taught you how to use a proton pack and ghost trap (while supervised of course!) in the basement. While others your age were playing sports or video games, you were being taught how to wrangle ghosts and spirits.

Despite the dangers and challenges of being a Ghostbuster, you've always been proud of your dad and your family. They're not just heroes to the world, they're heroes to you, too.

[tuliptired]

hello! I don’t want to bother you but could you possibly right about old man Egon Spengler x fem reader?

Empty Pocket Waltz

Pairing: Old man!Egon Spengler/Fem!Reader

Not a bother at all! Firm believer that some pussy would've saved him

Better formatting on Ao3!!

You’ve been living in Summerville, Oklahoma for at least the last handful of decades. It was a cold and windy night when you loaded Callie into the backseat, before you and Egon left your lives in New York to save the world, supposedly. After starting from scratch in a gilded age farmhouse, sending a child off to college, meeting her children- it felt like more of a family dinner. Nevertheless, you were happy. And, despite the threat of constant doomsday for years on end, Egon seemed at a weird sort of peace. Every morning you wake up, you wonder what your future would’ve been like, if your daughter didn’t cry out in the middle of that argument. If he had never gone to hold her, and realize that this was a matter of your little family, as well as the planet.

That was then, in the confines of your miniscule apartment, paint peeling off the walls and water endlessly dripping out your taps. You took a long breath in, grateful for the abundance of fragrant house flora you had managed to keep alive. It was just you and the rolling farmland this morning, a silent little symphony as the sun beat down on your face. Not even the pan below you dared to make any noise.

Your moment alone was cut short by the gentle running of water, and later the creak of the floorboards that made up the steps. Egon had become a better sleeper in time. He used to insist on going in late, getting up early, taking care of Callie before you’d managed to open your eyes. But his old habits came crashing down after a while of falling asleep to gentle wind chimes, chirping crickets, pittering rain. And you found it adorable- his messy hair and soft pajamas seeing you off to your job in town every morning.

You felt a warm body at your side as you finished making breakfast. “Did you sleep well?” you asked, the question as familiar as he was. Egon didn’t answer, leaning his head on your shoulder while you carefully poured him coffee, one cream and four artificial sugars. Time may have altered his disposition, but never his tastes.

“Well,” you started, plating pancakes after he trudged over to the table, “I hope you eat as well as you sleep. We have a big day today.” you spoke excitedly.

Egon woke up a bit after a sip from his old and worn out mug. He puzzled over your proclamation, brow furrowed a bit. “We do?” he wondered, growing nervous in wake of your bright smile.

“Pruning day!” you announced, wrapping your arms around his neck from the back as he let out a soft groan. “And you’re gonna help out, because you promised your poor old wife with bad knees that you’d get it done. And because you love her.”

“Yes. And because I love her,” he said dryly.

You heard him sigh as you loosened your embrace around his shoulders. “The flowers aggravate my allergies and dirt gets stained into my clothes,” He paused. “Get me the shears from the mudroom, please?” A happy noise escaped you then before you buried your head into his hair. “Thank you, Egon.” Geez, did he always have this much hair? You could feel the white locks tickling your own scalp. “Ouf. Next item on the to-do list is a haircut.”

 Egon had been out there for some time when you emerged with a glass of lemonade. Watching your husband do physical labor under the sun was a fairly indulgent source of entertainment- but there’s just something about a man tending to a garden on his hands and knees that made your day a bit brighter.

“Since you’re working so hard,” you offered him the cup, a painted little thing that Callie had made in school, while you sip from your glassware. 

He didn’t seem to mind, shamelessly taking a drink. “Thank you.” He sat back on his haunches then, observing your mini yield. “You’ve got a lot this summer.”

“I know,” you marveled, taking a quick headcount of all your sprouts, shoots, and stalks. “It’s a pensioner’s dream.” 

If your grandson were here, and not up north- he’d undoubtedly be making fun of you both for your stereotypically geriatric source of entertainment. It had taken both you and Egon, the genius, ridiculously long to notice the acres upon acres of farmland at your disposal. Of course, this was after a sizable amount of stressing over what it took to adequately feed a growing child. So, you grew what you could for dinner, garden plot now confined to the side of your house as caring for it became hard.

You took refuge on a worn chair in the shade, legs crossed while your husband bent back down to work. You couldn’t help the pleased sound you made to yourself at the sight of him, pants hitching up to the midsection of his thighs and a bit closer to his skin than other bottoms you’d  seen him don outside. He’d gotten a little fuller over time, but you’d be a liar if you dared to say you minded. 

“Those shorts were a good decision, then?” you mused, low eyes still on his lower half. You nearly missed the look of offense he had as he looked over his shoulder. “Glad you’re bringing them back.”

“I have nothing else. We should put laundry on the list.” Egon stated. 

You rested the glass on your own thigh, condensation providing a little relief from the warmth permeating your spot in the shadows. “You have at least two pairs of sweatpants left. I checked,” you scoffed. You’d known him for so many years that you had no problem decoding his unvarnished nature, even if it was slightly annoyed. You knew he really wasn’t too upset at your ogling, or letting the chore slip your mind. And- he did wordlessly arch a bit further into the bush, a satisfied smile growing on your face.

After all his drudgery was done, you promised you’d find a way to repay him after a second shower. His hulking figure tracking soil around your hallways was enough for you to usher him into the bathroom and stay at the door until you heard the water run. 

He wasn’t very long, and you met back in your now-steamed-washroom to tackle his little salon treatment. “How’d this happen?” you murmured rhetorically, examining Egon from all angles while he dwarfed a stool. He always had refused to use the toilet for anything but its intended purpose, chastising you and your daughter whenever you dared to. In the rare times Callie looked to test his patience- Terrible Twos, she knew that a lesser loved doll or picture book could stand a swim in the porcelain, if it meant getting back at Daddy.

“I thought you liked my hair long?” Egon asked, covered by the fluffy towel you dried his damp hair with.

You brushed it back into its usual place. After a long time of being styled- probably since his final graduation, his hair seemed to compromise, curls finally growing in the way he had manipulated them to. “I do, but that was then,” you worked. “College-Egon was a different guy.”

He sulked a bit. “Elon’s wife lets him wear his hair long.” His uncharacteristic petulance was endearing to you, as you grabbed a pair of hairdressing scissors. These had saved Callie on many different occasions, most notably when you had come home to find her and her father locked inside the destroyed bathroom, trying every remedy in every cupboard and cabinet to remove something viscous and sticky that ended up on her from Egon’s lab. 

“Elon’s wife let him keep a family of foxes. She only put them out when they scuffed her china cabinet.” you laughed lightly, not yet removing anything from his head.

“I won’t take away too much. Just enough to not scratch me.”

He conceded. “You know best.”

“I know.”

You carefully clipped just shy of half an inch from the white that took over what once was brown. You had to admire its refusal to thin out, thick but light pieces littering the tile beneath you. Before he knew you, an old and apparently unkind barber down the street cut his hair. When the price of that looked too high for his parents, his father took up the job, and he wasn’t much of a step up. Once Egon was out on his own, people seldom touched his head, not even after his degrees were finished and he gave it a drastic cut. It always felt nice, being on the giving end of taking care of such a distinctive part of him. One he really never let anyone influence or alter, when given the choice.

A gentle snoring rumbling from him and the slight slump of his head drew you out of your focus when you took a step back to review your work. “You really are old,” you grinned, rousing him awake. You caught your reflections in the mirror. “Good?”

Egon gave you a nod of approval, sitting patiently as you brushed some of the stray white off his shoulders. “Good.”

You examined him once more, still not fully satisfied. Something was off. He still looked great- he always looked great. But you were skipping a step. Egon was nothing if not tolerant, waiting for you to finish your evaluation.

“I know,” you snapped. You didn’t give him much of a further explanation, dipping into the drawers of the sinkside cabinet and emerging with a razor. “Your beard.”

The very tall man nearly scooched off the stool. “I thought you liked it? You’ve never said anything before.”

You glanced down at the shaver in your hand. Shiny and electric- one of the first things you had ordered online, when that was a new thing. “Okay, maybe not these.” you placed them on the counter. “Come on, grandpa. Just a trim.”

You were lucky Egon trusted your judgment. So, you took the scissors and carved him back out, catching short strands with the equally as white towel.

“There you are,” you twinkled, proud of your cosmetology skills. You placed a loving kiss on his cheek, his own smile pulling at the muscle. In your little moment, he convinced you to let him paint your nails in thanks. Your husband. Egon was always handsome, before and after your pampering. But you reveled in the intimacy of routine maintenance with the one you loved.

“Darn it,” you closed the washer-dryer. Halfway through its cycle and it decided to start fussing again. “Egon?” you called, hoping he’d mess around with it again and finish drying your wet clothes.

And mess around he did. He turned knobs, moved pipes, plugged and unplugged things with increasing frustration. This didn’t show much but his stubbornness, but he really was a smart man. With a PhD. But this was one of his few intellectual weaknesses- “smart” appliances. It was one of the more newer things in the old house, an upgrade the handyman (Egon insisted he could fix the old one alone, nearly electrocuting himself before you put your foot down about it) who came from really far out of town to help you out had suggested. But, there was always something going on with it, whether that was your fault or otherwise. There was always a new fix, but not now.

Egon must’ve sensed your worry over the clothes still inside. “We can put these on the line to dry,” he reassured you, using some of his strength to push it forward and inspect whatever went on at its back.

“It’s gonna rain,” you troubled, peering outside at the graying sky. He was in his own, mechanical world, not hearing you as he assessed the faulty thing. 

“Egon?” You wrapped your arms around his middle. 

You could tell his ponderings didn’t stop at your touch. “Yes?”

“I know you can fix the car. And your proton pack. And my hair dryer.” He let out a noise of acknowledgment, which might have had a hint of pride.

“But maybe,” you cringed, “we should just cut our losses and take all this to the laundromat?”

He shot down your idea- because of course that was the wildest suggestion ever presented to him. “Why go all the way out there over something I can fix in an evening?” Egon reasoned.

“You know good and well it’ll take longer than an evening.” You had already started to sort soaked clothes into linen bags. “I’ll be lucky if I catch you leaving this room before the end of the week.”

“Then, by the end of the week you’ll have a working laundry room again.”

You placed one of your sodden delicates in his hands. “Everything’ll mold if we can’t get it to dry. And I won’t let you test any of it. We’re going.”

Egon grumbled, but followed suit, carrying the large bag of laundry to the car for you while you grabbed your mini bag of quarters. It was his silent compliance as he waited for you to buckle up that made you stroke his arm apologetically.

“I appreciate that you’re always trying to help. Remember what you did to Callie’s Furby?”

He nodded fondly. “The first to be able to talk back. She was terrified.”

“Well, she would fish it out the closet when she was mad. I never had to buy her a diary ever again.” you shrugged.

“Do you still like the jets I put in the bathtub?” he turned to you.

“Of course! You just never notice I have them on because you’re in there with me.”

The drive into town always took some time, bumpy dirt roads turning into proper asphalt after a while. Summerville was still a small town, so the laundromat was never as bustling as it could be. But your assumptions were proven wrong, as a dozen or so cars lined the curb. Either everyone’s washer or dryer started acting up, or the water company had a mass shut off.

Egon moved rigidly through the throng of people in the little space. These were the people, and some of their now-grown-children, who stared at him like he was an alien after moving his tiny family to a run down house all the way from Manhattan. You could somewhat understand their intrigue- the most exciting thing to happen around this place seemed to be community matters. But some of their rumors were outright laughable: you were on the run from the police (ironic if you considered how gossipy the town was), Callie was a monster he made in his lab (she played into that one when you went shopping), you were Soviet spies sent for espionage (fairly dangerous, considering the country was coming down from the Cold War and Egon was very visibly the child of two European immigrants). 

But, as years passed and no nukes were dropped and no infectious diseases spread from your daughter in school, Summerville learned you were here to stay. And they started to enjoy your presence, the few times you’d gone into town to run errands and with everything you did at work. You’d even gotten close to a family or two, evident in how a teenage girl sitting on one of the stand alone machines smiled at you.

“Hi, Mr and Mrs. Spengler,” Lucky waved. Her and Trevor had become close friends, at least the few summers he and his sister had spent while visiting. You had thought it wouldn’t stick- on account of the distance and the time it’s been since their last trip down here, but they managed to stay in contact. Very close contact, you’d been told.

“Hi, Lucky,” you returned, “how’s your mom?”

“She’s okay. She sent me here- ‘cause our washer won’t start.” 

“We’re in the same boat, then. Tell her: once ours works again, I’ll send Egon to check yours out, alright?”

Her grin grew, possibly at the sight of your husband's expression. He was used to you volunteering his skills in repair, though. It proved useful, in a town without any real mechanical service. Here, one just prayed they would never break down or lose power. But it was one of the ways you managed to clean up your reputation in time- Egon serving as an electrician, tow truck, or handyman whenever he wasn’t holed up in his makeshift lab. “Will do,” she nodded.

With that, her dad called her, and she was off. Not before complimenting your nails, though. You made quick work of loading your wet clothes, going through the motions. Halfway through, Egon stopped to pull something out of one of his wrinkled pockets.

It was one of your earrings, delicate and near tiny. “You fell asleep with it on.” he handed it to you.

Eventually, your laundry was done. And you didn’t even run through all your quarters. This called for a Coke from the vending machine- only a can, you both needed to watch your sugar.  The drive back was noticeably more jovial, you had clean and dry laundry, Egon had a new project to consume his time. He seemed to have multiple things on his mind, as he opened the passenger door for you.

“They’re calling today,” he said, almost anxiously. Callie had been calling you periodically ever since she went off to Ohio, of all places, for college. She had stopped after you came back from a visit once she had Trevor, and it wasn’t until after his father left that 1. You learned she had a whole other child not long before their split, and 2. He was an awful husband. After that, you made her promise to always check in with you, especially in the long stretches of time when driving up to Chicago just wasn’t an option. Egon’s been on top of her calls ever since, silently eager to see his daughter and his growing grandchildren. 

At some point, you found him in the living room, mulling around with the iPad you were given some time in the early 2010’s in order to actually see the people getting in contact with you. “You got it?” you asked, squeezing into your typical spot next to him.

He nodded, and soon your daughter was on the little screen. “Hey Mom, hey Dad.”

“Hi, Cal!” Egon had only waved, always a tad shy over the phone for the first few minutes. “How’s everything? How’s work?”

She seemed preoccupied with something offscreen. “Raining hard, here. Ceiling started to leak.”

You frowned. It was never fun to hear that your loved ones were struggling, even if they were small grievances like these. “Does your landlord know? It’ll only get worse as it gets warmer.”

“He won’t answer my calls,” she put her hands up, as if she was ridding herself of the problem, “we have buckets, it’s fine.”

“You know what we’re gonna tell you.”

“Do I?”

“Spend the summer here,” you urged, hearing her groan slightly over the phone. “It can’t hurt.”

“I can’t ask that of you guys. Again.” 

You gestured around the large, under-occupied house. “You lived here. You know how much space we have.”

Callie was silent, deep in thought as you continued. “We miss you. The other day I started wondering if Phoebe still needed Pampers.”

She sat back wherever she was sitting. “It hasn’t been that long.”

“It feels like it! When you’re as old as we are, a day feels like a year.”

“Today has been quite a year,” Egon affirms at your side.

You sat forward on the little couch. “Even Dad agrees. He’s too shy to say, but he always wants to ask you for pictures. But he’s scared you’ll find it annoying.” Egon didn’t seem to be embarrassed, wanting to see the rest of his family as much as you did.

Callie spoke up then, eyebrows high. “I’ll send you pictures, Dad. Mom, I’ll…I’ll think about it, ok?” You’d take that, for now. Soon, Trevor appeared, waving at you both. 

You left Egon to have his time with the teenager. From the other room, you got snippets about a car show, some new friends he’d been making, a cut he got from trying to shave his legs- which was a little interesting. You can remember the first time he had held Trevor. The newborn was just happy to be alive, so awake for only being a few hours old. He took interest in everything Egon had to say, eyeing the shiny buttons of his shirt, the reflective frames of his glasses. In the private of the hospital room Callie was fast asleep in, he revealed to you that he was excited to watch a little boy in his family grow up the opposite in which he did: being allowed to play, get dirty, make mistakes.

It wasn’t until Trevor wondered aloud where you were that you peeked your head around the corner. After switching out with Egon, you settled into his warm spot on the sofa, tea in hand.

“Hi, grandma!” 

“Hi, Trevor. I see the leak was in your room.”

“Yeah, it’s okay. We have buckets.”

You smiled at that, chatting about more things- the show you were watching together, a recipe he was demanding you try, drama in school, before you remembered something. “We saw Lucky today. When was the last time you talked?” you gently probed.

Trevor brightened, if not reddened. “Last night. School ends later for us here so,” he swallowed. “But we’ve been able to talk every night.”

Your eyebrows rose. “Everynight’s an improvement.”

He waved you off. “It’s not that big of a deal.” His expression grew far away. “Is it that big of a deal?”

“She’s been asking when you’ll be back. Maybe you won’t miss her birthday this year.”

Trevor sat up straighter, so fast he knocked his knees against the underside of his desk. He didn’t seem to notice, while you winced on the other end of the phone. You asked if he was alright, but he was too deep in his head to notice. “Oh man, really? I got her a gift. Or a couple of gifts. I was gonna send it in the mail.”

You smiled knowingly. “More reasons to come here. Actions speak louder than words.” Trevor looked doubtful, brow creased a bit.

“What if she doesn’t like it? Like: ‘ohhh thank you Trevor, but that’s super weird. I’m getting a car but I can put the stuffed bear in the backseat’.” He must’ve gotten his anxiety from Egon- he sounded exactly like him in the days leading up to you being asked out. Or so Ray tells you.

“No chance. Every girl would like a gift from her boyfriend.” you shook your head.

Trevor looked at least a bit hopeful. “But, we’re not dating-”

“Mom said to let me on.”

You let Egon have a minute with Phoebe. They always had a special connection- there was no need for anyone to say anything because it was so clear. Trevor gave them their space, and you did too, and it was all okay because he’d been your little guy since birth, literally attached to your leg whenever he had the chance to hang out with you. And Phoebe holed up with her grandfather in his makeshift lab, learning and talking about anything they each had to offer. They really were cut from the same cloth, it was only natural. You can remember her delivery, too. The entire day was hard- feverish three year old, busy hospital, unhelpful and soon to be ex husband. Callie had to pretty much bargain for medical attention in the sterile room as her contractions got worse, let alone to get an epidural. Such an angry start in the world. But when she came, she was so peaceful, not even crying when she was brought out into the cold air. Precious is what you regarded it as, weird was the word buzzed around between NICU nurses. 

For the second time, in the dark of a hospital room while Trevor slept in his shirt, Egon barely whispered that, “she’s already different.” You knew exactly what he meant- and it was nowhere near bad. She was like him.

Phoebe’s room was messy as ever, but it was an organized mess. “Hi, grandma,” she greeted.

“Hi, Phebes,” you saw something round and white in her hands, “what’s that?”

She lifted it to the camera, fairly nonchalantly. “Our ac. He switched it off so I’m trying to jailbreak it.” Ah.

“When can we come back?” she added, clearly having thought about visiting a lot more than usual.

“Any time. You just have to convince your mom. Chicago’s getting boring?” 

Her eyebrows twitched once, the way Egon always does. “In the summer. And, if something happens to our house while we’re gone, the landlord’s responsible. Not us.” she explained.

That’s your granddaughter. “Smart girl.” You paused, noticing something different about her but not being able to place it. “Did you…get new frames?”

Phoebe paused in turn, pushing them up. “Are they bad?” she asked, brows knitted slightly. “I didn’t want to change them, but Mom made me.”

You smiled, “They look great. But, uh, what’s the difference?”

“These hinges are silver. The old hinges were nickel.”

That was definitely your granddaughter. Eccentric, in her own, special way.

Soon, Callie needed her phone back. As you all said your goodbyes, something popped into your mind before you reminded Phoebe that you saw Podcast and he wants her to call him back so they can play their game.

Phoebe scowled over her brother’s shoulder. “I’m banned. Tell him we have to find something else.”

Every time your family called, Egon happened to remember that the iPad had a game or two on it, and he was occupied until it was time to chorale him into bed. You waited patiently as he put it to charge, ready to be forgotten about for a while, and nuzzled into his chest when he returned to you. His sleeping clothes were always worn, but they always filled you with the familiar scent of him which you were much too happy never washed out. 

“Did you have fun?” you asked into the fabric of his shirt. Sure, it was a long and hard battle to condition him out of a gown and sleeping cap in the early days of your relationship, but you’d take what he give you.

He hummed in response. “Level 2801 on Candy Crush today.”

“One higher than Winston.” you gazed in the darkness at a familiar spot by the door, cracked ajar. Callie would wait for you both, as soon as she could toddle out of her bed and needed someone with her when she used the bathroom, or to console her after a bad dream. As she got older, it’s where she brought you both coffee on special mornings, and bounced on her heels waiting for approval to take the car. Callie’s spot. Perfectly between both of your pillows, if you drew a straight line, run a little ragged by bare feet, sneakers, and slippers. “What else?”

“Peter took something from my farm, so I put him and his dogs underground.”

You shut your eyes, though still enjoying your sleepy conversation. “That’s not very good conflict resolution.” He was quiet, and you assumed he had dozed off, you in his arms, until there was a tugging at your earlobe.

“What?”

“Earrings.”

“Thank you, Egon.” Your old man. This was a much smaller life than Times Square, Central Park, Ghostbusters. But it was your small life, with your larger-than-life husband, and you really wouldn’t have it any other way.

[fandomnerd9602]

Phoebe: 5/8ths wrench

Y/N hands her a 3/4th wrench…

Phoebe: close but still not it

Y/N: sorry. I’m a failure

Phoebe: no you’re not. You’re great with me, my family and a great part of the team. We all have our strengths and weaknesses.

Gary watches…

Gary: wow Pheebs, having Y/N has really warmed you up. Now who’s ready for our movie night!

Phoebe: tell me it’s not Cujo again

Gary: no it’s…Kubo. The Not So Killer Dog.

Y/N: it’s definitely Cujo again

[lowkeyrobin]

Platonic Phoebe and Trevor x Gary Grooberson’s teen kid reader and adjusting to being stepsiblings?

OH MY GOD YES BRO RJSKDMSNSN ; I did my best pls bare w this 💀💀💀

SPENGLER SIBLINGS ; stepsiblings

summary ; youre Gary's kid and you have to adjust with two new stepsiblings

warnings ; language

disclaimers ; your mom is nonexistent/Gary adopted you. it's not a topic brought up at all I don't think but you can choose, ik some people don't like kid of ___ reader or ____ sibling reader so beware lol, takes place between afterlife and frozen empire so no spoilers for anyone who hasn't watched gbfe yet, reader can drive/is around Trevor's age

word count ; 675

masterlist

it's so awkward at first

especially since you've never had siblings before so it's like they're teenage roommates

like okay your parents are dating or whatever but like, ew?

except you're living with them, not the other way around

both gary and callie are trying to urge you to interact but it's just not happening

you're not really a ghostbuster either, you aren't smart in the sciences and aren't into the whole ghost thing anyways

you're more into traditional ghosts anyways, not the ones that show up in broad daylight and need to be trapped by proton barriers

it's very rough at first

you connect with phoebe first, as a once in a blue moon experience happened, she wanted to act like a normal 14yo and go get ice cream

Callie couldn't take her because she was busy helping trevor with work stuff and told her to ask you

she was like 🤨 and like... "okay?-"

she asks and you look at her like 🤨😊

you guys go get ice cream and she tells you all about the shit you pass on the way there and back home

you surprisingly end up bonding over the struggle of talking to others like normal people and being well reserved with little to no friends

then comes the bonding over a certain book you both liked

the whole car ride home is oasis on the radio and chatter about this book, and going the longest possible way home because you didn't want this bonding moment to end

you sat in the car after phoebe got out, just sitting in silence

you were kind of in awe yet saddened the moment had ended because you were bonding so well

after that she clearly sees you in a new light and looks to you for your wisdom and clear view of the world when she's wrapped in her own madness and needs untangled

you were the trusting older sibling she needed since trevor never really understood the proper being there for your sister thing

they're proper siblings and whatnot but it's not like they go to each other if it's not to shit talk people

you're like their mediator and therapist sibling

getting through to trevor was much harder

you ended up finding him a job and he was like 🤨😒 when you showed him

"oh- uhm, sorry. I was just trying to be nice" and you quickly scramble away

he's just confused cause like ??? you never talked, he didn't even know how you knew he was looking for a job

he comes into your room a couple hours later like "Hey sorry I acted all weird, thanks"

and that's it

bonding with him is so hard, and Gary and Callie are like "okay go fucking do something"

you're all (spengler-groobersons + podcast bc phoebe needed a friend her age) out at an amusement park, and these mfs ditched yall at the carousel next to the bathrooms

and they weren't picking up their phones

you were basically forced to interact now, which was much less awkward in an amusement park

you guys ride some rides and get some food as you frequently call your parents

you finally find them, phew

but you two obviously made a little friendship and had fun together

took a little longer to get used to each other but you're fine now

awkward teenager shit yk?

in general, the three of you now are super close

trevor is your hype man when it comes to talking to people or doing something out of your comfort zone

phoebe is your hype man when you talk to her about maybe wanting to be a ghostbuster / study ghosts

you're the driver for the three of you, callie doesn't trust Trevor with driving, considering how he was driving the ecto1 when he first got it usable again, and obviously, phoebe can't drive

after a few years you're basically just like normal siblings

you three have a sibling group chat and it's 90% you sending memes, Trevor sending random tik tok links and phoebe begging you two to stop blowing up her phone

spenglerson siblings 🔛🔝

[reareaotaku]

Jealous Trevor Spengler Headcanons

Taglist: @fxchild

He is totally NOT jealous. Like at all- Not a bit. He's fine- Okay, so maybe he's a little annoyed, but that doesn't mean anything. It's a normal feeling- Totally natural... Doesn't make him feel any better.

Really wants your attention on him, so the fact that you're paying attention to someone else is rather annoying to him. He'll roll his eyes and sigh, before looking away from you.

He won't talk to you for at least a week. He'll complain to Phoebe, which just annoys her. She wants him to get over it as quickly as possible. All h does it complain, complain, and complain. God, she wants to pull her hair out.

She goes to talk to you about it. She just wants him to stop yapping about you and if he won't solve his problems, she will.

You didn't know Phoebe that well, so when she came to your job to talk to you, you were confused.

"Why don't you talk to him?"

"About what?" You look at her confused. "Is something wrong?"

She realizes that you don't even know that Trevor was mad at you. She wants to groan and roll her eyes, but contains herself. She forces Trevor to speak to you, because you're clueless.

Trevor's irritated that you are perfectly fine. You're a little confused why he's acting so off, but decide to shrug it off. This just pisses him off more. You do soon realize that he's upset and you try to question him. He plays the cold shoulder card and wants you to pretty much beg for his forgiveness. He genuinely forgot what he's mad about, so he'll forgive you, but he'll never tell you why he was mad, because he doesn't want you knowing he doesn't remember.

[toriisasimp]

Chapter 1 of ?: Just Ask

An Egon Spengler x fem!reader Mini Series

Prompt: Yet another Ghostbusters press event is nearing, and once the secret is spilled of a certain scientist who wants to take you as a date, you decide to investigate for yourself.

Warnings: None!

A/N: First chapter of a mini series I’m working on. Not sure if it’s actually going to be a mini series or a full fic, but we’ll see! Egon and reader have already kind of been flirting with each other. You’ve also been working at the firehouse for a few months now. Enjoy! <3

-

It was nearing dinner time, and Janine had clocked out early for a date with Louis. You bid her goodnight with a warm smile and wave, and settled yourself behind the receptionist desk, propping up your feet and opening up one of the books you sneaked from Egon’s collection in the lab.

Finally, some peace and quiet..

You hear your name shouted by Peter, who comes stomping down the staircase with Ray hot on his tail.

“Go cool your boyfriend! He won’t listen to us!”

“..He’s not my boyfriend, Venkman.” You specify blankly, only briefly peeking over the top of your book to eye him coming around the corner and walking up to the desk.

“It sure seems like he thinks so.” Ray pipes up, folding his arms.

“What did you guys do to upset him now?” You flip the page, ignoring Ray’s comment.

“We didn’t do anything. He’s just throwing one of those dramatic fits of his where he shuts completely down and doesn’t speak to anyone, other than snapping at Ray for eating all the Cheez-Its.”

“Valid reason to be upset.” You shrug it off. You and Egon are both extremely territorial over your snacks. So much so that you end up labeling them with a permanent marker so the other boys know what they can and can’t touch.

“Not the point. The point is, you need to go up there and work your..” Venkman wiggles his fingers. “Womanly magic to get him to break. It’s getting annoying.”

“What? Not having him correct your incorrect scientific so-called ‘knowledge’,” you throw up some air quotes, “That you just spew out on a whim is annoying?”

“YES.” Ray and Peter both speak at the same time.

You huff and slide the bookmark back into your book before shutting it, pulling your legs off the desk and setting the book down before you rise up.

“It could be that he’s upset because of the gala.” Ray murmurs, more in Peter’s direction.

You pause halfway to the steps, turning your head back around.

“What gala?”

The two of them look at you like they’re a deer in the headlights.

“Whoops.” Ray grits his teeth.

“The gala at the Museum of Natural History? The one you guys got invited to? What about it?”

“You see, he was going to-” Peter starts talking, before Ray sends a fist to his gut from the side.

“Peter!”

“What?” He throws his hands up. “She’s gonna find out soon enough!”

Ray rolls his eyes and grumbles, looking away as Peter rubs the spot on his stomach before continuing.

“He was going to,” His voice lowered a few notches. “He was going to ask you to be his date. But I’m convinced he’s having some emotional conflict and mood swings because he doesn’t think you want to go with him.”

You stand there, in slight shock. “He told you this?” You perk a brow.

“He tells us a lot, kid.” Ray speaks up again, folding his arms once more and leaning against the desk with a slight tilt of his head.

“Of course, ‘bro-code’ or whatever. I get it. I’ll ask him about it-”

“NO!” They both stand swiftly.

“Why?” You stop again, at the bottom of the steps.

“That man will literally, and I mean literally, have our heads if he finds out we told you about that.” Peter pleads.

You go back and forth glaring at both of them, rolling your eyes before sighing.

“Fine, fine. I won’t ask about it.” You slowly start making your way up the steps to the next floor. “But please, give us some privacy. Do not eavesdrop.”

“That’s the spirit, go rub one out for your man!” Peter whoops, and you shake your head.

“You’re disgusting, Venkman.”

-

At the top of the steps, the soft music from a boombox on the kitchen table grows louder, and you spot Egon, with his back facing you. He’s at the corner workbench, hunched over a microscope.

You slowly approach, tugging your shirt sleeves over your hands and folding your arms. You admire him for a moment, how he’s so focused, his hands subtly turning the knobs of the machine to scope in on the slide he’s examining.

“Spengler,” You speak up, and Egon doesn’t even jump, he just murmurs your name in acknowledgement as he stays put in his hunched position.

“Are you doing alright?” You walk up to the bench, leaning against the corner, tilting your head slightly.

“Of course, why wouldn’t I be alright?” He speaks again, finally rising up and turning to scribble down some notes in a nearby open notebook.

“Just checking in..” You murmured defensively, approaching even further to stand next to him. “What are you working on?”

“Logging ectoplasm samples,” He turns back from the notebook, catching your gaze for a short moment before hunching back down over the microscope. “Could you help me put them into the system?”

Egon knows how much you genuinely enjoy assisting him in the lab, and you’ve told him to always ask if he wants help.. Or just wants some company.

“Can I see it first?” You motion to the microscope.

“Sure.” He nods, stepping back and giving you space to see the slide for yourself.

You step up to the microscope, squinting one eye so you can see into the scope. The plasm is moving on the slide, the cells wiggling ever so slightly. You stand alone for a moment, before you feel Egon’s hand come to gently rest on your waist.

“What can you see?” He asks, a bit softer.

“Well, it looks like it’s doing a little dance!” You giggle, still intrigued by the slime.

“It’s Psychomagnotheric, which means it responds to human emotional states around it. Positive and negative.”

“You must be pissed or something, cause it’s moving a lot-”

“Aaaand that’s enough of that.” You feel both of his hands on your waist now, pulling you back from the microscope.

“Maan, I was just kidding!” You pout, throwing your hands up and laughing.

“Grab the computer, please.” He shoos you away, and you put a hand up, shaking your head before you spin around and snatch the chunky laptop off the workbench across from you, turning and sliding into one of the swivel chairs at the table before opening the laptop. Egon slides over his open notebook, full of listings and observations of the slime you had looked at.

You immediately get to work putting in the notes into the logging system. You feel an itch in your head to bring up the gala.

“I heard that gala at the museum is in a few days. Are you going?” You ask. Start vague.

Egon freezes at the microscope, rising up to look at you.

“Are you?” He asks in return, not answering your question.

“That depends, are you?” You shoot back, perking a brow and pausing your typing.

You swear you see a slight tint of pink on Egon’s cheeks, as he shifts and leans against the workbench.

“I’ll go if you go.” He states as casually as possible, even though his discomfort is visible.

“I was gonna go if you went.” You shrug, trying to making it as relaxed as possible.

“We could go together.” He adds, his eyes not leaving yours.

You glance down at the computer for a brief moment before looking back up at him, taking your turn for the heat to creep up to your cheeks. You silently nod.

“Are you going to wear a tux?” You ask before your brain can stop you.

Egon tilts his head, a subtle smirk playing at his lips.

“Why? Does it matter to you?”

“No, no! I’m just.. curious. If it’s black tie, then I’m just.. just curious!”

“Curious.. right. Well, I don’t go to many social events, but perhaps I’ll make an exception and see what I can find.” He keeps his eyes on you, folding his arms across his chest- the smirk still stamped to his face.

An exception?

You nod. “Sounds good. We’ll go together.” You state again, setting it in stone- sending him a smirk of your own before looking back down at the computer, returning back to your work.

Egon eyes you for a few more seconds, noticing how the light of the desk lamp hit your face.. Jesus.

He quickly turned back to the microscope before he could get caught gawking over you, returning to the task at hand as well.

Both of you continued your work, and you were first to call it a night- around 2 AM. Egon’s hand brushed over yours as you handed him back his notebook, and he bid you goodnight- watching you walk away and disappear into the sleeping quarters.

Little did you know, he was sharing your same thoughts that night- imagining what the other was going to look like at the gala. But another thought teased your mind as you fell asleep.

If the slime reacted to positive and negative emotions from humans..

What else would it react to?

-

<3

[urmom-richietozier1]

What if Melody turned human instead of moving on?

Phoebe spengler x Melody

Headcanons if Melody became a ghost.

●it took around 4 months until phoebe asked melody out.

●but before that she had to come out to her mum, Gary and Trevor.

●when she did come out to them they supported (I wish my parents supported me when I came out)

●When they did get together they would spend every night together in bed cuddling

●Melody is 100% the big spoon and Phoebe is the little spoon.

●IT makes phoebe feel as if the weight is off her shoulders when she's the little spoon.

●Like she doesn't have to be in control.

●In the day time while phoebe wasn't out ghostbusting they would go and play chess if it was nice weather. But if it was so windy or wet or cold to go out they would just say at home and watch movies.

●they would most likely watch ghost movies and both of them complain how fake it is.

●Trevor would probs make fun of phoebe (as a joke obviously) but if lucky was there he would get a wack on the back if the head. If it was just him then melody probs threatened him