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Chasing Dreams

Summary:

She knew who he was. She knew he was born to a rich family; his father owning the biggest record company in the country, his mother a world renowned opera singer until she damaged the myelin sheath to her vocal chords and the doctors told her that she would never get her voice back. She knew he was a few years older than her, majoring in piano studies, and had slept with half the girls from her singing class, maybe even all of them.

She had never spoken a word with him, but she knew he liked to talk about himself, and only about himself. He was a “me-first,” self-centered guy that she wanted nothing to do with. Little did she know that her first real conversation with Tony Stark would lead to meeting new friends, falling in love and discovering herself.

Notes:

This is basically a college meets band AU. I've been flirting with the idea of writing college!Pepperony for months now and then I ended up creating this verse where they're both trying to make it in the world of music. It'll probably come off as a bit cliché sometimes, but I already got most of the plot outlined on paper and I have some ideas to make it interesting. Hopefully I manage to stay true to their MCU characters.

My knowledge of college life is based on the internet, television and talking to my American buddies, so bear with me if anything doesn't add up. This is mainly written from Pepper’s point of view, but that'll change as the story progresses. Let me know if this is something you'd like to see me continue. Also, if anyone wants to be my beta for this, please say so :')

Chapter 1: This Conversation Is Over

Chapter Text

College was expensive and, despite her best efforts, Virginia Potts needed more money. Shortly after the start of her first semester, she decided to wait tables at The Black Panther, a pub and live venue where local bands got a chance to make a name for themselves during open mic night. The place was always upbeat, packed with young adults eating and drinking, dancing and having a great time. She had to bust her ass all night long, but it meant tips were great too, and that was what she depended on. If the audience was drunk enough, she made more in one night then she did an entire weekend.

“Show enough cleavage and you’ll have them eating out of the palm of your hand,” Edward Jarvis, the club’s owner and manager, had told her on her first day of work. “Just make sure that’s all they’re eating out of.” And even though she didn’t like to become an object of male desire— there was a crucial difference between the virtue of admiration and incessant drooling—she managed to find an outfit that didn’t have ‘slutty’ written all over it. She knew there was a subtle scent of sex in this business hence the tight hip-huggers and the cotton shirt with a couple of buttons open at the top, and she had learned to deal with it just like every other girl around here.

At 19, Virginia was allowed to serve alcohol in the state of New York, just not old enough to drink yet. But that really wasn’t her concern, because she wasn’t much of a heavy drinker anyway. Sometimes she worked at the bar, carrying a big chrome opener which she stuck in the back pocket of her tight hot pants. She noticed guys staring at her ass even more then. When she called them out on it, all they usually did was to give her a lopsided grin and the lame excuse that they were just staring at the thing in her pocket, thinking about ordering another beer. But there were also people who made her feel warm and welcome; people she could talk to if she wanted. She had gathered some good tips from her regulars over the last few months just because she had sat down with them and listened to their problems.

Admittedly, there were other things she could do that would pay for college, jobs that didn’t have this kind of heated atmosphere, but she liked her co-workers, had her wages raised twice during the year she’d been there and she loved getting to listen to free music. This place was all about music, and music was her passion. She could handle guys her age, some of them a lot older, drooling over her, if it meant she could learn a thing or two about performing for a crowd and meet other artists—people she already knew and people wanting to become the next rising star.

Growing up with a huge love for rock and country, Virginia Potts realized early on that music wasn’t just a passion, but a dream—a dream to be a musician. Her dream. She wanted to be a performing artist, to get up on stage and play her guitar while she sang her heart out to a big crowd of people. By the time she began the final semester of her senior year, a scholarship to an excellent college seemed within reach. Fast-forward to today, where she was studying at NYU Steinhardt, majoring in classical voice and opera studies.

One of her greatest idols was the famous opera singer Maria Stark, who she had seen live on stage for the first time at the age of four. She had been spellbound. Even though she sat in the nosebleed seats, she had been filled with the music and the magic of the performance. While she had figured out over the years that opera wasn’t the career path she wanted to pursue, she wasn’t completely ruling out the idea that she could end up on Broadway doing musicals. She clearly did have a thing for theatrical performances; there was no denying it. Maria Stark was also part of the reason why she had chosen music business as her minor in college.

Because of what had happened to Maria—her singing was brought to a sudden end by the severe damage to her vocal chords— Virginia considered the possibility that the same thing could happen to her. That she could lose her voice to an illness some day and may not be able to sing anymore. She wanted to be an artist more than anything, it was all she’d ever wanted, but she didn’t want to see her house of cards collapse because she had staked everything on that one card. She wanted to know how the business worked so she could join forces with other artists and maybe even set up her own record label should the worst case scenario happen.

She had thought long and hard about it and she was glad to have made that decision, because she really enjoyed learning about the business side of music. It wasn’t easy, not as easy as singing at least, but she had always loved things where she needed to use her brain, like math and science. It made her believe that even if she would never lose her ability to sing, there was a future for her in music business. And she was certainly warming up to the idea of becoming a business woman someday. It was exciting and challenging.

Virginia wasn’t the kind to share much of her personal life with her co-workers—the only exception was Natasha because she was her best friend—but she always sat down with them after the last shift of the night when The Black Panther was closed and the crowds had left. And then she usually stayed a few more minutes after everyone else was gone and cleaned up the place, because she liked the calm after the storm. It gave her time to think and be alone. She didn’t quite get along with her roommate, and whoever lived above them apparently loved to tap dance at 3 a.m. every night.

She was still waiting for the opportunity to switch rooms. Until then, there was nothing to be done but exercise patience. Thank God she had a lot of that. She never seemed to run out of patience for people’s antics, which helped her with her job, too. Maybe that was why Mister Jarvis was so fond of her, treated her almost like a daughter. She kept a cool head when things got rough, or spun completely out of control, and helped him deal with difficult customers as well as financial and business matters. They had a mutual, respectful relationship.

By one o’clock, she was restocking the coolers and draining the wash sinks, totaling out the bar’s register and clearing tables. She sang to herself, like she always did—words of a Stevie Nicks’ song that was stuck in her head—when she heard something. Turning to look, her eyes searched every corner of the pub. She saw a young man, standing close to the restrooms, wearing a cheeky smile on his face. Trapped in her gaze, he walked over to the bar and poured himself a drink. He sat down on a stool, his back to the bar, knees pointing to the open space, and smirked at her.

Her expression unsure, she scanned the smooth lines of his profile, and then finally realized who she was looking at. She just didn’t know how to react. She had the authority to kick him out, but she didn’t want to cause a scene, though he probably would like that. Because judging by his inflated reputation, he loved all kinds of unnecessary drama. Maria Stark’s son was the prime example of a grown man with the personality of a child. She had heard so many stories about him, she felt like she knew him personally. Most of her friends thought Tony Stark was the one who made college life entertaining for everyone on campus, she just thought he was extremely childish and annoying. All the more reason to avoid him.

“Do sit down,” he invited.

“We’re closed,” she replied, as she approached him. She stepped behind the counter, getting the alcohol out of his reach, and he turned around and gave her a big, stupid grin. “But of course you already know that.” She rolled her eyes and snorted. He laughed.

“What’s your name?” he asked, taking a sip.

“None of your business.”

“That’s a rather odd name, dear,” Tony answered. “Your tag says Virginia.”

“So now you can read, huh?” She made him laugh again. She really hated that. He wasn’t supposed to be enjoying himself. He was supposed to leave.

“I like your hair. It’s so—“

“Red?”

“I was gonna say nice, but yes, it’s definitely on fire. Does it reflect your personality?” He reached out to grab a strand of her hair, but she quickly backed away from him. She couldn’t tell if he was drunk or just really rude, the way he invaded her personal space like that. “Cosmopolitan said, if you have red hair it usually means you’re fun-loving, hate to be bored and have a good sense of humor.” Things that all applied to her, but she wouldn’t tell him that. “I think it suits you... the hair. And I like the freckles. They’re cute.”

“God, what do you want, Tony?” She flipped her hair away from her face. He guessed it was so he could see her rolling her eyes better.

“You know my name,” he noted with delight.

“Everyone knows your name,” she groaned.

“I guess that’s true.” He emptied his drink. “Is that why you didn’t card me just now? Because you know I’m old enough to drink?”

Of course she knew he was legally allowed to drink. He was 21, and performed at The Black Panther with his band every week, sometimes on more nights than one. She had seen him play a game of chess in the manager’s office with Mister Jarvis occasionally, knew they had a close relationship. It made her wonder how Edward Jarvis, who was great friends with her, could also be friends with someone like Tony Stark. But it seemed everyone loved him. And the people who didn’t she had found to be just as annoying as him. Only some of her friends shared the same opinion as her.

In all honesty, though, she didn't like to be thinking about him that way. She hated to judge someone simply by the things she had heard and seen him do—this was the first time they were having an actual conversation. But with him, it was like he was deliberately trying to live up to his reputation, so should she even feel bad that she was judging a book by its cover?

“What do you want?” Virginia repeated her question with emphasis.

“Talk,” he answered, “I just wanna talk.”

“Well, I don’t,” she snapped at him.

“Man, we’re a bit stuck up, aren’t we?” Tony said with a chuckle. “When I saw you, I actually thought you were a nice person, Virginia… Vee… Ginny?” He arched one eyebrow at her in a silent demand for her to provide him with the right nickname.

“Virginia is fine,” she said callously.

She took the glass from the counter, properly cleaning it, and put it back with the others. Then she wiped the counter, washed the cloth, rung it out and folded it. She held it in both hands as if unsure what to do with it.

“I take it you don’t like me much,” he guessed, as he eyed her up and down.

He had seen her around many times before, but had never even bothered to talk to her. Now he understood why. She gave off vibes. Interesting maybe, but arrogant. Definitely the kind of vibe that she was somehow better than the rest, better than he was, and he usually avoided those kind of people.

“I don’t even know you.” She cast a downward glance and placed the washcloth over the faucet spout.

“Well, you see… You don’t have to know me to hate me,” he quipped.

She let out a harsh groan. “Amen to that.” When she looked up, his eyes were elsewhere. He stole a look at her breasts, the tops of which could be seen in her low-cut shirt, licking his lips. “Are you serious right now?” Her eyebrows rose in obvious disgust.

“What? You didn’t seem to mind when everyone else was looking.”

“Get out,” she almost yelled at him.

Virginia stared him down. He stared back. Then Tony got up from the bar stool and adjusted his worn leather jacket, which had a washed-out AC/DC logo on the back. He wore dark blue jeans and a black T-shirt that fit well over his toned upper body. He looked absolutely gorgeous, and she really hated to admit that.

“Tell Jarvis to call me about that gig.”

“Tell him yourself.”

“Wow!” He made a disparaging gesture with his hand. “Does it hurt to have a stick so far up your ass? Because I can pull it out, if it does.”

“Leave,” she said sternly. “Or I’ll make you.”

“No need... I’m going.” He turned and sought out his guitar case, found it standing next to the jukebox, and went over there to pick it up. But before disappearing into the night through the exit door, he looked at her one last time. “Maybe you should try being a little nicer every now and then. People like that, you know.”

“If you stop acting like an asshole, maybe I will,” she countered.

Tony laughed as he stepped outside. If only that girl would be as lovely as her singing voice. She was hot. Super hot. And the way she held her broad shoulders so proudly was incredibly sexy. She could have been a fashion model with her tall, slender figure. Her long legs were beautifully shaped, lightly muscled, teasingly displayed in those hot pants. Her body looked toned and glowing with health. He couldn't help thinking about those lips, too. Those soft lips, raspberry pink and shiny, inviting. He wasn’t very fond of her personality, although he did have a thing for her feistiness and her big mouth and may even like that about her. But her voice… Her voice was beautiful, and he couldn’t deny how it had made him feel when he’d heard her sing.