Lost and Found - Eddie Munson x Reader (Part 1)
Summary: Just your luck, you get dress coded on your first day at Hawkins High. You're already ridiculed for being the senior transfer, and now on top of that, the only shirt that covers you up in the lost and found belongs to the school freak.
Contents/Warnings: reader wears eddie's shirt, reader gets bullied, lots of teasing, slight innuendos/suggestive material
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You must have set a new school record: You’ve only been attending Hawkins High for three hours, and you’ve already been dress coded. Apparently your shirt is too low-cut, even though it barely dips below your collarbones, and you were ordered to look through the lost-and-found for a suitable cover-up.
It could be worse, you muse, as you sort through the box of slightly aromatic, ratty, dusty clothes, they could have put it on your school record. Though, as a senior transferring to the school for one last year, you don’t care what’s on your record. They could hate you, for all you care, as long as you graduate. It’s not like you’ll ever have to deal with them again.
Unfortunately, it looks like everything in the box before you is either three sizes too big, or three sizes too small. The beaded tank top that you pull out near the bottom is even worse than your shirt, and you guarantee it wouldn’t go over well with faculty. There’s a winter coat in the mix, but summer still clogs the air with sticky heat, and you refuse to cover yourself up with that. After sorting through the bin for almost five minutes, the only thing even remotely suitable for you is a baseball tee that looks like it’s homemade.
It’s a white shirt with black sleeves, and a ring around the neck. It’s certainly interesting. There’s a red devil on the front, horns protruding eerily from its head, and weapons frame its face, ready for battle. Then two multifaceted dice are poised below the text, numbers etched into their faces.
The bold black text over the picture reads ‘HELLFIRE CLUB,’ and it stinks of what you’re suspicious is weed. You’re not sure what the Hellfire Club is, you presume it’s an underground band of some sort, but you don’t have time to figure it out. There’s a red stain on the chest, what you presume (and pray) is spaghetti sauce, but it’s your best bet in the lost and found bin, so you slip it on and hope that they’ll let you go without any further incident.
Thankfully it’s lunchtime, so when you slip out of the office mostly unnoticed, the shirt resting rather comfortably over your frame, you make a beeline for the cafeteria. You get stares, odd murmurs thrown about you as you walk down the line, people from packed tables squinting oddly at your shirt. You can’t really blame them, either, because you’d squint at it too if you’d seen it on someone else. You’re already silently resigning yourself to being The New Kid when you sit down on the ground, the tables either full or sending you funny glances when you try to sit down with them.
The first thing you do is pull out a walkman and headphones. They slip comfortably over your ears, shielding you from the disheartening whispers thrown around about you. You’re absolutely certain that this is going to damage your reputation, on Day One no less, but what are you supposed to do? Your only option is this stupid shirt: damned if you do, and damned if you don’t.
You bury yourself in your lunch, though it’s not appealing. Coleslaw oozes messily around your plate, and you try pushing your fries out of the way, but it’s too late. They’re soaked, and you’ve lost your appetite. You push the tray away from you, and it sits there sadly on the ground. You dig a book out from your backpack, letting your eyes skim over the words instead of the people around you.
“Eddie,” Dustin is out of breath when he sits down, too excited to inform his friend of the strange thing he’d managed to witness in the lunch line to think about breathing, “Eddie, the new kid’s wearing a Hellfire shirt!”
Eddie’s brows furrow, and he munches thoughtfully on a pretzel, “You’re out of your mind, Henderson.”
“No! No,” He shakes his head, “Honest! Look,” He points to you, the text over the devil on your shirt clear as day over your book, “I saw ‘em on my way back from class! They just walked in with it.” He lets out a breathy laugh, “Do you think it’s catching on? Like, you think there’s more than just us? Do you think there’s members all around the world?!”
“Dumbass,” Jeff swats at the back of Dustin’s head, “How could it be catching on, no one knows about it but us.”
“Maybe they-“ Dustin is eager to elaborate on his theory, prepared to make up some hair-brained theory as to how the transfer student could have heard about Hellfire outside of Hawkins, but Eddie’s eyes narrow as he stares at you, and he waves a hand at Dustin, effectively silencing the boy.
“There’s a stain there. On the left.” He recognizes the messy splotch, his face twisting in indignance, “That’s my shirt!”
“I thought you lost that one,” Mike frowns, his hair hanging over his face, “How’d she get it?”
“I dunno,” Eddie stands abruptly, tossing his bag of trail mix to the table and tugging his jacket determinedly around his shoulders, “But I’m gonna find out.”
