Hey there!
So this is my first Breakfast Club fic. It was my favourite film as a kid, and still is now :) Epic movie of epicness!
But however, as I re-watched it for the first time in years, and subsequently died a little inside as the cliched Sporto/Weirdo & PromQueen/Criminal relationships happened, I suddenly realised I could totally fanfic it! As long as I can remember Allison Reynolds has been my favourite film character, period, and so to finally be able to let her stay dark and artsy, seemed to suit being with Bender (who, may I add, is WAY more attractive than I remember!)
Hell, I wanted to dress up as Allison for a fancy dress competition at school when I was like seven, so she had to keep the crazy hair & Chuck Taylors in any fanfic I write :D
Oh, and John Hughes TOTALLY said I could use the Breakfast Club as & when I wanted, and would be honoured for me to write about them. Y'see he came to me in a dream...
But if you believe that, you'll believe anything, and probably don't care if I use a disclaimer or not, so the characters are thoroughly disclaimed & I am no longer liable :)
But yeah, this is my first Breakfast Club fic, so I'm slightly nervous & have tried to keep the characters as in-character as much as possible, but I'm fully aware it starts to slip towards the end. I totally see Allison as a Rolling Stones kinda girl (maybe I'm just biased) who would read poetry like Keats and Edgar Allan Poe. She would definitey have some sort of exaggerated inner monologue that was all dark and sarcastic, commenting on everything going on around her. She quiet & observant like that :)
Bender is more of a metalhead, early Metallica, Scorpions etc and probably didn't watch much TV or read, but just cruised through life, watching everyone else fuck up, while he just strolled on by. This is a really longer authors note, and you're probably sick of my rambling by now, but I enjoyed writing it, and really hope you guys enjoy reading it.
However, please do review. It really makes me smile, and I genuinely appreciate what everyone has to say.
It wasn't going to plan, for fucks sake. John Bender ran a gloved hand through his dark shoulder-length hair. This wasn't meant to happen, what the fuck?
He stood outside the small bungalow, and watched as the lights flickered out in almost every room. Every room but one. Creeping through the shadows, he tapped his fingers on the window.
He knew she would be there. Earlier, he had kissed the prom queen. Miss.-fucking-Cheerleader. How the hell did that happen?
It used to be just the two of them, maybe a jock here or there, but usually it was a breakfast club of two. They never spoke - god forbid, but just sat there. He would blaze & she would daydream, or whatever the fuck she did. It was a peaceful relationship, with nothing to it. His old man always said "less is more Johnny, less is more..." Faggot. What the fuck did that old bastard know about his life? Jesus Christ, what kind of parent buys their kids cigarettes for Christmas.
There was no response. Tapping again, harder this time, he cursed under his breath.
"Shit..."
And then she was there. He couldn't tell if he'd woken her or what, but her messed up hair blotted out the bright bedroom light, casting dangerous shadows across her delicate features. "What the fuck? Poetic bullshit," he thought.
As she slid up the window, confusion etched across her features, John roughly pushed her out of the way and jumped in. Her tone was quiet and calm.
"What the fuck are you doing here?"
His bad boy charm resurfaced, and he strode round the room cockily.
"I thought I'd come & see my lovely little dark angel here... what happened to Claire's little makeover? Oh, she will be so heartbroken to see you back in black." He smirked and lay back on the cool dark sheets.
A scowl framed her face at the mention of Claire's name.
"How do you know where I live?"
"I know everything I need to." Bender counteracted, sharp as a knife.
"Why are you here?" The questions fired out like bullets.
"I didn't believe you."
"About what?"
"Why would a compulsive liar lie about being a nymph? How could you not be? So I came here to prove it. You may do with me what you please, but promise you won't ignore me Monday morning." John jested, his quirky smile dominating his face.
She stood there motionless, her mouth slightly open in shock. He took it as a cue to continue. His arms raised up in front of him, wrists together, hands pointed outward as if he were being arrested.
"Tie me up." His voice was deep and sensual.
She couldn't help it. It was an immediate reaction.
Allison Reynolds giggled.
Allison drew blindly onto yet another pristine sheet, marred only by her ink, her poison, her lies. Life was life. She was her. He was him.
Fuck.
Still reeling in shock from the mornings encounter, she picked up the white chastity-styled dress Claire had given her.
Bitch.
It was ugly. So ugly and white. Just plain, boring, monotonous. It needed bring to life. It needed a dark side, it needed pain.
She carefully picked up the black ink quill - a gift from herself when everyone forgot her birthday - and dripped the viscous black liquid onto the creamy silk.
It was like watching blood stream down saintly skin, the stark contrast between good and evil. Not that there was any such thing as good or evil. People just... were.
The splats looked fantastic. But there was so much more work to do. So much emotion to include. Her shrink said she needed an outlet, a way to breach the walls.
She slammed the quill down onto the chest, dragging it through the dark stains formed. Beautiful swirls, clashes tones. The black, the white, the pain, the love, the hate, the death, the life. Her life. Hers and no-one else's.
The dress was almost black. It looked amazing. It was hers. It was her.
She dried it with her mother's hairdryer. They'd already gone to bed, so it wasn't like anyone cared. Not that they did anyway.
It was beautiful. An array of tones, a darkness in the perpetual light. It was just what she needed.
Then there was a knocking. Someone was at her window.
Who were they? No-one came to visit her. She was the weirdo people liked to avoid. It was better that way. Please don't let it be Andy...
What did they want? She didn't want anyone here; this was her room, her life. Why couldn't they just leave her alone? Maybe it was Brian; he seemed to need friends...
How the hell did they know where she lived? Oh god, what if it is just a mistake, and then they feel embarrassed and want to talk to her. I'm going to kill her if it's Claire...
The knocking again. Louder. Penetrating her abyss of question, permeating the dark hole she had lost her mind in. They weren't going away.
Pulling back the black lace curtains adoring her room, her pale face greeted the pair of dangerous, dark brown eyes.
What the fuck was Bender doing here?
There was a moment of silence, as Allison looked shocked at the sound emanating from deep within. She never giggled. And now she was smiling.
John grinned cheekily.
"So, you up for it? This heavy metal vomit party I'm meant to be taking you to?"
Allison squeaked, her eyes the size of saucepans.
"But what about Claire?"
"I was just toying with her. Fucking tease needed a taste of her own medicine." Bender jumped up of the bed, and grabbed Allison's thin frame by the shoulders.
"It went too far. I just wanted to piss the snotty bitch off. Anyway, what about you and Mr. Wrestling Team eh? Never pegged you as one for the jocks."
Allison smirked, and grabbed John's wrist. Her grip was surprisingly strong.
Silently, the dark princess led the rebel over to her desk, and pointed to a pile of ashes. Upon closer inspection, he could almost make out the remnants origin. -hampionshi-
"You burnt it?"
She nodded enthusiastically.
"You down then? The party?"
Her eyebrows rose, but Allison remained silent.
"Look, for fucks sake, you don't have to come for crying out loud. I was just asking if you wanted to go to a fucking party and blaze with me." He tore his hand from her grip, rage swirling in his dark eyes. But there was something else, something the anger masked. Hurt.
Allison stared deep into his eyes, before whispering sensually; "Wait here..."
It was the perfect dress for the perfect occasion. Rough, dangerous, dark, gothic and with a hint of punk. Bender sat up from his lazed position on the bed, his scruffy jeans and boots leaving him feeling underdressed, despite wearing his best black shirt. She looked shit hot.
"So, are going to this fucking party or what?" he gruffly managed to get out.
Smiling again, for the second time that night, Allison slipped on a pair of studded black pixie boots, something she would never wear for high school. Her make-up was dark and smoky around the eyes, and her hair was suitably messy. She looked like she'd just been ravaged. He felt like if she wasn't careful, she fucking well was going to be ravaged.
Especially with that thigh-high slit in the dress. And fucking fish-shit-net-thing tights. He could feel himself get hot already.
"Don't worry my vampiric princess, we'll have you home by sunrise, so the cruel sun won't darken your pale countenance"
He looked so comfy and at home flopped out on her bed. It was almost a shame to bother him.
She felt like a complete douchebag in this stupid dress. She had never liked dresses. But it looked good. She could tell by the way he shot up.
His jeans were slung low on his slender hips, and his red bandanna remained tied round his boots. But he'd changed his shirt, it was now black and sleek, slightly tight across his broad chest, but not in a way that made him look queer. He looked dangerous. He looked sexy.
He was taking her to a party. Her.
Shit.
The room was dark and smoky, to the point she could barely she her hand in front of her face. John had already started blazing, and she was pretty sure there was a couple having sex in the corner.
Music blared out from a small stereo rested on the demolished windowsill. This place was just like what it looked like from outside. A demolition site. There were holes in the walls, no carpet on the floor, and wires hanging from the ceiling. It had an amazing vibe.
Bender dragged her over to an empty sagging couch, before pulling her down to crash next to him, his arm around her shoulder. Some guys were sat on the floor passing round a bong, all fucked out of their faces. "So this is a heavy metal vomit party" she mused silently.
"Yo, dickwad," John called, "You going to swing that my way?"
One of the skinhead punks turned around. He must have been at least 27, Allison suddenly felt very young.
"Fuck you Bender, you're smoking already. You're lady friend however..." His eyes crawled over Allison's body. John growled slightly.
"What aren't you going to introduce us," the skinhead leered. Bender tightened his grip round her shoulders.
"Zach, this is Ali. Ali, Zach" his tone was forced and protective. No-one had ever given her a nickname before. Other than stuff like weirdo or freak. But that didn't count. She was Ali now.
Sick of Zach's perverted gaze, she leant over John's body and pulled the joint from his mouth, before inhaling deeply herself.
"Thanks babe," she muttered. Zach's eyes widened.
"You bangin' her Johnny-boy? How the fuck did you meet a chick like that?"
John just smirked, and grabbed Alison's hand, pulling them both to their feet and out of the room.
The music was quieter in the bedroom, but Allison could still feel her heart beat to the bass.
John yanked the spliff from her hands.
"What the fuck was that about Al? I thought you said you didn't smoke."
Allison smiled, cocking her head to one side.
"No I didn't."
"Yes you fucking did," John snarled. "What the fuck Allison."
"Then again I am a compulsive liar."
A grin spread across John's face as she seemed to ponder thoughtfully.
"How do I know you're not lying about being a liar."
"You don't," she shrugged, before slipping out of his grasp to silently observe the room.
The place was a pigsty, ready to be destroyed. She could see the JCBs through the cracked window, through her own reflection.
John slipped his arms around her waist from behind, pulling her tight against himself. He was surprised that she didn't tense up or pull away.
Silence emanated through the room.
"I'm not going to have sex with you," Allison finally said.
"I never suggested you were. You were the one thinking about sex, not me," John replied before grinding lightly against her ass.
"Then why are you holding me like this?"
John didn't reply, instead posing a question of his own.
"So, why did the shy little weirdo, who hates any sort of attention, fawn all over me in front of Zach? Usually such a timid creature, who eats really dodgy sandwiches and squeaks occasionally. Now, what would she be thinking to call a common criminal like myself 'babe', in front of a crowd of strangers huh?"
This time Allison didn't respond.
They stood in silence for a bit longer watching the lights and city.
"I didn't like the way he looked at me."
"Zach?" Bender queried.
"And Andy. And Brian." she confessed. "Claire had turned me into one the princess clones. I was confused, I wasn't being me."
John didn't know what to say. His rough, tough manner didn't usually experience emotional conversations, even with chicks. He just "considered" them, then finished 'em.
"Do you want me to kick the shit outta him for you?"
Allison stifled another giggle, as she tried not to smile.
"'Cos I would like. But you ain't telling anyone I'm going soft now." His gruff tone cheered her up incessantly.
Slowly, John released his grip. "You wanna go back in there or shall we ditch this joint."
Allison shrugged.
"Okay"
John frowned at her non-answer. "Right well, this party is pretty dead anyway."
"Okay"
Allison just smiled slightly, and followed him down the rickety, wooden stairs and out of the hole, which used to be a front door.
For a while, the pair just wandered the streets in silence, John smoking pot, with Allison occasionally toking too.
"Why didn't you blaze with us earlier?" The question came out of nowhere, as they passed closed shop fronts.
"I didn't want to." Her answer was vaguely hostile, but he couldn't let it drop.
"Yeah, but why?"
Allison though for a second. "I wanted to watch you all. See how you reacted."
"You like that don't you? Watching people?"
"They're interesting."
The silence returned, heavy in the early morning sky. Allison yawned
"Where are we going?" She was by no means naive, but it was almost 3.30am.
"Dunno, anywhere you want."
Allison shrugged, stifling another yawn.
"You tired?" Bender asked.
Nodding slightly, Allison relaxed against him, as he wrapped his arm around her shoulder protectively.
"You wanna go home?"
"No." Her answer was decisive. There was no way she was going home until she had too. Had she brought her bag with her, she may not have gone home at all.
"Well, where dya' wanna go then?" John grunted. It was cold and looked like it was about to rain. Fucks sake.
"Yours?"
"No." John almost yelled.
"Why not?"
"Because you don't want to see the shit that goes on in the Bender household."
Allison shrugged slightly, and turned into the maze of alleyways, John trailing angrily behind her.
"What the fuck Allison? I said we weren't going to mine," John stomped down the street next to her.
"How the fuck do you even know where I live?" He was getting more and more enraged.
Allison didn't reply, but pulled a small black object from her pocket.
"What the fuck, when did you steal my wallet, fucking whore."
Allison just shrugged slightly, and marched onwards, leaving John stood there in shock. Turning into a scruffy driveway, she went and silently sat on the porch, waiting for him to catch up.
Breathing heavily, Bender sat down next to her, a glare on his face. His voice was low & dark.
"Why are we here Ali?"
"Do you think any of them will speak to us on Monday?"
"Probably not."
"Will you speak to me?"
John was baffled by her question, such a withdrawn girl showing so many of her insecurities.
"Will you speak to me?" he shot back.
She smiled sarcastically. "Well it's not like any of my friends are going to judge me."
John laughed slightly, "since when have I cared how people judge me Ali?"
Allison smiled, relieved that she would have someone there, come Monday morning.
"Why are we here?" John repeated his question, with a calmer demeanour.
"Can I stay here tonight?" her voice was quiet and shy.
"I knew you wanted to have sex with me." He smirked childishly.
"I don't want to go home."
"Ali, this shithole isn't much of a home."
"Please?"
Fuck. John led her through the unlocked door, down to the basement, which currently served as his room. Thank fuck his father had passed out already, alcoholic fucking bastard.
His room wasn't much, but it served its purpose. The walls had off-white paint peeling away, fist sized holes, and a water-stain making the room feel musty and damp. It smelt of stale cigarettes and John.
His guitar was flung across an old, bare mattress, a dirty pillow propped up against the wall. The only piece of furniture he had was a wonky, wooden bedside table, with a stolen ashtray and a small lamp. It was the only source of light in the room.
"You're gonna have to be quiet, so ya don't wake the old man up," Bender grunted, picking up the bundles of clothes on his floor, only to pile them over in the corner.
"Thanks John," Allison had retreated into her shell, staying quiet and observant again.
John pulled a beer from his trench coat pocket, and opened it with his teeth.
Swigging from it, he sat next to her on the bed, watching her patiently.
"You're not a nymphomaniac really." His cocky nature got the best of him.
"How would you know?" Allison carried on staring blankly at the opposing wall.
"You'd have jumped my bones by now." A smirk spread across his face, as she jutted out her chin slightly.
"Maybe I was just waiting for the right time."
"Nah, admit it Ali, you're a hopelessly romantic virgin."
"And you're not? I can see straight through you John. The furthest you've ever got is third base."
John's mouth gaped.
"And that was when you were both drunk out of your minds. Otherwise you'd not have done anything more than making out, because someone like you doesn't trust that easily."
"Babe, I've fucked more women that there are from here to Kansas."
Allison shot him a look.
"At least I don't believe sex is wrong unless you're in love." John backtracked.
"I never said it was wrong."
"You implied it. Anyway, love is bullshit. You said yourself, 'when you grow up your heart dies'. Let me tell you something, your heart doesn't die because you grow up, your heart dies because of everyone else fucking you over. Your heart dies because you give up." He sneered.
"I know." Allison almost seemed defeated, as she haplessly agreed.
In that moment, he couldn't help but wrap his arm around her and pull her close.
Vaguely confused by the situation, Ali leant her head against his chest, and fiddled aimlessly with his collar.
John rested his chin on the top of her head, the stubble itching her scalp. In a pleasant way.
"You want to go to sleep?" he asked quietly, as he inhaled her musky, feminine scent. Damn, she was making him hot again.
Nodding sleepily against his chest Allison smiled.
Pulling her to her feet, Bender's calloused hand grazed her cheekbone.
She looked up at him through sleepy eyes.
He knew it was going to happen.
She knew it was going to happen.
Slowly, their lips collided. His were surprisingly soft, hers were pleasantly silky.
Their bodies merged together, his hand swirling patterns on her lower back, sending tingles through her body, whilst his other hand knotted itself in her unruly hair.
She was pressed so tightly against him it was as if he was trying to absorb her. Her hand rested lightly above his heart, whilst the other one pulled the back of his neck down to her. Wispy tendrils of his hair tickled her fingers.
Smiling against his lips, Allison felt warm inside. John was a big softie - she was right after all!
John knew if any of his friends could see him right now, he'd be called a pansy for the rest of his life. But that didn't matter. Who cared what those wankers thought.
Brushing the hair away from her eyes, John admired her oddball beauty for the millionth time that night.
"Sleep?" he gestured to the squeaky bed. Allison smiled, before crawling onto the single mattress, John close behind her. Flicking off the lamp, he pulled his grey trench coat up to cover her.
The room was dark, and just as he slowly started to drift off to sleep, he heard her mumble.
"Told you I wasn't going to have sex with you, but that doesn't mean I don't want you, John Bender..."
John smiled, as her breathing evened, and he could tell she had finally fallen to sleep. Maybe detention was useful for somethings after all.
I was really pleased with the way this turned out overall. If I hadn't got an exam in the morning, and spent last night writing this I would probably tinker with the ending a little more. For some reason it doesn't quite sit right with me, but hey, it was nearly 4am when I finally went to sleep!
It's all un-betaed simply because I don't know any Breakfast Club beta's, and am too lazy to search for one. For all I know, this may get terrible reviews (which are still welcome. The truth's a bitch, but hey) and I may avoid writing Breakfast Club fics in future. At least, I wouldn't bother publishing them.
But I hope people still read this. It's great for when I'm a bit bored and want to whizz back to the 80's and relive that Saturday morning in detention :)
Please Review, it means a lot
Keep Cool x