#bookworm reader

˗ˏˋ I don’t actually read — MIKE WHEELER x READER

➤SYNOPSIS: Michael starts to frequent a small bookstore on the corner of Salem Boulevard…which is funny, because he much prefers writing.  

➤CONTAINS: Fem reader, time skip Mike, awkward crush vibes, bookworm!reader, shy reader, gentle and slightly smutty, making out, soft love, mike has no game I fear

✩°｡🧸𓏲⋆.🧺𖦹 ₊˚

So, it began with the bookstore. 

See, he hadn’t known it then: but it all started for you when you moved to Hawkins after you graduated—a neighboring town to your own in Indiana. Why move here of all places? Who knows. Maybe a change of pace, a desperate attempt of independence.. maybe escape. 

Either way, you got a job at a bookstore. 

The more and more Mike got involved in writing and story making, the more he tried to drag himself to libraries and places alike so that he could one: research things, and two: broaden his horizon on literature. It was sort of like a New Year’s resolution.. however, Mike wasn’t a very resolute person. He was completely content with remaining in a small, comfortable box that was his life—especially after the shit he’s been through. 

It was like he finally got to have a break. No monsters, no more imminent danger or supernatural threats: just him, his type writer, journals… and now, the book in his hand. 

‘Animal Farm’ read the title. He had heard about the book numerous times. In fact, Dustin had read it for a language arts class in freshman year and would not shut up about it for about a week straight. Mike chewed the inside of his cheek, momentarily flipping to read the back of the paper cover just to flip it back around again. 

It was almost taunting, and it wasn’t even a long book. Dustin had strongly recommended it when he rang to ask for good pieces to read. He said the message was strong, and the history behind the books controversy was interesting. It wasn’t the book itself that was the problem, it was Michael’s. Simply his own, for he had hated—

“It’s a good book.” A silken voice chimed through his head. Making him look up. His eyes fell upon a feminine figure: a mixture of muted browns and tans being the only color found in your outfit, at least today. You had been holding about four books in the crook of your arm, another in your free hand as you slide it into its correct spot on a bookshelf. 

“E-excuse me?” Mike stammered, embarrassed as his brain hadn’t quite registered what you said. Offering a small smile, you continue with your job and reply. “Oh, I just said that it’s a good book,” you repeated and gestured to it. “Animal farm?” 

Mike didn’t reply. He opened his mouth to—but nothing came out. He hadn’t looked annoyed, nor did he seem upset in general that you were speaking to him. He simply didn’t know what to say. Mike didn’t want to sound stupid— gods, anything but that.. in full honesty, he hadn’t left his small apartment in a day or maybe three, too enraptured in writing to pay any mind to the outside world. And even when he did leave, it was to go to the grocery store or to visit is parents.. he wasn’t used to interaction at this point. Had he ever been? 

“..have you read it?” You ask, getting a little awkward seeing as he was just standing there staring at you. Perhaps he was hard of hearing? By now, you had finished putting away the book donations you had gotten, so you were standing there waiting for him to say something. Anything. You almost felt trapped. You thought he looked like a nice young man when he came in—with his ironed slacks and tucked in striped polo shirt. The silver and wire framed glasses he wore made him look approachable, so you took a chance. 

“Ah, uhm—no, not yet.” He shook his head, a small and nervous smile on his face as he glanced to the book and back to you again. He ran his hand over the cool surface of the cover, trying to find a way to save himself from that strange start. “I’m sorry, I’ve been a little out of it today.. uh, would you recommend it?” He asked, and all of the sudden he did in fact feel stupid. Clearly you would, you had said it was a good read, didn’t you? 

He had expected a snide giggle or nasty look, but instead he got an even warmer and more welcoming smile. A wave of relief washed over him, the way your eyes lit up upon his question intriguing. He noted the color of them.. he wasn’t quite sure why. 

“Oh, yeah! I mean, it’s a decent length and in all honesty I think it’s good commentary..” your eyes trail to the basket he holds with only one other book in it: a dungeon and dragons guide. 

It was for a small niche category, not even one that Mike had explored to be frank: but he saw it on his way to the specific isle you both stood in now and just had to pick it up. He knew he was probably getting too old for these things, but he couldn’t help it. He missed it, and nostalgia took over. His eyes followed yours, and just like that he was anxious again: palms feeling a little too slick for his liking. 

“You enjoy Dungeons and Dragons?” Another question… gosh, why did he feel like he was being interrogated?

This wasn’t your intention—in fact, it wasn’t even what you were actually doing anyways. Michael knew that, but he was so out of touch and anxious that he had forgotten what a normal conversation with a stranger was like. While it was true that he wasn’t some dorky loser in high school anymore, it didn’t mean the habits wouldn’t stick. 

“Yes—yeah—well, I used to play a lot, when I was a kid.” He gestured towards the book itself in the basket as he placed animal farm beside it. He would buy it after all. “I don’t have time for it anymore and, the friend’s I would play it with are all caught up in their own lives, so..” he trailed off with a shrug, and to his surprise, you give him a knowing nod.

“Tell me about it. Growing up sucks, huh?” 

Despite how shy you were as a person, and how almost timid you had seemed while speaking to him, you wished to keep it going. Maybe Mike’s resolution was to read more, but yours was to talk more. So here you were. Talking. “I always chose the bard class..” you continued. “What about you?” 

“Oh, uh—Paladin.. if, if I wasn’t the DM.” He stammered out, a little surprised that he had met a new stranger—a kind one at that—who enjoyed the game like he had. Your brows raise slightly, intrigued by his answer. Looking at him now, you hadn’t quite expected the Paladin of all things to come from him. Not that it was bad, but his lanky and meek frame sang Artificer, perhaps? If only you had known justhow brave this man was. Had been.

“Paladin, huh?”

𐙚🧸ྀི

And so, it had become a regular occurrence. Mike coming to the bookstore, that is.

Every week like clock work, Friday afternoons when folks were busy working around town, he was there. Him, in his stupid sweater vests and those stupid glasses. Truth was, you hadn’t found them stupid in the slightest. You actually found him, in all his dorky glory, to be the cutest guy in Hawkins. 

It wasn’t just his studious appearance that drawled you in, no no—he was sweet. Polite, like the son of the neighbors next door would be when coming by to ask for a cup of sugar.. well, if this were the sixties when people actually did that sort of thing. Regardless, he had a sort of charm to him. His awkwardness mixed with yours in a way that made you feel recognized, comfortable. 

The second time he came in, you remember it like it was yesterday: you had been sitting at the counter, lazily flipping through a magazine as old Doris Day classics played on a nearby record player. The atmosphere was calm yet stagnate, and it had been for hours. It made sense, of course. People were working—bustling throughout the small town and going about their own business. People didn’t have time for books it seemed nowadays, and whilst you sat there lost in your own mind thinking about the costumer from exactly a week ago, you hear the door jingle.

Well, speak of the devil.

There he stood, glasses and all he was looking around as though he was trying to find something specific—eyes widening and posture straightening when he saw you staring right back at him from behind the counter. 

You couldn’t help but smile, honest! You were so relieved to have any form of interaction at this point, plus you were even more happy to see.. what was his name again? 

“Mike..!” You greet softly, sounding a tad bit more excited than you would have liked. He returned your smile, walking up to the counter. “Hey, it’s nice to see you again.” Your name sounded light on his tongue, the idea of him saying or even remembering your name giving you butterflies.

The sun bloomed through the large storefront windows and casted a warm aura around the man in front of you, his fingers fidgeting at the edge of the counter. “What brings you back here?” You begin. “Were the books from last time any good?”

“Oh, Animal farm was amazing—I actually wanted to come back sooner and uh.. ask for more recommendations? If you don’t mind..?” He timidly asked, voice hopeful and shy. 

You lit up, sitting straight in your chair and flashing him a toothy grin. You loved it when people asked you for books to read—or about anything you liked in general. Mike noted the way you seemed to grow so excited, he found it endearing.

“Totally! Yeah, uh.. let’s see..” you quickly get up, walking to a nearby shelf that was alphabetically organized. You chewed the skin around your nail for a second before catching yourself, not wanting to seem gross: you crossed your arms and gestured to the ‘V’ shelf and made room for him to join you. “I really like Kurt Vonnegut—he writes books similar to George Orwell’s, but he’s got a more sarcastic style.. it’s really interesting.” You begin to rant. You run your finger across book spines and point one out. “Cat’s Cradle? It’s really good.” 

“Or.. there’s The Outsiders, To Kill a Mockingbird, Slaughterhouse Five is also by Vonnegut—hm.. I mean, a lot—there’s a lot.” you finally clear your throat and wait for him to say something, realizing just how rambley you had grown.

Michael had been nodding along, trusting. The truth is, he didn’t just want a book. He wanted to see you.

That’s how it always went. 

He’d come in every Friday afternoon like clockwork, seeing you becoming a part of his routine. Mike would commit each outfit, as different as it may be from the last, to memory. He’d read every book you recommended, even if he didn’t like them himself. 

Michael Wheeler wasn’t much of a reader: before you, that is. Even so, he found you to be the prettiest girl he had ever seen in a long, long time. There was a gentleness to you—something he couldn’t quite name. And whether the day was sunny or cloudy. Whether rain was relentless in its downpour or if the sun baked Hawkins like one of the rings in Hell: he would come see you. 

𐙚🧸ྀི

Ah, so maybe Mike was resolute after all.

To be fair, that is mostly in reference to the reading aspects of his resolutions and goals. Mostly.

But, he’d be a fool if he didn’t admit to the fact that he was resolute when it came to you. At first it was him coming every Friday to that stupid, small bookstore.. but then, it escalated. Boy, did it escalate.

Cuz’ about after 13 failed attempts of asking you out to dinner: he finally did it. He asked on a crisp fall noon while holding a copy of the original Frankenstein story. And you remember it like it was yesterday, he was wearing a brown bomberjacket overtop of a black sweatshirt. Definitely more grunge than usual, but perhaps it was just the fall weather. Maybe it was a bit of his boyish side coming back to life because you re-lit that spark. Who knows?

It doesn’t really matter, because that was a while ago. The dinner at Enzo’s was fantastic, honestly you were surprised that he could even afford it with all the good food you got paired with the bottle of champagne he got for the both of you. It was Dom Pérignon, your personal favorite. You had told him that a few weeks before he asked you.. you found it funny that he remembered.

And little did you know, that five months in the future, you’d be lying with your back splayed against his cool comforter, bare and comfortable as his lips found yours lovingly. 

The morning sun had just barely began to peak over the towns horizon, the room cold. It was okay though, because Mike was all over you. Finally and completely all over you.

He held you close, kept you warm.

You remember thinking that you couldn’t believe it, the fact that a man as kind-hearted and handsome as Michael Wheeler was willing to spend his most vulnerable moments with you. The fact that you thought that, but couldn’t even begin to understand just how right you were, was truly a crime. Maybe one day he would open up to you about his past, but that isn’t what that moment was about.

You had been out all night, came in early. He offered to let you sleep at his place because it was closer, and you agreed. It was the new norm, after all—and after an hour or so of a deep, connecting conversation, he led you back to his room, finally.

His palm was large against your cheek, and as you lean into it you can feel him deepen the kiss you shared. Mike wanted to be so careful with you. He was handling this whole situation like you were fragile, and in the moment? It was perfect. Absolutely perfect. 

Soft rustling came from the sheets and blankets below as the two of you pressed together, limbs intertwining and sounds mixing as you were in no hurry to get anywhere else or go any further any time soon. You just wanted to be there with him, enjoy the moment.

He did too.

Mike had struggled for a long time after the incident. He felt to blame, had survivors guilt. He honestly couldn’t imagine him being anywhere near romantically available—maybe ever at all. He stayed in Hawkins while his friends ventured and lived the lives they deserved. He rented a cheap apartment and spent his time writing stories and books that he was worried no publisher would ever give the time of day. 

But then, he went to that stupid bookstore. 

Emmett Cullen x Bookworm!Plus Size!Fem!Reader NSFW Wedding Night Headcanons (MDNI)

Perfect Girl - Clark Kent

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─────────────────────pairing : clark kent x fem!plus size!bookworm!reader

word count: 682

synopsis : you feel Clark deserves better, Clark tells you exactly how perfect he thinks you are ─────────────────────

Thank you!!!!!!!!!

❛HE SAW THE BRUISES I TRIED TO HIDE❜

Part 1 • Part 2

PAIRING — jock!sonic x bookworm!fem!reader

WARNINGS — T • 16+

PROMPT — After weeks of quiet touches, soft smiles, and unspoken feelings, it finally happens in the golden hush of the library—their first kiss. No words, no confessions, just the simple, certain moment they’d both been waiting for.

WORD COUNT — ~600

AUTHOR’S NOTE — Thank you for all the love on this fic!! 💙 Here’s the final part (more of a conclusion)—soft, sweet, and full of Sonic’s quiet affection. ✨

Parings: John Shelby x Rival Daughter!Reader

Summary: A dangerous encounter with a certain Shelby changes everything.

Warnings: Strong Language, Mature themes, Violence.

A/N: uh oh…looks like someone’s cuaght between rival families.

The first true breath of day in Small Heath wasn't the clean snap of morning air, but a thick, acrid lungful of coal smoke and the clatter of carts on cobblestones. For you, it was a familiar symphony, the backdrop to a life lived on the fringes of legitimate society. Your family, the [Reader's Family Name]s, held their own, a formidable force carved out of the city's underbelly, a constant, simmering rival to the infamous Shelby clan.

You’d accepted it, once. Accepted the hushed conversations about 'business,' the coded threats exchanged like pleasantries, the occasional brawl that spilled into the street like spilled ale. It was simply how things were, a grim inheritance passed down through generations. You were a [Reader's Family Name] – a fact etched into your bones, visible in the careful way you navigated the bustling market, even in the way you held yourself: strong-willed, self-assured, and outwardly confident, a mask you'd perfected over years. But with each passing year, the lines blurred, the justifications thinned, and you found yourself more and more caught in the sticky web of animosity you had no part in weaving, yet were bound by blood to defend. The thought often pricked at you, a dull ache behind your eyes, that this constant state of war might one day cost you everything, everyone. Losing your family – that was the true, silent fear that coiled in your gut.

"[Your Name]! You going to stare at that bloody book all day, or are you going to help with the stalls?"

Your mom’s sharp voice cut through your reverie, a familiar summons. You sighed, bookmarking your page in Wuthering Heights – a worn, cherished edition. You were a bookworm at heart, finding solace and escape in the printed word, a stark contrast to the brutal realities of your daily life. Sometimes, you wondered if anyone in your family truly understood the quiet hunger for knowledge that gnawed at you, or if they simply tolerated it as an odd quirk.

"Coming, mom," you called back, slipping the novel into your satchel, careful not to bend the precious pages. You adjusted the plain, practical coat you wore, a deliberate choice to blend in, to avoid drawing undue attention to yourself in a territory that was, technically, contested ground. Today, your task was simple: help your cousin, James, haggle over the price of some questionable fabric down by the Rag Market.

As you threaded your way through the narrow, grimy alleys towards the market, the sounds and smells intensified. The shouts of vendors, the insistent bleating of a sheep being led to slaughter, the metallic tang of something unidentifiable in the air. You kept your gaze forward, but your eyes subtly scanned the crowd, a habit ingrained from childhood. You knew the faces of your family’s men, and just as importantly, you knew the faces of the Shelby men. They were always around, like ghosts, or vultures, depending on the day.

You saw a group of your own kin gathered outside The Black Horse, voices low and serious. Your cousin, James, spotted you. "There you are, [Your Name]! Thought you'd gotten lost in one of your bloody novels again." He grinned, but there was a tension in his eyes you recognized. "Just finished dealing with that lot from Garrison Lane. Always trying to muscle in, eh?"

"They'll always try, James," you replied, your voice more accustomed to the rough edges of their world than you cared to admit. "Doesn't mean they'll succeed."

You stood with him for a moment, making conversation about the mundane details of their 'business,' your ears subtly picking up snippets of conversation around you. It was always about territory, about the flow of illicit goods, about maintaining their fragile hold. You listened, contributed where expected, but your mind was elsewhere, already anticipating the quiet solitude of your room and the world within the pages of your book.

"Right, I'm off to the stalls," you announced, giving James a nod. "Don't get yourselves into too much trouble before supper."

"No promises," he chuckled, lighting a cigarette. "You watch yourself, too. It's a busy day."

You continued your journey, past the overflowing bins, the wary faces of shopkeepers, and the hawkers shouting their wares. Your hand instinctively went to your satchel, touching the spine of your book, a small comfort in this harsh reality. You were a few streets away from your designated stall, momentarily distracted by the vibrant colours of a fruit vendor’s display. Your internal monologue was debating the merits of a new literary criticism you'd heard about, when it happened.

A sudden, sharp jostle.

The book slipped from your grasp, landing with an audible thud on the grimy cobblestones. Your head snapped up, temper flaring. Before you stood a man, broad-shouldered and sharp-suited, a peaky cap pulled low over eyes that, even in this brief moment, held an unnerving intensity. He stooped quickly, retrieving your fallen treasure with a surprising gentleness.

"Careless, aren't you?" he drawled, his voice a low rumble, laced with the unmistakable accent of Small Heath. He held the book out, his gaze unwavering as it met yours.

You felt a flicker of annoyance, quickly overridden by a deeper, more unsettling recognition. The cut of his suit, the confident swagger even in his still posture, the way his eyes seemed to assess everything at once – he was a Shelby. No doubt about it. And not just any Shelby, but one of the brothers. John, if the whispers were to be believed. Youngest of the core three, notorious for his quick temper and even quicker fists, but with a surprising glint of something almost... thoughtful, in his eyes.

You snatched the book back, perhaps a little too forcefully. "I'd say you're the one who needs to watch where he's going," you retorted, your voice steady despite the sudden spike of adrenaline. "Or perhaps your kind just believes the world should part for you."

A faint, almost imperceptible smirk touched his lips. "My 'kind' knows how to handle themselves on these streets, love. Better than some book-reading lass who's got her head stuck in the clouds." He gestured vaguely at the market chaos around them. "This ain't a library, you know."

"And you, I presume, are a connoisseur of fine literature?" You raised an eyebrow, a challenge in your tone. You knew precisely who he was, and he clearly knew what you represented. The unspoken animosity hung heavy between you, a tangible thing amidst the market's noise.

He chuckled, a short, sharp sound devoid of humor. "Hardly. But I know a pretty face with a sharp tongue when I hear one." His eyes, a striking blue, lingered on yours for a moment longer than necessary, a spark of something unreadable passing between you. Not quite hostility, not quite interest, but a volatile mix of both.

"And I know a Shelby when I see one," you countered, your voice dropping to a near whisper, the family name a curse on your lips.

His smirk vanished, replaced by a hardened, almost dangerous set to his jaw. "Aye," he said, the single word a low growl. "And I know a [Reader's Family Name] when I smell one. Now, if you'll excuse me." He tipped his cap, a gesture that was more mockery than politeness, and turned to walk away, disappearing into the throng of people before you could formulate another retort.

You stood there, the weight of Wuthering Heights suddenly feeling much heavier in your hands. The encounter had lasted mere moments, yet it had shifted something within you. The casual animosity you usually felt for the Shelbys had coalesced into a sharp, uncomfortable awareness. John Shelby. He was just as crude, just as dangerous as the rumours claimed, yet there was something else, an unexpected depth in his eyes that had caught you off guard.

This was more than just a rival gang member. This was a man who had seen you, truly seen you, for a fleeting moment, beyond the family name, and in doing so, had irrevocably drawn you into the very heart of the conflict you'd tried so hard to observe from a distance. The game, it seemed, had just changed.

————

The scent of stale beer and desperation clung to the air inside the Shelby betting office. John leaned against the counter, absently tracing a pattern on the grimy wood with his finger, his mind replaying the fleeting encounter in the market. The lass with the book. A [Reader's Family Name]. He’d known it the moment her eyes, sharp and defiant, had met his. They were the enemy, pure and simple, yet there was something about her – the quick wit, the way she clutched that damned novel as if it were a shield – that had stuck in his craw.

"Everything alright, Johnny?" Arthur’s voice, a little too loud, broke through his thoughts. His eldest brother stood by the door, scanning the street with an almost manic energy.

John grunted. "Fine, Arthur. Just thinking."

"Thinking ain't for us, lad. Best leave that to Tommy," Arthur chuckled, a hollow sound. "So, did you get those new ledgers from the printer's?"

"Aye, they're here somewhere." John pushed off the counter, but his mind drifted back to her. He’d seen plenty of [Reader's Family Name]s, men and women, all with that same hard-edged look, but she was different. Not soft, not by a long shot, but… refined. A bookworm in Small Heath. It was an anomaly, like finding a delicate orchid growing in a slag heap. He dismissed the thought. She was the enemy, no matter how intriguing.

————

Meanwhile, you hurried away from the market, the encounter with John Shelby replaying in your mind like a disjointed nightmare. Your pulse still hammered a frantic rhythm against your ribs. He was everything you expected a Shelby to be: arrogant, dangerous, and utterly captivating in a way that made your teeth ache. And those eyes… they had seen too much, too quickly.

You found James haggling with a portly vendor, his voice already hoarse. "Took your sweet time, didn't you, [Your Name]?" he grumbled, though a faint smile touched his lips. "Thought you'd run into trouble."

"Just a minor inconvenience," you said, forcing a casualness you didn't feel. You didn't elaborate. There was no need to feed the fire, to mention a Shelby, especially not to James, who had a temper almost as volatile as Arthur Shelby's. You were already walking a tightrope, and acknowledging even a brief interaction with the enemy felt like holding a match to the rope.

The rest of the day passed in a blur of mundane tasks. You helped sort fabric, tallied figures, and listened to the endless chatter of market life. But beneath the surface, your mind gnawed at the brief exchange. His eyes. The way he had held your book. The sheer audacity of his presence. It was unsettling, the way he had chipped away at your carefully constructed indifference.

That evening, as the smoky dusk settled over Small Heath, you finally retreated to the sanctuary of your room. You lit a single candle, the flickering flame casting dancing shadows on the worn pages of Wuthering Heights. You tried to immerse yourself, to lose yourself in the wild, passionate moors of Emily Brontë’s world, but your mind kept snagging on a different kind of wildness. John Shelby.

You knew the stories, the rumours that clung to the Shelby name like soot. Violence, ruthless ambition, a disregard for anyone who stood in their way. Your family wasn't innocent, not by a long shot, but there was a raw, untamed ferocity to the Shelbys that set them apart. And John was perhaps the most unpredictable of them all.

"Bloody hell," you muttered to yourself, slamming the book shut. "Why him?"

hii!

oooh this is one is so good!!! 🎀 as a bookworm myself i have thooooughts on this and i feel like chan would absolutely love being with someone who’s book obsessed…

‧ ୨୧ ‧ since he's a busy guy who is always focused on work, new ideas and projects i think he would love for you to read close to him. the kind of thing where you're both doing your own stuff but close to one another. when working at home he would def text you or come and pout about you needing to come read next to him while he's working. he would tuck you in a blanket, make sure you're all comfortable and give you a quick kiss before going back to his own thing. he would also love to take little breaks and come sit next to you so you can tell him all about the book you're reading. he would love to see your eyes light up with excitment and get in your own little world as you tell him everything about it.

‧ ୨୧ ‧ i think the reading to him thing would come later, kind of as a surprise that this is something he actually enjoy and can even be beneficial for him. it would probably happen when his insomnia is acting up and it's 3:00am and sleep is not an option to him. you'd find him on the couch, working on his computer, sleep bags under his eyes. ofc he would try to get you back to bed and apologize for waking you up but no no you wouldn't want to hear it because poor baby:( insomnia is a really lonely sleep disorder. so no leaving him alone. you would come back with blankets, your glasses and a book in hand. "sometimes when i can't sleep i pick up my book and it helps me... so i thought it might work for you too." he would smile very big and wide and pull you closer "that's very sweet babe but i'm afraid i'm not that much of a reader" "i know, that's why i'm going to read it to you. i picked that book i told you about and you seemed to like." then, because he is a big ol' softy his heart would squeeze and tighten in his chest at this pure demonstration of love. you would cuddle real close with him laying between your legs, head resting on your chest. he'd pull the blankets up close and settle in to listen to the soothing sound of your voice until the next thing he knows... it's 10am and you're both still on the couch, book on your chest, your glasses askew on your nose and he wouldn't believe it worked and he fell asleep!! he would wake you up with lots of kisses and silly grins because he. fell. asleep. !!! he'd call you a magician and cook you breakfast to thank you :3 i think it would then become a tradition for the two of you and he’d even start listening to audiobooks because ofc he doesn’t want you awake every night to read him books!! (even though he frickin loves it)

So I have this idea for IT and do whatever you want with it but here it is:

The reader is friends with all The Losers and she (maybe a fem!reader?) always has her nose in a book? And they always tease her on how she can't see where she's going and things like that but they all actually look after her? Like they'll steer her out of the way of people or something?

Just a thought! Maybe you could write headcanons or a fic or anything else :]

Omg i love this ask!! I'm gonna start writing right away but i also have school so sorry if I reply a little late 😅 oh and i thought of this as like half fic half headcanon

Key words: y/n - your name ; l/n - last name ; y/n/n - your nickname

Losers club x fem!reader (platonic)

Warnings: slight cursing

(not my gif)

First let's start with headcanons

First things first your best friend must be addressed! Ben is your bestie, as well as Beverly but you he different reasons as to why they are

Ben and you are your typical book loving duo, you both have to be reading something except instead of you both reading at the library you're the one that walks around with a book up your nose, as Ben is the one in the public library exploring new kinds of book genres

And Beverly is friends with you because your another girl, enough said, and she likes to tease you a lot by hiding your books so that you ca see the world for once in your life

Every time you go out for a walk you're always out reading a book, i mean even while walking! It even results in to bumping in to someone or a tree because you weren't paying attention

And the losers love seeing you just hit your whatever (head, hand, wrist), stop reading, rub the hurt area a little bit and just continue to walk while reading like nothing happened, it's hilarious to them, well at least some of them

But in instances where you almost fall in to a ditch or run in to someone, like they would be talking about something, you being in another dimension and not listening, if they notice your not paying attention on what's in front of you they would slightly pinch your shirt and pull you away, or if that doesn't work one of them will just grab you and move you out of the way

And on the instance where it is your birthday they would give you books as a present, and you couldn't be happier but sometimes you tell them they don't have to buy you only books, but they always say they don't know what else to buy you since when they're out shopping you never look at the shops, but your book instead, yeh you would catch glimpses of the shops when you looked up occasionally but nothing caught your eye

Anyway now on to the one shots (yes there are multiple ones but it's basically iconic moments of you and da losers)

"hey y/n!" Richie called out, no reply

"i think she's lost in her books again." Ben said as he looked towards y/n to se her sitting on a towel, still fully clothed

"i mean for fuck's sake y/n! Enjoy the god damn view for once in your life!" Beverly yelled at the girl as she pointed towards the quarry

"hm?" Y/n questioned as if she didn't hear anything, not even lifting her head up still continuing to read like Bev didn't say anything

"that's it, I'm done with this." Beverly said as she got up from her rock, everyone looked at the ginger girl confused as she stomped her way towards y/n

"what the- hey!" Y/n yelled as Beverly picked her up, before y/n could jump you of her arms Beverly there her in to the lake, the other losers laughed as y/n got out of the water with a loud groan

"My book and clothes are ruined!" She yelled

"i like how you took acknowledge of the book firs and then your clothes." Mike chuckled as he pointed towards y/n's wet ass clothes

"i borrowed it from the library, I'm gonna love like $13!" She yelled, "you're paying for this Bev! Like literally." She added

"fine I'll give you my money you poorling." Bev said as she flailed $15 in the air, y/not out of the big body of water and dried her and before grabbing the $15

"I'm pretty sure the librarian is gonna get a hell of a good laugh when he hears your excuse." Richie said as he laid down on one of the rocks in what looks like to be an uncomfortable position

"yup."

One-shot number 2

The loser's were just walking down the street, the boy's had their bikes bikes to their left, Beverly was flailing her arms around while telling a crazy story that happened at her aunt's, and y/n... Well she was reading a book as usual not looking a where she was going

As she was about to hit a side of a building someone pulled her wrist harshly

"you gotta be more careful l/n, you're gonna get hurt." Stanley said as he let go of y/n's wrist

"thanks Stan." Y/n said as she moved the book a little farther from her face

But when still ended up hitting a pole that was in front of her

One-shot number 3

Everyone was gathered at Bill's house as everyone else was setting up snacks, pillows and blankets for movie night, y/n was sat on the couch reading a rather spicy book

Little did she know Richie was being her reading everything, somehow faster than her

"damn you're in to this stuff y/n/n?" Richie said startling the girl

"shush your speaking hole Richard!" She whispered

"well i didn't know you knew such big words." Wichita said as he out his hands halfway up as a way to say he surrendered, he walked away as y/n's face was red from embarrassment, she closed the book shut, out it in her bag and decided to help the others

And that is all i could muster up in my pea sized brain! Hope you like it and if you would like to change anything you can just message me :)

Anyway hope you have a great day/ night/ afternoon

Prompts:

19. “please just try for me” “I’m done doing that”

16. “you’re so warm”

12. “did you finish my cookies?” “uh, yeah about that”

5. “stop biting your lip, I can’t focus at all” “make me”

Peter Parker x Bookstore Owner! Reader