riff lorton hated a lot of things. he hated his birthday, holidays, cops, unsweet tea, the sharks, his parents. more than anything, he hated all the summer birds, the richer than god families that poured into manhattan every year, staying in their summer homes and driving their summer cars and flaunting all their summer money. he hated the way they flounced around the city, going to the drive-in in their convertibles, showing off at all the clubs with their pristine clothes, forever serving as a reminder of everything he could never be.
he knew they looked down on him, saw the way their noses scrunched as he walked past, the way they clutched their purses tighter and avoided eye contact. he hated that a small part of him yearned to have what they did; not necessarily the money, but the company. they were always together, all the perfect parents with their two perfect children and the way they all got along perfectly well. he knew he’d never have it, and he told himself he didn’t want it, but each time he saw their smiling faces, he knew it wasn’t true.
your family got to town in june of 1957, moving into your summer house just on the edge of the city, a massive white victorian with bright blue shutters and an equally bright car parked in the driveway. the first night, you begged your parents to let you go to the fair until they eventually gave in, sending you on your way.
it was there that riff first saw you, his eyes finding yours through the crowd as he hung back near the fence, smoking and people watching. he knew he shouldn’t even give you a second look- you were everything he resented, he could tell from your shiny white teeth and your starched skirt and your little kitten heels.
you were with a group of other kids he’d grown to hate, surrounded by people he’d never know, laughing at some undoubtedly stupid joke. the sound carried, and he tried to pretend it didn’t warm his chest to hear it, to pretend he didn’t want to become the cause of it.
the evening went on, and he tried not to watch you, busying himself with rolling cigarettes and talking to the guys. you went off with some guy after a couple hours, and he pretended it didn’t bother him. he was just about to leave when he heard it- your voice, sharper and louder than he’d previously heard it.
“get off of me!” you nearly yelled, and his brows furrowed, turning the corner to look for the source of the commotion. the guy, someone he didn’t recognize, was grinning like an idiot and grabbing at you and your cheeks were pink, your eyes teary as you pushed him off, breathing so rapidly riff could see from across the alley.
“hey! get off her!” he was on the guy before he could think, shoving him back roughly, “get lost,” he practically scrambled away, the intimidating demeanor he’d had with you melted away, leaving a scared little boy behind.
“are you alright?” riff hoped his tone had softened as he turned to you, where you sat, smoothing your skirt with trembling hands. “yes, thank you,” you nodded, wiping your eyes carefully, “he didn’t- he just tried,”
his chest ached as he watched you, and before he could remind himself he was supposed to hate you, he slid down to sit beside you, offering up the only clean handkerchief he had in his pocket. you took it with a small smile, wiping your cheeks before returning it to him, “thank you, really. you didn’t have to do that,”
“course i did,” he shrugged, his eyes trained on the small spot of lipstick you’d smeared onto the cloth, “he shouldn’t have touched you. i’m riff, by the way. you’re not from around here, are you?”
you shook your head with a little laugh, introducing yourself, “i’m just here for the summer. my family’s from boston,” you glanced down at the thin watch on your wrist, cursing under your breath as you saw the time, “i’m so sorry, i have to go, i’m late. i’ll see you around, riff!” you stood with a hurry, wiping your skirt and picking you purse up.
“wait!” he stood beside you, “i’ll walk you home, you shouldn’t be out this late alone,” to his surprise, you immediately accepted, smiling and thanking him and god; you looked so pretty with your hand wrapped around his arm, and you smelled so good and he knew this was wrong, that he should just let you go, that the two of you could never be together.
but he kept walking you, kept listening to you chatter about how happy you were to be summering here, how happy you were that you made a friend. him, your friend? he nearly laughed, but he just smiled and nodded. when you arrived at your driveway, he tried not to let his demeanor shift too much at the sight of the massive house, the pristine condition of it.
“i’ll see you around, right?” you asked, sounding slightly hopeful, and he decided to just go with it. sure, he hated everything your presence stood for. but he couldn’t hate you, with your shining smile and kind words and soft touch. so he nodded again, “i’ll see you. goodnight,”
he watched until you closed the door behind you, shaking his head at the way he felt like a lovesick fool, the way you’d broken down the walls he’d so carefully built in just one night.
he didn’t sleep much, but it didn’t matter. he spent the morning floating—half home, half back in last night, in the way your lips felt like a secret pressed to his cheek, in the way your hand had curled so trustingly into his. he shaved for the first time in weeks, washed his face, even ran a comb through his hair, trying not to think too hard about the way he looked, about the way he wanted to look for you. by 11:47, he was already at the corner. he was early, for once in his life, but he didn't even mind- it gave him time to rehearse all the things he might say, might ask, might admit if he didn’t back out. he kicked a pebble down the street, whistled a song he half-remembered from tony’s old radio, and tried not to think of the time again. and then—there you were.
running up the sidewalk, a vision in yellow, like you belonged in the sunlight. “sorry!” you laughed, slightly out of breath, “my mom wanted me to do the entire breakfast dishes before i left. it’s like she’s punishing me for having a good night," “she knows?” he asked, suddenly self-conscious. “of course not,” you grinned, linking your arm through his like it was the most natural thing in the world, “she just knows something. she’s got that weird mom sixth sense, yknow? but i’m not grounded, so, we’ve still got the day," he couldn’t stop smiling. “so where to?” you tilted your head in thought, “anywhere you’d take a girl you like," he laughed, caught off guard and feeling like he’d just been sucker punched by cupid himself, like some lovesick idiot, alright then,” he muttered, “let’s make it a date, girly,"
the day was slower this time, more relaxed. you bought ice cream from a bodega where the guy behind the counter knew riff by name. he introduced you like he was proud—“this is her.” that’s all he said, but it was enough, more than enough. you lit up like he’d handed you a prize. you made him show you the roof of a half-collapsed building where he used to sit with tony and smoke stolen cigarettes and talk about what they’d do when they got outta here. you stood at the edge, arms spread wide like you were flying, hair whipped back by the wind. he wanted to memorize you just like that. he didn’t have any film left, so he just stared, entranced. “you ever think about leaving?” you asked him softly, legs dangling over the side, like this wasn’t ten stories up. “used to,” he admitted, “me and tony had a hundred plans- mexico., vegas, some road trip across the whole country. we never did any of it," “why not?” you asked softly. he only shrugged, “shit happened. he got locked up, i got stuck," you nudged your shoulder against his gently, “you’re not stuck, riff, not forever," he didn’t say anything, but something about the way he looked at you told you he didn't quite believe you.
you didn’t go back to his place that night- he walked you home again, slower this time. you told him about how your brother’s off at yale and how your mom’s always disappointed you’re not more like him. he told you about how his first fight got him locked up in holding for three days, and how tony bandaged him up on day two and said, “better luck next time, duck.” by the time you got to your gate, the sun was dipping low and painting the houses gold. “i had a really nice time,” you said quietly. he looked at you, then looked away, “me too," a beat passed, and then— “i have to go home,” you said, almost like an apology “end of the season," he tried not to let it show, that sting. “when?” “a couple weeks. maybe three," you hated to even say it, to burst this little bubble the two of you had been floating in. he nodded, shoved his hands in his pockets. “you’ll come back?” you nodded smiled, stepping closer. “i’ll miss you," then you kissed him, with your hands on either side of his face like he was breakable, like you didn’t want to let go. he tasted strawberry lip gloss and something that felt dangerously close to forever. when you pulled away, your eyes were soft. “come say goodbye? the morning we leave?” he could barely even breathe. “yeah,” he said, “yeah, of course.” you pressed your forehead to his for just a second. then you were gone.
he saw you every day until then. you brought him books and told him to actually read them, he taught you how to hotwire a car (strictly theoretical, you insisted). you made fun of his old records, he stole your scarf. you danced with him on a rooftop in the rain, you kissed him like you were running out of time. and then—the morning came. the sun was barely up when he knocked at your gate, hands in his jacket, heart beating out of rhythm. you were already waiting. “i thought maybe you wouldn’t come,” you whispered. “i thought maybe you’d change your mind,” he said, voice hoarse. neither of you did. you hugged him tighter than ever. he didn’t say don’t go, and you didn’t say i wish i could stay. but the words lived somewhere between your chests, pressed together like promises. when your dad honked the horn, you pulled back and smiled with glassy eyes. “i’ll write,” you promised, eyes watery. “will you?” he asked. “i swear," you touched his cheek again, soft and slow. “i think i—” “don’t,” he cut in, not harsh, just scared. you couldn't say it. saying it would make this too real, too guttural. you just nodded, bit your lip, got in the car. he watched you go, arms hanging empty at his sides.
the first letter came a week later. then another, then another. each one signed in that looping handwriting, sealed with a little lipstick kiss. and every time he opened one, it felt like summer again. like the light hadn’t quite left yet. like you were still just around the corner, waiting at the diner window, still wearing that mini skirt and a smile that made him forget the cold.
riff x teacher!reader. Maybe they have known each other since they were kids, secretly in love with each other. She's very kind and patient, and maybe the only one Riff can ever be vulnerable with. love your writingg 💖💖
this is such a cute concept omg!! you ate.
riff lorton x teacher! reader for anon xx
you met riff lorton when you were just a kid, bounding through life with naive, shiny bright hope that everyone would want to be your friend. riff, on the other hand, had lost that hope, not that he ever had it to begin with. he was short, rude, aloof, and cold, ever the opposite to your warm, sunny personality.
you knew you could push through, though, if you just kept trying. so every day, for weeks, you brought him part of your lunch, paired with a hopeful little smile. and every day, he took the lunch, turned his nose up at you, and walked away to eat in privacy. it took three entire months for him to spare you so much as a conversation.
"you don't have to keep doin' this. you know that? i can get my own lunch," he said, glaring over at you despite holding the sandwich your mom had packed so neatly. "i know," you just shrugged, "i just wanted to be nice, that's all,"
he relaxed then, just slightly, unpacking the sandwich and slowly eating sitting right beside you, glancing all around at passing cars and the breeze blown trees. you just pulled out your book, content to sit in silence, thumbing through the pages as you sat.
"what's that?" he asked, gesturing to the paperback. "oh, it's pride and prejudice by jane austen," you smiled, holding it up, "d'you wanna borrow it?" he shook his head quickly, an odd sort of look passing over his face, "no, i was just askin',"
"i can read it out loud, if you wanted," you offered, hopeful smile returning, "it's a very good story," he shrugged, looking away, and you just went ahead and accepted that as invitation.
your little lunch dates turned into daily occurrences, riff eating the extra sandwich and carrots your mom had started packing, and you reading him page after page of your favorite novels. you'd offer, occasionally, to let him take them home, to finish them. but he'd always made that same face, a distant, indifferent expression in his eyes.
"are you sure you don't wanna borrow it?" you'd practically pouted, knowing how invested he'd gotten. he shook his head, his face slightly flushed, "look, i can't read, okay? my ma can't afford to send me to the school and i ain't smart enough to learn it myself,"
you'd gone home that night and sobbed to your own parents, crying for this poor, pitiful boy who'd been deprived of your greatest pleasure in life. then, you'd set out on a mission. you would teach riff lorton to read, right there in the schoolyard, if it was the last thing you did.
he downplayed it, when it was all said and done, but he'd never be able to tell you how much that really meant to him. you were the one person in his life that actually cared, especially enough to take such time and energy out of your day to repeatedly go over the same letters with him, never wavering, never getting frustrated. you never showed him anything but love.
years passed, and the two of you grew up together. schoolyard reading turned to riff disappearing for days at a time, finally returning with some bruises or a split lip, but never an explanation. you eventually found out, when your parents forbid you to go near him, that he was a part of the jets. not just a part of them, but the leader.
you'd cried, once again, for that broken boy who never got a fighting chance. for days, you'd wondered why he didn't tell you, why he didn't just ask you for help, or at least let you know he was in some sort of danger.
but that wasn't riff's way. he never wanted you to worry, or worse, to look down on him for the sort of people he surrounded himself with. so kept his mouth shut, all until the day you confronted him. he'd been gone for days, not bothering to stop by, and your worry had worn thin, morphing into anger.
"where the hell have you been?" you asked, hand on your hip, glaring at him like you were any sort of intimidating. "i'm sorry, i've just been busy," he waved you off, like he always did when it came to admitting his faults. "yeah, busy with your gang," you mumbled, shaking your head.
"what?" it came out sharper than he intended, voice coated in confusion. he'd worked so hard to keep you away from that, how could you have known? "my parents told me," you finally admitted, unable to meet his eyes, "riff, how could you?"
"this doesn't have nothin' to do with you, girly," he said quickly, "alright? it's my life and my business, and i'm doing my damn best to keep you out of it, so don't go puttin' your nose where it don't belong, y'hear me?"
"you are my business!" you snapped, throwing your hands up, "you're my best friend! how could you be so stupid, riff? you're putting your life in danger, and for what? for some street cred? over some stupid turf war for land that isn't even yours?"
"for my family!" he knew as soon as it came out, he'd raised his voice too much, gotten far too angry with you, but he couldn't stop, "this is all i got left, the jets, my boys! my parents are dead, i ain't got nothin' else to live for, alright? this is it, so don't you dare try and take that away from me,"
tears were slipping down your cheeks, and he wanted nothing more than to apologize, to tell you he never meant to yell and that you were his best friend, too, his only friend really. he ached to tell you the truth of it all; that he'd fallen in love with you sometime during all those afternoons you spent reading to him, and he was terrified at the thought of you getting anywhere near the life he'd made for himself.
"i hoped you'd at least say i'm something to live for," your voice was quiet, hurt, "maybe we just need some space for a while, alright? i shouldn't have lashed out, but i can't process this right now. i'm sorry, riff, i gotta go,"
you were gone before he could argue, and he knew better than to chase you. to chase you would be to give in, to agree to let you in to this mess, and he just couldn't do that, to you or to himself. so he let you leave, stood there for a moment just absorbing it, and went on home, whatever that even meant anymore.
you didn't get a proper chance to apologize after that. three days later, riff had been locked up in the state prison for assault during some gang fight, adding to the laundry list of reasons you'd ever had to cry for him. this beautiful boy that had no choice in how his life turned out, constantly chasing the legacy of a man who had long since died, and was never worth anything when he was alive. you moved on with your life eventually, graduating from college and going to teach at the very same school where you'd first met riff.
five years later, he came home. he didn't know where to find you anymore, not after your parents had moved off out of the city and you'd surely gotten a home of your own. he wasn't sure where you worked, or if you'd gotten married, or if you'd even want to see him. he spent days asking around, until he finally found out the teaching job you'd taken.
it made so much sense for you. he couldn't stop replaying the memories of you taking such doting care with him, teaching him something as basic as literacy like it wasn't something he needed to be ashamed of. he worked up the nerve, cleaning himself up as best he could, putting on his cleanest shirt and pants, picking some half dead flowers from the road and waiting outside the schoolhouse for you.
at the dismissal bell, you exited in a flood of students, all smiles and laughing and nurturing words to the kids as you walked them to their parents cars or to buses. good fucking god, you were beautiful. he nearly turned around and ran right then, too scared of what you'd think of him, too scared to know if you ever forgave him for that argument. he wondered how much you knew about what had happened, if you thought he was just another hardened criminal by now.
before he knew it, all the kids were gone, and you were walking towards you car. it was now or never, he guessed, and he'd never prided himself on being a coward. he called your name, jogging over, hoping he came across hopeful and not deranged, "girly, hey, hold on a second,"
"riff?" your voice was a jolt, straight to his chest, nearly diminishing all of his resolve from one syllable, "oh my god!" any fear he had that you were angry was gone the second you touched him, throwing your arms around his neck and pulling him to you, crying into his shirt like he'd come home from war and not prison, like he'd never hurt you.
"it's me," he choked out, petting the back of your hair helplessly, "you're okay, i'm fine," he murmured, suddenly embarrassed at his lack of grand gesture. "i was so worried about you," you sniffled, wiping your eyes, "you have no idea, i tried to come see you and they wouldn't since i'm not family and i was trying to find a way, i promise,"
"darlin, calm down," he smiled softly, wiping your cheeks gently, "i'm fine, alright? that's real sweet of you to try and come see me-" he stopped as you kissed him, all frantic in your movements, clinging to him still. he was frozen in place, kissing you back on instinct alone, his legs nearly giving out beneath him. "i've wanted to do that since we were kids," you whispered as you pulled away, "missed you so much, riff. i'm so sorry for the way i spoke to you that day, i never should've overstepped like that,"
"you weren't oversteppin," his voice was thick, strange to his own ears, "i got outta all that shit, before i came and found you. i'm on the straight and narrow, all cookie cutter for you, doll," "for me?" you repeated, eyes wide like it was the most romantic thing anyone had ever said to you, "oh, riff,"
and then you were kissing him again, like he'd disappear if you stopped, your hands on his shoulders as you stood on your tip toes, in front of all the other staff leaving like he was more than just some boy off the streets, like he was really worth somethin, same as all those years ago.
when you pulled away, he rested his forehead on yours, smiling like a madman, "thought about you every night in that jailhouse, sunshine, you're the only thing that brought me home. y'know that? told myself if i got outta there and you'd have me, i'd be a good man for you. make you my wife one day,"
"maybe we'll start with you bein my boyfriend," you grinned, cheeks all rosy and shining, "thought about you all the time, too. never stopped missin' you,"
minutes later, he was scrunched up in the passenger seat of your volkswagen bug, listening as you rambled on about how you just adored teaching, and how all the little boys reminded you of him when he was that age, all shiny and impressionable. you took him back to your apartment, promising that he could stay there as long as he wanted, practically begging him to never leave again.
that night, the two of you lay entwined across your bed, the words of pride and prejudice filling the silence as he read to you until you fell asleep.
the next time he saw you, you were seated at the diner, all pretty in the window like somethin' out of a magazine. your cherry red lips were wrapped around a bendy straw, sipping soda as you flipped through the pages of a book.
he hesitated before knocking against the glass just hard enough to get you attention, a goofy grin on his lips. you were up from the stool in an instant, and he glanced over your outfit curiously; a mini skirt, mary janes, a sweater that looked softer than anything he’d ever own. god, you were beautiful.
“riff!” you smiled so widely as you pushed the door open, like you were greeting someone important, surely you couldn’t be directing that at him, “how are you?” “oh, i’m alright,” he smiled slightly, “what’re you doin out and about?”
he listened to you chatter about how you were just bored to death sitting in that house, how you came to the city to live, not to sit in the drawing room with the sounds of new york as a backing soundtrack. “so anyway, i’m just out until my curfew, trying to find something to do,” you shrugged, “and what are you doing out?”
“just makin trouble,” he joked, though it was half true, “you shouldn’t be wanderin around if you don’t know where you’re goin, darlin. you need a tour guide or somethin,”
your eyes lit up, and something he could only describe as a squeal left your lips, “you can be my tour guide! i mean, if you’re not busy, of course,” he shouldnt agree- there was nothing in his part of the city worth your time, it’s not like he could take you to a broadway show or flaunt you around some museum. but you were lookin’ at him like you didn’t care, like he could take you anywhere and you’d be happy just to be out, so he just agreed.
he took you all around, past all the massive hotels and skyscrapers, showed you the broadway box office, all the clubs and cafes. you were in awe of everything, all starry eyes and big smiles and compliments. everything was perfect, until. “can i see where you live?” you looked so curious, so excited, he didn’t have it in him to tell you no. it seemed like he never had it in him when it came to you.
“well, it’s not really the nicest part of town,” he scrambled for an excuse, “and i’ve got roommates,” “that’s fine,” you smiled, like no part of you saw an issue with that, “i’d love to see it anyway,”
so he hesitantly led you a few streets over, the nice businesses and shiny new buildings growing few and far between the deeper into the city you went. finally, he stood at the edge of the lot where a little near-abandoned trailer sat. “well,” he gestured to it, biting the inside of his cheek, the visual of your pristine clothing against the backdrop of his life burning into his mind, “here she is,”
he led you past the rubble of the lot, right up the door, his hand gentle on your arm as he led you up the two steps into the small space. “i don’t know if the guys are home,” he warned as he pushed the creaking door open, trying to gauge your reaction. it was a far cry from your parents summer house, a dingy little space with empty bottles littering the makeshift coffee table and two bedrooms the size of closets. “it’s not much,” he could feel how his face was flushed and he hated it. what did he think he was doing, explaining himself to some summer bird- “i like it,”
he could’ve died right there, watching as you explored the space, the smile never leaving your lips, pausing as you spotted the polaroid of riff and tony pinned to the wall. your fingers traced the image with a fondness that had him reeling, watching you intently, “is this your brother?” you asked curiously, eyes still trained on the image. “no- no, that’s tony. my..” he hesitated. what was tony to him now? best friend, brother, stranger? “he’s my friend. he’s in jail upstate,”
you frowned, looking apologetic as ever, “i’m sorry, riff. that must be awful to be away from him,” you didn’t ask what he did, didn’t pass any judgmental looks his way, didn’t criticize him for hanging around the type of guys who ended up in jail. you were straying further and further from the image he’d had of you, more saint than classist sinner. “it’s alright,” he shrugged, feigning nonchalance, “tell me about yourself?”
the two of you sat for so long, criss cross on his bedroom floor, talking on and on about your life back home and his friends, your family and his lack there of, your ambitions and his fears. he could’ve fallen in love with you there in that messy, cold floor. could’ve made a home for himself in the gaps between your sentences.
minutes turned to hours turned to sundown, turned to you sprawled out across his bed, still talking, still radiating light into his dim space. he had a beat up old polaroid camera that tony’s family had gifted him tucked in his dresser drawer, and he was saving the last of the film for tony’s release, but you looked so goddamn pretty, he didn’t even think twice before he used the last picture on you.
you, with your long hair draped off the side of his mattress, with your crisp new clothes and rosy cheeks and shining eyes. you, the opposite of everything he thought he believed in. you, the most beautiful thing in his universe, thawing out the coldness of the life he’d been enduring for so long, one pretty word at a time.
it was midnight before either of you realized you’d been out so far past curfew, it would do you better to never go home at all. he expected you to run out, to realize the position you’d put yourself in, the way it looked. but you just shrugged, “i don’t have to obey all the rules,” and nestled further into his bed.
he didn’t touch you, didn’t kiss you, but it was more intimate than anything he’d ever experienced, falling asleep beside you like that. your breaths were soft and deep, lulling him into a trance, deeper into this spot you’d taken up in his life so quickly.
half asleep, his hand found yours. when the two of you woke the next morning, your fingers were entwined, and your cheeks were ever so slightly flushed. “i should go,” you yawned softly, his heart aching at the sight, “walk me home?”
and for the second time, he walked you all the way across town, stopping halfway to pick a dandelion from the grass and tucking it behind your ear like this was a movie. at the gate of your house, you stood on your tiptoes, pressing a chaste kiss to his cheek. “thank you for last night,” you said sweetly, voice dripping honey straight into his veins.
“will you be around tomorrow?” he asked, praying he didn’t sound desperate. “sure will,” you smiled, “come by around noon and i’ll meet you at the corner?” he couldn’t wait, already, even standing here in front of you still. “sounds perfect,” he nodded, “tomorrow, then,”
and then, to his shock, you stood up tall again and pressed your lips to his. it was quick and sweet, just enough to make him insane, enough to have his lips burning with the impression of you for the rest of the day. he didn’t get a word in before you were headed up your driveway, glancing over your shoulder and blowing him a kiss.
he could hear your parents scolding you even down the drive as he turned to walk away, thinking of tomorrow.
With two cast members of one of my favorite movies, “West Side Story”. I just met a boy called George Chakiris, who played Bernardo Nunez (and won the Best Supporting Actor Oscar and Golden globe for the role) and I just met a boy called Russ Tamblyn, who played Riff Lorton. #westsidestory #georgechakiris #bernardonunez #russtamblyn #rifflorton (at Chiller Theatre convention at the Hilton Parsippany NJ)
