#egon simp

[gallwithapall]

Pretty science man pretty science man

[attemptingwriter]

Dr. Egon Spengler x Reader: Migraine

Egon glanced at his watch, frowning at the time and glanced at the door. It was 5:45. Almost three hours since (Y/N) was supposed to meet Egon in his lab.

It had become a daily occurrence for (Y/N) to accompany Egon in the lab at 3:00 precisely. Some days he had them helping with the experiments and some days he just enjoyed their company.

It was unusual for them to not show up with saying anything.

The door to lab opened and Egon nearly jumped out of his chair. Upon seeing Venkman, he couldn't hide the disappointment on his face.

"Yeah, yeah. Sorry I'm not (Y/N). Who you should probably check on by the way. They haven't left their room since they went to bed last night." Peter said, hopping up on his table.

Choosing to ignore Peter's disrespect for his lab, Egon focused on his words instead. "What do you mean they haven't left their room?"

"Exactly that. They went to bed last night and never came out. They even yelled at Ray and I when we went to check on them."

"And you didn't think to tell me earlier?" Egon pushed himself out of his chair and left the lab, not bothering to wait for a response.

Egon made his way through the firehouse and stopped in front of (Y/N)'s door. Taking a deep breath, he knocked on the door.

"Go away, Peter!" (Y/N) called back.

"It's Egon. May I come in?"

It was silent for a moment before he heard a soft "Yeah."

He entered (Y/N)'s room and immediately noticed the light was turned off. Despite that, he could clearly see (Y/N) laying under the covers with a washcloth on their head.

"Leave the light off, will you please?" (Y/N)'s voice was softer and Egon could hear the pain in it now that he was closer.

"Are you alright?" He asked, walking to their bed.

"Just a migraine. Been trying to sleep it off but it hasn't been working." (Y/N) grabbed the washcloth and flipped it over.

Egon opened his mouth to offer a solution but before he could (Y/N) cut him off.

"And don't tell me to drink water. I've been doing that already." They pointed to their nightstand.

Egon followed their finger and saw numerous glasses, some empty and some half filled with water.

"Well is there anything I can do to help? I was quite worried when you didn't come down like you always do."

(Y/N) bit their tongue, thinking. They didn't think he'd noticed if they missed one day. "Will.. Will you hold me?"

Egon smiled. "Of course." He slipped off his lab coat, tie, shoes and belt and climbed under the covers with (Y/N). He pulled them onto his chest, one hand on their back, the other gently rubbing the back off their head.

"Thank you." (Y/N) said, drifting off to sleep.

"Anytime."

[weed-gummy]

Creds to @itshabit this 😭😭

[claireywestside-blog]

The love I have for this man 🥰

[nixerell]

I love him

[cassiejane-writes]

Call Me Ari

Fandom: Ghostbusters

Pairing: Egon Spengler x OC (platonic)

Word Count: 2,390

A/N: Boy, I’m terrified to post any OC content, so take it easy on me, please. I’m excited to introduce you all to my character, though! I hope you enjoy this as much as I enjoyed writing this🧪💚

“Hello, may I help you?”

A flat, nasally voice spoke from behind a magazine, not bothering to look beyond the pages at the person standing before her. Janine Melnitz heard the footsteps shuffle toward the front desk, but found the article before her to be much more intriguing than whatever frantic sob story the next customer was likely to have. After a while, the descriptions of the ghosts, ghouls and things that went bump in the night stopped fazing the woman, and her level-headedness told the customers that it really wasn’t as big of a deal as they thought. Anticipating another freak-out from the person before her, Janine held her breath.

“Hello. I’m looking to apply for a job. If you’re hiring- that is,” another female voice spoke, maintaining a subtle and professional composure until the end. The second sentence faltered a bit, as though the person realized the boldness of their initial statement and had to curtail themselves. Janine paused, eyes narrowing behind her glasses and peering over the top of the magazine. A woman… come to apply for a job?

The woman in question was standing stock still, with dark brown eyes focused directly back at Janine. She was thin, and looked even thinner in the large clothing she wore: a belted pair of jeans and a black turtleneck, swallowed by a draping grey cardigan that hung over her hands, just barely showing her fingers that fidgeted restlessly in front of her. Her skin was rather pale, and her cropped brown hair fell in layers. At first glance, Janine would’ve said it was disheveled, but the assorted bobby pins across the woman’s bangs gave her the impression that at least the woman tried.

“Do you believe in UFOs, astral projections, mental telepathy, ESP, clairvoyance, spirit photography, telekinetic movement, full trance mediums, the Loch Ness monster and the theory of Atlantis?” Janine slowly placed her magazine down, one eyebrow quirking at the rather unextraordinary woman. Her voice was monotone, as though this were a spiel she gave more than once a day.

“Oh, actually-”

“In addition,” Janine cut the young woman off, “Can you lift loads upwards of 20 pounds?”

The woman, whose lips had parted to finish her halted statement, gazed downward, before drawing in a deep breath. Janine waited, watching the young woman prepare her self-defense.

“Actually, I’m looking for a position in your laboratories,” she said half-apologetically.

“I am willing, however, to accept all of those notions with proper evidence.”

Janine paused again, hung on the woman’s request. A job in the laboratories? She almost scoffed at the idea, thinking of the man who ran them. An independent and aloof man, who would sooner blow up a city street than take in a lab assistant (a concept based in true fact, considering there were no lab assistants but one such avenue still repairing damages).

“Oh,” Janine began, leaning forward to look up at the woman through her pink-rimmed glasses.

“Our laboratories aren’t generally hiring, but I can place the call up to the Doctor for an interview.”

The woman seemed to perk up at that, the corners of her lips twitching upward. An interview was more than she’d gotten at three other laboratories, and those were not nearly as fascinating as the Ghostbusters’ supernatural and etherically-focused research.

“I’d greatly appreciate that, Miss…” the woman glanced down at the tag on the desk, her smile growing slightly bigger. “Miss Melnitz.”

Janine picked up the phone and placed it to her ear, hovering a finger over the rotary.

“It’s no problem, but I’ll warn ya. Don’t take it personal if you’re not hired, hun. He’s really choosy with people in the lab; even the other Ghostbusters aren’t allowed in half the time.”

She watched as the young woman’s smile fell slightly, the nerves going straight to her fingers as she continued to fidget with the sleeves of her cardigan, bracing for the worst.

“There’s someone here for an interview… A lab interview… Well, I’ll ask her…Yes, her.”

Janine sighed and looked at the woman, pursing her glossed lips in a puckered frown.

“What’s your name?”

— — —

This was it. This was when real first impressions were made. The way one says their name, their credentials, and their intentions makes all the difference. The sting of rejections from the past research laboratories had dimmed her spark, but this was further than she’d gotten before, and this was Arielle Maitland’s chance to secure the most fascinating job in the city.

“Arielle Maitland,” she said firmly to the woman at the desk, her smile returning slightly.

There were seemingly hundreds of thoughts speeding through Arielle’s mind at that moment, fighting for her attention and anxiety.

Don’t look nervous, even though you are.

Tell them about your research.

Focus on your accolades.

Ms. Melnitz is judging so harshly, that I can feel her eyes slicing through me.

You should’ve brought a resume.

Don’t tell them about the ghost in your closet that you befriended.

“What school did you graduate from?”

Arielle felt her thoughts pause with a mental record scratch, drawing her attention back to the woman at the desk.

“New York University. Class of 1982.”

As Ms. Melnitz repeated her words into the telephone, an almost puzzled look crossed her face.

“Well, yes, I suppose it’s her. Shall I send her up?”

Arielle hadn’t the faintest idea what that interaction could’ve meant, but Ms. Melnitz seemed surprised and offered to send her to the laboratory, so she could only hope it meant something positive. The twist of anticipation in her stomach seemed to grow as she bit her lips inward, glancing hopefully at the staircase and then back to the secretary.

“Mhm. She’ll be right up,” Ms. Melnitz confirmed before hanging the phone back on its hook. She drew in another deep breath before gesturing to the staircase.

“Dr. Spengler will see you. Up the stairs, to the right and all the way down. His name is on the door, you can’t miss it. I wish you luck, Ms. Maitland.”

“Thank you, Miss Melnitz,” Arielle replied, almost breathless as she hurried to the staircase and took her first steps up.

“But remember-” Janine spoke up, swiveling her chair to look at her. “Don’t take it all personal.”

Arielle felt the punch of nerves hit her again as she nodded solemnly to the woman and proceeded up the rest of the stairs. It was quieter than she’d anticipated the Ghostbusters headquarters to be, though she could only assume that to mean that they were out on business. Was their laboratory researcher not a Ghostbuster, then? Ms. Melnitz had said he didn’t let ‘the other Ghostbusters’ inside, which implied that he himself was a Ghostbuster. Dr. Spengler… Arielle fought to remember which of the men had that nametag on their uniform. She had an inkling, but couldn’t be sure in thought alone.

She rapped lightly on the closed laboratory door, shifting nervously on the balls of her feet. Behind the obscured glass doors, she could hear the shuffle of papers, and then of a desk chair. The open and close of a file cabinet, and then the sound of a man clearing his throat before speaking.

“Come in.”

This was it, for the second time. The real first impression, the real selling point. If she could prove her scientific and professional prowess to Dr. Spengler, she may just secure a paying job that wasn’t tutoring failing middle school students.

Focus on your accolades and research.

Don’t talk about the ghost you befriended.

Arielle Maitland gingerly opened the door and stepped into the lab, taking a moment to glance around. It wasn’t a very large laboratory, but it was well organized and well-lit, with assorted scientific diagrams on the walls and a bookshelf of journals, textbooks and guides lined neatly in one corner. And, sitting at the main desk was a thin man with a long, slender nose and rounded glasses perched on the bridge. His hair seemed to defy laws of physics, standing atop his head in light waves that seemed untouched by products. Arielle had to wonder if some kind of electric shock produced a style like that. He wore a white lab coat and drummed his fingers mindlessly against the edge of the table.

“Arielle Maitland?”

His voice was deep and bore no hint of emotion. As Arielle looked down at him, she could gather no hint of intrigue, dismissal, or otherwise identifiable emotion. She proceeded with caution, measuring each word carefully as she spoke.

“Yes. Hello, Dr. Spengler. Miss Melnitz sent me.”

Dr. Spengler let out a low hum, reaching for a journal at the corner of his desk and rifling through the pages. Ari drew in a silent breath before pressing forward.

“As she said, I’m interested in applying for a position here in the- your laboratory. I hold a degree in chemical engineering and cosmology from NYU, with a minor in psychology. I’ve worked-”

“Researching spectroscopy of historical landmarks and denoting psychological shifts of visitors, in comparison with newly built architecture,” Dr. Spengler finished, reading from the page he’d just found in his book.

“An interesting concept, it almost lends itself to studies of parapsychology. Though your samples didn’t go before the 18th century and avoided religious locations.”

Arielle Maitland was floored. Her senior research was being read back to her, scrutinized and even half-complimented, by a Ghostbuster. She wasn’t even sure if her own parents had made it through the published research, let alone anyone else. And yet, Dr. Spengler was drumming his fingers along the page, humming lowly as he read over her published work with narrowed, dark eyes.

“Well- pre-revolutionary sites are harder to come by in the New York as visitor locations, and I wanted to keep my research in line with non-rural areas. In addition, the research of historical religious sites may have influenced the variable psychology and verity of the interview subjects, regardless of spectroscopy. And, while I admit there are hints to parapsychology in theory, I’m afraid NYU would’ve never recognized that as a viable area of study.”

Dr. Spengler turned from his chair and stood up, slowly approaching Arielle. His looming shadow over her brought her attention to his height, and how significantly taller he was than her. His brows were furrowed as he looked down at her, studying her facial expression (which she knew, at that moment, must have been a thinly veiled look of pure anxiousness) and body language. Her back arched as she looked up, taking a cautious step back.

You blew it. You talked back and you blew it. Take the criticism and accept your failure, Ari. Don’t. Talk. Back.

“Convincing institutions is like pleading with a brick wall,” he muttered. “In the realm of parapsychology and ethereal-plane chemistry, religious sites are home to some of the most potent readings and samples in the field.”

Arielle blinked silently at him, lowering her head so as to not crane her neck toward his face. In a flash, he turned around, swiping the book off of his desk and speaking again.

“But I commend you, the NYU Scientific Journal is a competitive research publication, and mixed psychological-chemistry research is rare. From a student, no less.”

“Th-thank you, Dr. Spengler. I appreciate that you’ve read my research.” Arielle half-whispered her response, airing on the side of caution. His tone still bore no indication of where his thought process was, and whether or not she rested on the precipice of a job offer or another miserable rejection.

“I read the research that’s worth reading,” he replied, closing the journal and filing it back on the shelf. For the first time, Ari could sense a shift in his voice. Though she could no longer see his face, she could almost feel the hint of a smile in his words. She knew not to be so bold as to take it as a sign, but it did make her wonder… If he thought her research was worth reading, would she be worth hiring?

“Having a broad perspective and proper research is important, especially in this industry.”

Arielle rocked on her heels a couple of times, growing slightly more confident in the path Dr. Spengler was taking with his words. Perhaps, a slightly bolder and self-assured approach was warranted. Her tone brightened as she half-smiled at the doctor’s back.

“Well, I believe I have both; an open mind, but scientifically driven toward empirical evidence.”

“Your research speaks as evidence, Ms. Maitland.” Dr. Spengler took a pause before turning back to face her. Then, she could see the corners of his lips upturned, in a slightly anticipatory smile.

“I’ll look forward to seeing the research in this laboratory.”

Arielle let out a breath that she hadn’t realized she’d been holding, in a surprised half-laugh. He was offering her a job at the Ghostbusters lab, even anticipating working with her. Her eyebrows raised in pleasant shock, and her freckled face broke into a wider grin than she’d had in a very long time.

“Thank you, Dr. Spengler. Thanks. I- I thoroughly look forward to it as well. There’s a lot to be discovered, and I can’t wait to-”

For a moment, she stumbled, fighting for a professional phrase but coming up empty. With an apologetic laugh and an embarrassingly red flush to her face, she pressed on. “To discover it.”

She held out a hand for Dr. Spengler to shake, only to find it hanging awkwardly in the air, half-covered by her cardigan. For a brief moment, she locked eyes with him, her face growing even deeper in color as she slowly went to lower her hand. As her fingers recoiled with another guilty glance to the ground, she felt the man’s thin fingers grasp around her hand, firmly shaking it. Her head jerked up with surprise, meeting his dark eyes once more.

Dr. Egon Spengler had a smile, a full smile, painted across his face now as he looked at his new lab assistant and research partner, Arielle Maitland.

“I’ll see you tomorrow, Arielle.”

Ari grinned widely back at the man and nodded as she shook his hand. She stepped back toward the door, placing one foot out before turning back and offering one last tip to her new boss.

“Please, call me Ari.”

[egonspenglerishot]

Egon with a reader who is buff???? I wanna pick up this man and chuck him around Istg-

He’s scared

Egon Spengler x buff!reader

Warnings: swearing

“You work out?”

You hummed as you fiddled with your baggy shirt. You always wore baggy, none form fitting clothes. You were helping Egon in the library waiting for Ray and Peter. Of course once they arrived things kicked off and you had to contain laughter when Peter got the ectoplasmic residue in his eye, jokes aside you followed Egon as rolled your eyes at Peter’s remarks. You’d been with these guys since day one back in college. And yet they didn’t know everything about you.

After Ray tried (and failed) to touch the spirit you all ran from the library. You walked with Egon as he calculated the results and finally told his peers that they may be able to capture and hold a ghost. Of course you were just excited as Ray and Egon, even peter was showing some excitement.

Fast forward to the first night at the firehouse and you were dressed in a tank top and combat trousers. You heard the door for the Chinese and headed to the dining/kitchen area, Egon nearly choked on his water seeing you “You work out?” You looked at him confused but smiled and nodded “course I do! If I’m going to be working within the parapsychology field I need to be able to handle myself, specially now I’m a ghost buster” you winked and hummed as you all began to eat.

As Janine yelled out and pressed the bell a grin spread across your face and you were the first down the pole and into your jumpsuit. As you set of to the hotel you felt Egons eyes on you still. His gave a look of good lord I want this woman to carry me.

[dragon-watcher03]

Egon Spengler.

That's it. That's the blog.

[tinyvesselhearts]

Thing Is (Protective Egon x You)

It’s a part of a slightly larger collection of one-shots but I’m pretty proud of this one so here it comes:

Egon x Reader/You No Y/N Rating: Teen and Up Audiences (minor injuries)

Thing is, he’s become too observant.

Egon knows you come to the station around 10 A.M. There’s no jumpsuits, car or equipment to maintain so you start with the kitchen. It’s not exactly a part of your duties: the guys are fully capable of washing their own, especially since they barely eat in. Yes, okay— he’ll agree none of them is a dishwashing phenomenon and they hardly ever manage to finish breakfast before their first call— but you can just leave the plates there and nobody would bat an eye.

You do it though. Without a word.

On Tuesday, while showing you monochromic ectoplasm bonds Type IV (Egon prompts it himself these days, no bribe included), he notices the skin on your hands is chapped. He knows you work with nasty chemicals while taking care of Ecto- 1 but you’ve always worn latex gloves— he’s seen them hanging on the heater, next to whichever colorful apron you chose for the day. The only time you work with your bare hands is while cleaning the kitchen. Wiping the counters. Scrubbing the sink.

You’re busy looking at the molecules of Type IV, while he does some research on what he calls The Collective. The sight of your dry fingers keeps nagging him though— there’s no way a simple detergent affects the cells so much— so after replaying all possible scenarios in his head, he can’t take it anymore. He pauses.

“You don’t have to do the dishes”, he states out of the blue. “You know that, right?”

 “Mhm.”

“Why, then?”

You swivel in your chair and look at him.

“I mean, why not? It’s like 20 minutes, tops. You come back to a tidy home and it costs me nothing.”

But it does cost you your hands, he wants to say. There’s no way it doesn’t sound creepy though, even by his standards, so he just acknowledges that with a hum and a thank you. Arguing is pointless. You’ll do whatever you want anyway. He’s not even here to make sure you take care of yourself while on duty.

What he does, however, is wait till the evening and inspect what that low- budget detergent is made of. He’s quick to spot the culprits. It’s a nasty fragrant and the artificial dye. No wonder your skin is irritated. That thing would be harmless if, instead of using your hands, you scrubbed the plates with a metal rod as a part of your morning routine.

Egon buys a new liquid— top shelf this time— and adds some stuff of his own. Some softeners. A nice scent. He pours it into the old bottle so that you don’t think twice. Just a precaution. In case you realized it wasn’t your soap and look for that terrible, skin- devouring slime. He places it near the tap. Then waits.

Over the following weeks he’ll diligently observe how your skin gets better every time you come down to the lab. He’ll see the rough edges get smooth. Fractured knuckles seal shut. Nails regain their shine.

He’ll notice how gentle your fingers are when you secure his slides under microscopic lens.

👻

On this particular Thursday everything goes wrong.

There’s a Class 2 Free- Floating Vapor who’s wildly attracted to funky shapes and vivid hues. It’s the ethereal kind: one whose molecular structure fluctuates. He pries on wallpapers, bedsheet and clothes, tears them up and snugs like an unhinged puppy. Catching him is comparable to squeezing slippery soap. What complicates things even more is that Peter has a clumsy day so even though they manage to trap the ghost, it slips out at the station because somebody forgot to follow a few basic safety tips. Cool. It’s all cool.

Egon knocks at the laundry room’s door. He enters. You’re inside, hanging freshly washed suits.

“We’ve got a situation”, he informs. “Please, wait in here for a few minutes.”

“Oh? You guys need help?”

“We’ll handle this. Venkman let the vapor out. It’s nothing.”

“Oh. Okay.” You straighten up and smooth your apron (it’s the yellow one, embroidered with bees— you wear it when you feel especially joyful and of course it’s got to be today). “I can help, if—”

“No. It’s all under relative control. Don’t worry about it.”

He waits for you to nod, then steps out and closes the door. Relative. Great phrasing, Doctor Spengler.

He powers up the proton pack. The faster they get rid of the ghost, the better. You won’t have time to get creative.

Peter’s pressing a gauze to his nose. It’s bleeding. Not from within though, looks like a cut and that’s relevant: if the vapor is capable of transferring molecules and strengthen bonds within different body parts at will, it could thicken its limbs enough to cause physical harm to humans. Class 2 are rarely aggressive— annoying, yes, destructive as well— but they aren’t interested in manhunt. Maybe this one’s been triggered enough to choose attack for defense.

“Who’s got the trap?”

“I do!” Winston kicks the pedal. “The stream won’t hold long enough though!”

Ray’s standing at the other side of the room, protecting their dear vehicle.

“We should stream it together from different angles! It won’t be able to wiggle out! Let’s try that and move him towards the trap in sync!”

“Baby, you’re lucky I’m a terrific dancer”, says Peter and aims at the ghost.

Egon assesses the situation. The vapor stays too close to the reception for their benefit— the massive wooden desk is going to be a great shield for the specter if they aren’t precise enough. The deeper they go within the station, the more damage they’ll cause. That’s not worth it. Too much precious stuff to risk.

They could try a bait. They’ll have to find some red herring and place it far away: ideally, further into the garage, near the door. Lots of space, no hiding spots. Relative damage control. Cheap repairs. No casualties, either.

He notices Janine’s scarf hanging over her chair: conspicuous, extravagant and frilled, covered in a cheetah pattern. A perfect lure for the ghost. It’s still Janine’s— and she’s upstairs, taking cover in Tully’s office— and once it’s all over she’ll absolutely hate them for destroying her garment. She’d cut their ears off for it, if she could. Luckily, she’s too small for that. Radical.

“Yo! How can I help you, boys?”

For the Mother of—

Egon turns his head. It’s you— standing right at the door in that silly, yellow apron— because of course you are. Hell, you’re an embodiment of what a perfect live bait looks like in this scenario. However, your position (from the strategic point of view) is the absolute worst. You should either take off that apron immediately or move away— and move fast.

“Gear up!” Winston shouts to you. “He’s actually dangerous! Scratched Peter in the face!”

“Guess I was just too pretty!”

The vapor dashes in your direction. It’s quick. You grunt, try to dodge and fail miserably: its slimy claws reach your neck and graze your shirt in a failed attempt to rip off the perky apron. You growl and crouch before Ray chases the ghost off with a stream.

“Ah. Funk. Shite.”, you grunt. “I’ll get the proton pack!”

Egon can’t fucking believe it.

He eases down the proton rod and appears in front of you in a few long strides. No questions, no warning, he picks you up and throws you over his shoulder like a sack— then proceeds to literally carry you away from the scene.

“What the heck?!” You yelp. “Let me go!”

“Over my dead body.”

Ray and Winston struggle to aim, Peter does more talking than shooting— as usual— so the vapor dissipates and the streams slide off of its ethereal body. The moment isn’t ideal for being a knight in the shining armor but it’s as good as any. Your safety is more important than a burned wall or Peter’s personal opinion (he surely has one— he saw you two— he did a double take).

All of that is irrelevant. What matters though, is that Egon is aware.

You’re close. Locks brush against his ear and your breath is hot on the nape of his neck. The air tingles his tiny hairs. It tickles, it’s distracting and he tenses up, fingers finding their way into your hair. Then, the scent of soap he planted for you reaches his nostrils— and it’s good, it means you’re taken care of. Your hands clutch his jumpsuit— on his shoulder blades, on his chest— and pull at his damp undershirt just because it’s there, right underneath, warm and soaked with sweat.

You’re holding on to him for dear life. You’re around him, everywhere, all at once and it takes every ounce of his willpower to stay focused.

He lets you go in the far corner of the garage. You slide off. Your numb hands linger on his patch and under his collar. Eyes lock.

For a split second he fights an urge to lean in— to press his forehead to yours, to feel you’re right there, safe, away from danger. He almost does. Then he sees blood on your collarbone and his face turns stark.

“What’s that?”

“Um”, you look downwards and tap the stain with your finger. “I don’t know.”

“He scratched you.”

“ I mean, it doesn’t hurt now, so—”

“He scratched you.”

Something within him shifts. He’s all fire and smoke, jaw set, breath hot, eyes sharp and unrelenting. His fists clench, knuckles whiten, a wave of heat reaches his ears— and in this moment he barely recognizes himself.

“Egon…?”

“Winston!” He yells. “Set the trap!”

Your hands grab his sleeve but the grasp is weak, unsure— as if you wanted to anchor him before he does something stupid. Egon vaguely registers that. The fabric slips away from your grip and he strides away, gaze fixated on the ghost. He supports the proton gun on his arm and aims.

Ray picks up on this change of demeanor immediately.

“Ho, someone’s pissed!” He chants. “We’re shooting on three!”

Peter seems to come round as well. He tosses the bloody gauze on the floor (the wound he got is a sleek, clean line, it doesn’t seem deep) and clenches his teeth.

“You envied my pretty face, huh?”

What happens next is difficult to put in the correct order. There’s a loud shriek, a flash of streams coming from at least three proton packs, a loud zap and a warm glow. There’s also a burnt smudge on the ceiling, stretching all the way from garage door to the reception desk, an armchair on the first floor that’s set of fire and — for some inexplicable reason— two bulbs have just exploded.

Janine and Louis run out of the office. Everybody’s quiet. Thick smoke comes from the trap and the air is still until the red light on it switches on.

“…It’s inside.” Winston sighs. “Are you guys okay?”

Ray does a one over. The overall damage is considerable but Janine’s already prancing around the armchair with an extinguisher and the ceiling— well, it’s not like any client ever pays attention to the ceiling, right?— so everything’s taken care of. Peter extends a thumb in a weak attempt to show it is, in fact, alright.

“Yeah. I’ll go get changed. More than enough for today.”

Egon turns his head towards you. You’re still standing right where he put you: far away from the scene, unsure and anxious. His head is still burning. How stupid of you, how reckless not to listen to his request— how much unnecessary stress, how much disaster— what an idiotic move to ignore an explicit warning—

Ray is a perceptive guy.

“I’ll handle the trap”, he says and leaves the garage first.

👻

You take off the apron, blood splatter tainting a bee you embroidered yourself.

“…Oh. I doubt it’ll come off.”

Egon lets you into his lab and closes the door.

“It will”, he assures you. “Here, change. I won’t look.”

“Thank you.”

He lets you swap your ripped shirt for one of his sweaters while he skims over the first aid kit. There must be some ectoplasmic residue around the gash. If he gets a good quality sample, he could run a few tests and see how the molecular transfer works in reference to changing the ghost’s state of matter. It’s a first. If they could figure it out, that would be a real breakthrough.

“I’m, uh. I’m decent.”

Egon picks up a petri dish, a bottle of antiseptic spray and some gauze pads. He sits in a chair right in front of you, rolls up his sleeves and leans over to inspect the wound.

A long red line runs over your collarbone, up to your neck. It’s fresh, red splatters specked across your throat and chest but despite the impact, it doesn’t seem dangerous. He’s relieved to see the other end of the scratch— it’s right above your chest. The hem of his sweater hangs a little loose on you, allowing easy access. Thank God for small mercies.

The light is dim. It’s the blue glow he uses when he needs to focus. Crisp air wraps around him like a blanket. Drawers and tools are outlined by its faint radiance, particles of dust only fleeting in proximity— the specks move slowly, lazily, as if they had the whole time in the world.

Egon takes his time as well. He disinfects his hands, picks up a cotton stick and leans into your personal space.  Your body radiates with heat. He chooses not to think about it: instead, he works around the wound and collect samples. The tip gathers some of the ectoplasm left by the attack. He’s careful to avoid pressing against the slit— only prods at its edges, makes sure none of the cotton fibers get into your wound. Fingers brush against your neck. Your skin is warm.

You look up.

“Are you mad at me?”

“I don’t know what I am at you”, he exhales, then puts away the sample. He takes a scrap of gauze and soaks it with spirits. “It may sting.”

The cloth touches your skin. It’s cold and it burns.

“Eesh. Oof.” You nod. “Yeah, that’s the feeling.”

“Familiar?”

“Ah. Scout camps. We’d get a lot of these. Scraping your way through the woods and all that.”

Egon frowns, meeting your gaze.

“Weren’t your uniforms designed to protect you from those?”

“A cotton button- down skirt? Knee- length? Seriously.”

“…Okay, I can see your point”, he snorts— and you chuckle too, glint in your eyes — and it’s warm in his chest.

He cleans the gash way longer than necessary. Your skin seems so fragile up close. Drops of liquid sanitizer glide against it, guiding him through the task. He runs over them with gentle pads again and again, smearing the antiseptic into an even coat. Delicate swipes leave smudges, which’s irregular lines shapes gleam on your skin. The wound looks a little better. It’s a cue. He doesn’t stop.

“Egon, I’d like to thank you for all of this”, you almost whisper. “I know I screwed up. I’m terribly sorry. I should have been wiser and stay where I was told.”

He frowns. He was mad at you before you came down to the lab. He should still be mad at you but hormones are like tides— they rise and retract, they take over, then dissipate— and he’s just not feeling it anymore.

“We’re good”, he murmurs. “I’ve neglected the issue myself. I should teach you how to use our equipment. Accidents will happen. It’s imperative you’re capable of defending yourself.”

“You’re the experts though. I keep forgetting my place.”

“You’re not bound to a place. You’re a person, not a pet.”

There’s a slight swift in your expression. He doesn’t look— doesn’t dare, really, his demeanor is all too bothering— but your whole body relaxes, as if dead weight just fell off your chest.

“It’s been a long day but at least you got the sample, right? A silver lining?”

Egon looks at you. He’s met with a smirk but— heck, it must be the adrenaline residue or some unusual distress (he’s gotten considerably better at reading your emotions as of late)— he can’t interpret whether you’re being honest or sarcastic. Thin ice. Better make sure.

“Um. Was it wrong of me?”

“Silly”, you let out a laugh. “Not at all. I’m glad, as stupid as it sounds.”

He shivers but manages a smile. It’s chemistry or biology, one of the two. Ridiculous.

Both of you fall into comfortable silence. He finishes patching you up, while you’re just sitting there, looking over the lab. Your neck is close. Breaths mingle. It’s soft and warm. He could stay like that for the rest of the evening but there’s only so much proximity he can go away with (or handle) at once so he leans back.

“That’s all. Keep it dry. Clean in again before you go to bed.”

“Thanks. I’ll go put your jumpsuits in the laundry.”

“Yes.”

He raises from the chair but feels a grasp on his hand. He looks at you and freezes. You seem to purposefully avoid his gaze but dare to lift his fingers to your lips in a gentle motion. He’s not prepared for this. His mind is blank. He—

“No. I mean it”, you press your cheek into his knuckles, eyes squeezed shut. “Thank you for taking care of me, Egon. I owe you again. At this rate, I’d better start paying it off or I’m going to be in debt for a long time, huh?”

No, he wants to say. You owe me nothing, but he can’t utter a word so he watches you stand up, offer a smile and leave, snugly wrapped in his sweater.

There are some noises upstairs. They’re foggy. Later, he’ll be pretty sure Ray called his name at some point but the only thing he registers tonight is loud white noise, an ache in his ribs and warmth in his temple. He carries it to the kitchen, where he eats eggs for supper— then bathroom, where he takes a long shower— then his bed when he goes to sleep. He leaves his flip- flops on the floor but the feeling slides with him under the covers.

It’s late. It should go away, dissipate, but it doesn’t. He counts sheep, tries meditating and stretches every breath to ridiculous extends. It doesn’t help though: it’s still there, strong, unrelenting, it keeps him awake for at least two more hours.

He’s not stupid. He recognizes the symptoms.

He just doesn’t recall struggling with them so damn much.

_____

For those who have already read it: SORRY for posting it again, I just wanted to make it easier for people who exclusively use Tumblr to get to know this piece of fanfiction ;__; Have a great day, thanks for putting up with my antics, I LOVE YOU ALL

[attemptingwriter]

Doctor Egon Spengler x Reader

Red String of Fate

A red string tied around your pinkies connects you to your soulmate

I followed Janine down the street to the firehouse where she and her friends made their business.

"Oh honey, you are gonna love my friends." She paused. "Most of them. Ray and Egon are real sweethearts even if Egon is more in the reserved side. Peter is a big flirt and Winston can be too but he has more restraint."

I smiled. "I'm really excited to meet them. They sound like great people."

We rounded the corner and walked into the building. I felt something tug at my pinky. Looking down I saw the red string start to faintly appear.

"Janine!" I called, reaching out to grab her hand.

She followed my eyes and gasped. The red string extended from finger, leading towards one of the doors before disappearing.

"One of the guys has got to be your soulmate! I'll call them over!" Janine skipped over to her desk where she called for her friends.

We waited about five minutes before three men entered the lobby from different directions.

"Who's this Janine?" A young man with fluffy brown hair asked, smiling.

"Guys, this is my sister (Y/N). (Y/N) this is Ray," She pointed at the man who spoke. "Peter and Winston." The guys waved hello as Janine looked around.

"Where's Egon?"

"He's down in his lab. Said he had 'important work to attend too'." Peter said, rolling his eyes.

Janine sighed. "Of course. Well, you can meet him later. How bout a tour?"

"That sounds great!" I clapped my hands in excitement.

The guys and Janine lead me deeper into the firehouse, explaining what they did and how it worked. As we entered into the main room, I could feel the red string tugging ever so slightly. Looking down, I saw it had grown clearer and brighter, leading to a staircase.

I glanced over at the group, watching as they walked off without me. I decided to follow the string and head down the stairs.

"Oh, (Y/N)! Wait!" Ray called out.

Janine looked over and saw I was heading downstairs. "Ray, leave her be. She's following her string!"

I heard Janine start to jump up and down but I ignored them.

I followed the string down the hallway before coming to a stop in front of a steel door.

It had "Do Not Disturb" and "Go Away" signs plastered all over. The red string was fully visible and glowing as I stood outside the door.

"What are you waiting for?"

I jumped and looked back. Janine, Peter, Ray and Winston had followed me down.

I pointed at the signs. "I don't want to disturb him."

Peter walked in front of me. "Well, I do. He's got to meet his soulmate." With that, Peter opened the door and walked in.

Egon, as I had come to learn, was hunched over a microscope, writing down notes in the journal next to him. At the sound of the door opening, he looked up, glaring at the intruders.

"Didn't I tell you I have important business to attend to? And that I'm not to be disturbed?"

"Well, yeah but Janine brought over her sister for us to meet." Ray said, pointing at me.

Egon didn't bother to glance at me. I, however, couldn't stop staring. He was handsome with his thin, round glasses that sat upon his nose and his lab coat.

"I told you I would come meet her when I was finished. I am not finished and now that you've interrupted me, I will be taking longer. So kindly leave." Egon pointed to the door and turned back to his microscope.

I tried not to let his attitude affect me as Janine had told me he acted this way towards everyone, but it did sting a little.

"Well, I think she takes top priority. Take a look at your hand." Peter said as he pushed me towards him.

I could feel my heart pounding in my chest as Egon lifted his eyes from the microscope. He glanced at me before glancing at his hand. His eyes widened as he noticed the red string connecting our hands. Egon stood from his chair and walked over to me.

"I-I'm sorry. I'm Egon." His eyes met mine and he held his hand out for me to shake.

I smiled at him and shook his hand. "I'm (Y/N). It's a pleasure to meet you."

Egon smiled back, seeming to relax. "Likewise. Would you be interested in going on a date with me? I'd love to get to know you more."

I nodded. "I'd love to!"

"Great." He looked back at his work then back at me. "I should be done within an hour or two if you'd like to get dinner tonight?"

"That would be perfect. I'll be hanging around here with Janine so feel free to come find me when your done."

Egon nodded, a smile gracing his face.

Feeling brave, I stood on my tip toes and pressed a kiss to his cheek.

"I'll see you later!" I waved goodbye as I left his lab. I could hear Janine laughing as she followed after me.

This would be the best date ever.

[weed-gummy]

Why do I do this to myself

[claireywestside-blog]

I wonder who Callie’s mum was and who Egon made sweet, nerdy love to.

Ugh I love him.

Underneath those sweater vests he was a low key hunk though. Look at those biceps 💪

[egon-slayngler]

One of my favorite things in life is getting in arguments with grown ass men at my work about ghostbusters 😍