#don’t mind me writing overly self indulgent ghostbusters

[notquitecanon]

The Love Hypthetical

For Emergencies Only pt 3

First Prev

Tw: one joke v*mit ment, enough fluff to give you a tooth ache, very melodramatic, matches the vibes of pt 1 better

Beautiful beautiful beautiful boy

There were many mature ways to handle the things that happened. Pretend it never happened, have a mature and earnest conversation, find a new job where you didn’t make out with your boss…. Probably at least a half dozen other perfectly plausible solutions you could come up with if you would give it five minutes of rational thought.

However, rational thought didn’t play well with your current thoughts about Dr. Egan Spengler. Hell, even between your mortification verging on self loathing, you couldn’t help the burning tips of your ears nor the dopey grin that would twist up when you thought about either kiss you shared. Just the very fact there was more than one to think about almost made you forget the scientist had not shown any meaningful interest before or after either kiss, truly hadn’t spent any time with you since before the first one. At the very least, you had stopped attaching meaning to all the little things you used to think might mean he saw you in a different light than he did.

So, to hell with being mature. You not only worked for men who unironically called themselves ‘ghostbusters’ but also had pretended to date the resident reclusive scientist on not one, but two occasions that both resulted in borderline vulgar make out sessions. Mature had plummeted off the Statue of Liberty and sank to the bottom of the bay.

This was all the long winded justification you used to reinforce your quick tempered decision to call in for the next day. Left a voicemail so neither Janine nor Peter could question you too severely. You didn’t think you could face them at work the next day. After all, you doubted you’d get much sleep.

You didn’t sleep. Not a wink. When you closed your eyes, the incident at the club wouldn’t stop looping though your head. And when they were open, it was like the kiss at the firehouse was projected onto your ceiling like a movie with no emergency exits.

And yet when you rolled over and stifled your frustrated groan into your pillow, all your brain could show you were replays of that woman toying with the zipper on Egon’s jumpsuit and snippets of him not so subtlety avoiding and evading you for the past week and a half.

In all your self pity, loathing, and wallowing, you missed the first round of rapt knocks on your door. The second round, however, did pierce through your angst and your pillow. You snapped the pillow to your side, eye brows furrowed as you threw your blankets off- you were uncomfortably warm anyways. Swinging your legs over the side of the bed, you slid your feet into your favorite fluffy slippers, listening for another moment.

Another round of knocks came as you slowly stood, checking the clock on your night stand- 2:21 AM.

“(Y/N), I heard your voicemail I know your home and my estimation is that your still awake.”

Nope.

You couldn’t even bring yourself to feel childish as you dove back under the covers with a strangled yelp. His deductions be damned. It didn’t matter if it was Egon, a Supreme Court judge, the Queen of England, Jesus, Gozer, or any other God for that matter…

If anyone was to ask, you weren’t home. you were asleep. Better yet both- asleep some where that wasn’t the apartment that Egon was currently standing outside of. You thought holding the blanket over your face.

"(Y/N), I can hear the bed’s springboard from here. These apartments are former tenements with extremely thin walls."

How could you forget that?! You scolded yourself as you went rigidly still- your bed rewarded you with a spiteful squeak. Due to your dangerously thin walls- a fire hazard, honestly- you heard the man sigh.

"I believe its far past time for us to have a conversation," He called through your door and your stomach dropped. Oh God, he was firing you, or worse ,"(Y/N), I understand if you don’t want to engage with me, but I hope you’ll at least listen to me."

It would seem you didn’t have much choice. You peeked your head to from the blanket as Egon paused for a moment, clearly waiting for a response. When he didn’t get one, he continued.

"It appears that we- I- have made a mess things in my endeavor to further understand yours and my own emotions and instincts, " He started, voice uncharacteristically earnest. Slowly, you sat up, letting the blankets pool around your waist. Maybe you weren’t getting fired.

"I have valued intelligence and intellect over all other attributes and values, often because I find that I interact differently with the word than my peers, emote differently… feel differently than my peers. I’ve always known this and never has it truly bothered me, perhaps its the reason I never took time to familiarize myself with certain social rituals." He admitted, for the first time since you’ve known him, struggling to find the right words.

This level of vulnerability, of open honesty, was new- enticing as it was nerve wracking . Egon never lied and was always serious, but that didn’t mean he always showed all his cards. Maybe that’s why you couldn’t help yourself, just as slowly you slipped off the bed, creeping through your bedroom and living room. This time, you carefully and mindfully avoided every squeaky floor board and groaning doorway. As if if he knew you were listening he might withdraw again.

"I didn’t deem them of note, or substance, so when…." Egon trailed off again, his shadow under the door shifted, clearly uncomfortable, nervous you decided "When I met you, despite my extensive knowledge of psychology, none of it prepared me for field experience. None of my theories or hypotheticals had prepared me for when it was me who experienced them."

When he met you? You mouthed the word in repetition, eye brows knitted up, sneaking so close that you could press your cheek to the door, plans splayed beside you turned head, as if sheer proximity would allow the words to soak in.

Judging by his shadow and the volume of his muffled voice, he was just as close, probably having to turn his head so his nose wouldn’t brush the wood.

"So I pulled back to the familiar, observing, hypothesizing, watching how you interacted with me and adjusting my variables accordingly, how I reacted to your actions," Egon paused again to take a deep breath, all this self reflection was taxing, "so much so that sometimes, often times, I forgot to feel and experience them for myself."

He paused for another moment, chuckling lowly, you weren’t sure if it was for your benefit or his, but he tried a joke, "Peter has always said I’m too far in my head, that one day something was going to hit me in the face and I wouldn’t notice it. I never thought that was possible until I met you."

You snickered silently at the joke, leaning more against the door- even without realizing you yearned to be close to him. Another beat of silence- you hadn’t realized how anxious this had made you until in his silence you could hear and feel you heartbeat filling up the pause. So loud you worried Egon could hear it, never the less he continued, his voice softer this time.

"I never envied Venkman’s people skills, or even Ray’s emotional depth… until I met you."

You tried to temper your tiny gasp as more clues fell into place, eyes threatening to get misty. If Egon noticed, he didn’t comment instead sighing again, seeming to steel himself.

"I knew from the moment I met you, I felt differently about you- even beyond the basic biological responses. I’ve tried to keep a scientific mind, but for the first time I couldn’t. And beyond that, I didn’t quite know what to do or how to go about those- these- feelings. I confess, I still don’t."

The went quiet again. You wanted to pry more words out of him to still you shaking hands, brain whirling with all these confessions but he wasn’t done. You were surprised you could still hear him over the your pounding heart that had somehow taken residence in you chest, throat, ears, stomach as well as other places simultaneously.

"I have come to realize why- why I enjoy physical contact with you when it irks me from others, why I worked my schedule around spending time with you, why I appreciate when you go out of your way for me or wait to eat with me, why I didn’t want to pretend to be your partner." He listed, you could almost hear the soft smile in his voice. He paused one last time.

"(Y/N), I-"

You couldn’t bear it any longer. The butterflies in your stomach had undergone evolution or maybe mutation- you weren’t quiet sure the scientific term, maybe you’d ask Egon later. At the very least, they all learned a unanimous Irish gig to stomp around with. Your palms were sweaty against the splintering wood, stomach doing flips, knees jelly, head spinning and racing- if you didn’t see him right that moment, you very well might exploded, or on a lesser scale at least throw up.

So, you swung the door open with such force that you almost fell over trying to land yourself back in front of him. Egon had startled at the sudden action, wide eyed and breathless as he took in your sudden appearance. You noticed he wasn’t in his jumpsuit from earlier, instead he had traded it out for his typical day wear despite it being well into the early hours of the morning. Though, he wasn’t wearing his coat- uncharacteristic of him to not be prepared, had his decision to come here been so hasty?

With the same scrutiny, he observed your matching satin pajamas (a self indulgent choice on your part for your planned night of wallowing), unable to stop the slight smirk at your fluffy slipper clad feet.

So consumed in the overwhelming urge to see him, you hadn’t spared a thought to what you might say after his very well executed admission. And now, without the door separating you, you stood so close that even looking up at him it was through your lashes. All you managed was little more than a whisper, barely a squeak, "…Hi."

Almost as mindlessly, with an out of character grin goofy, he responded in his deep baritone, "Hello."

His own voice seemed to remind him while he was here, he nodded mostly to himself as he took a deep breath, holding your gaze.

"After months, I’ve come to the conclusion that I am in love with you."

You felt jubilant- and maybe a bit faint- so you braced yourself against the door frame as you smiled up at him. He was watching you with wide eyes, arched brows, chin dipped down to meet your face. For once, unsure of himself.

"And if my hypothesis is correct…" He trailed off, nodding down to you, "(Y/N), can I kiss you?"

Maybe it was the sleep deprivation or perhaps the week a half of self doubt you’d put yourself through, but despite the confession- reassuring your feelings had always been reciprocated- you couldn’t stop the crinkle of your eyebrows. Both of your other kisses had a purpose, a reason… an act to hold up. But now that no one was watching, you couldn’t stifle the question that slipped from your lips.

"What for?"

Egon’s own eyebrow broke their arch to furrow before he caught your meaning. He was sincere as he used the tips of his fingers to brush yours.

"Well, my theory is that if I love you, and you feel the same way-"

"I do." You didn’t mean to say it out loud, especially accompanied by the frantic nodding, so you tried to recover by adding a slightly less chaotic, "feel the same way, that is."

Egon just smiled again, comparing his long fingers to you smaller ones before lacing them as he continued his theory.

"-Then I don’t require a reason to want to kiss you. Provided of course-"

You couldn’t help it, you cut him off again- a rather rude habit you were developing. It didn’t matter, he loved you. This time you interrupted by pulling his lips quickly down to yours as you tugged him inside, he just barely managed to push the door shut before you had all but collapsed the to of you onto your couch- all the while managing not to separate, brilliant teamwork if you did say so yourself.

While your lips moved in tandem, hands were wandering, exploring each other- hair, faces,shoulders, back, waist legs… This kiss, not for anyone else’s eyes, was solely for the two of you. Fingers tangled in his surprisingly soft curls, you repeated your earlier discovery, tugging on the longer bits to further deepen the kiss. Once again, he groaned, almost a growl you realized, audible this time without music blaring to drown it out. It was one thing to feel the reverberation but In combination with the delicious sound the scientist made….

It lit a fire in you, made you greedy- you wanted to pull more of those sounds from him just to see if you could. With your newfound greed, you decided that you werne’t near close enough- despite having his tongue in your mouth. So you pulled yourself from between his legs to be all but on top of him, knees straddling his waist, so he had to tip his head back and you, yours, downward.

At this position, Egon had little choice but to rest hands on your waist so you didn’t topple the two of you over. He wasn’t quite sure he trusted the structural integrity of your sofa. Your hands, however, had the freedom to wander- nails trailing across his scalp, down his neck, across his broad shoulders, and then back around to hold his face.

After finding proper balance, he allowed his hands to trail almost devastatingly slowly from your waist down your sides before landing on the plush back side of your thighs. You gasped at the sudden squeeze of the tender flesh.

Egon grinned against your lip, delighted with that new discovery but decided that compared to your rapid heartbeat that you weren’t getting nearly enough oxygen, so he took the opportunity to pull away- chuckling when you pouted and collapsed back on the sofa.

As usual, he gave you is signature look of observation- noting your kiss swollen lips, flush face, heaving chest, clothes askew. His eyes were dark, appreciative yet still soft. Carefully- amusing since he had just made out with you for the third time- he took you hands in his, pressing a gentle, chaste kiss across your knuckles as you just stared back at him starry eyed.

“(Y/N), I have no use for any more games or false pretenses. I have a lot to learn about romantic pursuits, but it was you who made me want- crave- that knowledge. If you’ll have me, of course.”

He made it sound like such a burden, you giggled, scooting a little closer again so you could press a much more calm kiss to his cheek before resting your forehead against his. His glasses pressed uncomfortably into your face which only made you smile more, “Egon, I’ve liked you since I met you and after that first kiss, I’m pretty sure I went head over heels”

You pulled back pretending to think about it for a moment, “which, I believe, with both our feelings reciprocated and acknowledged, officially labels us an ‘item’ as they say.”

The scientist nodded for a moment as if mentally going through his checklist before oh so seriously answering, “I concur.”

“In that case,” you started rather innocently, smoothing over the wrinkles your desperate wandering hands had put into his shirt earlier, “There are many things we could do for no other reason than we just because we want to. And considering I’ve already called in to work tomorrow and you’re my boss…”

You trailed off again smiling as he chuckled, pretending to think over the offer before startling you, quickly pulling you to your feet, leading you off back towards your bedroom with a mischievous grin.

“I concur.”

___

And fin, a trilogy complete. Just two idiots in love who can make out whenever they want

Anyways tagging ppl I think care: @thegeekisheere @maraudermap000 @mzing14 @fanfictionedagain @egonspenglersweetie @nadja-antipaxos @egon-spenglers-glasses @twinkiethievery @enbyoddity

[notquitecanon]

Dust and Motor Oil // Ray Stantz x Reader

A little meet cute for the heart of the ghost busters

Ray Stantz x Paranormal romance novelist! reader

but shhh he doesn't know that and yes it is going to be a problem bc I live for the drama. ten bucks you don't know what kinda drama it's gonna cause

tw: mentions of adult romance novel contents, the word v*mit is used like twice but not talking about actually being sick

Being a paranormal romance writer was hard. Being a paranormal romance novelist in the 80’s without access to the internet was harder. So you considered a stroke of luck you stumbled across an occult book shop not even three blocks from your apartment, only one from your favorite coffee shop. Your editor had provided you a list of occult and oddity shops in the area when complaints of inadequate literature pushed back your manuscript for the third time. Each of them offered unique items, yet turned their noses up when you divulged the purpose of your research. 

So after one too many shots of espresso, the second strongest liquid courage, and the resolve to keep your career to yourself, you made the block in jittery, record time, finding yourself in front of “Ray’s Occult” with your face reflected between the blue neon of the window sign. 

The door tinkled a little bell as you pushed it open, alerting a seemingly empty store. You weren’t bothered by that though, it was probably for the best that no one saw how your jaw dropped or eyes bugged. The sheer volume of books was mindblowing in such a tiny space- old tomes overflowing from every semiflat surface, cracked spines crammed to capacity in the shelves, books stacked in corners, cluttering end tables… 

The research had always been the hardest part of your chosen genre- not that your publisher or most of your readers were striving for accuracy between the bodice ripping, but it mattered to you, leaving many projects abandoned due to lack of information. Looking around again, you had a sneaking suspicion you had hit the gold mine. 

Aside from the general vastness of the collection, the little store had a welcoming atmosphere- or at least compared to other occult and witchy stores you had tried to frequent. You felt giddy, the smell of old books flooding your senses like a drug after another deep inhale. Along with the ever comforting old book scent that every reader and author alike loved, the air had a not quite herbal not quite incense fragrance, just strong enough to be noticed but not strong enough to give you a headache, it fused with the lingering scent of tobacco. Any space not occupied by shelves or stacks, well loved, plush chairs had been squeezed in so readers could disappear into their chosen reading material. The clerks counter was a glass show case, featuring all sorts of odds, ends, and curios, and the surface was covered in open books and little trinkets. As you passed by the counter, low, haphazardly hanging baubles, chimes, and bells threatened to graze the top of you hair if you were just any taller. You reached up giving a bronze and glass shard mobile an affectioned graze, watching how it reflected the warm overhead lights and chinked noise into the otherwise silent store. 

Just being here made your fingers itch, made you want to be writing. To satiate your digits, you moved on to the shelves, dragging appreciative hands along the spines to smudge dust away from the titles. Somehow the dust collected there was endearing rather than dissuading.  Titles like “Necronomicon”, “The Weiser Book of Horror and the Occult”, “The Compendium of Transcendental Doctrine and Experiment”, “Occult Experiences - 1906 Edition”, and “Creatures, Entities, and Deities of Western Russia, ancient and psuedomodern folk tales.” all captivated your mind, wondering what new ideas these books could spark. 

“Hello? Is someone here?” A bright voice called, jerking you out of your reverent exploring, startling you so much you flinched away. This, in combination with the close quarters of the shelves, resulted in your shoulder knocking an already shifty stack of books off their home on the nearest end shelve. Your yelp of surprise was strangled as you made a mad dive to prevent the lamp from falling over as well, in response the voice changed, less bright now, almost a stern warning, like an unamused teacher, “Is… something here?” 

You forcibly cleared the dust and pesky frog from your throat, setting the lamp upright before dropping to the floor to get a head start on cleaning up your mess, “No, No! A someone! A clumsy someone, but a someone nonetheless.” 

Using your flustered rambling, the new comer wound his way through the hedgemaze of shelves. You could hear his heavy footfalls as you at least got the books all closed before he rounded the corner- partially for the assumed employ not to shout at you, but also as an author your heart clenched at some of the unseemly angles the books that were probably older than you splayed open at, honestly a crime, “I’m really sorry about this, I guess clumsy and jmpy aren’t a really good combination in a cluttered book store. Not that the store is cluttered. Well, I guess it is by definition a little cluttered, but not in a messy, gross way, ya know? More in a homey, ancient library kind of way. Good clutter. I’m pro clutter.” 

You were still rambling as you stood, swiveling to orient yourself towards the man. Despite knowing you were basically vomitting words, not all of them good, in fact the ones that weren’t utter nonsense were borderline insults, you couldn't stop yourself, avoiding meeting this man’s eyes like a scolded child. Just great, typical even, you had hit the metaphorical gold mine of paranormal research and now you could never show your face here again. 

When you finally had rounded your way back around to apologizing again, you forced yourself to raise your eyes to meet the presumed employee. What you were met with finally stunned you to silence- though you weren’t sure if your sudden muteness made you seem more or less insane. Regardless, another bonus for the occult book shop was the man in front of you. 

Easily six feet, maybe taller, so you had to crane your neck up to meet his eyes- especially with how close he had to stand due to cramped quarters between the stacks. He wore khaki slacks, just tight enough to stoke your imagination as they clung to his thighs. Under a very soft looking sweater vest cardigan was a button up shirt, sleeves rolled up to his elbows revealing strong, muscled forearms and manly hands that were smudged with ink, or maybe grease. Around his neck was a pair of glasses, connected to a neat chain, making you absentmindedly wonder if he had a habit of misplacing them. Above all, he had a kind face, familiar somehow, even when looking at you with just as surprised eyes. You gasped a little bit in welcome surprise to find hetero-chromic eyes, only noticeable due to proximity. It was silent for a moment until he seemed to realize that if you both kept staring at each other, nothing would ever happen- just two shocked fools gazing at each other in different types of awe. 

“Oh, geez, I’m sorry, where are my manners?” He muttered, mostly to himself before clearing his throat, chuckling a bit as he recalled your word vomit, “No, No, I’m well aware of how cluttered it is in here. My fault for ordering inventory before measuring the space. I hope I didn’t scare you too bad.” 

Then he smiled at you. Not a polite tug of his lips, no a real smile. One of those warm, genuine smiles that put you at ease just seeing it, that were so few and far between in New York these days that you almost subconsciously relaxed. Somehow boyish and beyond his years at the same time as he outstretched his dirty hands, “I’m Dr. Raymond Stantz.” 

With a smile like that, you didn’t know what had come over you, it was almost embarrassing how enamored he had you with so few words. You didn’t think twice about taking his hand in yours, despite the ink, dirt, grease or what ever it was he had gotten into. His hands were big, and warm, dwarfing yours as he gave it an excited shake. Despite the callouses, they weren’t rough. Finally, you managed a blink which allowed you to drop your gaze to your hand in his, his eyes followed yours before gasping. 

“Oh no, I’m sorry I didn’t realize how greasy my hands were!” He apologized cheeks going rosy, dropping your hand as though that would decontaminate them, holding his palms up to show you just how greasy they were. So it was mechanical grease- another thing that should have irritated you was marked into the endearing category. 

 Not meaning to, you frowned as the sudden breach in contact. You hadn’t been bothered until you looked down and saw how the dust had collected now into grime both on his and your hand. Now it was your turn to grimace at your freshly noticed social faux paux- your grandmothers voice echoing in your mind, dirty hands aren’t meant for shaking. 

“Well, I guess we’re even, I didn’t realize mine were so dusty.” Ray looked down at the dust clinging to the smudges on his fingers. Both of you waited for the other to be frustrated or snap, but it never happened, instead he cracked a smile, bright eyes meeting yours with such gleeful glint that made you giggle. Then, you both laughed like you knew each other for years, both of you holding your hands out so as not to contaminate anything else. Shaking his head, the man reached into his back pocket and produced an oil stained work towel, offering it to you first like a true gentleman. 

You took the rag with a quiet thanks, making quick work of both hands before passing it back to him, voicing your mild epiphany, “I guess that makes you the Ray, of Ray’s Occult?” 

“Guilty.” Dr. Stantz gave a tightlipped grin of faux guilt, holding his oil stained hands up as if he’d been caught, “The one and the same. I never caught your name thought?” 

“Oh, sorry!” You shook your head, as if that would kick start your brain into acting like a real human again before offering your name like an offhanded comment. Ray wiped his hands with that happy grin as if your name was the highlight of his day. 

“Well, Welcome to Ray’s Occult, (Y/N), premier destination for all your supernatural needs, where I swear I dust once a week.”

You couldn’t help but giggle as he stopped down to pick up a couple of books that hadn’t been rearranged yet. You joined him on the ground, sorting out books as he shook his head, “I mean it, I swear something in here is possessed by some dust mongering spirit. Class two, at least!” 

Your grin only grew as you met his eyes teasingly, “A plague to all those with sensitive sinuses.”

With two sets of hands, it was quick work to return the stack of books to their previously precariously stacked glory. Ray seemed appeased, hands on his hips after he had helped you up again, “So, what brings you in today?” 

For the first time, you hesitated with your words. You weren’t exactly ashamed of your work- you paid your rent by doing something you and countless others enjoyed. No shame in that. And yet. Not everyone found your work to be exactly, respectable. It was the main reason you had finally made the move to New York City and started printing under a pen name, the very reason that occult book stores across Manhattan had turned their noses up at you. And Ray was just waiting for an answer with that smile… This very kind, very funny, and very very cute nook store owner didn’t need to know your interest lied in research for your historical and or paranormal-fantasy bodice rippers. Sometimes it was just easier to not get into it.  Still, it was hard to imagine lying to the man, despite just meeting him it felt wrong, so you only lied a little bit, clearing your throat to mask your hesitance, “Oohh, just casual curiosity. I’d love some light research on the supernatural.” 

Ray nodded, either not noticing or not caring for your obfuscated answer, “Anything in particular, or dealers choice?” 

You ignored the laundry list of of specifics you needed to research more, instead settling on, “Uhm, I guess special interest in paranormal creatures-ahem- corporeal more so than not.”

For your line of work, the more corporeal bodies the better. 

Still you couldn’t help but be curious about Ray’s choice in literature, so you tacked on, “But, I’d love to see what the dealer has to offer too.” 

Ray’s cheeks went rosy again as he cleared his throat, motioning for you to follow him, “Now, I specialize in more noncorporeal entities, but I have a good bit of literature more your style. I definitely wouldn’t recommend them for bedtime reading but….” 

“I always suggest starting with Tobin’s Spirit guide, good citiing for any paranormal research, really.” He rounded the first corner, approaching the shelf with several of the same book packed together, before adding sourly, “This is an older edition, but the latest isn’t much different save for the unfortunate publisher bias on new research to sell more copies.” 

Pulling the burgundy bound book, his scowl was gone as soon as it came moving to the next shelf, rattling off a couple titles with dismissing shakes of his head before finally landing on one he approved of, “Neiman’s Bestiary of Western Europe sounds about like what your looking for, highly recommended.” 

He pulled it out of the shelf, leaving such a large space that the surrounding books sagged almost in relief to have newfound freedom. He thunked it on top of Tobin’s, not even offering to have you carry them as he rounded another corner, “I don’t how you feel about Fae lore, but ‘An Encylopedia of Fairies’ is eye opening. Makes you think about Tinkerbell a little harder.” 

He gave an overdramatic shake of his head as if to emphasize his point in the terrors the book held. It made you want to crack it open then and there just to know what he was talking about. Seeing your wide eyes he smiled and added it to the pile, pulling the book of the Western Russian folklore where you had left dust free swipe along the spine. With a mischievous wink, he wordlessly added it to the growing pile cradled in his arms. 

“Let’s see, dealers choice…” He hummed, scratching his head as he thought before his eyes lit up, bounding up to the counter. He easily lugged the pile of varying sizes and yet all heavy books- easily at least twenty pounds- onto the counter with enough of a thunk that you feared the glass counter might shatter under its weight. He seemed unaffected by the racket as he sifted through the open materials on his makeshift desk, before emerging victoriously with a laminated folder. With a wide smile he flipped through the pages as if to prove he had found it, the pages were rife with sticky notes, highlighted portions, and penciled in notes in the margins, “Aha! ‘Immigrating Entities’- it’s a mindblowing article discussing the theory that entities and creatures can follow people groups when they migrate. Written by one of my former college professors, truly fascinating read.” 

You noticed that despite his excitable nature, when he got truly riled up he started talking even faster, shaking the folder in barely concealed exhilaration. Ray cleared his throat, forcing himself to appear a bit more calm, “Sorry, just fascinating stuff! Anything piquing you interest?” 

“No, don’t apologize!” You shook your head with an assuring smile, stepping closer to the counter so you could lean in closer. Taking in the stack he had amassed for you, you didn’t know if you would make it home without getting lost in ones pages. It was clear he was passionate about the subject, even more than you were, and happy to help, you couldn’t help but smile back, truthfully answering, “All of it, actually.” 

Ray nodded sagely, “I know the feeling.” 

Minutes later, Ray had totalled you up- Tobin’s and the Bestiary to keep in your personal collection, Western Russian Folklore and Encyclopedia of Fairies on trial basis, and Immigrating Entities on loan (this was after a five minute debate on your insistence you couldn’t take his obviously well loved and marked up copy, and his insistence that he had it memorized after reading it so many time, you had compromised only after you had promised to return it with absolutely not even a bent page). Dr. Stantz even tacked on a 10% ‘first time in’ discount that he randomly remembered after getting lost in thought (totally not staring at you), and was kind enough to round up a cardboard box for you after the paper sacks he offered shredded against the weight. 

“Got it?” He asked cautiously as you hefted the box off the counter. It was akin to carrying a chubby five year old, but you managed. 

“I can handle myself.” You winked as he came around the counter to open the door for you, tall enough that he could open the door and you could just walk under his arm. 

He cleared his throat right as you crossed the threshold, stopping you in your tracks just as close as the two of you had been in the shelves earlier. This time when he smiled it was softer, “I hope to see you again…” 

He trailed off eyes widening as your cheeks heated, quickly adding on, “In the store, I mean, I still have plenty to show you if you’re interest.” 

Oh you were interested.

“I’m sure I’ll be back soon, Dr. Stantz.” You assured him, hefting the box a little higher on your chest, “I’m a fast reader.” 

“Call me Ray, please.” Ray implored, somehow making such a mundane request seem earnest and intimate. You swallowed thickly, looking up at him as you nodded. He nodded in response to your nodding before adding, “Have a good night, (Y/N).” 

“Thanks again, Ray.” 

His grin was bright enough to power the city as you turned away, marching your way back to your apartment. And while you didn’t have that 1000 watt grin, you smile, a bit more subdued, was wistful. The writer in you could almost envision how these events would look on page, see the pages turning to a new chapter, new characters, new possibilities. 

And you loved a good story. 

__

is this planned to have more than one part? yes

will I never touch it again if it doesn't get at least a dozen likes?? also yes this is a threat pls give me validation

[notquitecanon]

Please. More Ray Stantz x Reader…please

Typing it up tomorrow. Planned at least 3 parts 🧐🧐