tinyvesselhearts - Tumblr blog

tinyvesselhearts · 9 months

Text

(Egon x You) Thing Is: Chapter 12

“Oh, shit. It’s the Mayor.”

Your eyes snap open.

You sit up in an instant, hypervigilant, surrounded by dust particles lit by soft sunlight. It takes a minute before you realize that everything’s actually okay. The sheets are a crumpled ball of warmth, the sun seeps in through the window. It’s the station again, the sightly ashy ceiling and the familiar siren wailing from downstairs. All you remember from yesterday are scraps: an emotion, a fear, an ache. And yet, here you are— safe, dressed in your own pajamas, all alone in Egon’s bed. No reason to panic. No reason at all.

Your heart’s still racing. Breaths are heavy. Something’s changed, something’s off. You can’t put your finger on it and that’s enough to take your peace away.

You lay back down. Bury your face in the pillow. It’s fine, it’s alright. Maybe you’re experiencing some ghostly haziness— it’s not like you’re taken over by an ethereal alien every day, after all. A quick nap should iron it out. Just a few more minutes and you’ll be as good as new. They boys will understand. Just this once…

You’re just about to drift away when familiar blurry silhouette approaches your cot.

“Thank God you’re awake”, Ray whispers, leaning over your bed. “The Mayor’s here. Pete’s trying to talk him out of a lawsuit. Stay here, alright?”

You prop on your elbows and turn your head around, then squint— because, heck, if he’s trying to wake you up, why is Ray whispering? It’s late morning— must be around nine, nine- thirty or so…

Wait, what?

“The Mayor?”

“Yeah, yeah”, says Ray. “Don’t worry, He comes and goes. Peter’s got a way with politicians.”

A heated conversation rumbles through the walls. Pete’s voice sounds as confident and cheerful as ever but the Mayor— presumably— doesn’t seem pleased at all. New Yorks’ representatives stop by from time to time so it’s not unusual but dread creeps up your back the moment you realize…

“…Oh, shite. Is it about the mansion?”

“Yeah, we’re kind of screwed. Too bad we didn’t get a chance to get a second look but hey, you weren’t officially there so we’ve got you covered.”

You frown, blink a few times, then sit up.

Shouldn’t he be more bothered by this? Right, the boys get in trouble with the law on a regular basis. Ray’s probably used to it by now, that he’s entire demeanor is relaxed, casual— if only slightly annoyed (ah, yes, authorities, how convenient). They always wiggle their way out somehow. That’s what they do. But if their luck runs out one day, the charges will snowball into life behind bars— and the mere thought makes you flinch.

“But I was there”, you look at him. “Saw what happened. You were doing your job! Can’t I testify?”

“No. Zip, zip, I mean it. We were all seen at the hospital that night, you didn’t even go to the emergency room. And that’s good! It’s great! That means you’re in charge of the case if we get incarcerated.”

Your face falls.

“You must be joking.”

“Hah! I wish I was.” Ray laughs, hands on his hips, then immediately turns sheepish. “Hey! Not that I don’t believe in you, no offense—”

“No, no, none taken!” You wave your palms. “I agree. Let’s hope Peter saves the day.”

A bang of some distant door is followed by Peter’s loud voice. You look at Ray with wide eyes but he shrugs.

“Meh, he’s doing alright. The Mayor failed to maintain the mansion for decades. It’s somewhat on him, too.”

Ah, that’s why Ray seems so casual about this. That’s understandable— the guys are recurringly raided by a variety of government officials so today must feel like a regular workout. For you, however, it’s a lot. You have no idea how long you’ve slept but it feels like a giant leap in time. It’s refreshing, yes— the lightness in your heart, as if yesterday’s events happened a lifetime ago— but a shadow is hanging over your head. A foot in the door to newfound peace.

“Nah. I gotta dress up”, you say. “I’m hungry. I need to do… something. Anything. Everything.”

“That’s the spirit.”

Ray pats your arm with a wide, warm hand, flashes a genuine smile and leaves the room. There’s some yelling coming from downstairs, some door slamming, screeching of wheels, and then— expectedly— Peter adds his two cents because there is no possible way he’d give up having the last word.

It takes you two minutes to get out of bed. Six to freshen up. Three to determine whether you should or should not change into Egon’s clothes (because it’s been okay so far, it’s a thing) but ultimately, you decide that no— not this time, you should really get out of his hair. Your crumpled sleeping two- piece has to do. It’s decent. Ray didn’t comment on your sleeping circumstance, maybe Peter won’t either.

The very instant you leave the room, you see him— Egon— he’s alright, he’s okay— who climbs the stairs and freezes the moment your eyes lock.

His face is blank. He’s quiet. All the courage you’ve mustered evaporates in a snap.

When he finally speaks, it’s as casual as ever.

“You’re awake.”

“You’re alive.”

“As I said, it’s difficult to die”, he states. “Extraordinarily so.”

“Yeah, sure, but nothing about yesterday was ordinary. It’s—"

“…in the past.” He approaches you, lifts your chin and smirks. “We’re moving on.”

You keep looking at him as he inspects your features. The touch is gentle. Systematic. Careful and you know it all too well: it’s exclusive to his tinkering, the machines and inventions, only present when he’s left to his own devices. Toprecious things. That’s new. Whatever happened while he was busting the ghost out of you must’ve shaken him up.

“Mhm. As I suspected. Beautiful.” He straightens. “You may experience headaches, fatigue, dizziness and muscle pains but otherwise you’re perfectly fine. I recommend aspirin with your breakfast.”

“…I’ll take some. Thanks.”

“Do you have a moment? I would like to show you something in the lab.”

You nod, absent- minded, rubbing at your chin where his fingers lingered a moment ago. That’s unusual. Egon’s never been so direct with physical contact… has he?

Whatever your mind is trying to push through, in reality it’s probably nothing. You must be experiencing some spiritual jetlag: slow thinking and clouded judgement, all spiced up with a throng of unanswered questions and guilty conscience. Egon’s right though. You’re all moving on and it’s high time you caught up.

You walk past the garage, where Ray and Winston are leaving in Ecto- 1. Peter’s guiding them out, gesturing to let go of the siren for once— the Mayor’s people must still be in the area. Janine’s on the phone, rummaging through the drawers with such urgency she doesn’t pay attention to you walking by. That’s what it looks like: another day at the Ghostbusters’. There’s nothing out of the ordinary, to the extent you’re forced to question whether the spiritual influence you experienced the day prior wasn’t a dream.

“Ray wasn’t surprised to see me”, you say at the last flight of stairs. “Do the boys know?”

“All things pertaining to the case, yes.” Egon admits, eyes down. “I apologize for taking such liberty. It’s a major turning point and I couldn’t withhold this information. It’s the sixth time we’re getting called about amphibious ghostlike creatures roaming through New York. It’s a plague.”

“Mm. The Mayor was unwelcome, I take it.”

He throws you a brief look, then proceeds. “Do you feel any different?”

You ponder, tailing Egon descending the familiar stairs. The door to the lab is ajar, which never happens: an undeniable proof of how thrilled he is with the discovery.

“Yes. It’s quiet in my mind, for once. No whispers at the back of my head, no need to burst out crying for no reason. It’s something.”

“Feelings of uneasiness? Anxiety? Existential dread?”

“No. I’m just grateful to be alive.”

“I share the sentiment. In a day or two, we might purge the mansion for good. What we have at our disposal now is powerful. Needless to say, I’m thrilled beyond what my hormones usually allow”, he pauses at the door. “After you.”

You enter the laboratory. The cool light enveloping tools and papers is refreshing, clean air clashing against the heat and steam clouding in the garage. On Egon’s desk, far away from the microscope, there’s a huge, ugly helmet you recognize— the wires tangled in a knot only Egon himself can understand, odd antennas protruding from its top. You walk up, reach and touch the glowing tips.

A pillar of warmth stands right behind you. Egon’s breath tickles the hair on your neck. Dust particles hang still in the air between your bodies, so close you almost touch— like when he helps you gear up— when you use his microscope— like so many times before. You can’t see him at all now. Your eyes are focused on the weird, pointy device but when Egon’s forearm brushes yours, your stare shifts just enough to observe his hand rest on the contraption.

This dance between you two has been going on for a long time. It’s not like this, it never is, but you struggle to keep your breathing even.

“Remember the Collective?” He murmurs. “Turns out their consciousness, being shared through the ether, is prone to alterations. Removal. Addition. Substitution, in an almost surgical manner. I made this device for that specific purpose. Peter called it a yap- cap but it’s more nuanced than that. Take a look.”

He switches on the translating pad. Some symbols appear on the screen before a thin, vertical line pulses on the far right. To your surprise, he uses the buttons to type: I want to go home now and all it takes is one press of a single green key to translate the phrase into Eldritch symbols. Just like that, an electric wave pulses through the antennas, the helmet charges with power and glows with blue light. It’s that simple.

“The message is transmitted through the ether to the helmed recipient and travels until it finds an ectoplasmic structure. A ghost can’t distinguish it from the Collective so it builds a narrative around the inserted thought and accept it as a fact.”

Unbelievable.

“You literally made the ghost think it wanted to go home.”

“Correct.”

“And… it just left home.”

“Exactly.”

“Egon… that’s fantastic.”

“I’m wildly aware”, he grins.

You bark out a laugh. The helmet looks like a giant jellyfish. The pad is a literate calculator. All the mystery, the horror, the haunting— all the destruction and pain brought by Eldritch horrors— everything undone by a designer’s worst nightmare: a glowing sea urchin hat. The yap- cap, as Peter calls it. Ah, that one’s going to stick.

Egon is a genius. The simplicity of it disarms you. In this rapidly changing world, the cybernetic reality where every technology requires a cascade of complex developments just to come up with a novelty, Egon thought the simplest way to deter some ancient ghosts was to talk them into defeat. It couldn’t be more straightforward. All data were copied and transferred, every bit of the Eldritch language, the translating software and the device itself was made here, in this lab. He’s done it all with Ray’s help. This man is a genius but chooses the simplest solutions.

The simplest solutions.

“…Can it be used on humans? To… Hack us into thinking differently?”

Egon is silent and you can feel his stern eyes on your back. You realize how that sounds and God it’s awful— but that’s not what you meant so you rush to clarify.

“I mean, is it possible to erase some memories? To change what we’re susceptible to?” You swallow. “To let go of… destructive tendencies?”

“Technically, yes. But the outcome is unforeseeable. Whatever ends up happening, one change could affect your entire life. Mistakes, however unwanted and painful, shape who we are in the end”, Egon’s voice is serious. “Thankfully, you were not affected.”

“What if I wanted to be affected?” You turn around, not daring to meet Egon’s eyes. “You were right when you said I was attracted to the paranormal. And I hate it. My uncle is the closest I have to a dad now and I can’t keep doing this without feeling guilty about it, about betraying him. He’s never going to approve of me getting involved with you, guys. I just… I could fix this. I—"

“Look at me.”

You do.

His eyes are warm. Steady, understanding. Pupils are wide, graced with the dim light surrounding you. Some distant shadow blurs his locks into a dark cloud. Your own reflection lurks in his glasses. The sight takes your breath away.

“You don’t need to be fixed because you’re not broken”, Egon murmurs. “Don’t expect him to approve your every choice. Love doesn’t work this way.”

“But I want it to”, you whisper like an absolute fool and a single tear rolls down your cheek because your wish— so pure, so simple— doesn’t hold merit. It’s pathetic, a lost cause. He’s right and you know it.

Egon raises an eyebrow, eyes warm and playful.

“Do you, really?”

You blink a few times, bow your head down and laugh. It’s quiet and breathy. It’s full of grief— and pain, and sadness, and acceptance, and joy. You wipe the stray tear with the back of your hand. Only then, broken and mended, are you able to lift your gaze and meet Egon’s unwavering stare again.

“No, you’re right. I’ll give you that one.”

He smiles.

“Do you want to raid the mansion with us tomorrow? Ray’s setting up the car, we’ll gear you up.”

“Won’t I become an offender as well? Ray said…”

“We’re the Ghostbusters. We’ll cover up for you.”

“You’ll get in trouble.”

“It’s worth it.”

Words get stuck in your throat. The circumstances are different but intimate enough so before you have the chance to overthink every little gesture, you lean in and press a gentle peck on his jaw. He inhales— good?— frowns— bad?— so you step back with a tight smile.

“Thanks for everything. I mean it. I owe you.”

Long fingers wrap around your hand. Egon’s stare doesn’t waver— not now, not yesterday, not ever— as he lifts your fingertips with a gentle motion and (in a mind- boggling, unprecedented turn of events) presses his lips to your skin— and it lingers— it lingers— it stays.

It’s a kiss.

He pulls away. The air he breathes is warm.

“You owe me nothing.”

_____________

HOPE I DIDN'T MAKE ANY MAJOR MISTAKES- IF I DID, I AM TERRIBLY SORRY!

#ghostbusters #egon spengler #egon spengler x reader #fanfiction #egon spengler x you #ghostbusters fanfiction #harold ramis #egon spengler imagines #self insert #ao3

39 notes · View notes

tinyvesselhearts · 11 months

Text

(Egon x You) Human after all

(Thing Is: Chapter 11) Based on request for "Reader's possessed, Egon saves you, Hurt/ Comfort".

SFW but hot like my laptop right now.

From the journal alone, Egon is about to learn the following:

One: your father was a curious man. A scientist of sorts. He was fascinated by the concept of cosmic forces. Since he deemed humanity insignificant, only thing that mattered was a giant portal he was building in his barn: a door to humanity’s progress— or, as he called it— Compliance CH2. He used some restored scribbles found in the Marsh chronicles to design the gate. It took him ten years. He built it. It worked.

Two: your dad wasn’t summoning spirits per se. The creatures were alien, of all species. There’s a pattern: every time an alien (one of Yog- Sothoth’s children) was summoned, they would need a host. Like parasites, they needed to infest an organism adjusted to Earth’s conditions. Once they did, they preyed on the organism and slowly regrew it in accordance with their DNA. See, their bodies constitute loose ectoplasmic bonds which leads to another conclusion: while their hivelike minds were powerfully connected, their physical forms were weak. That’s why the PKE meter detected their presence but the proton streams didn’t work.

Three: if love means priority, your dad was shit at it.

---

Egon decides it’s for the best to stay the night at the station. There’s the issue of the mutant guest in the basement and staying within reach if somebody calls. He half expects you to change your mind and dial their number— but time flows, minutes merge into hours and the phone remains painfully quiet.

He dedicates every second to reading your father’s notes. It’s productive, informative. Fascinating, truly— but he soon realizes it doesn’t put his mind at ease. A stray thought keeps reaching to the conflict from a few hours back. He fights it. He tries to. He fails.

There’s a pressure in his chest he’s never felt before. It’s heavy, unrelenting. The cold night air must've pushed some pollen through the city. Allergy always seems to come unannounced. Thankfully, he’s aware of how his body works so— while far- fetched at best— he decides to trust this self- diagnosis and ignore the pain.

He needs to focus. He keeps reading.

~Do you honestly think I’d ever commit to someone who takes interest in ghosts?~

He's almost a hundred and seventy pages in when everything clicks. The hybrid intruder in the basement is an infected specimen, who’s grown into a semi- functioning symbiotic organism. While Egon can think of a person who would be enthralled by giving up their body for research, he doubts any reasoning would push him this far. The infected man has no ID. No records, no publicity— a recluse or a tramp. Regardless, there must be a way of helping him. To save the human and send the alien away…

~Do you honestly think I’d ever commit to someone—~

He’s on his fifth mug of tea and a third chocolate bar when he hears a loud bang downstairs.

Egon stands up. Frowns. Waits a few seconds and listens in.

There’s a muted echo of footsteps, shy and wary, then complete silence for a moment and then…

“…Hello?”

…You’re here.

Egon runs to the stairs. Hooks the rail, swings and dashes down to the garage in long strides. He looks around and there you stand, right beside the car, unsure, agitated, still. Something’s wrong. Something’s terribly off— your coat’s unfastened, pajama shirt peeks from underneath— you’re shivering, trembling, cold. It’s late at night and you didn’t even bother to grab a scarf. You must be in shock or in danger.

He wastes no time— runs the distance and stops right in front of you. You look worried, breaths are shallow and they fill the air as clouds of steam.

“What’s wrong?”

Your eyes are glossy.

“…It’s here”, you whisper, shaky. “It’s with me.”

Egon already knew— he knew the moment he saw you— he just didn’t want to believe it. He should’ve stayed. He shouldn’t have left you unguarded—

The PKE meter in his hand scans you head to toe. The contraption is beeping wildly, condensed spiritual presence detected, unmistakable and progressive. Egon shakes his head— not in denial but disbelief.

“…No. Not you”, he says. “Anyone but you.”

You let out a sob— and a laugh— tilt your head backwards and struggle to hold back tears.

“I hate everything about it. Ah… Why don’t I ever listen to wise people?... I should’ve stayed away from ghosts, the stupid books, this job, the journal—”

“Do not confuse avoiding a problem with solving it. I should’ve never left you on your own. Should’ve been wiser about the dangers, I…” Egon’s brows knit, blood threatens to simmer in his veins. “Stupid. Stupid! How could I—”

He needs to throw something on the ground because, seriously— why did he think leaving you in a vulnerable position was ever a good idea— it’s all his darn fault!— Had he urged you to stay the night here, none of this would’ve happened. He didn’t want overstep but seeing you in this state now is torture. You’re exhausted to the point of crying.

“Come with me”, he says, extending an arm. “I’ll fix it. I know what to do.”

You can’t answer but a step towards him ensues. Your hands are clenched into fists, knuckles white out of fear, pain and determination— but they’re also trembling, which Egon picks up on in an instant. You’re horrified. You’re a hostage in your own body. He takes your hand. Tugs at it and you follow.

Mid- way to the basement, your mouth forms a string of words.

“Ymg' lloig ah mgn'ghft”.

Egon whips his head around. Pulls out a translator from his pocket and it immediately spurts the translation: Your mind is worthy of Him.

Ah, yes. It’s the glorious full- blown takeover stage. That was to be expected.

Egon’s too old for this. He’s seen it all. An imposter is a lowball, truly, he’s dealt with those more times than he cared to count.

“You aren’t staying for long. Don’t get comfortable.”

She is our vessel now.

“Fallacy”, Egon’s tone is casual. “She does not belong to anyone.”

And yet you wish she would.

Egon stares at the translation. His mind is blank.

The pressure in his chest again. It’s there— it’s prominent— his palms are sweaty, air feels hot and an unpleasant cold runs down his spine. How can an Eldritch horror guess… How does it—

Your love for her clouds your judgement.

Oh. Oh.

…Is that what that is?

Eyes wide, arms stiff, Egon glances at you. Your face is distant, entirely unfazed, muscles slack, eyes barely open— but there’s something about your inexplicable awareness that’s almost unsettling. It’s not you. It’s all a trick, he knows but your mouth opens again and a string of freshly translated words appear on the screen.

Good scientists should rely on their brains, not hearts. Yours is worthy of the knowledge we offer.

No, he shouldn’t listen. Staying in place won’t help any.

In a practiced movement Egon leads you by the hand to his lab. He opens it and lets you in, then helps you sit in your chair, in relative distance from any dangerous chemicals. Once sure you’re still, he proceeds to prepare the equipment.

Whatever horror is currently inhabiting your body, it’s suspiciously obedient.

Egon rummages through his desk. There’s a distilled sample of that Class 2 Free- Floating Vapor who attacked you a while back— the one he was pissed about when you got slashed— but now that you’re merged with a similarly complex creature, Egon’s thankful he’s already went through a successful separation process. Ah. Silver linings are always clear in hindsight.

While he’s assembling the set, you keep spilling strings of unintelligible gurgles. He shouldn’t be interested in checking the translations (curiosity killed the cat) but he’s sure he can take it— no temptations could affect him at this point.

Just a peek, you know. Besides, it’s all for research.

The translator shows just one sentence:

You want her. We can make a deal.

“We have strict policies concerning fraternization with paranormal creatures”, Egon replies. “I’m not interested.”

You are. She is human, is she not?

“Not at the moment, no.”

Her mind is here no longer but the body is human. She’s too weak to understand. You aren’t.

His eyes divert from the translator. Your mind is…?

No, you’re still there. It’s all reversable, it surely is— he’s just read all about the procedure, it’s an early stage, it’s not too late. He’ll save you. He can fix this. He has to.

“What is it that you do?” Egon calmly inquires, pulling a wired helmet out of a drawer. “Are you a mind- reader? An empath? How do you collect data?”

What Yog- Sothoth knows, we all know. None of us matter in the grand scheme of things.

The Collective, then. Classic.

Egon switches on the helmet and fuels it up with a luminescent liquid. It pours underneath a plastic egg- shaped shell, sinking bunches of electrodes in the glowing goo. Great: the only thing that’s left is placing the contraption on your head, pushing a few levers and a nice, clear form of the intruder should pop right out. Capturing it would be more problematic (regular traps aren’t adjusted to this level of molecular differences) but he’ll think of something. The priority here is to make sure you’re safe.

He plugs the last wires, ready to go.

You keep talking and right when he’s about to turn to you, he glimpses at the screen.

The burden is light because our sole purpose is to die. See what we see. Have a look.

Ah, crap.

Egon hesitates— and despises himself for it. There’s no way a deal with Eldritch horror could end well— it’s a bait, a classic one, a lure meant to pull new cultists in and spread the extraterrestrial tentacles over humanity— but the possibility of getting to see how they operate first- hand is almost too good to be real.

He’d be the first paranormal researcher to maintain his consciousness throughout the ordeal. He’d witness it, feel it. Describe it in detail. Provide facts. This… Ah, it could be groundbreaking. Revolutionary. His name would ascend to an almost godlike status…

Yes. He’s strong enough. He could take it. Just a peek into the cosmic knowledge and everything changes for the better. The creature is cunning— but so is he.

His mind is set. He turns around, almost prone to sealing his fate— but he looks at you.

Your body is nothing but a physical shell. A wilted form, a stranger. Your face is lax in a way reminiscent of cadavers he’d seen during his coroner years: foggy eyelids struggle to stay up— lips are tilted, brows too low and no— no, despite the body, it is not you. The features are there but they are misplaced, devoid of emotion. They don’t fit. The beauty, the light from within, all gone.

A realization serves as a wake- up call: you’re being abused. All of a sudden, the whole shtick is too revolting to fall for.

He approaches you, scrutinized.

“Puts things into perspective”, he says, easing the helmet onto your head, “but not good enough to risk losing my sanity over. I’ll have to decline.”

He will consume you regardless. Your only choice is whether to accept the knowledge we offer—

“Pleasure to meet you. We’ll end it here.”

The moment he pushes the lever, you lash out at him.

He screams in shock. A familiar hand grabs him by the throat and pushes backwards. A wire rips.

Ah, damn it, no—

Egon smashes against the desk. Your body presses against him. Fingers are clenched around his neck— and it doesn’t hurt but the grip is firm. Piercing stare pins him to place. Your hips and chest press against his, blocking his movement and Egon feels it: every inch of you, every friction. Your breath is warm. You’re so close he could kiss you by merely dipping down his head.

He tells himself that it doesn’t affect him, it’s not you, you’re not yourself, all while seeking something of use on the counter.

He feels a screwdriver with his fingers. That’s a weapon against the body but you’re not responsible for the attack— and the ghost within uses you as a living shield. No use. There must be something else…

Before he has the chance to look, all lights go dark. An unsettling noise invades his ears, horrid chanting of a thousand voices. It’s relentless, intrusive, drilling into his head. His teeth clench but it doesn’t help any: it’s the hallucinations, this is how the Collective operates. He has to act— and act fast…

A sedative. A sedative. The vial, it should be…

Through the fog of erratic stimuli, he reaches a desperate hand into his pocket. There it is: a thin, elegant glass bottle filled with poignant liquid. He curves a thumb. The lid comes off. He presses it to your nose in a swift motion.

He can’t tell which of those are real: the sudden growl, a swirl of lights or hands sliding off of his chest. It’s all mixed with a head- blowing cacophony of screams and the incessant chanting. All Egon knows is this: he keeps clenching his teeth, shoving the chemical right at your face until your tossing about abates.

Your body weakens. Limbs go lax. Knees give in, head falls sideways. Your chest slams against his— and Egon’s still trapped in the cosmic mess— but he catches you, head, back— secures your fall as you slowly ease onto rows of white tiles.

He lays you down.

The exposure to the sedative was short. It wasn’t concentrated either. He has to act fast.

The helmet needs a quick adjustment but Egon knows what he’s doing. Wires plugged, straps fastened, he pushes the abominable lever. There’s a few sparks, a smoke from somewhere and an otherworldly glow of the luminescent goo and— just like that— a massive glob of ectoplasm evaporates from your body.

Egon can’t tell what shape or size it is. It’s unlike anything he’s seen so far. It looks incomprehensible, as if it didn’t have a form: a giant mass of eyes and limbs, a pile of half- physical slime, a stack of unstable tentacles materializing and evaporating in random places. Truly, a marvel in itself. A phenomenon to investigate. It gathers above your head. Escalates. Then disperses and dissolves into thin air.

Everything’s quiet after that.

Egon waits a moment. There’s no chanting. No distortions. His senses come back to reality: shapes, lights and colors he’s familiar with. A minute passes until he’s able to map the place. There’s his desk, the chair and the helmet. Smoke and sparks surround it.

And here, right beside him: it’s you.

You poor, poor thing…

He crouches. Gently lifts your head and arms. Places you on his knee. Waits.

He unties the straps around your head. Unplugs the wires and takes the contraption off. There you are. You’re safe. Your face looks soft and relaxed— no indication of the paranormal. You’re yourself. You’re back, you are. You could wake up any moment…

He hesitates for a split second, then wipes your forehead with one gentle stroke. Skims over your face, checking for wounds. Touches your scalp to make sure you’re not bleeding. His large, warm hand slides down your locks a few times, a thumb softly touches your chin. The movement is attentive, slow and caring— coarse because his palms are rough— but he pours every ounce of his willpower to envelop you (because you’re alive and scared—need to feel safe—have to know you’re being cared for)—

“…Egon?”

His body freezes.

Your eyes are half- lidded, brows knit, fingers hooked at his scrubs— but somehow you manage to offer him a small smile.

And— God Almighty— this is what it’s been all along— he is in love, he’s been in love for a good while now and it’s too late to snap out of it. It’s bad, blatantly obvious, overwhelming. He hasn’t realized the extent of it until he heard it from your own lips, seen it on the screen— and now that he has…

“…Hi”, he sighs, retracting his hand. “You’re back. Splendid.”

There’s a small scar right below your lip. Another on your cheek. Above your brow. An uneven line along your jaw. They’re ordinary, pretty shallow— the kinds every person has so nobody pays attention— except now, he does, because he’s thinking of ways they could’ve been prevented. He wants all of them to disappear. He wants them to heal— to kiss them away, as if sheer wishes ever worked out…

“What is happening?” You whisper trembling, voice shaky.

Egon watches your face: eyes shy away to hide dilated pupils— a forced, dry swallow attempts to calm your nerves. He’s become so good at this, at reading you. The proximity affects you and his heart aches again: the way you try to ignore it but can’t— the way your body’s anxiously shivering— it’s unbelievable how every bit of you that’s usually so outspoken and confident transforms into some startled prey.

It’s intimidating how fragile you are now that he’s close. As if mere step in the wrong direction could shy you away.

He wants to take care of you. Envelop in his adoration. You’ve been hurt, taken hostage and he doesn’t have the willpower to hold back. In a spur of the moment (and hormones, bloody mess—) Egon leans forward.

Foreheads touch. Against all reason, Egon brushes your nose with his.

Your breath catches and his entire body aches to dip down. A shuddered sigh you let out lands on his lips. It carries your scent. It tastes like tea.

He desires this kiss. Aches for it. He’s been denying himself his whole life but this time everything’s different. You seem to want it too. The eyes, the breath, the shiver. He hopes he’s right about it. He hopes it’s not fear, exhaustion or stress that makes you react this way. He hopes it’s him. Ah, he hopes—

A distant echo of your words pops in his mind:

~Do you honestly think I’d ever commit to someone who takes interest in ghosts?~

…He winces.

His eyes squeeze shut. He forces himself to pull back.

“Are you hurt?”

“I don’t know”, you manage. “I’m… it’s hazy.”

“What do you need?”

Your voice is barely a whisper.

“Closure. Egon, I’m sorry. I’m sorry for what I said yesterday.”

“Ah. Chamomile tea, then?”

“Egon…” Your eyes are set but a smile cracks on your lips. “I’m serious. It’s all my fault. I never meant to hurt you, or walk away, or leave you there. It was shitty of me. You deserve loyalty, respect and appreciation, and I behaved like an entitled brat. Please, forgive me.”

“But there’s nothing to forgive. We’re here now, aren’t we?”

“Does it mean…?”

“…you should stay here for protection.” He says. “Your bed is made. I’d say you’ve dressed for the task.”

He watches you realize you’re in crumpled pajamas, then let out a soft laugh— a stark contrast to the remnants of sadness in your eyes. If he’s great at something, it’s antics and he’ll gladly exploit this talent until you're pure sunshine again.

“Even after yesterday?” You ask.

“Especially after yesterday.”

You look like you want to get up: back straightens, your weight slides off Egon’s lap. But then, just as he thinks that’s it, you hesitantly lean forward and nuzzle into the crook of his neck.

“I should really bring my stuff here for the long run, huh?”

It’s meant as a joke but Egon thinks that yes, indeed you should. Preferably under different circumstances.

Oh, boy. What a day. What a night. What a revelation.

You’re cradled in his arms. He’s read half of the forbidden journal. The boys are coming in a few hours.

Somehow Egon’s got a feeling tomorrow is going to be even wilder.

#ghostbusters #egon spengler #egon spengler x reader #fanfiction #egon spengler x you #ghostbusters fanfiction #egon spengler imagines #harold ramis #self insert #ao3 #hurt/comfort #possession #request #writer #short reads #long reads

73 notes · View notes