Ghostbusters (Male Reader Insert)

2.5 Christmas Creeps

They had another moment of silence just smiling at one another.

Grace: Shall I show you around?

Y/N: Sure. Lead the way, madame. 

Grace placed her arm around his and began to introduce him to folks around the manor. 

Ralph Wellesly walked down the large staircase with his wife. He looked around at the party going on and smiled to himself. Soon, some friends began presenting him with gifts. Most of them were odd artifacts and foreign trophies to add to his collection. One item that surprised him was a jar of some pink liquid of some sort. 

Man: Mr. Wellesly, sir, I present to you a strange substance of which few have encountered. I bought it off a salesman in Chinatown. I personally believe it to be some healing agent of old tradition.

Mr. Wellesly: Thank you Frank. You can place it on the table over there with the other gifts. 

Mr. Wellesly continued greeting his guests. He soon saw his daughter walk up with a young man attached to her arm. Ralph recognized the young man from both the museum and television. 

Mrs. Wellesly: Well Grace, would you like to introduce us to your friend here?

Grace: Um, sure. Mom, Dad, this is Y/N L/N. 

Y/N brought out his hand and Mr. Wellesly shook it firmly.

Mr. Wellesly: I recognize you. Guess the museum was too much for you huh?

Y/N: Well, if I recall sir, you fired me. 

Mr. Wellesly: So I did. And now look at you. Quite celebrity aren't you? What with your flashy car and wild stories. Have you considered Halloween parties?

Grace: Dad...

Y/N simply grinned and held his chin up. He had become accustomed to people not believing in their work, especially those of the rich type. He simply smiled warmly at Mr. Wellesly and retorted his statement.

Y/N: No, I get it. My honest work and little money means nothing to someone so grand and important such as yourself. You stand at the pinnacle of greatness with your built up wealth. Sorry, but I wasn't born with a silver spoon attached to my umbilical cord. 

Mr. Wellesly looked at the boy with a stern face. He wasn't use to people talking back to him like that. It was starting to make him angry. What neither realized was that the slime on the table began to bubble in response.

Mr. Wellesly: Ha. I'd hardly call it honest work. What do you use? Sparklers, confetti, mirror illusions? No, I deal with stuff that's more practical, logical. Stuff you couldn't possibly understand.

Y/N: I'm sure I'd have a better understanding than you realize. At least it'd be better than yours or your clients. 

Mr. Wellesly: Hey. My clients are respectable bunch. Look around you. Each person here makes more in a month than you do in a year. Besides, at least I'm not fooling them with campfire ghost stories.

Y/N: Do you believe in the paranormal Mr. Wellesly?

Mr. Wellesly: I believe in what I can see with my own eyes.

Y/N: Right. Like checkbooks and cash. Well, the night is still young. This is the season of believing after all. 

Y/N grinned while Mr. Wellsley stood there dumbfounded by the man's attitude. He couldn't think of another retort. Grace looked at Y/N, trying to hold back a small smile. Mrs. Wellsley brought her daughter over to speak with her privately. Y/N walked away from the frustrated man.