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notquitecanon · 2 years

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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

#dr. ray stantz x reader #ray stantz x reader #egon spengler x reader #don’t mind me writing overly self indulgent ghostbusters #ghostbusters x reader

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littleboxcat · 1 year

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Peter Finds Egon's Very personal Journal

Peter hated cleaning. He felt that when one reaches a certain level of success, they should not be relegated to doing menial house chores. As a child He hated the afterhours clean-up he was forced to do when the carnival had closed for the night. Sticky table tops, puke covered snapped together flooring, popcorn and other food refuse, all of those things made Peter shudder. But he did so love the Carnie life.

Of course, this was not the carnival. This was Ghostbuster HQ and It was Peters turn to do chores. When he lived alone, he had invented a system. His apartment had three states of being: Normal, Messy and Uh-oh It’s time to clean-o-clock. A few items here and there and out of place, maybe a light to medium layer of dust or crumbs on the counters and the floor was considered downright neat. What human lived in a spotless household? A psychopath that’s who peter thought. Messy was when the piles of items out of their natural places outnumbered the items where they belonged. This still did not bother Peter; He knew where everything was. If he left his shirt on the floor near the bathroom door, he knew it was there. The piles of items found their new homes strewn about. It felt the most like home when the place was messy. Uh-oh it’s time to clean-o-clock only came up when he was expecting guests. Special guests. Peter loved his homely feeling apartment, but he loved getting it in more.

Egon had not done his share of the chores the day before and like a petulant child, Peter was agitated at the fact that Spengler consistently got a pass. Why do I have to do it when he does not, he thought as he slapped the wet mop on the hardwood with a thwacking sound; before shuffling the handle back and forth. I’m Gonna tell-em about himself later, Pete Schemed.

The mop handle bumped against the lab door. It creaked open. He half expected to see the scientist hard at work, soldering tools in hand, safety googles on, but he remembered Janine had taken Egon out for a lunch date, which Egon insisted was not a date. Winston had invited Ray to a cookout at his family home. Zeddemore’s family really liked Ray. They decidedly did not like Peter. It was fine with Peter, He had the whole day to read comics, watch TV and relax, something the Men hadn’t had the chance to do in a while as business was most times chaotic. Slimer was around, somewhere lazing or eating them out of house and home; maybe both.

Peter entered the lab. “Oh Eggie, I’m gonna touch your stuff!” Peter said to the crowd of no one. “Better come stop me before I break something.” He continued mockingly as he halfheartedly mopped around Egon’s desk. The Mop hit a stack of books that lay teetering at the edge of the desktop. They fell to the floor. A small leather bound book that was hidden amongst the pile flopped open. Shit, peter swore to himself. Sometimes, actually most times Egon could tell when someone had trifled through his belongings. Peter wasn’t quite sure how, but he did.

There on the pages written in what could be considered doctorly hand writing; half chicken-scratch half spindly lines of text, something caught Peters eyes.

Date: June 17th

Time: 11:47pm

My physiology is behaving interestingly this evening.

-difficulty focusing

-Jittery

-Engorged Phallus

-Slight elevated body temp: 99˚

-Flushed skin

-Mind preoccupied with thoughts of copulation.

-Perchance with Janine?

- Possible need for penile stimulation?

Eck… Peter thought, why does everything sound so gross when stated scientifically out of Egon’s mouth. As grossed out as Peter was, his need to find out more about his friends sex life was greater. Egon had not ever spoken to them about anything of a sexual nature. Actually, this was untrue. He had, in college, discussed his adolescent observations about teen mating rituals and STIs. But this conversation wasn’t specifically about Egon; Of course he also told Peter that women were interested in his Epididymis. Nobody wants to know about Egon’s spermy ducts, Peter mused as he continued reading. Pete made himself comfortable on the beat-up ratty cushioned couch in the lab, half forgetting what he was supposed to be doing. Purposefully forgetting.

Date: June 22nd

Time: 2:20am

Had the familiar dream again.

-Pulsating Engorgement

-Very uncomfortable.

-Sensitive to the touch

-Boxers moist with approx. 3-4 ml pre-ejac--

Peter Stopped; Slammed the book shut; Shuddered and grimaced. He frowned making a very Robert DeNiro face, then opened the leather journal and soldiered on.

-An attempt was made to ignore

- Pillow placed between thighs

- light stimulation using soft surface, favorable.

- Manual stimulation. Very reactive.

-overwhelming need for release.

Note to self: DO NOT DO THIS AGAIN IN THE BUNKROOM. Mess is difficult to clean from sheets and clothes whilst others sleep.

“UGH NO! EGON NO! We… We were in the room when you did that!”

Peter screeched loudly. As if one or maybe all of them had never jacked it while the others slept. Hell, Peter did it twice before. Too lazy to go into the bathroom to rub one out, he lay there listening to the snoring sounds of the others for fear they might awaken and notice. But this was different. This was Egon. Dr. Egon Spengler. Physicist, Parapsychologist. The Brains of the outfit. Jerking it in the bunkroom. Peter was repulsed but also intrigued. Curiosity got the better of Peter.

Notes: I will write more of Egon's Journal. Hope it enjoyable. If you share my writing please give me some credit. Thank you.

#the real ghostbusters #dr egon spengler #egon spengler #peter venkman #ghostbusters #ghostbusters 1984 #janine melnitz #janegon #fanfic #fandom #smut #Ghostbuster HQ #winston zeddemore #ray stantz

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