#ghostbusters x reader

Trevor nodded. "Horror works fine for me," he said, setting up the TV and flicking the lights off. He did, however, stumble and smack into the wall in the darkness, stumbling over to his bed."F-fuck." he mumbled.

She giggled and shuffled a little, trying to get comfortable. She eyed his covers but didn’t go under them, a little unsure if he wanted her in his bed like that.

Trevor crawled onto the bed, climbing into the blankets and pulling them over himself. "You uh… You gonna come under the covers? kinda hard to cuddle if you aren't," he commented, clearly trying to sound confident.

She nodded excitedly, happily coming under the covers, very eager for them to potentially cuddle. So far, the closest to a cuddle they'd done was Trevor putting his arm on the back of Y/ns chair in class

He shifted towards her, wrapping an arm around her waist. He pulled her close and rested his hand on her hip. He was doing his best to keep calm, even though he was internally panicking. He was in his bed with his girlfriend, cuddling. "You uh… You comfy?" he asked

She nodded and hummed with a sigh as she squirmed until she was settled.

"….So-" he started, breaking the silence, “You mind me asking …”

“Yes, Trevor?” She asked, laying her head on his shoulder,

"Why um…. why do you like me? If you don't mind me asking," he asked curiously.

She giggled. "You're cute, and sweet, and you make me laugh."

His cheeks flushed a little, and he let out a quiet chuckle. "Cute? Sweet? I think you're the only person in the world to ever call me that," he mumbled. Trevor glanced sideways at her, noticing just how close their faces were. He could feel his heartbeat pick up slightly, and tried not to look too obvious about staring at her lips.

"Well, I think it."

"Can I… um…." he trailed off, his fingers fidgeting with the hem of her sweater.

"Yes, Trevor?" She asked, her face flushing,

"Can I-" he hesitated, his eyes flickering down to her lips and back up. "Can I… um… can I kiss you?"

Y/n giggled. "I don't know, does my boyfriend wanna kiss me?"

He couldn't help but chuckle, "Yes," he said, nodding for emphasis. "Yes, your boyfriend would love to kiss you."

She smiled and happily closed the gap, kissing his lips slowly and gently,

His hand found its way to the back of her neck, his fingers lacing into her hair as he kissed her back. He was still trying to maintain control and not get too carried away. Though that was becoming more and more difficult, the more they kissed.

Y/n didn't pull back, allowing their kisses to get deeper and more passionate, turning from the innocent little smooch to a deep, busy college kid make-out session.

Trevor groaned against her lips, deepening the kiss eagerly. His heart was pounding in his chest, the hand that had been holding onto her waist shifting down to rest on her hip, trying to pull her even closer. His fingers gripped a little tighter in her hair, his grip on her hip tightening slightly.

Y/n softly moaned into the kiss, her hands coming onto Trevor's shirt.

Trevor shifted so the hand that wasn't in her hair moved to grasp her thigh, his fingers digging slightly into her skin. His body was already moving on its own, shifting until they were closer, pushing her slightly back on the bed. Though his lips never broke away from her own. Trevor didn't realise they had moved until he was suddenly over her. He was pressed against her, his body practically towering over her own. His hands found themselves on either side of her waist, his fingers pressing into her hips. He pulled away slightly, only to catch his breath before he leaned in and nipped at her lower lip, his hands starting to pull up the hem of her sweater, giving him more access to slide his hands up the flat plane of her stomach.

She moaned softly into the kiss, tugging her fingers on his hair to pull him closer, as his hands slid up her stomach and met the soft cotton of her bra.

Immediately, Trevor snapped, moving his hands up, he brushed his thumbs over her breasts through the fabric of her bra before sliding his hand behind her back, unhooking it in less than a second. He slid his hand back down her front, his fingers finding its way under the bra as he finally broke the kiss, moving down to her neck, sucking and nipping at her skin. His hands worked their way down between her legs, rubbing at her through her jeans. Trevor pulled away slightly, panting. "Take your pants off."

Y/n let out a loud moan uncontrollably. She giggled, undoing the belt and buttons, squealing innocently as Trevor all but ripped them off her.

He shifted to pull the jeans off her, throwing them away to the side. He leaned back down, pressing another rough kiss to her neck. His hands moved up slightly, sliding past the waistband of her underwear at the seam, sliding down to find her clit. "fuck, you're so wet." he tossed her underwear off to the side. He leaned in, his hands coming under her thighs and pressing her legs apart. Trevor slid his tongue up her slit, then flat against her clit as he started to suck on it, his finger sliding up to press into her wet hole.

"Trevor," she moaned, her fingers coming to grip his hair again. Y/n squirmed and whined, her back arching high and her hips moving as she struggled with his pace. She kicked her feet a little and moaned his name a few times, trying to resist, already sweating as she wore only her jumper.

Trevor groaned at the sight. He pulled his head back to get a look at her. Without warning, he added a third finger. It was a bit of a stretch, but he could manage, and he began moving his fingers a little faster. "You like that, huh?" he asked, his voice rough.

She moaned and nodded, unable to resist the pleasure she needed,

Trevor slid his tongue back against her clit, starting to suck on it again as he picked up the speed of his fingers. He added pressure to her G-spot, his free hand moving up to cup her breast. He pinched at her nipple, rolling the bud between rough fingers. Trevor moaned against her clit, the sound muffled by her flesh. "You sound so good, Y/n," he murmured.

Y/n began screaming, arching her back and squirming her hips as she began to squirt a little and clench around his fingers, where she was so close to her release. Unable to do anything but squirm from the onslaught of pleasure.

Trevor was relentless, his fingers working even faster. He moaned against her clit, the sound vibrating against her sensitive bundle of nerves. His mouth was working overtime, his tongue flicking and sucking at her clit, his lips wrapping around it and pulling as he continued to suck. He could feel her start to clench around his fingers, and he knew she was close. "That's it, y/n. Cum for me.”

It didn't take long to hit. Y/n screamed his name and squirted so hard she actually soaked his chin. Her body was a trembling mess left on his sheets to gasp. Y/n gasped, unable to speak, unable to even move. But the sight of him unzipping his jeans made her excited again, but she innocently closed her legs, holding her knees together.

Trevor chuckled at the innocent look on her face, shaking his head a little. "You gonna close your legs on me? After that scene, you put on? And here I thought I knew my girlfriend better than that," he tsked, reaching down to wrap his hand around her thigh, pushing her legs apart again.

She giggled, clearly liking Trevor forcing her legs apart.

His hands moved to his jeans, pulling them down with a harsh tug. He leaned back, pulling them and his underwear off completely and throwing them off the side of the bed. His fingers wrapped around his cock, giving it a few strokes as he looked at her. "God, I’m a wreck," he murmured. He shifted, moving to position himself between her legs. He leaned over her, bracing himself with an arm on either side of her head as he lined his cock up with her pussy. Trevor moaned as he rubbed his head against her slit, the sensation feeling amazing. "You ready?" he asked, looking down at her.

She nodded, biting hard on her bottom lip in excitement,

Trevor's grip on her thigh tightened as he started to slide into her. He groaned, the wet heat of her pussy wrapping around his cock felt amazing. "Oh shit," he panted, pushing his hips forward until he was completely inside her. He stayed still for a moment, trying to get used to the feeling. "You feel so good, baby!" But he could barely keep still, his hips bucking up even before he began moving, “I- Ohh fuck I am… not gonna last long.” He groaned, mindlessly thrusting his hips in desperation, “How the fuck do you feel so good?!”

Y/n did not answer, still overwhelmed from her own orgasm and now being overstimulated amazingly by every thrust of Trevor’s hips. Moans falling from her lips with each buck.

“Your- you’re okay, I uhh…” He gasped, eyes on the ceiling, bottom lip between his teeth, trying so hard not to cum but losing the battle,

She quickly nodded, shaking visibly as she was lost in the vast pleasure.

Trevor only took three more strong thrusts before his hips bucked hard against hers, and he screamed out in pleasure, burying himself as deep as he possibly could as he rode out the high. He gasped the moment it was over, pulling out and flopping down next to her like a dead fish. “Fuck that was amazing…”

“Mhm…” she nodded between her own gasps,

“We uhhh we should do that more often,” he said, opening his arm to offer her a cuddle,

“We definitely should,” she agreed, curling up into his arms and resting her head on his chest, “Ummm, I love my sweet boyfriend,”

So you’re not perfect.

You’ve got your flaws—you talk too much and then go quiet, eat when you’re bored, and you’re prone to daydreaming. But everyone has those, right? It’s called ‘being human’. And usually, no one has a problem with it. Usually, everyone either smiles at you or is at least polite.

Except Phoebe, your wonderful boyfriend’s scary little sister.

Okay, maybe not scary, but still intimidating for someone three years younger than you.

You had tried an embarrassing amount of times to be nice to her, to connect and to not just be the girl her brother was dating. You understood how she might feel; maybe she thought you were pushing your way into a family you didn’t belong in, or maybe she thought you were just some stupid girl that Trevor would eventually get tired of. As much as you tried to prove her wrong, that you loved her brother and you were actually a decent person, it was a very humbling experience any time you tried to talk to her.

“Whatcha doing?” You asked cheerfully one time, walking up to Phoebe as she tinkered with something incredibly technical that you had no hope of comprehending.

“Fixing the circuit breakers on this so I can boost the ampacity.” She answered rather dryly, not looking up. You nodded like you understood what the hell that meant.

“…Right.” You clicked your tongue against your teeth, adjusting your sleeve. “Anything I could help with?” You knew you probably wouldn’t be able to do what she was doing, but you could at least pass her a screwdriver or something if she asked.

“Unless you can find a capacitor and some conduit, no.” Her response was flat, almost insulting, and it shut you up instantly. And she didn’t even look at you. 

You nodded once, a sinking feeling of embarrassment and indignation forming a knot in your chest. “Okay,” you tried to sound casual, but your voice was higher and tauter than normal. “I’ll, uh, leave you alone, then.” You forced out a light chuckle, which made everything just that much worse, and backed away.

She didn’t even shrug.

Another time, you and Trevor were trying to figure out the controls to a second-hand dishwasher his mom had picked up at a discount. The instruction manual, which might as well have been in Greek, lay abandoned a couple feet away from you as you pushed a couple of the buttons. You weren’t just doing it randomly—there was a pattern to it, you knew it, you just needed a little time and patience to figure it out…

“You’re doing it wrong.” The sudden sound of Phoebe’s voice right beside you almost made your soul leave your body, your heart jumping right into your throat.

“Jesus,” you whispered, eyes wide as you clutched your chest. You looked up at her from where you knelt on the floor, furrowing an eyebrow and raising the other in confusion.

“You have the manual, don’t you?” She commented, standing over you with that frighteningly neutral stare, just a glint of dislike in her eyes. 

“Um…yeah.” You admitted quietly, hands dropping from the buttons and starting to fidget with the hem of your shirt.

“Nobody can read it, Pheebs, it’s all useless.” Trevor saved you without even meaning to, leaning against the counter with not a clue about the tension between you and his sister.

She just sighed and stepped around you to pick up the booklet, flipping through it with very mild interest. After a moment, she crossed the space (you backed away from the dishwasher like it was threatening you) and reached for the control pad. With a simple press of a couple buttons, similar to the pattern you were trying, the dishwasher beeped and started to run successfully. 

Trevor grinned and offered his sister a high five, and you smiled hesitantly from where you sat on the floor, swallowing when she met your gaze with her icy stare.

And to think this all started from a simple interaction at your Grampa Ray’s bookstore. 

When you were fifteen and your Grampa needed some help with what he said was ‘too many customers and too little staff’, he hired you as a clerk. You had a hunch (based on the obvious lack of said customers) that he really just wanted an excuse to spend time with you, but you weren’t going to complain; you loved both him and his weirdo bookshop.

But business was painfully slow. Three weeks of standing behind the counter and only a couple times a day would anyone wander in. No one ever really bought anything, looked interesting, or even talked to you. It was boring as hell, but at least you were getting paid, even if it was a laughable sum. Until one day, you were flipping through some old occult book (your grandfather had a strict no-phones policy) when the bell above the door rang. 

You looked up, expecting an old man with a rattail, a young adult asking to use the bathroom, or some kid who was looking for their mom. You expected to see anything else but a very awkward but handsome looking boy, about your age, all gangly limbs and wearing a faded graphic tee and a curly black mullet. You smiled, closing your book and straightening up.

“Welcome to Ray’s Occult Books,” you said pleasantly, “let me know if you need any help.”

He looked at you, nodded and gave a little smile, and said a little quietly, “Thanks. I—I will.”

Not five minutes later, he had made a lap around the shop and approached the counter with a small book in his large hands. A sheepish smile spread over his pink lips as he looked at you. 

“Hi there, got anything interesting?” You greeted, leaning forward and planting your hands on the counter. 

He shrugged and tilted his head, “Maybe, I guess we’ll see.” He slid the book over the glass top to you, and you opened the cover to see the price. 

“Well, we don’t offer refunds, but if you hate it you can still call,” you joked, earning a chuckle and a small smile from him. “Five fifty, including tax.”

“Oh—” he quirked an eyebrow, seeming confused, “wasn’t it supposed to be eight dollars?” 

A smile spread over your face as you looked back up at him, unable to bite it back. “Oh, that’s right. We actually have a little discount policy here—standard issue, ‘attractive persons discount’, you’ll find it all over the place—anyway, you seem to qualify.” 

You thought it was pretty dorky, but he seemed to think it was smooth, judging by the visible bloom of red growing over his cheeks. And lo and behold, seven months later he still thought you were smooth.

He still thought you were smooth when you were making out a couple weeks ago in his room, after you convinced him with a ‘scientific fact’ that kissing can burn up to twenty-six calories a minute. It made everything worse with Phoebe, though, when she barged into Trevor’s room for a screwdriver to find a, well, less than pleasant display. You and he scrambled apart, both looking like deer caught in headlights.

“Oh—” She flinched, stared for a second, then promptly turned on her heel and left, slamming the door behind her.

You looked between the door and your boyfriend helplessly, and he sighed, shaking his head. “I always tell her to knock,” he complained as if that was the bigger problem.

Ever since then, Phoebe seemed to like you even less than normal, dropping condescending and increasingly dry comments whenever and wherever she could. You didn’t hate her, though. You understood where she was coming from—if it was your older brother who had started dating some girl and suddenly everyone in the family liked her, you’d probably have some trouble warming up, too. 

But that didn’t mean you weren’t frustrated. You’d lost count of the amount of times you’d tried to get her to like you, even a little bit. At first, you tried to bond over being girls, only to discover she was probably one of the least girly girls on planet Earth. Okay, no problem, you thought. You’d just meet her where she was at, connect with her over her interests. But then she didn’t seem to want to give you any chances. 

She would leave the room if you came in, abruptly stand up and busy herself with something if you tried to talk to her, and sometimes, if she was feeling particularly nasty, drop a snide remark with vocabulary you weren’t meant to understand in the first place. It felt childish to admit, but this thirteen year old was really hurting your feelings. 

It all came to a head one night, when your Grampa Ray announced that he, your mother and father, and you would be going to dinner with the Spenglers. You were excited, not just because you’d have an excuse to see your boyfriend but also because you liked the rest of the Spenglers (despite Phoebe’s hostility).

At the dinner table, you coincidentally were sat right across from Phoebe and right next to your boyfriend. You were probably happier about the latter, but told yourself that no matter what happened, you wouldn’t let yourself devolve—whether that meant losing your temper, being a pushover, or, god forbid, crying. You were in front of your entire family and hers, after all.

Thankfully, most of dinner passed without many bumps. You were even enjoying yourself, which was rare in Phoebe’s presence. Conversation was flowing easily between everyone; you were chatting away happily with Trevor about a new album that was just released; your parents were talking to Callie and Gary about, well, whatever parents talk about; it was looking like a successful evening. That was until just before the desserts arrived. 

“Say,” your Grampa Ray nodded towards you, “what was your chemistry teacher saying to you just the other week?”

You turned your head, hands pausing mid-gesture to process the question. “Oh,” you finally got what he was saying, “don’t make me tell the whole story,” 

“Well, it’s a good one!” He persisted, and then you felt everyone’s eyes on you.

“Okay, well, um…” You glanced around at the table, suddenly feeling a little shy. “So, last week, I was in lab with my partner, right? So, basically, like…”

You started to tell the story of how you had to fight your Chemistry teacher about your grade, which is a whole story within itself. You were getting more comfortable as you went, but unfortunately, that meant you were getting less and less aware of the amount of filler words you were using.

“So, uh, then I was like, ‘I never submitted that assignment’—because I, like, didn’t—and then my teacher was all like, ‘well then why does it have your name on it?’ So I took a look at the, um,” you snapped your fingers, momentarily forgetting the word, “paper, and it’s not even my name on there! It’s some other name that sounds, like, kinda similar to mine I guess…so I asked him, I was like, ‘do you even know my name?’ And he went like, ‘sure I do, it’s right here!’”

You didn’t even notice the twitch in Phoebe’s eyebrow every time you said the word ‘like’ or ‘uh’ or ‘um’, as if she was mentally counting each instance like it was criminal evidence.

“So then, like—” 

“Like, are you ever, like, going to, um, finish your, uh, sentences?” Phoebe cut you off suddenly with a cruel impression of yourself. You clamped your mouth shut, shrinking immediately in your seat. “Like?” She added for good measure.

“Phoebe!” Callie chided from three seats over, turning her head to look at her daughter. 

“Well, it’s true, isn’t it?” Phoebe gestured toward you, “Every other word, it’s ‘like, and then I, uh, like, didn’t even, um, like get to’—she’s barely coherent!”

You swallowed, feeling a rush of embarrassment make itself evident on your cheeks. The table had gone silent, looking between you and her like they were waiting for your snappy comeback. You stared at the wooden grain of the floor, heart beating relentlessly in your ears. You could say something. Put her in her place, make fun of her, deflect what was mean but true. But instead…

“Excuse me,” you whispered hoarsely, standing up from your chair. “I need to use the restroom.” You walked as quickly as you could without making a scene, vision tunneling ahead.

As soon as you were gone, Trevor zeroed in on his sister, head turning slowly from where you had just been to where she sat. Few times was Trevor Spengler furious, but if there was ever an occasion, it was now. 

“Are you serious?!” He whisper-yelled at Phoebe, leaning forward with a poisonous scowl. “That’s my girlfriend!”

“Oh, bite me,” she rolled her eyes and folded her arms, “all you talk about is your girlfriend. Don’t you see how plain she is?”

“Don’t you see how hard she’s trying?” Trevor retorted, gesturing wildly. “The entire time we’ve been dating, she’s been nice to you, trying to be your friend, too! And this is how you repay her?!”

“Your brother is right, Phoebe.” Callie joined in, “That was uncalled for. You’re going to go after her, and you’re going to apologize.” And then, with a deadly tone that only mothers can assume, the one that ensures near-death-experiences if disobeyed, “Understood?”

Phoebe sighed, standing up and stomping after you toward the girls’ bathroom. Pushing the door open, she expected you to be pacing around frustratedly, or glaring at the mirror, maybe flexing your hands into fists.

But that wasn’t the case. In fact, she couldn’t even see you anywhere in there. Hesitantly, she called your name.

Three seconds passed. Then five. Finally, with a quiet sniffle heard from the very back stall, a small voice said a single word with enough hurt that it might’ve set a world record.

“Yes…?”

Oh. She’d really stung you.

Phoebe exhaled, walking forward until she reached your stall. Raising a hand slowly, she knocked twice. “Can I…come in?”

You cleared your throat, trying and failing to sound less…watery. “Yeah.”

Slowly, you got up and unlocked the door for her, and probably for the first time, Phoebe felt a deep pit of unbridled guilt settling in her stomach from the sight of you. Blotchy red skin, visible tracks of fallen tears, glassy eyes, and a stubbornly quivering bottom lip.

“Hi,” you greeted meekly, fighting to keep your voice from quavering. 

“Hi…” She breathed, eyebrows furrowing. She let her hand drop. A moment of charged silence weighed heavy on you.

“I’m sorry—”

“I’m sorry—”

You both cut short, having spoken the exact same words at the exact same time. Your eyelids widened, and so did hers, faces frozen for another moment before you let out an ironic chuckle. 

“I’m sorry,” Phoebe started over, “what I told you at the table was, well, false. And unnecessarily unkind.”

Your fingers twitched where you held the door open. Even apologizing, she had this weird way of being inadvertently funny with her turn of phrase. 

“I’m sorry too,” you sighed, glancing at the tile floor, “for pushing into your family.” 

She frowned, opening her mouth to disagree. “You don’t need to be sorry, you’re just dating my brother. That’s not a felony.”

You gave a chuckle, shoulder still shaky from earlier sobs. “I get it though, you don’t have to like me if you don’t want to. I just,” you exhaled, feeling a bit childish, “kinda wanted to be your friend, I guess.”

“What?” 

“I know it’s dumb,” you prefaced, inspecting the grout between the sandy slabs. “But I think you’re, like, really cool. Or—” you groaned, realizing you said ‘like’ again. 

“I just think you’re cool,” you corrected yourself, “no ‘like’.”

Phoebe smiled, leaning against the metal doorframe. “It’s okay to say ‘like’. My filler is ‘sort of’.” She admitted, and you looked up to make sure she wasn’t joking.

“Really? I honestly thought you were too smart to use filler words.”

She shrugged, giving a small chuckle and pushing her glasses up. “Everybody uses them. It’s defying human nature not to. And…I think you’re cool, too.” She added, “I was suspicious of you, I suppose.”

“Oh,” you breathed, “did I pass the inspection?”

She eyed you for a moment, acting dubious. “Yes…for now.” You shared a small laugh, and things fell into a less-awkward silence.

“Well…thanks for coming after me. That must’ve taken guts.” You let your hand drop from the door, tucking it into your pocket. A small smirk grew on Phoebe’s face, and she shifted just slightly.

“It probably takes more guts to be an organ donor.” She said in the most neutral tone possible, then, with liquid smoothness, winked very slowly at you.

Something about the delivery, the way it was carried out like lab instructions with a specific formula calculated to make someone laugh, made you burst out in, well, laughter. Phoebe smiled, tucking her hands into her overall pockets.

“Alright, well, did you hear about tectonic plates? They’re always bumping into each other, their most-used phrase is ‘sorry, my fault!’” You countered, watching as she bit back a smile.

“Okay…that was funny.” She conceded. And then, in a show of kindness that you didn’t associate with her up until this point, she stuck her hand out to you. “Friends?”

Your palm met hers. “For sure.”

On the way out of the bathroom, Phoebe had something else to say. “Okay, don’t hate me for this, but…do you remember the second-hand dishwasher my mom got for the firehouse?”

“Yes…?” You raised an eyebrow.

“Well…it’s not your fault you couldn’t figure it out. It came with a manual for a different model.” She admitted, fiddling with the hem of her shirt sleeve.

“Really? I knew it!” You snapped your fingers with a bit of recovered pride before remembering something. “So, wait, how did you figure it out?”

“From…watching you.” She muttered, just loud enough to hear. You grinned but said nothing, instead offering her your arm to cross hers with. 

“Come on, I think my pie is getting cold.”

About a week later, Trevor woke up from a nap and heard your voice downstairs. The first thing he felt was a little hurt, because usually if you were at the firehouse, you’d come straight up to see him. But then he heard his sister’s voice, talking to yours, sharing what he assumed were supposed to be clever jokes.

Okay, he had to see this for himself. 

Lo and behold, sitting on the living room floor with a giant puzzle on the coffee table, some old western playing on the TV, was his sister and his girlfriend. You didn’t even notice him until he spoke up.

“Are my eyes deceiving me, or are you two actually getting along?” Trevor joked, leaning on the wall. You looked up, about to say something snarky, before—

“Believe it or not, your girlfriend is actually really cool. And good at puzzles.” Phoebe’s voice came out quiet, but unflinching. 

“Well…yeah, that’s what I’ve been trying to say.” He retorted, folding his arms and doing a mocking impression of her. You rolled your eyes.

“Careful now, I think she’s going to steal me away from you.” You picked up a piece of popcorn from the bowl on the couch arm and flicked it at him.

“Hey!” He exclaimed indignantly, pushing off the wall and muttering somewhat darkly, “Better not be.”

You and Phoebe laughed, nudging each other’s elbows.

A/N #2: thanks for reading!! Hope you guys enjoyed and it was what you wanted, anon♥️ I finished Frozen Empire the other day and I won't spoil, but I don't feel like Trevor got enough screen time :/ (or maybe that's just me being a fangirl for him...) Anyway feel free to request something, my inbox is open! Love you all, hope you have a great day/night!

-DMIS

thanks to @angeliicide for these dividers! <3

Egon swallows gently and continues, “The person you’re currently possessing is a stubborn individual. Earlier you implied that you knew information pertaining to their emotions and sense of self. It wouldn’t be far off the surmise that eventually their obstinance would catch up with you.” He pauses for just a moment, making direct eye contact, “I’m offering you the insurance of control.”

A small giggle, “Why?”

Venkman tacks on too, “Egon, this is stupider than when you tried to DRILL A HOLE–”

“Stop.” Your eyes glare back at Venkman’s statement, “I wish to hear his explanation.”

Egon takes in a steady breath, thinking of what to say. It’s like he’s running the numbers through his head. What would convince the spectre? Why did he feel so damn responsible for all this? Why was this scenario making him feel like this, different than if Peter or Ray or Winston was possessed? Was this just a higher classed spirit or–

“I need them to be safe,” he replies simply. No further elaboration, save for the nagging thoughts plaguing his mind.

“I think we have a deal.”

—

There’s a bright light and a familiar mechanical clack.

When you finally come to, you’re laying on the floor of the lab with no clue in your head as to why or how you got there. You move to sit up, your arm coming to try and reach for your head out of instinct, before you realize your hands are bound behind your back. What the hell?

“Hey…” Ray’s the first one to speak to you, looking you over head to toe for injuries or ailments. “Are you, well, you?”

You stare back, clearly confused. “Uh…yeah?”

A sound of excitement rises over the crowd of your friends as they move their focus from the ghost trap, and other various devices strewn across the floor, to you. Peter runs up and pulls you into a big hug, a sincere look of gratitude in his eye, “Oh, it’s great to have you back.”

“Is anyone going to explain, or…” You ask while being held hostage in his grasp. 

Winston fills you in on what happened, “Long story short, you got possessed, but now this sucker is locked up tight.” He lifts up the trap from the ground, moving to dispose of it.

Finally, Venkman unhands you, loosening his tight embrace just a bit. “It was really Egon who saved you if we’re being honest. You should thank him.” He says, his tone clearly insinuating something.

That’s when Spengler walks over. He gives a blank look to Peter before moving to help untie your binds. “I’d like to run some tests, if that’s alright,” he says, undoing the last knot.

“Yeah,” you respond with a small nod, “whatever you need.”

“Additionally,” Egon continues speaking, “We should discuss a possible suspension from field work.” 

You shake your head a little, “Wait, sorry, I think my head’s still a little wonky. Suspension?”

Egon’s eyes avoid yours, looking straight at the rest of the team. No one seems to respond, looking at one another. 

“For how long?” you croak out.

Cold as ever, Egon answers, “A month, minimum.

“You’re kidding me.”

Peter walks back over, attempting to mediate. “Okay, cool it. That’s a bit excessive.” He sighs and amends the statement, “A week tops.”

Your eyebrows furrow as you stare back, “But I feel just fine.”

“A little rest never hurts,” Ray says in a kind tone, trying to diffuse the tension.

It hurts. After all the training, starting to work in the field, all that just to be benched. Sure, you didn’t always love dealing with…particular cases, but you love your job. This could be a step towards getting fired and the thought of that scares you. And it’s not just the job. These are your friends too. Not to mention all this news following the confusion of being unknowingly knocked out cold for a full day. 

It’s so much commotion over things entirely out of your control, and it hurts. It takes every fiber of your being to keep your eyes from looking glossy.

Ray notices your look and gives a patient smile, attempting to raise your spirits, "Possession. It happens to the best of us, you know?”

You give a bit of a laugh, not much though. “Do I at least get to help with research?” You bargain.

“Let’s check those vitals, then we’ll talk,” Peter responds, looking over to Egon. “Spengs, play nice.”

He just gives a tired glance back before directing you up the stairs towards his office.

—

Spengler’s office is messy when you enter, as always. It’s sort of a welcome sight. 

Despite your agitation, you chose to be cooperative, and it’s not long until you have about 50 wires taped around your body. He had taken your vitals and now wanted to answer some more general questions about possession, especially considering the apparent lack of information on the subject. While you’re hooked up to some machine, your face appears on the monitor across from you. The multicolored playback matches the blinking lights of the surrounding area.

“What is the last thing you remember?” He asks.

“Well,” you attempt to form a response, “I know I walked upstairs with you. Then, I, uh, moved to survey the room…I guess after that it’s pretty much a blur.”

He nods back, eyes trained down as he jots shorthand on a pad of paper. “Anything after that? Perhaps dreams or memories from a sleep-like state?” He continues his line of questioning.

“Not exactly,” you answer. “I was just…out, I guess.” I look down at my hands for a moment, thinking of what else to say. “It was a weird sensation though. I do remember that.”

He looks up from the paper, eyebrows raised.

“It felt like I was outside of my body, but still attached to it,” you explain, “Like I was floating above my physical being, but I couldn’t leave. Still tethered here somehow.”

His lip twitches, nodding in response. You feel temporarily relieved when he looks back down to his notes. Egon’s gaze makes you feel a bit uneasy. Not in a bad way. He’s just so…meticulous, a trait you often find endearing. But when you’re the subject, it’s a bit overwhelming.

You notice that this whole setup feels overwhelming. Egon’s normally the closest person to you on the team, besides maybe Venkman, and yet he was acting even more serious than normal. If that was even possible.

Is it fair to be upset when your coworker tries to force you into a monthlong hiatus? Maybe you are a bit incompetent, but like Peter said, a month is excessive. Maybe you were wrong? Maybe Egon was trying to fire you. Maybe that’s why he’s acting colder than normal. You thought you were close, but who knows? Maybe he’s tired of having you around. The thoughts surrounding all of this start you off into a small spiral.

“Are you alright?” Egon’s voice pulls you out of your thoughts. He looks back at you, after having noticed the spike in your heartrate.

You just stare back at him for a moment. He had sat down his notes, eyes meeting yours with full focus. 

“I’m sorry,” you start in a soft voice. “It’s just…I feel like I messed up and I’m going to lose this job, but really–”

“You thought we would…fire you?” he looks back, confused.

You hesitantly nod back. “You were so eager to push me off for a month, so I just assumed…”

Egon takes a moment before he says anything. He doesn’t quite know what to say. “I could have lost you,” he says softly.

“But you didn’t.”

“I thought I did.”

Your eyes trace over his face for just a minute, his eyes having dropped to the floor below. Gently, you move to hover your hand over his. “May I?” 

His head gives a subtle nod. You lift his hand into yours. 

“I’m right here.” You say softly back. Your fingers weave in between his. “You can’t get rid of me that easily.”

        It was late into the evening when the muffled sounds of heavy petting filled fire station No. 23. Clothes were being thrown precariously about the room and cold laboratory tables began to fog as you and a particular colleague desperately grasped at each other. Your digits find their way to his scalp, tightly threading through the dark, sweat matted curls. Your bodies pressed together, all skin and forgotten inhibitions. This was a regular occurrence. You, being a sceptic of the paranormal, were a frequent visitor of Dr. Spengler. You often fought about the credibility of his research, and the legitimacy of these so called “ghosts” he and his men claimed to capture. You believed his work was fallacy. He believed you were annoying. These heated debates always reached a boiling point that drove the others in the station to find somewhere else to be. Leaving you and Egon to argue alone. Obviously, you both found a way to vent your frustrations. 

On the smooth, reflective surface of an operating table, a whimper fell from your mouth, a hungry, needy sound. His bare chest heaved against yours as your bodies worked in sync, straining and tightening. Your hips bucked instinctually, meeting his in a perfect secular motion. With a familiar feeling of intensity building between you, he choked out a moan, muffled by your lips sealed around his.  A white-hot flush washes over you, releasing the knot in your stomach. stilling for this quiet moment, he rests against you, dropping his head into your shoulder. He leaves one stagnant open mouthed kiss on your collar bone and sits up. His full, pink lips hang open, panting out hot breaths. The muscles in his arms flexed while he rests palms, each hand on either side of you. Despite being trapped, you feel more held than anything else. This moment, it’s vulnerable, far more vulnerable than either of you have ever been with each other. 

Clarity comes to you, so you draw your gaze downward and let a warm blush creep osnto your face. A redness that intensifies when your jaw is caught in the grasp of his slender, calloused hands. Tenderly, he lifts, forcing your eyes to meet. Oh, he is beautiful. His glasses askew, fogged, his brown glassy eyes are fixed to yours. There is nothing in the world, or at least in this room, but you and him and this gaze between you. 

“Are you, alright?” He says, earnestly. It’s question that draws you back to reality. You suck in a breath, draw your hands to your chest, and nod. Your eyes dart to the clock on the wall, it’s late, far too late “um, I’m alright.” you say, and then let out a dry chuckle. Clearing his throat, he backs up slightly and opens his mouth to say something, but he hesitates. Instead, he opts for action. Gingerly he picks his lab coat up off floor, where it got tossed many hours before in your hurry to strip down. He places it on you, like a blanket, and you feel his lips, warm, on your forehead. You grin, you can’t help it. 

“You will stay here tonight, and so will I.” He says standing upright, fixing his glasses. You go to object, but are cut off by his low voice, “This is not a matter of discussion, it is too late for you to walk home. Your safety is at risk, I won’t have you in danger.” 

“Are you sure, Egon?” you bite you lip and look both ways in the room, as if someone were going to walk in any second. Nervously you ask, “Aren’t the rest of your team going to come back?” 

He chuckles, “No, not tonight. It’s far too late, like I said, they’ve all gone home.” He stops, and walks closer to you taking a strand of your hair and tucking it behind your ear. “Actually, it’s very likely Peter is at a bar, manipulating some poor girl but, he won’t be coming back here till tomorrow.”  

He leans into you, and places his head on top of yours, arms firmly wrapped around you when he gently asks “Would you…. like to join me on one of the beds we have? I assume you must be tired from our,” he clears his throat “rigorous activities.”  

You let out a hum, suddenly becoming very tired, and snake your arms around his firm, warm torso. “Sounds like a good idea” you slur, before letting out a small yawn. 

Looking down at you, he smiles softly, and lifts you up almost like a doll before setting you on your feet. He offers his hand to you, before leading you to the nearest makeshift bedroom in the fire house. “I hope you don’t mind the dust, this place was fit to be condemned when we bought it. I objected but obviously I was outvoted.” he reports, as you both climb onto the off-white cotton mattress. 

There’s a smile plastered across your face as he rambles on about safety codes and hazards. Despite your yelling and arguing, you have a great respect for Dr. Spengler. Some would even say you harbor a fondness for him, although you’d never admit it. But here you are, limbs intertwined, sharing a bed and you couldn’t be happier as he holds you. “Egon?” You interrupt, “Yes?” looking at him for a silent moment as the sound of breathing fills the space and nothing else. “Would… you like to join me for coffee sometime?” He looks at you, and furrows his brows, looking slightly confused. “For debate? I hardly think we can continue our usual ritual in such a public place.” You laugh “No, Egon, I mean just coffee. No arguing, no debate just.. coffee.” He thinks for a moment and your heart rate quickens with a nerve that you haven’t felt before with him.

The compliment encouraged you to speed up your ministrations. Egon was slowly melting from your touch, and you wanted to see how long it would take to turn him into a puddle.

But Egon seemed to have different plans. “If you don’t stop now, I’m gonna come.” He let go of the table and caressed your face, practically covering you with how giant they were. To be fair, though, everything about him was giant. It took everything in him to not push your head further on him, but he managed to pull you away.

You looked like a mess. Lips and chin covered in spit, hair tussled, eyes lustful and tired. Egon may have been a man of science, but in the low light of his workstation, he was sure you were an angel. “That’s kind of the point, Eegs.” Your voice was low and sultry, only turning Egon on more. 

Despite your protests, he managed to get you up on your feet before lifting you up to sit on the desk in front of him. Thankfully, Egon had only been taking notes when you found him. If he had been working with ectoplasms or fungi, he never would have let you get as far as putting your hand over his clothed crotch. 

“Unfortunately, my refractory period is too long for my liking.” With the hand still on your face, Egon pushed your hair back before gliding his thumb over your swollen bottom lip. “If I had to choose, I’d rather come in your pussy than your mouth.”

You sported a wolfish grin, escaping Egon’s hold to lean back on your elbows. “Then get to it, Doctor Spengler.” He watched as you spread your legs apart, the hem of your nightgown raising up your thighs.

You didn’t have to tell him twice. In a matter of seconds, Egon was fully sheathed inside you, forever grateful that you decided not to wear panties before coming to find him in the lab. The pace he set was erratic and forceful, drawing out every moan and whimper that he could from you.

Egon knew he wouldn’t last long. He was already close to the edge when he first thrust inside you, so he put all his mental power into making sure he didn’t come before you. But luckily, it seemed like you were just as close. Your body writhed and shook with every hard thrust.

Exhaustion seemed to catch up with your boyfriend, who bent over to rest his head on your chest. He scattered kisses around your breasts, smirking when your nipples stiffened at the stimulation.

“Eegs!” You whined, hands reaching out to grab onto the back of his neck. “I’m so close.”

As if those words were a trigger phrase, Egon’s hand slithered down your body to where the two of you met to play with your sensitive clit. Your chest arched into him, and it wasn’t long before you were falling over the edge. Your cunt spasming around Egon’s cock triggered his own orgasm, and he huffed and panted as he fucked you through your highs.

When you both came down, everything felt still and peaceful. You weren’t exactly used to peaceful, so you did your best to savor the moment. 

After a few minutes, Egon finally moved. He lifted his head from your chest, and you giggled at his askew and foggy glasses. You straightened them out for him before running your hands through his hair, the tall man almost purring at your touch. 

“The boys are gonna be home soon.” You finally say, trying to give Egon the hint that maybe the lab wasn’t the best place to stay in the position you two were in, Egon practically laying on top of you, dick still inside you with his pants and boxers around his ankles.

Egon huffed like a child being told to stop playing with his favorite toy and go to bed. He looked at you for a moment, seemingly deep in thought. He didn’t want this moment to end, not when you rarely had time for each other.