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#west side story fanfic

pariahsparadise · 2 years

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green-eyed beauty | r. l.

nav. | m.list

requests: hi can you plz write a fic about riff being jealous bc he finds out reader had a tiny crush on tony before him?? thanks + Hiiii!! I loved your Riff x reader story and I was just wondering if you could write another one pleaseeeeee <3

word count: 0.5k

a/n: this took me forever to write and i am SO SORRY. it's also not as long as i'd like it to be, but thank you for the requests anyways! i combined them both, hopefully it's good enough?? i'm so sorry lol. also, you didn't specify the readers gender, so i made them gender neutral. hope that's fine!

pairings: riff lorton x gn!reader

warnings: kissing i guess, mostly fluff

“You’re joking.”

“I’m not, I swear!” You laughed, a little because you were tipsy, but mostly at the incredulous look on Riff’s face.

“Tony?” His eyebrows alternated between shooting high and furrowing, unable to process the fact that you, his partner, used to have a crush on his best mate. “What? Why? When?”

“Uh, I think it was when he used to work at Doc’s? I had popped in just to buy some medicine, but what can I say? Have you seen that man’s smile?” You rambled, oblivious to the deepening scowl on Riff’s face.

“And that hair, he could be starring in freaking shampoo commercials with those locks. Not to mention,” you went on, well past drunk now, “His face looks like it’s been sculpted by the gods.”

“Right,” Riff said sourly, causing your head to snap towards him at the change in his tone, but you were still unable to place the emotion on his face- was it anger? Jealousy? Deciding to find out, you put your drink down on a table to the side of the couch, scooting over closer to him and squinting your eyes to scrutinise his expression.

He simply scoffed, taking your actions as a way of making a move on him, and turned his head away, tilting his chin up to take a large swallow of his drink. Definitely jealous, you thought to yourself, noticing the way his jaw had tightened over the course of your conversation, the way his hand tightened on the cool glass bottle, God, you’re hot when you’re jealous. You realised too late that you had vocalised your last thought out loud.

Riff sputtered on his swallow, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, turning to look at you with wide eyes, “I’m not jealous!”

You just giggled at his blatant lie, leaning up slightly to place a series of gentle kisses on his tense jaw, loving the way he immediately relaxed to your touch, the goosebumps you could feel forming against your cheeks as you peppered fluttery kisses on his skin. “Sure you aren’t, Lorton,” you said, words muffled into his body.

“I’m not,” he said, but with a lot less conviction as he sighed, leaning in closer to you. You pulled away from your soft assault on his skin, your hands coming up to gently sweep across his exposed collarbone, finding their way to the hair on the nape of his neck, turning him so he could meet your eyes again.

“Well,” you said slowly, “In that case, wanna know what I thought Tony’s best feature was?”

His shoulders slumped visibly and his eyes looked defeated, but he nodded yes anyways. “Go on.”

He let out a sharp gasp as you suddenly swung one of your legs over his thighs, straddling him, your hands moving to grab the collar of his shirt, tugging him closer to you.

“His best friend,” you whispered, closing the distance between you.

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jellycolors · 2 years

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𝘳𝘢𝘤𝘩𝘦𝘭 𝘻𝘦𝘨𝘭𝘦𝘳 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩 𝘱𝘴𝘥

𝐥𝐢𝐤𝐞/𝐫𝐞𝐛𝐥𝐨𝐠 𝐢𝐟 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐮𝐬𝐞 𝐨𝐫 𝐬𝐚𝐯𝐞

𝐝𝐨 𝐧𝐨𝐭 𝐫𝐞𝐩𝐨𝐬𝐭

#jellycolors #rachel zegler #rachel zegler movies #rachel zegler responds to snow white casting criticism cnn #rachel zegler icons #west side story x reader #west side story fanfic #west side story fanart #west side story musical #west side story movie #west side story 2021 #wssedit #wss riff #wss maria

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whisperofsong · 2 years

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An Unexpected Home

Pairing: Riff x OC

Summary: Grace grapples with her brother’s estrangement from their family.

*Disclaimer: Thank you to those of you who have read the preface for “An Unexpected Home.” It has been wonderful to immerse myself in writing again and I am grateful to be a part of such an encouraging community. I promise there will be more interactions between Riff and Grace in the next chapter:)

Chapter 1

I glance down at my now dust-covered denim shorts and hurriedly brush them off, mentally cursing myself for not exercising more care when removing the books from the shelf. I release a heavy sigh and stand up before taking the books to the counter to continue conducting inventory. Although I love my job at the library, inventory is one aspect of the job I dread as a result of its mundane nature. Nevertheless, I relish being surrounded by a sea of books, a cornucopia of captivating stories and accounts of individuals’ lives that are anything but tedious. Within these books, I seek to escape and when my duties are complete, I often slink to the bowels of the library and immerse myself in their tantalizing pages. Unfortunately, today is strictly devoted to documenting the books currently residing in the library along with those that have yet to return to their respective shelves.

“How’s it going, Grace?” asks Brenda, the main librarian, as she maneuvers behind me to avoid a collision.

“I’ve made some progress and decorated myself with dust in the process,” I reply while slightly chuckling.

“It’s a sin some of these books haven’t been touched in ages. Then again, the joy of reading seems to be absent these days; it’s merely a chore for some people.”

I mull over Brenda’s words and nod in agreement. “I can’t imagine a life without reading…without inspiration.”

“Well, when you become a famous writer and are questioned about your origins, perhaps you’ll reflect on this library with fondness.” Brenda smiles warmly and winks at me.

“I already have fondness for this place,” I state, earning a broader grin from Brenda.

An older gentleman approaches the desk and Brenda scurries towards the other side, prepared to assist him. While Brenda is occupied, I glance at the large clock hanging above the entrance and take note of the time: 2:17. I have less than two hours until I can return home and indulge myself in my writing. For the next two hours, a few visitors ask me questions and Brenda checks in with me regarding my documentation of the inventory. Before I leave, I select two books I’ve had my eye on and check them out, intending to examine them more closely once I’m home. I quickly wave to Brenda on my way out and she returns the gesture while engaged in an animated conversation concerning a book she finished reading only days ago.

The sunshine tickles my skin as soon as I make it outside. The beginning days of June offer warmth and radiance without the inescapable, overwhelming rays. I decide to take the longer route home today, reasoning that perhaps the outside world will offer ideas I can incorporate into my writing. The sun casts a remarkable light on everything in its path, causing cars to appear more vivid than they really are and the pavement to sparkle, inviting travelers to walk on it as if nothing can dull its shine. I make efforts to maneuver around giddy children on the sidewalk who are engrossed in imaginative games. Once I’ve passed them, I peer over my shoulder and a slow smile spreads across my face as I recall brief moments of my own childhood in which I experienced similar happiness. Two middle-aged women rest on a front stoop with a glass of lemonade in their hands, looking refreshed, although I’m unable to determine whether this feeling is a result of the beverage or their conversation.

Despite the harsher realities of the neighborhood in which I reside, the current sights provide a reprieve and leave me feeling lighter. However, this feeling is fleeting as the local basketball court comes into view and I spot the Jets involved in a rowdy game. I begin to approach the court, rolling my shoulders and straightening my posture in the process. It’s not that I’m intimidated by the Jets; I’ve known them for years. Rather, it’s that despite them knowing me for the same duration, they continue to treat me as one would a parasite. Even though Balkan is a member of the Jets, him being my older brother does not reduce the group’s ill feelings towards me. In fact, Balkan encourages the mocking, name-calling, and negativity with which I’m bombarded on a regular basis. I linger on the outskirts of the court, observing the Jets play their game, a game they’ve loved since their initial days of friendship. Within seconds, I spot Balkan and he swiftly passes the ball to A-Rab who, despite his small stature, is able to seamlessly weave between his fellow Jets and breezily shoot the ball directly into the net. Upon its successful landing, A-Rab showcases a cocky grin while nodding at Balkan for affirmation.

While propped up against the chain-link fence with my arms folded, Ice takes note of my displeased expression. “Speechless, huh? A-Rab’s skills tend to leave a lotta women like that,” Ice remarks, chortling as the words leave his mouth.

“Something tells me there’s another reason for women’s silence when it comes to A-Rab,” I say coolly.

“What are you doin’ here anyway? No friends of your own?” asks Numbers, earning laughs from a few other members.

“Haven’t you heard?” asks Balkan. “All her friends are in those damn books of hers.” My brother smirks at me and I return his smirk with an icy smile of my own, determined not to allow such remarks to vex me.

“Alright, alright, that’s enough, boys,” a voice cuts in through the snickering and I immediately know who is having mercy on me. Riff, the leader of the Jets, steps forward, his lanky, yet muscular figure casting a long shadow on the blacktop. A sheen of sweat coats his forehead and his light brown hair slightly falls in his face, though he quickly removes it so that it’s not shielding his eyes. He holds the basketball under his arm while his unoccupied one rests its hand on his hip, maintaining eye contact with me. I hold his gaze, yet remain quiet, aware of the numerous pairs of eyes now focusing on me.

*Flashback to ten years ago

“You’re bein’ ridiculous. Just go in and get it over with,” Balkan urges me.

Countless students move around me, dodging others in their path, conversing eagerly with their friends, and carrying a handful of books. Nevertheless, I remain frozen on the sidewalk, paralyzed with fear as I gawk at the massive building in front of me.

“Balkan!” A familiar voice tugs me out of my thoughts and both Balkan’s and my head snap in the direction of this voice. A broad grin sweeps across Balkan’s face the instant his eyes land on Riff. Conversely, I remain motionless, the fear of my first day of middle school too great to be lessened by Riff’s presence. Although Balkan and Riff are now beginning high school, Mom instructed Balkan to escort me to the middle school and he was less than thrilled to fulfill this role.

Balkan and Riff make small talk with each other while sharp laughter rings in my ears, emanating from a group of girls appearing slightly older than me as they walk by. I grow more self-conscious when I realize their laughter is targeted at my ensemble, frayed, pink denim shorts with rhinestones littered across the pockets. I avert my gaze and duck my head in shame, suddenly longing to return home and change my outfit.

“Are ya goin’ in or not? I don’t have all day, Grace,” Balkan huffs, his annoyance apparent.

“How about I catch up with ya, Balkan?” Riff suggests.

Balkan shoots him a quizzical look and waits for an explanation before accepting Riff’s idea.

“I’ll make sure Grace gets in alright and you can save me a seat in homeroom,” Riff offers casually.

Balkan hesitates momentarily before nodding and heading in the opposite direction without so much as a wave goodbye.

I bite my lip as I stand beside Riff and secretly hope something dramatic will occur that will impede my access to the school, but even I’m not naïve enough to believe such a miracle could ever transpire…at least not for someone like me.

“A tad nervous, huh?” Riff prompts and when I face him, I don’t detect any hint of humor in his tone or his face. Instead, he looks sympathetic and somehow, this eases my sense of impending doom.

“It’s just…I’m worried what middle school’s going to be like…I’ve heard stories from you and Balkan,” I mumble.

Riff extends his hands and places them upon my rigid shoulders, positioning me so that I’m now facing him. “Look at me, Gracie girl,” Riff says gently. A small smile creeps across my face at the use of this endearing nickname, one he gave to me not long after we met and it’s remained beloved ever since. “Balkan and me…we’re a different breed. When it comes ta trouble, we’re like magnets: we attract it. We also happen to create it. But you? You’re nothin’ like us. You’re extremely smart and with that smile, kid, you’ll have plenty of friends in no time.” I reflect on his words and while I don’t particularly believe them, I’m touched Riff said them to me in the first place. I muster a halfhearted smile and nod my head to showcase my acknowledgement of Riff’s words.

“Thanks, Riff,” I say sincerely.

“Anytime, Gracie girl.” He grins once more before turning around to begin his jaunt to the high school.

I exhale prior to slowly inching towards the entrance. Once I’m only mere inches from the propped open double doors, I look behind me only to find Riff lingering by the iron fence, his gaze fixated on me. He gives me a subtle nod and I return the gesture before he walks away and I’m left to my own devices. Here we go…

*Present Day

Numbers hands Riff a rag which he snatches and wipes across his forehead, capturing the sweat that gathered there from their rigorous game of basketball. Nevertheless, this distraction does not prevent him from continuing to lock eyes with mine.

“I’m surprised ya came down to see us. I know how you get when it comes to your books,” Riff states, an amused expression gracing his face.

“My shift at the library was over, so I decided to take a leisurely walk on my way home. Contrary to popular belief, I occasionally have a desire to take part in the real world,” I answer, glaring pointedly at Balkan, who only rolls his eyes in response.

Riff purses his lips and slowly nods, yet his eyes don’t stray from mine. “The boys and I were about ta head ta Doc’s. You interested?”

“Only to watch Balkan and Tat endlessly make out while the rest of you guys act like barbarians? It’s tempting, but I’ll have to decline your offer.”

“Your loss,” Riff says breezily, unaffected by my decision. “Let’s go, boys.” Riff’s command results in all the Jets following him to their next destination, some shaking their heads at me and others completely ignoring me as they frequently do. I stand there and watch them gradually shrink in the distance, but just as I’m prepared to turn around, an abrupt squeal captures my attention. Riff’s longtime girlfriend, Graziella (Grazi for short), enthusiastically leaps into his arms and he catches her despite the lack of warning. They engage in a passionate kiss and I suddenly feel uncomfortable for observing them in such an intimate moment. I shake my head to wake myself from whatever daze I’ve entered and briskly walk towards my family’s apartment.

When I arrive home, the place is quiet and I expect it to be as Mom is not released from the office until 5:00. She’s been a receptionist at a dentist’s office for five years now and it’s the most steady and well-paying job she’s ever had. Although she waitressed for several years after Dad left us, it became too much and hampered opportunities to be with Balkan and me. Consequently, Mom took it upon herself to take a typing class and her proficiency in this skill led to her landing a receptionist job, one that enables her to pay the bills and provide for the three of us. Although she’s neither asked nor hinted at me getting a job to aid with our finances, I felt it was only right to do so, especially considering the ways she’s made something of our lives that were originally left in shambles at the hands of my selfish father. While I presented my job at the library to my mom as an additional financial source, I intentionally neglected to mention that it also nourished my hunger for books. I almost felt guilty, believing that this other benefit detracted from helping Mom. However, as time progressed, I didn’t need to be forthcoming about why I stayed on at the library because Mom recognized its effect on me. Even Balkan, who’s often completely clueless when it comes to anything pertaining to me, took notice of my buoyant mood; of course, he regarded it as pathetic that books could have such an impact.

I place my things on my bed and scan my bookshelf for my journal, the one in which I document ideas and thoughts as well as quotes from books I’ve read that bewitch me. I grab the journal and flip it open to the page that is currently marked by a satin string while I settle comfortably on my bed. While jotting down my thoughts, my mind wanders to my future, a place I find it wanting to travel to nearly every day. I never attended college because there simply wasn’t any money to do so and although I’ve attempted to make peace with what was lost, I can’t help but contemplate what could have been for me had I been given the opportunity to pursue more for myself. Mom and I have never had an actual exchange in which we discussed higher education, but I know she’s cognizant of my disappointment over not being able to go and, because of this, I don’t dare mention it. She’s contended with enough in her lifetime and it would be selfish of me to harp on something such as this. Plus, I try to remind myself that successful individuals don’t necessarily have to attend college to create promising futures for themselves; however, I know it can only help as opposed to ever hindering anyone. As much as I yearn to spread my metaphorical wings and make something of myself, visions of my suffering family infiltrate my troubled mind. Mom would never openly discourage me from leaving, from seeking substantial opportunities, but I know a part of her would crumble without me. She relies on me for conversation and closeness because Balkan is as distant as one can get and it’s been like that seventeen long years.

My pen is now hovering above the journal page and my inclination to write has subsided. My eyes become heavy and I move the small book aside to make room for my head on the bed. Before long, I drift off to sleep and my dreams invite me into another world, one in which I’m discovered as a burgeoning writer, one in which Mom’s joy is palpable, and, best of all, one in which Balkan can look at me without disdain.

When I’m eventually woken from my brief slumber by the sound of the door closing, I realize my mom must be home from work. I blink a few times in an effort to regain my senses and remove myself from a disoriented state. As I sit up, I notice the stark light pouring into my bedroom window and sigh contentedly. The longer duration of daylight is my favorite aspect of summer, thereby making it my favorite season. A flurry of sounds from the kitchen signal Mom is preparing to make dinner, so with a final look towards my bedroom window, I stand up and go out to assist her.

It’s no secret that Mom’s days are wearing, yet this fact does not impede her ability to offer a loving smile when I step foot into the kitchen. “Hi, Grace.” She pecks me on the cheek and rubs my shoulder as she glides past me to take an item out of the freezer. “How did things go at the library today?”

I situate myself at the counter so I’m not in her way. “It was a standard day. I completed a majority of the inventory, so hopefully I’ll have more time tomorrow to scour the shelves for some books I’ve been itching to read.” Mom nods in confirmation and shoots me a placid smile. “How was your day, Mom?”

Mom shrugs her shoulders before answering my question. “It was fine overall. Someone came in today, complaining that she needed her crown repaired. When I explained that Dr. Reed had a booked day, she was less than pleased and while there were some heated words, I was eventually able to resolve things by booking her the first appointment tomorrow.” Mom shakes her head as if she’s trying to rid her mind of this distressing event.

Once dinner is ready, I help Mom by setting the table and placing the food on it. We’re about fifteen minutes into dinner when the front door opens and Balkan saunters through it, walking past us and heading in the direction of his room. “Nice to see you, too, honey!” Mom calls out, but makes no attempt to interact with him further as he closes the door behind him. She returns her focus to her half empty plate and, even though she doesn’t comment on it, it’s evident his absence at the dinner table bothers her. Opportunities for us to gather as a family are already limited during the week and ever since Dad left, Mom did her best to cultivate a sense of connectedness at dinner in order to maintain some sense of normalcy. However, Balkan never viewed these dinners with the same value and often makes himself scarce during this time. On the rare occasions he does join us at dinner, he utters a total of ten words and is clearly miserable.

After clearing the table and washing the dishes, I practically stomp to Balkan’s room while Mom settles on the couch and opens to where she left off in her book. I knock on Balkan’s bedroom door several times before he finally opens it, a disgruntled expression coating his face. “What?” he asks. “May I come in?” I request in a polite tone, taking into account the close quarters of the apartment and that it isn’t difficult for Mom to hear every word exchanged between us. “I guess,” he says in a sour tone and I sweep by him, shutting the door.

I release a frustrated sigh and momentarily shut my eyes before launching into my tirade. “What is wrong with you?” I ask in a hushed, but no less exasperated voice. “Mom has cut you so much slack over the years and the one thing she asks is that we have dinner as a family, Balkan. Are you so self-absorbed that you can’t even comply with that?”

Balkan chuckles in a smug manner which only fuels the anger within me. “What’s the point, Grace? It’s all pretend. We ain’t a family, much less a happy one. I’m not interested in participatin’ in a charade and that’s exactly what all that is. So if that’s what you wanna do, be my guest. I’m not gonna stop you, so don’t stop me.” His voice hardens with this last statement and we engage in a stare-off, neither of us willing to back down from our stance.

“I’m trying to help you, Balkan. I know it may be hard for you to grasp, but not everyone is out to get you.”

“And I know this may be hard for you to grasp, but I don’t want your help,” Balkan replies in any icy tone.

My jaw tightens and I cross my arms, vexed that my brother is unwilling to be receptive to anything I say. I scoff while shaking my head and roughly open the door before storming into my own bedroom. I lay down and face the wall, disappointed that Balkan is opposed to any form of reason. When I close my eyes in a desperate attempt to conjure up my previous dream, the one in which Balkan regards me as an actual human being, it’s futile because the images are nowhere to be found. If I can’t even access this vision in my dreams, where am I to turn?

@inkandpen22 @riffheartsgraziella @loverisi @westsidelegendary @sondheim1fan @ilovey0us0 @grxceordxr @dellaspinstales @jillo0315 @drowninginaseaofbooks @theforgottenmcrmy @shitemylife @disguisedbassethound @mixed-theater-faisty-tings @b-bella9 @riffaist

#west side story #west side story 2021 #west side story fanfic #riff x oc #angst #romance #slow burn #mike faist

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thelanguishing · 2 years

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you’re it for me (mouthpiece x velma)

a/n: hello everyone! (or anyone, really! i don’t actually know if anyone reads my stuff) i got accepted into the university of sydney, australia for psych and i’m incredibly, incredibly psyched about that (hehehe pun intended). this week has been a lot more eventful so i didn’t get a lot of time to think much about my stories. honestly i kind of hate this ending but there are snippets of this oneshot that i felt happy enough with to post the entire thing. i hope you like it!

word count: 1602

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Velma wrung her hands for the umpteenth time since kissing her boyfriend goodbye. Glancing at the clock yet again, she couldn’t help but wish she’d just banned him from leaving her room at all. He wouldn’t have listened. Realistically, they would probably have gotten into a fight. But anything, anything had to be better than this. This waiting and worrying and wondering for him to return from his first rumble alongside the Jets.

She just knew it. Mouthpiece was going to run his mouth again, and get one of those Egyptian Kings so riled up that he’d wind up on the receiving end of a bunch of extra hits. Probably with one of those sharp chains she’d caught a glimpse of in their armoury too, if he wasn’t careful. She forced herself to take in slow, deep breaths, thinking instead of the strength of the Jets. Mouthpiece might have been new at this whole rumble thing, but many of the Jets weren’t. Riff and Tony certainly weren’t, in particular. They’d already rumbled twice, and both times they’d come out on top. They’d take care of Mouthpiece. And though he was considerably smaller, he was wiry too. She knew he’d be able to dodge a lot of blows if he kept his wits about him. Much as she hated to think about it, his father certainly helped hone Mouthpiece’s skill in dodging and ducking violent punches. Focusing on only the facts, Velma found herself reverting back to a calmer state of mind. Well, as calm as she could possibly be while her stupid boyfriend was getting him violently beaten up somewhere.

Twelve forty-five. How long was this goddamn rumble going to last? No one in their right mind would be willing to go at it for longer than necessary. Had the Egyptian Kings just been incredibly obstinate, and refused to surrender till their last man was lying in a pool of their own blood? At a loss for what to do next, Velma found herself reaching for comfort from someone she usually never bothered herself with.

God, please, I know I ain’t a saint, but please let Mouthpiece come back safe. I’lls do whatever you want.

As if the man upstairs really heard her fervent prayer, the raps on her window a mere minute later finally put her racing thoughts to rest. Hurriedly pulling up the glass, she quickly let Mouthpiece in, firmly shutting the window behind him.

The sight before her eyes felt like a blow to her gut. Sure, Mouthpiece had gotten jumped a couple times, but she’d never seen him so injured in her life. Blood was dripping from his shoulder, there was a gash on his jawline, and she could see blues and purples already blooming all over his fists.

‘Oh my God, baby, oh my God, what did they do to ya? Oh my God, there’s blood everywhere…’ Even when Mouthpiece was injured, Velma rarely made a big deal about it, not wanting him to feel worse about worrying her. But she just couldn’t help the fear and anxiety laced in her words this time. She’d been smart enough to prepare a few first aid supplies in anticipation for his return, but her one washcloth and tub of warm water was likely to have the usefulness of a band-aid in this situation. Turning to grab frozen peas from her refrigerator and as much antiseptic as she could find, Mouthpiece reached out and grabbed her hand.

‘We won, baby. Those Kings ain’t gonna bother us anymore! I busted one of them up real good, way worse than he did me.’ Mouthpiece grinned proudly, looking at his girlfriend with relief and pride in his eyes.

She knew how important the Jets were to him, even if the territory never was. Seeing the protective streak in him surface whenever the Jets were mentioned always warmed her heart. Despite having grown up in a badly broken family, there was still so much love Mouthpiece had for the people he cared about. She knew that was why he partook in the rumble – to stand with his brothers. Knowing that about him reassured her, though him coming back bloodied and bruised never did.

She clasped his hand back, patting it gently.

‘I’m proud of ya too, honey. Not for doing something this stupid, but because ya came back home safe. I’m gonna get you some stuff to help with the blood. I’ll be back in just a sec.’ As much as she wanted to hold him close and kiss him repeatedly to confirm his presence, his injuries were too pressing to ignore. She sped out of the room and left Mouthpiece on the ottoman, wincing in pain as the adrenaline from the rumble gradually wore off.

When she returned, Mouthpiece immediately pulled her to him, stationing her in between his legs as she quietly dabbed and cleaned the grime and blood from his face. For the life of Velma, she couldn’t imagine how he managed to maintain that goofy grin on his face while she basically doused his face in antiseptic to prevent an infection.

‘Love, doesn’t the antiseptic hurt?’ She couldn’t help but question as she moved on to the largest gash on his jawline.

‘Like a bitch. But my favorite girl’s patching me up, ain’t she? I’m just smilin’ ‘cause I know I’m real lucky that she’s my nurse.’ Mouthpiece admitted cheekily while Velma’s cheeks turned a deep hue of red. Even while he was in pain, he effortlessly managed to make butterflies flutter in her stomach. But the stinging sensation overwhelmed him, and though he would rather die than admit it, Velma swore he tightened his grip on her waist as she dabbed at the wound gently.

As she patched up his fists and neck, her eyes drifted to his abdomen. It was likely to be littered with bruises too, or worse.

‘Take ya shirt off, hon,’ Velma instructed.

‘Damn, Vel, didn’t know we were getting into it so quickly,’ Mouthpiece joked shamelessly. He knew she was just trying to check for more injuries, but he could never turn up the opportunity to tease Velma a bit. Despite being collected most of the time, he knew how much of a weakness he was to her. Little teasing remarks made exclusively by him would fluster her like nothing else could.

‘Not like that, you fool! I gotta see if yous got yourself beaten up even more.’

Right, guess she wasn’t taking the bait for that one.

Trying his best to hide the grimace in his expression, Mouthpiece removed his shirt and drew up his undershirt to reveal the extent of the damage. Most people might have missed his wince as she poked and prodded his ribs gently, but Velma was too observant for that. Probably a broken rib or something.

At least there were no huge gashes or cuts. Most of it was just bruises. And that broken rib, of course.

As her finger danced across his chest and abdomen, Mouthpiece could feel his breath catching. He knew she wasn’t doing it for that reason tonight, but it was so easy to get caught up in his girl’s little ministrations. She was truly the most beautiful girl he’d ever known, and every time she gave him such unconditional love and care, it became harder and harder to hide his growing feelings each day. They’d only been seeing each other for about two months, and Mouthpiece had barely turned fifteen. All the same, he was pretty sure this was what love felt like. Velma evoked a special kind of protectiveness and warmth he didn’t know he had. Every time he looked at her, it felt like the man upstairs had finally given him a bit of a break from his hellish world. Like she was the reason to believe in life again.

‘Vel?’ Mouthpiece gently whispered.

‘Hm?’ Still preoccupied with her boyfriend’s injuries, Velma continued inspecting his bruises, pressing frozen peas to his abdomen and wiping away the sweat and blood from the smaller cuts. She didn’t even look up.

‘I love ya.’ He confessed in a voice so soft he thought she might have missed it. Her hands freezing were the only indication that she’d heard his declaration.

‘And yous don’t gotta say it back, Vel. I know we’ve only been seeing each other for a few months. It’s early days yet, dontcha think? But I know it. I’m sure. I love ya, I really do. But seriously, don’t worry about it if ya ain’t sure. Ya can just pretend like I didn’t say nothing, if ya want. Ya know-’ Suddenly panicking, he started running his mouth again. Caught between the fear of scaring her off and the conviction of his own feelings, it felt like he was speaking in circles.

Impulsively, Velma had interrupted his slightly frenzied monologue by pulling him close and planting her lips on his, the only things separating them being Velma’s thin nightdress and the frozen peas. Quickly relinquishing control, she parted her lips slightly as Mouthpiece deepened the kiss, the both of them swept up in the highs post-rumble and the intensity of their feelings.

Yes, they were both young. But that intense, overwhelming feeling of security and passion bundled into one was real. Whatever they felt then and there was real.

As they both came back up for air, Velma shyly smiled and returned the declaration.

‘I love you too, baby. Always. You’re it for me,’ she promised fervently.

It was then that Mouthpiece knew for certain he would never love another girl for the rest of his life.

#west side story 2021 #west side story fanfic #mouthpiece x velma #mouthpiece #velma #ben tyler cook #maddie ziegler #writings #rambling #my stories #west side story

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pxnsneverland · 2 years

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Updated my West Side Story fan fic!!! Go check it out, comment and follow :)

#west side story #west side story riff #west side story fanfic #riff west side story #riff fanfic #wss jets #wss riff #fanfiction #fan fiction #fanfic #fan fic #fan fic update #fanfiction.net

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tracingpatternswrites · 2 years

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Fic: You feel like home | West Side Story (2021)

Title: You feel like home

Fandom: West Side Story (2021)

Pairing: Riff/Tony

Read on AO3.

Teaser:

The first time it happens, Riff thinks it’s a mistake. He doesn’t mean to think of Tony when he’s on the cusp of release, but he turns his head and his gaze snags on a shirt thrown over a chair. It’s Tony’s shirt, left behind the last time he’d crashed at Riff’s instead of going home, and suddenly he thinks of Tony, shirtless in his bedroom, and Riff comes into his own hand. It's just one of those things, he tells himself afterwards. An accident, it doesn’t mean anything. He was already so far gone, it had nothing to do with Tony. Not really.

The second time it happens it’s a little more difficult to explain. Riff is pretty sure he starts out thinking about Grazi. She’s Tony’s girl, he knows that, and it’s not like he’ll ever do anything about it, but she’s pretty enough and there’s no harm in fantasizing, right? He likes her slim waist and how her ass looks in those tight jeans she wears. Tony had also said she’d let him go all the way and Riff pretended he wasn’t jealous of that. It’s not like Riff was a virgin or anything, but Grazi was the prettiest of their girls. Sure, Riff had Velma but she still wouldn’t go down on him and she wasn’t too keen on letting him fuck her. Grazi didn’t seem to have any such issues with Tony, if what he’d told Riff was anything to go by. So that’s what Riff thinks about, Grazi on her back and Tony fucking her slowly. And that’s a bit weird, since Riff is pretty sure he should be fantasizing about himself doing the fucking, but he shoots into his own hand before he has a chance to dwell on it.

Riff notices, but tries not to think about, how Tony takes a more and more active role in his nighttime fantasies. He tries not to think about what that means, but then, he tells himself, a fantasy is a fantasy and it doesn’t mean anything, right? A few nights later he’s on his way back from Diesel’s where some of the Jets had been hanging out, taking advantage of an empty apartment and the fact that A-rab had managed to nick a bottle of vodka and Tiger had got his hands on some weed that wasn’t completely shit. It had been a nice evening until Diesel’s Ma came back from wherever and kicked them all out.

The rest of the boys decided to continue the party in one of the abandoned buildings of which there were so many these days, but Riff ducked out. He was feeling restless, had been all evening, and not even the pot had managed to take the edge off it. So he leaves them to it, starting the slow walk back home. It was still stifling, despite the late hour. The smell of garbage, dust and hot city hung heavy in the air, clinging to Riff’s skin. He didn’t mind it though, it makes him feel like he belongs, and he loves that. He takes a shortcut through the desolated plot that only a couple of weeks ago was where Ice’s building had stood. Now there’s mostly rubble left, a couple of walls still standing, waiting for the demolition work to continue.

The sound, when he first hears it, is so faint that he almost misses it. He stops in his tracks, ears pricking as he tries to locate the sound. Was someone following him? It wouldn’t be the first time someone from a rivalling gang would try and take advantage of a lone Jet. But then he hears it again and Riff’s heart stops for a moment because that’s not anyone sneaking around, what he heard was most definitely a moan.

Continue on AO3.

#west side story 2021 #west side story fanfic #AO3 fanfic #riff/tony #Read on AO3

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summer-tano · 2 years

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I saw a post advertising this fic, read it, and it was one of the best fanfiction I’ve ever read. Truly had tears coming from my eyes from the parallels within it.

beautiful fanfiction by https://mahmahmahmysharona.tumblr.com/

#west side story #west side story fanfic #riff west side story #riff fanfic

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pariahsparadise · 2 years

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riff as your boyfriend hc's

nav. | m.list

requested by anon: hi !! you’re like the only person on this app who writes for riff. so i was wondering, if you’re still writing for him and you write hcs, if i could get like a riff as ur boyfriend hcs??

word count: 0.5k

a/n: i wrote this so quick lol, i hope it's okay? i went for gender neutral reader as you didn't specify what you'd like, i hope it still works. oh also, i'm sorry about the ending, i know i strayed away from the topic a little, but maybe this is fine??

pairings: riff lorton x gn!reader

warnings: none? woah is this maturity

even before you and riff were dating, the jets (especially riff) were super protective of you

and once you two start going steady, they only get MORE protective

riff used to make sure a jet would walk you home if he couldn’t make it

but after you two start dating, it’s always him there, 9 times out of 10

riff tried his hardest to keep you out of the sharks vs. jets rivalry, he couldn’t stand the thought of something happening to you

and this idiot thought the best way to go about this was to not tell you ANYTHING at all

you had a series of long fights about him disappearing on you randomly, or blowing you off, leaving you to wonder about which ditch he was lying dead in

you lose track of the amount of times you have to show up to val’s, interrogating poor tony about the whereabouts of his best friend

(tony always gives in, you’re fucking scary when you want to be)

the two of you eventually sort things out, staying up all night talking and making up

riff promises to talk to you more, though he knows you’d prefer it if he wasn’t a part of this feud at all

but hey, at least it’s progress

riff always takes you as his date to the dances, no question

and if you don’t know how to dance, he will take the time to teach you properly

low-key, you took longer than necessary to learn

the lessons were so much fun, and the time together made both of you genuinely happy

riff definitely wasn’t complaining about being able to put his hands on you ;)

one of his favourite things to do is watch you get ready

not in a creepy way, though he can’t argue that watching you change your shirt is sometimes the highlight of his day (he can’t help it)

but your meticulous routine is something just so calming to him, it’s a nice change of pace

he swears that he falls deeper in love every time your eyes meet in the mirror, and you give him that sheepish smile

another thing riff loves is playing with your hair

when you’re exhausted, he’ll gently drag you down to lie in his lap, fingers already threading through your locks

you’re asleep in seconds

you and riff don’t go on too many dates, maybe one every fortnight

but that’s okay, because riff comes around your place almost everyday

and if he can’t, he’ll ensure that he at least drops by during one of your breaks at work

even those fifteen minutes of talking are precious to both of you

the two of you love meddling with tony’s love life and pissing him off

you’re always organising double dates to go on

which, to be fair, does not end well for tony, so it’s a little counter-productive

the girl usually gets pissed that he doesn’t pay her the same attention that riff does you

which leaves tony a little baffled

how is he supposed to replicate your relationship with riff? how is anyone?

secretly, tony’s rooting for you guys to get married. so much so that he’s already started his best man’s speech.

he can’t wait for the day he gets to say the words out loud.

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multifandomworldsposts · 6 months

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Day 27 of Kinktober: Sneaking Around With Riff

pairing: Michael ‘Riff’ Tamblyn x fem!reader

warning: dirty talk, eating out, getting caught, unprotected sex, violence

Y/N’s POV

Riff and I have been sneaking around for quite sometime but the Jets have been getting suspicious lately of Riff coming to their meetings late or him not showing up when Riff is needed when the Sharks are around the Jets.

I invited Riff to come to a spot that no one knows except for him and I but I want to do something different. When Riff found me, I was sitting on a crate naked with my legs spread out, I can tell he wanted me so bad but he just stood there staring.

“What’s the matter Riff, I don’t bite.” I said in a sweet voice he’s heard before.

“I wish we were married so I can this all the time.” He says approaching me.

“You know that my dad thinks you’re dangerous.” I said wrapping my legs around Riff’s waist.

“And the Jets don’t know about us.” He whispers in my ear.

“But that’s the fun part of it.” I whisper. “You can have me whatever you want, and you can always come to me when you’re having a rough day because I love it when you get rough.” I whisper again while trailing my finger on his body.

“Why’s that doll?” He said making us do nose to nose.

“The way you fuck me, you just go in and out, making me beg but you want to keep going and making me scream and moan until I cum, and then you take control on eating me out. But the way you fuck me, it’s different than you normally do, harder and rougher than usual.” I whisper in his ear.

“Where do you want to go hide and maybe, I can be rough with you.” He smirks.

“Wherever you want to hide.” I say.

Riff looks around and takes us to a different spot then where we not normally go to.

“This is different.” I say when Riff sets me down on a bench in a fort.

“Just want to make my baby feel good.” Riff says going down where my pussy is at.

I feel his tongue inside me, I gasp for a second, I tug on his hair which made him grab my legs so I couldn’t move them.

“I’m about to cum.” I moan.

He moans into me which made me moan again, fuck I need him inside me.

“Riff.” I make him look at me by tugging his head up to look at me. “Just fuck me.” I say.

He smirks and takes his pants off including his boxers off, he so huge. I lean towards him to make him be on top of me so we can make out. He positions himself so can fuck me. He goes in and out of me and I scream and starts to scratch his back, I can tell the Jets are going to make fun of him.

He keeps on fucking me until we hear the cat whistle. Riff and I look where the whistle came from and it’s the Jets, fuck! They found us.

“Well, well, well boys, look what we have here, our leader with a whore.” Joyboy says.

Riff covers me and himself up, but he tries to keep me behind him.

“So this is where you’ve been going to Riff isn’t?” Tiger says approaching us.

“Yeah, what about it?” Riff says.

I get scared so I hold on to Riff’s arm.

“Look boys, the whore is scared.” Joyboy says. The Jets chuckle.

“If you get near her I swear to god I’ll kill you.” Riff says.

“You’re defending the whore but you couldn’t be at the fights with the Sharks.” Mouthface confronts Riff.

“Stop calling me that.” I said.

“The whore speaks, did you blow hi-“ Riff slaps Tiger’s face.

“You son of a-“ Tiger and Riff begins to fight.

I try to hide but one of the Jets tries to grab me but Riff notices so he protects me from them. I find a knife so I hold it to in front of Balkan, Riff takes the knife out of my hand, Balkan looks smug and looks at the rest of the Jets and Riff ends the fight by punching Balkan in the face.

When the Jets leaves, Riff checks my body if there are any scars on my body. I check on his wounds, I help him sit down.

“Thank you for protecting me.” I smile.

“Anything for my girl, can you patch me up? I’ll try to patch you up as well.” Riff says.

I giggle, I try to find something to cover his wounds, I found an old t-shirt and I rip it apart so I can wrap the fabric around Riff’s wounds.

“You’re not a whore, you’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me.” He says holding still for me.

“And you’re the best thing that ever happened to me too.” I say wrapping some fabric around one of his wounds.

I give a look, I lean in to kiss him and he kisses me back. Sneaking around with Riff has been really fun but terrifying because of the Jets finding out about us but Riff protected me through all of this mess, and Riff knows what he’s doing when he’s in control.

#fanfic #fanfiction #kinktober #kinktober 2023 #riff west side story #riff wss #west side story #mike faist #wss jets #riff x reader #mike faist smut #wss 2021 #tony wss #west side story smut #michael riff tamblyn #wss rp

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theforgottenmcrmy · 2 years

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After All (Part 19/?)

Pairing: Riff X OC Jet Girl

Warnings: Explicit Language, References to Violence, Non-Explicit Sexual References, Racism

Summary: She should’ve felt content in his arms. After all, for weeks- no, months- she never would have dreamed such a thing would ever be possible again. Despite that, she couldn’t rest.

Word Count: 15,500 ish.

DISCLAIMER

Please note that this is a reimagining of the film West Side Story (2021) and as a result is slightly AU.

Masterlist /// Part 1 /// Part 18 /// Part 19 /// Part 20

A/N: I had a different GIF planned for this part, but after remembering this scene, I couldn’t help but use this one instead. The context of this chapter made me laugh too much for me not to.😂

Thank you all for being so patient with me while I worked on this chapter. As a thank you, this chapter is a long one. I really hope the wait was worth it, and that you all enjoy it. I was in a bit of a funk before writing this, but by the time I finished it, I think I got back into the groove.

And again, thank you guys for your support. I’ll plan on posting the next part two weeks from today (unless I get a random bout of inspiration and can get it prepared sooner), BUT, in the meantime, I’ll plan on posting another oneshot either this weekend, or around this time next week. Please feel free to keep submitting any requests you may have! I’ve got a few left still, but with this new writing schedule I’m trying out, I’ll be able to write more oneshot requests than I thought I would be able to while the story is still ongoing. And even if you don’t have a request, please feel free to reach out with any thoughts or comments you may have. As always, I love hearing from y’all.😊

Enough babbling from me. I hope you guys enjoy, and I hope you have a great rest of the week.💙

Part 19: Keeping Secrets

Riff’s mouth felt suddenly dry in the wake of Tony’s question, despite the fact that his old pal had posed it plainly enough. “... What was that?”

“When were ya gonna mention you’d been seein’ Grazi?” Tony repeated.

It was a fair question, and it was something Riff had been meaning to talk to Tony about for quite some time. Though the decision to get involved with Grazi at all was questionable at best, at the very least, Riff could argue that nothing had ever transpired between them while Tony and Grazi had still been involved.

Still, Riff found himself at a loss for words.

In the silence of the room, Riff had the sudden realization that it was quiet downstairs in the shop- too quiet. If the guys downstairs were trying to overhear whatever conversation he and Tony were about to have, they just might’ve been able to get a few snippets if the two stayed where they were.

Riff headed to his bedroom, waving at Tony over his shoulder as a gesture for him to follow.

Thankfully, Tony did not protest the idea, and a moment later Riff heard his footsteps following closely behind him. Riff held the door open for Tony, and once they were both inside, he shut the door behind them.

When Riff felt confident that the guys downstairs would have to severely strain themselves to overhear their conversation, he turned to Tony apprehensively.

Tony had on a poker face, as he had since the very moment he’d stepped into the apartment with Riff. That didn’t do much for Riff’s nerves at that moment.

It was quiet for several more moments as the pair stared one another down. The sound of traffic outside leaked into the room through a crack in the window.

Riff was at a point where he was about to blurt something- anything- just to break the tension when Tony smiled.

“I’m just pullin’ your leg, pal.”

It took Riff several long seconds to process Tony’s words. “What?”

“I’m just messin’ with ya.”

“...You’re not mad?”

“Actually, no,” Tony said with a short laugh.

Once Tony’s words processed in Riff’s mind, he let down his guard a bit, and a few nervous laughs slipped from his chest.

“Valentina mentioned she suspected somethin’ when I first moved in... said she overheard some of the girls in Doc’s while I was away. Didn’t take much for her to put two and two together.”

That figured. Riff should’ve suspected that the old witch would’ve said something to him. How could she have resisted another chance to paint him in a less than stellar light?

“Also, there’s the fact that Grazi swung by Doc’s today and told me ‘bout it herself.”

Oh.

…

Oh no.

Riff felt his eyes widen as an involuntary frantic reaction to Tony’s words.

“Yeah,” Tony continued, evidently not noticing Riff’s slip in composure. “There was somethin’ ‘bout the way she said it, though. She sounded like she was worried it was gonna start somethin’ between us- like she was surprised ya hadn’t told me.”

Though Tony said he wasn’t mad, he did sound a little bit sad during his recollection of what happened, and as a result, Riff’s guilt skyrocketed.

“I meant to tell ya, I really did,” Riff swore sincerely. “But I’ve only seen ya a handful of times since ya got cut loose! … There was never a good moment.”

Tony nodded understandingly. “And just ‘bout each time we’ve seen each other, it’s ended the same… With a whole lotta yellin’.”

Riff couldn’t help but snicker at the thought of their previous meetings. At the shop, right after Tony was released. In Doc’s, when Riff needed Tony’s help to find Roxie. In Doc’s again, to thank him for finding Roxie and to arrange a meeting in the park. In the park, when they both took in the damage that had been done to the wall…

… Four times?

Had Riff really only seen Tony four times since he’d been released? Tony had been out for the better part of a couple of months now… And each time they had met, it had always ended in an argument, or the conversation had one specific purpose.

Tony was supposed to be like family to Riff. Hell, he still was, even in light of his new peacekeeping and “changed ways” crap he’d been trying to sell him.

“I’m tired of arguin’ with ya,” Tony admitted solemnly.

“Me too, pal,” Riff agreed, tiredly but full-heartedly.

“Look, you're not gonna change your mind about me comin’ back to the Jets, and I know I’m not gonna change mine ‘bout stayin’ away,” Tony said. “So, why don’t we just take a break from tryin’ to convince each other? Let’s just… be.”

Riff knew that if things with the Sharks continued down the path that they were, he would need Tony beside him. He also believed with every small inkling of hope left in him that if that were the case, Tony would be able to see that, and he would come back to the Jets the second Riff asked.

But, in an admittedly rare occurrence, Riff was willing to set all that aside for a bit in light of the eye-opening revelations he’d had after the run in with Mr. Barone. Riff had only seen Tony four times since he’d been released, and the unfortunate run-in Riff had had with Mr. Barone just the previous week made it so much more apparent to him that it was not nearly enough. Riff could’ve died, and he never would’ve set things straight with Tony.

Riff missed Tony, plain and simple as that. If getting off the soap box about trying to convince Tony to become a full-fledged Jet again was what it would take for them to begin to get back to how they used to be, Riff would do it in a heartbeat.

“I’d like that a lot.”

“You’re like a brother to me, Riff.”

Though Riff had thought as much about Tony to himself a million times and agreed completely, in that moment, Riff found himself unable to reciprocate the words back to him. Instead, Riff opted to lighten up the conversation. “But brothers fight, don’t they?”

“Yeah, yeah,” Tony chuckled with a small smile. “That they do.”

A comfortable silence followed.

Tony took the moment to begin walking around the bedroom, politely glossing over the very limited personal belongings Riff owned that resided within it.

Riff watched him curiously before he realized it would’ve been the first time Tony had seen the room in its current state. Riff couldn’t even remember the last time Tony would’ve been in the apartment since his uncle had all but kicked him out.

Tony’s eyes fell onto the desk, and the pile of papers and accounts that littered the surface of it. “This what Roxie’s been helpin’ ya with?”

Riff nodded.

Tony took a second to look over the documents, though Riff wasn’t sure how much sense he would’ve been able to make of them. Riff knew he hadn’t for the longest time, not until Roxie had shown him how. But maybe the “warden” over at Doc’s had taught him a thing or two about keeping up with the books of a business.

“Wow,” Tony noted suddenly, breaking Riff from his thoughts.

“What?”

“Didn’t know the shop was doin’ this good,” Tony elaborated, holding up a piece of paper for Riff to see.

It was the notice from the bank, stating that the late payment that Roxie had contributed to had been accepted. In all the excitement that had followed Riff’s confrontation, when he had presented the letter to Roxie, he’d forgotten to put the paper away and out of sight. Even though Riff, and now Roxie, were the only ones to frequent his bedroom, putting away the document when he had had the chance would have prevented Tony from seeing it at that particular moment.

“Well, it ain’t. Not really,” Riff replied vaguely.

“Where’d ya even get this kinda money?” Tony wondered incredulously. He placed the notice back down on the table as the gears in his mind began to turn. Suddenly, he stood up straight. “... I can’t believe it.”

“Believe what?” Riff asked, feeling the abrupt shift in energy in the room.

“Ya did it again, didn’t you?” Tony accused, narrowing his eyes.

“Did what?”

Tony scoffed, mistaking Riff’s confusion for feigning innocence. “Ya went to the gamblin’ houses, didn’t you?”

Riff flinched at Tony’s raised voice. Once he recovered, he shushed him harshly. “Will ya keep your voice down?!” Riff snapped back. “Not everyone downstairs knows ‘bout that!”

“Why not? Are ya embarrassed by it?” Tony challenged. “Well, ya should be! You’re better off embarrassed for doin’ somethin’ so stupid than gettin’ away with it now and windin’ up dead later.”

If only you knew.

Riff took a second to compose himself. “Listen, Tony, I know how this looks, but Roxie and I haven’t been to no gamblin’ house since we got the money we needed to pay off Asim. I swear to ya, on my ma’s grave.”

Tony’s facial expression softened considerably as he processed Riff’s words and the seriousness of them. “Fine, fine… I believe ya. But where’d the money come from, then?”

There was an opening. A chance for Riff to come clean to Tony about Mr. Barone, the truth of the night Riff and Roxie got picked up by the cops two winters back, and everything related that had happened since. Riff could tell Tony about all of it, and it would only further put his friendship with Tony back on the mend. Riff could’ve done it at that very moment, but something stopped him.

Riff had already told Roxie that everything that had happened with Mr. Barone had to stay between them.

Riff meant it when he’d told Roxie that’s just how it had to be, and he had made some valid points at the time. If any word got out about anything that had happened, and god forbid Mr. Barone found out about the spilled beans, the information would’ve had to come from him, Roxie, or Tony. And since Riff and Roxie would be the ones to pay for it directly, by mortal means, it wouldn’t likely be leaked by either of them.

But at that moment, it was just Riff and Tony. Roxie wasn’t there, And though it was inarguably wiser in the long run to take the loss and risk pissing Tony off further by not telling him the truth, Riff couldn’t pass up the opportunity to further brush things over with Tony. Plus, Riff couldn’t deny how good it would feel to get everything that had happened off his chest and tell someone.

He could only hope keeping the secret from Roxie would be worth it with Tony in the long run.

Tony can be trusted to keep a secret… Right?

Tony had been waiting patiently for several long, quiet moments as Riff sorted through his thoughts. As Riff snapped back to reality, he saw that Tony looked at him expectantly, waiting for him to explain himself.

“If I tell ya the truth about where I got that money, ya swear you’ll never say nothin’, to no one?”

Tony’s expression faltered at Riff’s sudden seriousness. “You’re startin’ to scare me, Riff.”

Riff opted to ignore his joke. “If I tell ya, you can’t tell Roxie ya know,” Riff informed him bluntly. “I already told her we shouldn’t tell ya. Honestly, you’re probably better off if ya don’t even know ‘bout it at all, but since ya already know most of it-”

“-What’re ya goin’ on about?” Tony interjected.

“If ya wanna know where I got the money,” Riff redirected himself, “and where Roxie got her cut-”

“-Roxie has money like this too?!”

“Not anymore. If ya wanna know where we got the money, we gotta go back.”

Tony’s brows furrowed. “... Back a few months ago?”

“What do you remember about that night me and Roxie got picked up?”

Tony’s face went blank. “What night?”

Riff looked at him pointedly.

“That night?”

“One in the same. If ya wanna know the truth about where this money came from, we gotta start there. But ya gotta promise me that what I tell ya stays between us. If it don’t, you’re puttin’ a target on not just me, but on Roxie too.”

Judging by the look on his face, Tony was finally starting to realize the gravity of the conversation Riff was trying to have with him. “Sure pal, I swear.”

“You’ll take the secret with ya to the grave?” Riff questioned, needing to be absolutely certain in his decision.

As much as coming fully clean to Tony would be easier on him, keeping it a secret from Roxie would be just as hard, especially after everything they’d been through. But Riff wasn’t sure how many more opportunities, if any, he’d have to set things right with Tony.

“Womb to tomb,” Tony vowed.

Riff smiled. “Sperm to worm.”

————————————————————————————

Roxie’s mind was still reeling from the blunt and awkward conversation she’d had with Grazi and Velma when she made it back to the auto shop later that afternoon.

“Uncomfortable” would’ve been an understatement if describing what had transpired. But, Grazi had asked for the details, and Roxie provided them.

Still, the only thing Roxie had on her mind as she entered through the open garage door was to find Riff and forget about the whole thing. And if the opportunity to vent about it came along, she just might have considered taking it.

Upon entering the shop, Roxie immediately noticed the decently sized gathering of Jets. Despite their large number and the small sea of faces that turned to look at her, she quickly realized that Riff was not among them.

As if reading her mind, Diesel said to her, “He’s upstairs.”

Roxie gave him a grateful smile.

As she walked across the shop and headed up the stairs, she couldn’t help but feel the eyes of the Jets watching her curiously. Though she’d heard their teasing about her relationship with Riff countless times throughout the years, she didn’t know why her going upstairs to the apartment to speak with him would pique their interest in such a manner.

Eventually, Roxie forced herself to accept that she was imagining them watching her. Surely she was just still feeling a bit pent up about what had gone down at Velma’s, and was feeling self conscious.

Despite assuring herself that the Jets hadn’t been watching her head up to the apartment with intrigued looks on their faces, Roxie was glad to be out of their sight completely, just in case. She opened the apartment door quickly, slid inside, and promptly shut it behind her.

The living area was empty.

“Riff?” she called out into the room, confused. “Diesel said you were up here…”

“In here!” came Riff’s muffled voice from his bedroom.

Roxie smiled to herself in relief and headed over towards the closed door. She closed her eyes tiredly as she wrapped her hand around the doorknob, turned it, and began to open the door. “You will not believe the conversation I just had with-”

“Hi, Roxie.”

Roxie’s eyes shot open. What she saw made her realize that the Jets had been watching her downstairs- they must’ve known the scene she was walking into.

There was Tony, standing by the desk. Riff was a few feet away, giving her a small smile.

“Tony!” she acknowledged in mild surprise. Her eyes went to Tony, to Riff, and back to Tony again. “What are you doing here?”

From what Riff and Tony had told her, Roxie knew the pair had not been on speaking terms since Tony got released from prison. They each had their reasons, and they were each as equally as stubborn. Those reasons made the fact that the two were in the same room, enjoying a somewhat simple, peaceful moment together all the more shocking.

“He just came by to talk some stuff out,” Riff answered for him, eyeing Tony briefly out of the corner of his eye.

Roxie caught the odd gesture, but didn’t pay it much mind in the grand scheme of the bigger spectacle before her.

Tony and Riff were in the same room- and they weren’t even arguing! They didn’t even look mad. Hell, Tony looked so far from mad, Roxie would’ve laughed at his expression if she hadn’t been so shocked.

“And… did you talk things out?” Roxie prompted.

Tony glanced at Riff, and then looked back at her. “We’re still workin’ on it, but yeah. We did.”

The look Tony was giving Roxie was an odd one. His eyes looked borderline emotional, like he knew something that she did not. It was almost as if he was viewing her in a whole other light.

Whatever Tony was thinking, his staring certainly did nothing to ease Roxie’s self consciousness.

Roxie glanced at Riff, whose expression was even harder to read.

Roxie couldn’t help but wonder what they’d been discussing before she’d entered the apartment. She would’ve paid a pretty penny to have been privy to their conversation. Still, if Riff and Tony had talked some things out, whatever that may have entailed, and if they were on the way to fixing their friendship because of it, Roxie would count her blessings.

“Well… I’m glad the two of you are working on fixing things,” she told them both.

Roxie meant it, too. Though Riff’s expression was decently guarded in that particular moment, he glanced at Tony every now and then, and Roxie could tell by his eyes that he was content with the situation. If she dared, she may have even deemed that he looked happy.

When was the last time the three of them had been in a room together at the same time?

It was with mild sadness that Roxie realized it had to have been almost a couple of years prior. It would’ve been before Tony got sent upstate, before the rumble with the Egyptian Kings, and before Riff had been sentenced to serve a month in the county jail.

Once upon a time, the trio had been nearly inseparable… but that was before fate had played out like it did. Thinking about who they’d each been then in comparison to the people standing in the room now made Roxie feel somewhat nostalgic.

Suddenly, an idea struck her. Roxie and Riff were supposed to spend the evening together, but given the current predicament, and the verbal promise she’d recently made to Tony to catch up with him soon…

“Since we’re all here,” Roxie said, “Why don’t we go grab a bite to eat?”

Roxie looked at Riff, wordlessly asking if he’d mind the third wheel tag along to their evening. She found no indication of protest from him. In fact, he seemed very receptive to the idea.

Riff looked at Tony curiously. “What do ya say, pal?”

Tony looked at them both for a moment, before slowly shaking his head with a sheepish smile. “Nah, I can’t tonight. I’d love to, but I’m expectin’ a visit from my parole officer any day now.”

Roxie couldn’t help but feel disappointed by Tony’s response, even though she understood his excuse.

Tony noticed her disappointment immediately. “I’ll tell ya what- I’ll reach out to the two of you right after his next visit, and we can plan somethin’ then. There’s no way the guy will visit twice in a week.”

“You promise?” Roxie teased.

‘Yeah, yeah,” Tony said dismissively, though his smile never left his face. “Welp, I’ll let you twos get on with your evenin’.”

“See ya, Tony,” Riff bid him.

Tony walked towards the bedroom door, and gave Roxie one last odd look as he passed her. “See ya, Roxie.”

“Bye, Tony.”

Roxie looked at Riff once Tony left the bedroom and waited until the front door to the apartment closed shut behind him. Riff’s somewhat guarded expression softened a bit as he took her in.

“What was that about?” Roxie wondered, referring to the strange way in which Tony had been looking at her.

Riff merely shrugged. “It’s a long story, Doll.”

It really wasn’t an acceptable answer for her, and Roxie would’ve encouraged Riff to elaborate upon it, if he hadn’t continued on.

“What were ya sayin’ on the way in?”

Right, Velma… and Grazi. Roxie involuntarily sighed as the thoughts of the conversation she’d had earlier that afternoon came racing back to the forefront of her mind.

Riff gave her a sympathetic look, noting her sombering expression. “Rough day?”

“You don’t know half of it.”

“Talk to me ‘bout it, then.”

Riff opened his arms towards her, and Roxie crossed the room in a few short steps. Once she reached him, she threw her arms around him tightly, and pressed the side of her face against his chest. Her pent-up feelings must’ve still been affecting her, and she unwittingly held on to Riff much tighter than she had intended to.

Riff looked down at her curiously, though he remained firm where he stood. “Woah, there. Everythin’ alright?”

Feeling even more self-conscious, Roxie’s grip on Riff loosened considerably. Much to her relief, Riff wrapped his arms around her instead, keeping her close to him.

“You’ll never believe who I spoke with today,” Roxie said quietly, her face still pressed up against his chest. She was thankful for the excuse not to meet his eyes as the stress she’d experienced earlier in the day clouded over her mind once again.

“Let me guess… Starts with a ‘G’, and ends in ‘razi’?”

Roxie turned and lifted up her head to look at him. “How did you know?”

“Tony mentioned somethin’ ‘bout her swingin’ by Doc’s,” Riff answered simply.

Grazi hadn’t mentioned anything of the sort earlier in the day, but it didn’t sound like something she wouldn’t do. Had Grazi even known Tony got released before? … It hadn’t exactly been on Roxie’s priority list to see to it that she’d known, but Roxie would’ve guessed that someone would’ve broken the news to her by now.

On the other hand, maybe one of the other Jets girls would have told her about Tony, if Grazi hadn’t been avoiding their calls lately.

“I’m still trying to wrap my head around all of it,” Roxie said, not caring to specify any further.

Sensing her mild distress, Riff pressed a light kiss to the top of her head. The gesture was small, but it did wonders to soothe her worries and ease her self-consciousness. “Why don’t we go grab a bite to eat?” he proposed. “We can talk ‘bout it then.”

The idea of spending some quality one on one time with Riff sounded extremely appealing after the day Roxie had had.“Sounds perfect.”

“I was hopin’ so,” Riff said casually. “Especially since we didn’t exactly make it out of the apartment last night…”

Roxie slapped his chest half-heartedly, and she felt a small blush creep onto her cheeks. “That’s rich, coming from someone who was just as guilty for that.”

“I’m not complainin’,” Riff assured her, pecking her nose. “Just sayin’.”

Roxie rolled her eyes playfully, before moving on with the topic at hand before either of them got too distracted. “Now, dinner- where did you have in mind?”

Riff gave her a knowing look.

“You can’t be serious,” Roxie moaned, burying her face in Riff’s chest once again at the thought of his wordless suggestion.

“I mean, really, what’s the harm?” Riff asked her. “Are we just gonna stay away from the diner forever, all ‘cause of what happened? It’s our place, Roxie. What do we have to lose?”

Besides each other?

Maybe it was the stress of the day, or the shock from seeing Tony and Riff speaking civilly to each other, or maybe even the fact that Riff had her wrapped around his finger, whether he knew that or not, but Roxie couldn’t find the motivation to protest the absolutely ridiculous idea in her current state.

“Fine. But you’re letting me pay for half of it.”

“Fine.”

“... You know, sometimes I think you’re a bad influence on me,” Roxie commented, only half-seriously.

She felt the rumbling in Riff’s chest against the side of her face as he let out a sudden, sharp laugh in response to her statement and wrapped his arms tighter around her.

————————————————————————————

After a surprisingly unceremonious meal at their diner, much to Riff and Roxie’s relief, Riff felt much better when Roxie finally seemed to be cheering up a bit.

Despite everything that Riff had been through that day, and what Roxie had been through, per her account of the story to him, it seemed that all the lingering negative feelings had been left behind in the presence of each other.

There was an air between them that was happy, content… and as ironic as it sounded, peaceful. Riff didn’t want to risk anything disrupting the good mood they found themselves in, so when he suggested taking a longer way back to the shop, he was relieved when Roxie readily agreed.

It was dark out, but not late enough that there would be any additional cause for concern that they might run into someone with ill intent. In fact, it was even earlier than it would have been if Riff had been walking Roxie home from the factory.

When two of them came across the site of the future Lincoln Center, Roxie paused.

“Everythin’ okay?” Riff asked, unable to stop a bit of worry from rising within him when she had suddenly dropped his hand and turned to face the fence.

Roxie looked at the large sign depicting an image of the planned building and campus for only a moment, before taking a step closer to the fence. She stood up on her toes, as if that would make a notable difference for how much of the construction site she could see. But even though it was dark, and the construction site, which had been abandoned for the day, had no lights shining within it, Riff had a feeling that Roxie would be able to see enough of it in the glow of the streetlights. Her fingers wrapped around some openings in the chain link fence to give her some balance and ground her.

Riff took a step towards the fence as well, and came to mimic her stance. However, he didn’t have to stand on his toes.

“This is the first time I’ve seen it,” Roxie admitted, her voice so quiet Riff almost didn’t hear her.

Riff looked down at Roxie, trying to read what she was thinking. However, Roxie’s eyes were still focused in front of her, across the construction site. The soft howling of wind filled the air as Riff patiently waited for her to say something.

“It looks like it’s several blocks,” Roxie realized out loud.

“Yeah… it is.”

Riff looked back up and over towards the construction site as well, knowing that Roxie was seeing the same exact thing he had seen just a few months beforehand when the demolition had initially started.

A few blocks of the neighborhood had been purchased by the New York Committee for Slum Clearance. One day, the chain link fence they stood before now had suddenly appeared around the several blocks, containing structures that still resembled the houses and businesses that had blended in amongst the rest of the neighborhood.

At first, Riff’s initial thought was that if the Slum Clearance Committee had the resources to buy up blocks of the neighborhood, what business would they have going after Riff’s uncle’s little auto shop? Unfortunately, the seriousness of the situation had sunk in soon after.

Demolition started about a week after the fence had gone up. What resulted was something that had the appearance of a graveyard, but with remnants of buildings in lieu of actual graves. Not all the buildings had been cleared out before the demolition began, and the more furniture that was exposed, the eerier of a place it became. The remaining structure of one building had a small pile of bathtubs that the construction workers had placed there in order for them to be out of the way. On one of the higher levels of another hollowed out structure that remained, some curtains were still attached to the window in what looked like what had once been a bedroom. The tattered fabric would sway on particularly windy days.

Riff was no construction expert by any means, but the technique behind the demolition process seemed questionable. The workers started to demolish many of the buildings right through the middle, leaving the outer walls and rooms of those buildings exposed for any passerby to see.

It was almost as if they wanted the rest of the neighborhood to see. Riff dared to wonder if the Slum Clearance Committee reveled in their cruel display that so clearly depicted their intentions with the neighborhood. Would any of them be safe?

“It’s not going to be for us anymore, is it?”

Roxie’s oddly phrased question pulled Riff away from his somber memories. He turned his head to look down towards her once more.

As if Roxie felt his eyes on her, she tore her focus away from the construction site and looked back up at him. “The neighborhood, I mean,” she clarified. “People like you and me… we won’t belong here anymore. Not when they’re done with it.”

Roxie sounded so resolute. Perhaps it was the first time such a thought had actually dawned on her enough that she considered it a real possibility.

Riff wasn’t sure what exactly to say in response. As much as he hated the very thought of it himself, he didn’t want to lie to her. “If the Slum Clearance Committee gets their way? … Yeah.”

“What if there is no other place for us?”

That was a big question, and Riff knew the deeper meaning behind Roxie’s words without her having to explain herself.

In a year, or even just months down the road, the worst case scenario could very well happen, and they’d all be forced to leave the neighborhood. Even if they could even find some other burrough that they could actually afford to live in, it’d probably be a bit away from the West Side. They’d have to find other ways to make a living. And they were likely to be neighborhoods away from their closest friends…

Roxie had once told him that if she left the neighborhood, she wouldn’t be leaving alone. Riff hoped with all his heart that she meant it. He hoped he and Roxie would still be together if that happened, and he was willing to do whatever it would take to see to it that they were. That way, if they were forced to leave, them being together would at least be some consolation. They’d at least have each other.

But Roxie had a point. What if they couldn’t find somewhere else they could afford to live? What if they couldn’t find other ways to make money? The West Side was all either of them ever known, and it had once had everything they thought they’d ever need. The place wasn’t glamorous, but it was home. And their home was in jeopardy of disappearing forever and becoming something new.

“Then we’ll stay here,” Riff proposed, smiling conspiratorially. “Make ‘em regret they ever tried to get rid of people like us.”

Maybe that would be the only option. If dealing with some pesky Sharks and pulling up the bootstraps to make the New York Committee for Slum Clearance regret their attempt to take the auto shop meant that Riff, Roxie, and all of the rest of the Jets could stay in the West Side, it would all be more than worth it.

“It would be a little bit funny,” Roxie acknowledged his hypothetical plan with a small smile.

A mental image of him, Roxie, and the rest of the Jets sticking out like a sore thumb amongst the new neighborhood and its fancy new residents was pretty humorous, and it brought a small smirk to Riff’s face. He liked the idea of sticking it to the people who were trying to run them out. He liked that Roxie wasn’t entirely opposed to the idea even more.

Riff slowly moved one of his hands to rest over her hand that was closest to him, where it was still wrapped around the chain link fence. Roxie leaned over, and rested her head on his arm.

“What do you think it’ll be like?” Roxie asked then, tilting her chin ever so slightly towards the construction site.

From what Riff had seen on the image fixed to the fence right beside them, only a single word came to mind. “Big.”

Roxie let out a laugh, effectively relieving some of the tension. Riff smirked and shook his head as he tried to contain his own laughter that threatened to break out.

“All those fancy shows… And almost everyone in them and everyone else seeing them won’t even know or remember what used to be here before it.”

Riff pressed a light kiss to the top of Roxie’s head. “But we will.”

Roxie nodded against his arm, before leaning further into his side.

“Ya know what?” Riff asked suddenly, struck with an idea. “I’ll make ya a deal.”

“What’s that?”

“In a few years, when all this buildin’ is said and done, and we’re still here, I’ll take ya to a show.”

Roxie scoffed, finding the idea amusing. “Riff, with all due respect, that doesn’t seem like your ‘scene’.”

It definitely wouldn’t be, but Riff was more than willing to get over any uncomfortableness he may feel if it meant Roxie would have a good time. “Would ya wanna go, or not?”

“... I mean, I guess, but-”

“Nope,” Riff replied, popping the ending of the word. “No buts, it’s a done deal.”

Roxie laughed once and turned to lean into his side further. Her free hand, the one not covered by Riff’s, came across and rested on his arm.

“You may have to remind me though,” Riff added, smiling fondly as he watched Roxie shuffle closer to him. “Ya know I can barely keep things straight from one week to the next, never mind a few years.”

“No kidding,” Roxie teased. “I’d like to forget the past few years myself.”

Riff could tell she meant it as a joke, but something still bothered him in the wake of her words. “... You’d wanna forget all of it?”

Roxie sighed gently. “No, not all of it, I guess… Just the time I could’ve been spending with you.”

Guilt washed over Riff immediately. It was similar to the guilt he had felt walking away from her well over a year and a half ago, but this time, it was much stronger. Every time Roxie mentioned anything after him walking away, and she referred to herself as being anything less than happy, how could Riff not feel awful about it? Riff knew now that perhaps it was wrong of him to make the decision he did at the time… but hearing Roxie confirm such things aloud was something else altogether.

Riff chuckled bitterly. “I really thought I knew it all back then, huh?”

“Maybe… I thought I did too. But I shouldn’t have let you take the fall in the first place, and I know that now. I don’t have any priors- Schrank never would’ve been able to get away with putting those charges on me like he did on you.”

Riff wasn’t expecting the conversation to take such a trip down memory lane, especially when considering the conversation he had with Tony just a few hours before. There was no way Roxie could have known that Tony was now well aware of the night she was referring to, as well as everything that had happened with them involving Mr. Barone. It was almost like fate was tempting him to come clean to her. But doing that would only throw a wrench in things, and Riff was not interested in doing anything that would potentially ruin the good evening that they’d been having so far.

Riff didn’t want to keep talking about the subject; the more he talked, the more he felt like he was tempting fate and he would accidentally let the conversation he had with Tony slip.

However, there was one thing he needed to make clear about that night. Again.

“There’s absolutely nothin’ that would’ve talked me out of takin’ the fall, Roxie.”

Her grip on his arm tightened. “And you’re certain about that?

“Yeah, I am. I don’t regret it, either.”

“… Really?”

Riff nodded, even though she wasn’t looking at him. “I regret what I did after it… but not that. Not then, not now, not ever.”

Roxie dropped her hand from the chain link fence and Riff’s fell along with it. Before Riff could ask her what was wrong, she fully turned to face him, and lifted her hands to lightly rest on the sides of his face, so that his focus could only be on her. Not that he would’ve wanted it anywhere else at the moment.

“I love you.”

Riff swore he would never, ever get tired of hearing Roxie say that. He smiled brightly before leaning down and closing the distance between their lips.

It may have been a peculiar scene, should anyone happen to come across them sharing an intimate moment in the foreground of an unnervingly massive construction site. But neither of them cared.

————————————————————————————

A few hours later, Diesel was hanging out on the shop floor and nursing a bottle of whiskey. He’d actually purchased said alcohol legitimately, which was admittingly, a bit of a rare occurrence. But as much fun as running around and stirring up trouble was, there was something about relaxing after a hard day’s work and enjoying a drink… It was a good feeling. It was a good feeling that Diesel could get used too.

Hypothetically speaking, of course.

As he drank, his mind wandered to earlier that afternoon, to the near circus-like events that had occurred.

The very moment Riff and Roxie headed out for the evening, the theories about what Tony, Riff, and then Roxie had been talking about began to fly around.

Anybodys had suggested that maybe Tony had a change of heart, and that he was finally coming back around to the Jets. Things with the Sharks were steadily becoming worse and worse, and now would be a better time than ever for Tony to come back into the ranks. They all knew it.

But then Tiger pointed out that if that had been true, why hadn’t Tony stuck around after to hang out with them for a bit? He’d left before Riff and Roxie had, with little more than a “See ya ‘round, fellas.” Snowboy agreed- there was still the problem of Tony’s parole officer to contend with, even if Tony was ready to come back around.

Eventually, Diesel told them all to shove it and suggested they mind their business.

After that, most of the rest of the gang that had gathered headed over to the park for some basketball, just as Big Deal had proposed earlier in the day. But as they exited the shop, the theorizing continued, and it was clear that the topic of what had happened earlier in the day was still fresh in all of their minds.

Just like it was still on Diesel’s.

Eventually, the only Jets that remained in the shop were the ones that crashed there.

Diesel was fine having a relaxing night in. He loved Velma, but he’d been on one too many group dates lately for his liking. Plus, she mentioned having some plans with some of the other girls. Velma had felt guilty about it, but Diesel assured her that he’d be fine for an evening without her company.

Snowboy was out with Gussie again. Diesel didn’t expect him back anytime soon.

Gee-Tar was out doing… whatever it was that Gee-Tar got up to in his free time away from the rest of the guys. If Diesel was a betting man, he’d say Gee-Tar was out seeing that mystery lady of his again.

But the thought of that bothered Diesel a bit. Gee-Tar could see whoever he liked, Diesel could give a rat’s ass about that. But from what he had told them earlier that day, Gee-Tar was likely to be cruising for a bruising from some Sharks if he kept seeing the girl. The Jets would rally to the cause if that happened, but Diesel couldn’t help but wonder why Gee-Tar, who’d always been notorious for being risk avoidant in general, would even bother taking the chance for some girl. There were plenty of girls in the city… and the majority of them didn’t live in the same building as a good chunk of the Sharks and their girls.

Riff and Roxie had gotten back about an hour past. They’d greeted Diesel, who was cleaning up around the shop, before promptly heading upstairs.

It’s not like they explicitly told him what they’d be doing up there… But Diesel wasn’t dumb. He’d caught them both decently red handed in the apartment that morning, with Riff half-dressed in the kitchen and Roxie leaving the bathroom carrying Riff’s missing shirt. Diesel could put two and two together. It was abundantly clear that, at the very least, Roxie had spent the night.

They were adults, they could do whatever they damned pleased. Diesel certainly did. But just because Riff and Roxie could do as they wished, that didn’t mean Diesel needed to know their business. And if that meant relaxing downstairs for a while to give them a little privacy after coming back from their date, Diesel would do so happily.

After sitting downstairs for about an hour or so, just relaxing and drinking, Diesel was starting to feel pretty swell.

When he actually started to feel a bit warm from the alcohol, Diesel decided he’d had enough. He tugged at the collar of his shirt a bit in a vain attempt to cool down. When he realized the effort was futile, he rose from his makeshift seat he’d made out of a closed toolbox and headed to the back corner of the shop.

A couple of old tires and various car parts he and some of the other guys had scrounged up from the junkyard over the past few months had their home in the said back corner. It was out of the way, and unless one of them had a need for something particular back there, no one ever messed with the pile of stuff.

It was the perfect hiding spot for Diesel to store his whiskey.

Now, Diesel would share his alcohol with any of the guys who asked, but he didn’t necessarily trust all of them to actually ask him. Some of them had more of a reputation for sticky fingers than others, and for good reason. Sure, every man deserved to be able to indulge in alcohol, if only a little bit… Diesel especially. Because he was the one actually buying.

Once Diesel was satisfied with his effort to camouflage the bottle in between some old torn up tires, he stood up straight, dusted his hands off, and smiled down at his handy work.

The sound of shuffling feet on the concrete floor made Diesel turn towards the open garage door abruptly. He’d left it open earlier so that he could get some fresh air, but business hours were well past.

Diesel walked back towards the center of the shop and smiled in relief as Gee-Tar, who was lingering near the garage door, came into view.

“Where ya been, buddy?” Diesel asked him curiously. “Another hot date with your lady friend?”

Gee-Tar glared at him, which Diesel should have expected given his teasing, but it was still a bit out of character for him.

“I’m goin’ to bed,” Gee-Tar grumbled.

“Sure, pal,” Diesel said easily, reading the room immediately, and not wanting to make Gee-Tar’s sour mood any more bitter.

Gee-Tar said nothing as he walked past Diesel and headed over towards the stairs.

Diesel couldn’t help but notice how oddly Gee-star walked as he trudged along. Besides the fact that he was moving pretty slowly in general, his feet dragged along the concrete.

Diesel was still watching him curiously when Gee-Tar finally reached the staircase. Gee-Tar visibly took a deep breath before slowly lifting up a foot towards the first stair.

Nothing had ever sobered up Diesel quicker than watching Gee-Tar flinch and fall down, landing roughly on the stairs.

Gee-Tar hissed and grabbed at his right side as Diesel ran over to him.

“What the hell happened?” Diesel demanded, panicked on behalf of his friend. He reached out a hand to Gee-Tar’s closest arm in order to help him up, but Gee-Tar leaned away and out of his reach.

“Nothin’, nothin’,” Gee-Tar said firmly, though his words came out through gritted teeth. He swatted Diesel’s hand away lightly.

Diesel was no doctor, and by that time, he had had more than a few gulps of whiskey, but even he knew that something was seriously wrong with Gee-Tar, despite his friend’s efforts to convince him otherwise. “Is it your side that’s botherin’ ya?”

“I’m fine!”

Diesel stood up straight, temporarily giving up on assisting Gee-Tar, who was still laying across the bottom few stairs. Diesel took a few steps up the staircase before Gee-Tar managed to turn and give him a baffled look.

“Where are ya goin’?!” he demanded.

“I’m goin’ to get Riff,” Diesel replied plainly.

“What?” Gee-Tar gawked. “No!”

“Listen, I can’t deal with this by myself right now,” Diesel admitted tiredly. He had yet to cool down from the alcohol, and with Gee-Tar’s latest predicament, he was quickly growing more and more fatigued. As a result, his words came out rushed. “And since you’re obviously not gonna tell me what’s really goin’ on, I’m goin’ to get Riff.”

All previous thoughts of whether Riff was preoccupied in that moment had flown out the window, and Diesel took another step past Gee-Tar up the stairs.

“Come on, Deez,” Gee-Tar pleaded, grabbing Diesel’s ankle and stopping him. “Ain't anyone else here? What ‘bout Roxie?”

Roxie might’ve been preoccupied in the moment too, but Diesel spared explaining that to Gee-Tar as he thought over the other Jet’s suggestion. It was common knowledge among the guys who’d been around the longest that Roxie had been known to fix up a Jet or two when the occasion called for it.

“… If I go and get Roxie, you’ll let her take a look at ya?”

Gee-Tar eyed him for a moment before eventually relenting and giving him a quick nod.

Diesel proceeded up the stairs.

“Don’t worry, I won’t go anywhere,” Gee-Tar joked, though his attempt at humor came across quite feebly when one realized that he was still laying on the bottom stairs, presumably in too much pain to stand up.

Despite the situation, Diesel rolled his eyes at Gee-Tar’s poor excuse for a joke as he opened the door and entered the apartment.

————————————————————————————

A loud ruckus had woken Roxie up.

She heard something, something loud that jarred her from sleep, and it sounded like it had come from downstairs in the shop.

Diesel had been the only one down there when she and Riff had gotten in an hour or so before, which made her suspect one of two things: either Diesel had knocked something over and possibly gotten himself hurt, or someone else had joined him and made some trouble for him.

If Diesel had company, it could’ve been the cops, it could’ve been some Sharks… it even could’ve been Roff and Roxie’s good old friend, Mr. Barone. However, none of those options were ideal, and each one scared her for a different reason.

Roxie got up and out of bed carefully before quickly getting dressed.

She left Riff laying in bed; he was still fast asleep. As concerned as she was, she figured she could wake him up later, if there was even a reason too. Since Roxie wasn’t certain what she had heard, or what was going on, she decided to leave Riff be for the time being. He looked so calm too… she honestly didn’t have the heart to wake him.

Thankfully, after a few visits to the shop, Roxie discovered that Riff’s bat, which she knew he’d taken to the previous rumbles, never moved from its spot of leaning against the wall behind his bedroom door. Roxie hoped Riff had placed the bat in that exact spot for moments like the one she found herself in, in the case of a potential breaking and entering… and that the bat hadn’t been used for anything else recently.

Roxie grabbed the bat in both hands, only taking a hand off for a moment in order to carefully open the bedroom door.

As she slipped out into the living room, both hands gripped the bat tightly once again. She began to slowly lift the bat higher with each step she took, ready to strike at a moment's notice.

When the front door opened from across the room, Roxie lifted the bat behind her, and mentally prepared herself to take a swing.

The door opened, revealing Diesel.

As soon as he saw her, he did a double take, and quickly lifted his arms to defend himself. “Jesus!” he exclaimed. “What’re ya doin?!”

“Diesel! You scared the hell out of me!” Roxie hissed, lowering the bat. Despite that she was very angry, the fact that Riff was still fast asleep in the other room did not slip from her mind. “I heard a noise. Is something going on?”

Diesel finally dropped his hands and while composure visibly softened a little, he still looked on edge. “It’s Gee-Tar.”

“What’s wrong? Is he hurt?”

“I don’t know- he fell, and now he’s lyin’ on the stairs as we speak. Will ya come take a look at him?”

Roxie nodded, and the frustration she felt quickly dissipated and was replaced with concern. “Of course. Let me go get Riff-“

“No!” Diesel insisted, holding a hand out in her direction as if to stop her from taking a single step. “Gee-Tar’s actin’ weird ‘bout it.”

It wasn’t much of an explanation, but Gee-Tar behaving in a peculiar manner wasn’t that far out of the realm of possibility, nor something that was unexpected, so Roxie took Diesel’s word for it. “Give me a minute,” she told him quickly.

After returning the bat to Riff’s bedroom, checking to make sure that he was still fast asleep, putting on her shoes, and shutting the bedroom door and then the front door behind her, Roxie hastily followed Diesel down the stairs, where she immediately spotted Gee-Tar’s large figure sprawled across the bottom.

“What happened?” Roxie demanded as she finished descending the stairs.

Gee-Tar propped himself up, but still managed to grasp at his right side. Even though Gee-Tar looked at Roxie like he was grateful to see her, he said nothing.

“He was headin’ upstairs, and he just fell,” Diesel supplied, coming to a stop right beside Roxie at the bottom of the stairs, where they both looked down at Gee-Tar with a mix of confusion and concern.

“What happened?” Roxie asked Gee-star directly, bending down to get closer to him.

Gee-Tar looked at her apprehensively, and then his eyes flashed over to Diesel. “… I got jumped.”

“You what?“ Roxie gasped, unable to fully process his words.

Diesel fumed beside her. “It was the Sharks, wasn’t it?”

“No!” Gee-Tar insisted, speaking so quickly he nearly cut off Diesel’s words.

Roxie couldn’t help but frown at the idea of the violence between the Sharks and the Jets escalating to the point where lone members would be targeted late at night.

“Buddy, you promised Riff you would tell him if the Sharks gave ya trouble again,” Diesel reminded Gee-Tar patiently.

What?

“Did something happen with the Sharks?” Roxie interjected worriedly.

Gee-Tar purposefully ignored her question. “It wasn’t the Sharks,” he reiterated. “... I think it was just some locals. They wanted money or somethin’... Shame I didn’t have any to give ‘em, they may have taken it easier on me.”

“What did they do to you?” Roxie asked calmly, trying to disregard the idea of muggers being anywhere near the shop at that particular moment.

“Jumped me from behind, and then kicked me when I was down… literally. I guess I didn’t realize how good they actually got me ‘til I tried to climb the stairs…”

“If you were in so much pain that you couldn’t take a step up without falling down, I’d say there is something seriously wrong,” Roxie informed him matter-of-factly, warily eyeing where Gee-Tar’s hand was still holding on to his side. It didn’t matter that she had limited medical training- anyone in their right mind would have been to deduce what she had, and all three of them knew it. “Let me see.”

Either Gee-star didn’t feel like fighting Roxie’s demand, or he was simply too tired not to obey the request. He leaned onto his propped up elbow and slowly lifted his shirt with his free hand.

As the fabric lifted, welts that would soon prove themselves to be bruises were revealed. The spots that covered Gee-Tar’s side were along, between, and around the thin, long lines of scars that already ran up and down his side. The scars had been from the night of the rumble with the Emeralds. Gee-Tar had made it out of the rumble itself mostly unscathed, but as the guys were leaving the beach, he’d tripped and cut himself pretty decently on some metal scraps.

The bruises weren’t going to permanently maim Gee-Tar’s skin, but Roxie was concerned whether the damage inflicted upon him ran deeper than the surface.

As unfortunate and upsetting as that thought was, what could be done? None of them had the funds to pay for an actual visit to the doctor, let alone a trip to the emergency department at a nearby hospital.

“I guess all we can do is ice it,” Roxie stated, though even as she said the words, she felt remorse. “They didn’t hit or kick you anywhere else?”

Gee-Tar shook his head.

“Where are we gonna get ice at this hour?” Diesel wondered out loud.

Roxie’s brows furrowed. “You don’t have any frozen vegetables, or anything else like that upstairs?”

The look Roxie immediately received from both Gee-Tar and Diesel answered her redundant question.

“Ya kiddin’ me? We barely keep a loaf of bread around!” Diesel replied, smiling despite the situation.

“That’s going to change, as long as I have something to say about it,” Roxie informed them. Then, she looked at Diesel specifically. “Can you run upstairs and get a washcloth- or even just a towel- and run in under the coldest water you can? It’ll be better than nothing, at least until I can run out to the grocers in the morning.”

Diesel nodded dutifully, and immediately turned to head up the stairs.

“If he’s up there, don’t say nothin’ to Riff!” Gee-Tar called after him, confusing Roxie even more.

————————————————————————————

Diesel took two steps at a time up the stairs. When he reached the top, he took a moment to calm himself before entering the apartment.

Thankfully, the living area was empty.

Diesel turned and walked across the room towards the bathroom. Once he entered the small room, he immediately set about searching for a washcloth or some other sort of towel that could fulfill Roxie’s request.

Unfortunately, with a group of four guys living in the apartment who barely kept basic food staples in the kitchen, it was hardly surprising for one to learn that the bathroom was also poorly stocked in terms of typical wares. Excluding the one bath towel for each of the guys, the only other thing Diesel could find was the hand towel for the sink… and it probably could’ve stood to be cleaned.

No dice.

Although it was a small setback, Diesel was not ready to give up just yet. It was already bad enough that they had no ice, frozen vegetables, or literally anything else that they could have used on Gee-Tar at that moment. Having a no-can-do attitude on top of that wouldn’t be helpful in the slightest.

The situation was almost funny in an ironic way. Here they were, the Jets in the midst of a months-long feud with the Sharks, and with extremely limited means with which to treat some measly bruises. What would happen if one of them got seriously injured and needed some immediate medical attention?

Diesel pushed the decently alarming thought out of his mind as he meandered back out into the kitchen area. He perused through all the cabinets first, not finding anything that could be of use. He turned to the various drawers next.

Luckily, in the far back corner of an otherwise empty drawer, was an old dishrag. It was a little bit dusty, but at the very least, it looked clean.

… That’ll work.

Diesel closed the drawer and turned on the nearby faucet. As the water began to run, Diesel let it be for a few moments. Once it was nice and cool, he held the towel he found under the water for a beat, before wringing it out.

Despite his effort, it was almost pathetic- the fabric wasn’t very cold at all, and would probably only help alleviate any pain Gee-Tar felt for a few minutes at best. But Diesel supposed Roxie was right. It had to be better than nothing, at least until the morning.

As he was in the process of wringing the water from the fabric, the sound of a door opening cutting through the air of an otherwise silent room made Diesel freeze in place.

“Diesel?”

Diesel turned around slowly, and gave a slightly strained smile upon seeing Riff.

Riff was standing in the doorway of his bedroom. He was wearing some jeans, and his hair was disheveled, pieces of it sticking were this way and that. “What’s goin’ on?” Riff asked him, his voice still thick with sleep.

Diesel hesitated. Gee-Tar had been acting very strangely, and he seemed pretty keen on Riff not finding out what had happened to him… but Diesel wasn’t even sure what had happened to Gee-Tar. He said it hadn’t been the Sharks, and that it was just a random mugging. But to Diesel’s knowledge, no one else had had any serious problems with any of the other locals besides the Sharks lately. Most of the locals knew that when they saw the Jets coming down the street, they ought to step out of the way. Diesel couldn’t imagine any of them trying their luck with one of the Jets… but who knew? Between the previous night and the evening the current one was shaping up to be, maybe Gee-Tar was in a true bout of rotten luck.

Either way, until Diesel had more information so that he could safely assume the truth of what had happened to Gee-Tar in the moments before he returned to the shop, there was no need to bother Riff with that information yet. Besides, Riff still looked half-asleep.

Diesel would keep Gee-Tar’s wishes… for now.

“Have ya seen Roxie?” Riff asked him with a small frown, his eyes scanning the room. “Did she leave?”

“No… she’s downstairs.”

“Why? Everythin’ alright?”

“Yeah, Boss. Everythin’s fine…”

“What’re ya doin’, then?”

Diesel glanced down at the damp dish cloth in his hands before giving Riff a sheepish smile. “Ah, ya know… we’re just helpin’ out Gee-Tar.”

Riff visibly came a bit more to life at the mere mention of the other Jet’s name. It seemed that what had happened to Gee-Tar the previous evening was still fresh on his mind too. “What happened?”

“Oh, you know Gee-Tar,” Diesel began, determined not to give Riff any indication that he was currently debating the validity of Gee-Tar’s story. “He tripped over somethin’ on the street on his way back tonight. I think he landed on his side wrong though, so I asked Roxie to look him over and make sure he’s okay.”

Thankfully, Riff didn’t seem to doubt Diesel’s explanation. It seemed Gee-Tar being clumsy- an unfortunate characteristic he’d come to be known for over the years- was believable.

“And… he’s good?” Riff questioned.

“Yeah… yeah, he’ll be fine,” Diesel assured him hastily.

“Good,” Riff affirmed with a stiff nod. “Do me a favor? Tell Roxie to come back up when she’s done, yeah?”

“Sure thing, boss,” Diesel said readily, incredibly thankful that Riff seemed to suspect nothing was amiss.

As soon as Riff had shut the bedroom door once again, Diesel turned back to the faucet to run some more cold water onto the dish towel.

————————————————————————————

When Diesel entered the apartment, Roxie looked down at Gee-Tar suspiciously.

After a second, Gee-Tar finally noticed her staring. “What?” he asked, audibly defensive.

“Something about your story isn’t adding up,” Roxie asserted calmly.

Gee-Tar scoffed and rolled his eyes.

Roxie had always known Gee-Tar to be reserved and not easily bothered, so his offended reaction to her statement only furthered her suspicions that there was something about what had happened that he was not telling her. And if she was going to help him… and possibly even keep what had happened to him a secret from Riff, she wanted to know the truth.

Gee-Tar’s story didn’t make much sense to her at all. His height and sheer size didn’t exactly make him a prime target for mugging. If that was really what had happened, Roxie had a hard time believing that the perpetrators couldn’t have found someone who was more of an easy target. And besides, even if Gee-Tar had been attacked by a handful of guys- could he not have outrun them, or fight them off for a bit until he could make an escape? .. Unless he hadn’t wanted to, for some bewildering reason.

“What did Diesel mean when he mentioned the Sharks bothering you?” Roxie asked him then.

Buddy, you promised Riff you’d tell him if the Sharks gave ya trouble again… That’s what Diesel had said, not more than just a few minutes back.

Roxie wasn’t sure what Diesel had meant. Riff hadn’t mentioned anything about it, which made her think that maybe it wasn’t anything too serious… but on the other hand, if it was something to be concerned about, Roxie wasn’t entirely certain Riff would have told her.

“It’s nothin’,” Gee-Tar attempted to dismiss the subject.

Roxie frowned at him.

“Fine!” Gee-Tar relented, realizing that he was literally not able to make a quick get away from the conversation. “... I’ve been seein’ this girl. I walked her home last night, and turns out she lives in the same buildin’ as a handful of Sharks and some of their girls. Let’s just say that some of the Shark’s didn’t like seein’ me ‘round there, even just for a moment.”

Roxie didn’t bother with asking for any more specifics. “And you’re sure what happened tonight has nothing to do with the Sharks?”

“It doesn’t,” Gee-Tar said simply.”

“But how do you know?” Roxie challenged him. “You said yourself- you were attacked from behind. Did you see their faces?”

Gee-Tar shook his head vehemently. “The Sharks wouldn’t jump me, not just ‘cause I was hangin’ ‘round their building for all of a minute last night.”

Roxie’s next question came to her mind quickly, and as much as she hated the thought of it and feared Gee-Tar’s answer, she knew it was a fair question. “And… you’re sure that’s all you’ve done?”

“Yes!” Gee-Tar exclaimed, understandably taking offense to her suggestion. “Who do ya think I am?!”

“I’m sorry! … It just doesn’t make sense,” Roxie explained. “Those Sharks shouldn’t have a reason to chase you off just cause the girl you’re seeing lives in the same building. Not unless they thought you were asking for some other kind of trouble by doing so.”

Gee-Tar’s eyes fell down to his hand that was holding his injured side. “I don’t have to go askin’ for trouble… it always finds me.”

The conversation took a sharp turn as Gee-Tar’s tone shifted from one of anger to one of sadness. He sounded so solemn, nearly grave. He sounded defeated. For how defensive he had sounded just moments before, Roxie was taken aback by the sudden change.

“Gee-Tar,” Roxie said gently, mindful of his new tone, “If the Sharks had something to do with what happened to you tonight-”

“I already told ya, I don’t know for a fact that they did.”

“... But you have a pretty good idea, don’t you?”

Roxie’s shot in the dark proved to be a hit when Gee-Tar visibly froze. After a moment, he looked at her once more. His eyes were wide, and his lips were shut tightly; he was conflicted.

“If you want me to help you, and you don’t want me or Diesel to tell Riff what happened, you at least owe us the truth about what’s going on,” Roxie declared.

Gee-Tar stared at her determinedly for a few moments, before he closed his eyes briefly and gave her a small nod. “I guess ya got a point…”

Roxie patiently waited for Gee-Tar to find the words to come clean, hopeful that his explanation would enlighten her as to why he was in his current predicament.

“It’s about the girl I’m seein’.”

That wasn’t what Roxie had been expecting, but she went along with it. “Alright… What is it about her?”

“I’m guessin’ the Sharks don’t like that I’m seein’ her,” Gee-Tar confessed, speaking so quietly Roxie had to strain a bit to hear him, despite him being less than a few feet away.

“Why would they care?” Roxie wondered out loud.

Gee-Tar sighed. “... She’s-”

The front door to the apartment opened above them, and both Gee-Tar and Roxie’s heads shot up and watched as Diesel reappeared on the landing and shut the door behind him. As he began to descend the stairs and make his way towards them, Roxie spotted a worn-looking towel in his hand.

“Here,” Diesel said once he reached them, before handing the towel to Roxie.

Roxie then handed the damp towel to Gee-Tar wordlessly. As the fabric passed between their hands, their eyes met, and Roxie could tell from the look in his eyes that the moment for Gee-Tar’s confession had passed. He pressed the rag to his exposed side and flinched briefly before relaxing.

It was quiet for a few moments until Diesel broke the silence.

“I saw Riff upstairs.”

“Did ya tell him?” Gee-Tar asked.

“I didn’t tell him the truth, if that’s what you’re gettin’ at.”

“Then what did ya tell him?”

“Ya know, a believable story,” Diesel explained. “I told him ya tripped on your way back here.”

“I don’t trip over things that often.“

Roxie and Diesel immediately gave Gee-Tar pointed looks that conveyed just how much they disagreed with his statement.

“You should tell Riff what really happened at some point, though,” Diesel added.

“Come on, Deez,” Gee-Tar implored. “Let’s not make somethin’ outta this.”

“You were jumped!” Diesel exclaimed in disbelief. “That feels like somethin’ he oughta know!”

“And what would Riff do if I told him?” Gee-Tar challenged. “He ain’t the cops. The cops wouldn’t be able to catch the guys who did this, anyways. I didn’t see their faces, and I sure as hell couldn’t pick ‘em out of a lineup.”

Though Roxie was still highly suspicious as to the nature of Gee-Tar’s attack, and although she believed it was best for Riff to know about what had happened just in case, if what had happened had been a true mugging, Gee-Tar made some pretty valid points.

Roxie glanced over at Diesel, anticipating that he would accept Gee-Tar’s explanation relatively easily. However, she noticed that he seemed to sense something was off about Gee-Tar’s story as well. He was giving her an uncertain look in return.

“Please,” Gee-Tar all but begged them. “I promise I won’t go walkin’ ‘round alone so late anymore.”

“Why were ya out so late again?” Diesel countered.

Gee-Tar glanced at Roxie so quickly, she doubted Diesel would have caught it. “I was seein’ that girl of mine again.”

“This girl sounds like nothin’ but trouble,” Diesel said decisively. “If seein’ her is givin’ ya this much grief-”

“She’s fine,” Gee-Tar interrupted.

“Riff should still know,” Roxie insisted.

“He can’t,” Gee-Tar disagreed. “Ya both know how he’s been lately. If he finds out, it won’t matter what I say- he’s gonna assume this had somethin’ to do with the Sharks anyways. And if that happens, things are only gonna get worse ‘round here. Please… I can’t not see this girl again. Ya can’t tell him.”

Roxie and Diesel exchanged a look. Though she could tell Diesel wasn’t entirely convinced, he had to have been in the same boat that she was. With no other evidence other than Gee-Tar’s story, they had nothing else to prove that he wasn’t telling the truth… or at least the truth as he knew it.

Still, Roxie really hated the idea of keeping what had happened a secret from Riff, especially given everything that they had been through… But maybe Gee-Tar was right? He didn’t have any proof that the Sharks did or did not have something to do with the attack… And if Riff found out about it, Roxie was inclined to agree with Gee-Tar that he would jump to his own conclusions. Giving Riff more ammunition to fuel hostilities with the Sharks was the very last thing she wanted to do.

“Fine,” Roxie relented with a sigh, and Diesel nodded in silent agreement.

Gee-Tar gave them both a small relieved smile. “Thank you, both of yous.”

“Ya need to start keepin’ your word, and ya need to go a night without gettin’ yourself in trouble,” Diesel told him firmly. “We’ve already got our hands full with the Sharks. Don’t need ya gettin’ yourself hurt by some other local tough guys before the real fight begins.”

“... Right,” Gee-Tar recalled distractedly. “The Sharks.”

As an awkward silence fell over the group, Roxie couldn’t help but worry at the thought of “the real fight” Diesel had mentioned.

Eventually, Gee-Tar finally made it up the stairs that night with Diesel’s assistance and Roxie’s supervision. Once the two were settled in their own cots, Roxie returned to Riff’s bedroom, though she honestly wasn’t expecting to be able to get any more sleep.

Nothing about that night sat well with Roxie. Not the fact that Gee-Tar had gotten hurt, and definitely not his story and explanation of the events that had led up to it.

Even as she entered Riff’s bedroom, quietly tiptoed across the floor, and gently snuck back underneath the sheets, something was still bothering her.

Once he realized her presence, Riff wrapped his arms around immediately, and pulled her closer to him. He mumbled something incoherent, before pressing a kiss to her head.

She should’ve felt content in his arms. After all, for weeks- no, months- she never would have dreamed such a thing would ever be possible again. Despite that, she couldn’t rest.

What had Gee-Tar been about to say about the girl he’d been seeing before Diesel had interrupted?

————————————————————————————

The following Sunday, the Jets met up for their usual Sunday morning rounds of basketball.

The “A-Team”- Big Deal, Action, Little Molly, and Snowboy- were acting as pretentious as ever, though A-Rab was the most insufferable of them all by far. Their luck from the previous few weekends had seemed to turn around, and they were currently on a winning streak. Each game won only made them act bolder.

Aside from Riff teaching Baby John a few tricks earlier in the summer, he hadn’t even picked up a basketball for a few weeks. But with every victorious shout that left the mouths of A-Rab and his team, Riff grew closer and closer to taking to the court himself.

As the morning went on, Riff quickly realized that Gee-Tar must not have been feeling well. His team, which also consisted of Baby John, Tiger, Balkan, and Mouthpiece, had once posed a threat to the “A-Team.” But that morning, the team seemed to be falling apart, and it was largely due to Gee-Tar. He was moving painstakingly slow, leaving him vulnerable to having the ball swiped from him and rendering him incapable of making any decent passes to his teammates.

Riff leaned up against the wall and smoked a cigarette. Ice was beside him, as he usually was, and was having a smoke as well. Though it was the same wall that they had once considered their own, primarily due to their artwork and various paintings that used to litter it, the wall had since been tainted with the Puerto Rican mural.

Since the wall had been painted, a lot of the guys had had plenty of things to say about it whenever they walked by the park or stopped to play a few games of basketball. And if he was being honest, seeing their wall in such a state bothered Riff too.

But even though it had been weeks since the mural had been painted, Riff had the feeling that if anything happened to the damn mural, the Jets would automatically be the ones to blame, whether they actually had a hand in it or not. Though it was debatable whether the cops would care enough to actually try and hold them accountable for any damage done, he knew the Sharks would try and have their heads either way.

But not even the grievances with the Sharks, nor the slaughtering that Gee-Tar and his team were being dealt on behalf of A-Rab’s team, were enough to distract Riff from his other thoughts. As he leaned up against the backdrop of the red, white, and blue paint, his mind kept frequently wandering elsewhere.

Specifically, it was wandering across the park to the other side of the street, to Roxie’s apartment building.

Riff hadn’t seen Roxie since the evening before, and even though it was a short time to go without seeing her, he couldn’t deny that he’d missed her. It was the first night since earlier that week that they hadn’t spent together. There was something about waking up beside her that Riff didn’t want to soon forget. Even just waking up alone that morning had dampened his mood.

But, just like him, Roxie had personal things to take care of. She was still itching to try and get a word with her landlord. Riff hoped she was successful in catching him that morning. Even more so, he hoped the landlord would have a lead on a new roommate for her.

Though Riff had full heartedly meant his offer for her to move into the shop’s apartment with him, if that wasn’t what Roxie wanted at that moment, he wasn’t going to hold it against her.

She’d already said she couldn’t afford to live in her apartment alone, and Riff didn’t want to see her any more strapped for cash than she was. Roxie was still supposed to go to school that spring, and she’d told Roff already that any spare money she could manage would go towards that tuition.

Besides that, Riff would never forget that Roxie used a good chunk of her own money to save his neck and keep the shop afloat, if only for a little bit longer. It didn’t matter how she had obtained that money- it’d been hers, fair and square. If Roxie was unable to find a new roommate, and if she had to spend even more money on her own living arrangements than what she already was, it would only deepen Riff’s guilt.

And he already felt plenty of guilt when he considered the fact that Tony was now knowledgeable about the entire situation with Mr. Barone, and Roxie still had no idea. While Riff hated keeping the secret from her, he had yet to have any regret about telling Tony.

Naturally, Tony had been shocked to learn all of the gory details, but Riff knew the moment he was done telling him the entire tale that Tony had developed some new sort of respect for both him and Roxie. Tony promised that he’d keep true to his word and that he wouldn’t ever tell a soul about what he had learned. Riff believed him, but he also remembered all too well how his oaf of a friend had almost tipped Roxie off by acting so oddly towards her right after Riff had told him.

“What’s the matter with you, pal?” Balkan questioned Gee-Tar when he failed to put up any sort of struggle when Action swiped the ball from him. Action passed the ball across the court to Big Deal, who promptly scored a basket.

The game was over.

Gee-star shook his head. “I’m out,” he told his team regretfully. He walked away and joined Diesel, Skink, and Number’s conversation just off the court.

Before Tiger, Balkan, Mouthpiece, and Baby John could say a thing in response, a proud shout erupted from A-Rab’s mouth.

“Victory is ours, boys!”

His team whooped and hollered in agreement.

Baby John shook his head and turned to what remained of their team to try and regroup.

“Ain’t no one takin’ us down!” A-Rab continued.

Unfortunately, the scene had already pulled Riff from his thoughts. Now that he was free from his distracting thoughts about Roxie and what she was up to, there was nothing holding him back.

“Anyone wanna hop in?” Tiger asked hopefully, looking at the rest of the Jets who weren’t already on the court.

Riff flicked his cigarette onto the ground and stepped on the butt.

Ice smirked at him, immediately catching on to what he was about to do. “Go get ‘em, Krazy Kat.”

Riff clapped an appreciative hand onto Ice’s shoulder before jogging over to the court. “Count me in, fellas!”

Baby John and the rest of the team smiled at the sight of Riff taking to the court. Riff wasn’t considered the best player among them, but his track record against A-Rab was pretty admirable, and everyone knew it.

Especially A-Rab.

“Nah, you don’t need to bother yourself with a little game, Riff,” A-Rab tried to discourage him.

“It’s no problem at all,” Riff dismissed with a cool smile. Tiger passed him the ball, and he caught it with a practiced ease, barely sparing the ball a glance as he did so. “Ya fellas ready to get goin’ again?”

Riff’s team members smirked knowingly while A-Rab and his teammates became visibly unsettled.

————————————————————————————

Though the guilt of keeping Gee-Tar’s secret from Riff still lingered over her, as well as her curiosity about the remainder of Gee-Tar’s interrupted confession about the girl he had been seeing, Roxie found something else to focus on over the next few days: hunting down her landlord.

Roxie even spent the night in her own apartment, determined to wake up as early as needed in order to try and catch the man as he left his apartment unit for the day. She had to admit, she missed sleeping beside Riff the previous night, especially after having done so for several nights in a row before it, but she knew that she had to do what she had to do. Her landlord had already been proven to be a tricky guy to track down, and Roxie stood no more chance of actually finding him if she was hardly ever present in her apartment building.

Betty was supposed to be moving out in the next week or two, and she couldn’t afford- literally- to not have another roommate to help her pay the rent. She supposed she could’ve asked Helen, the young woman she had met in the laundry room of their building a few weeks prior, to move in, but after the one interaction Roxie had had with the girl, she had a gut feeling that if they’d lived together, they’d butt heads more often than not. And what was the point of even having her own space to escape to if it wouldn’t even be relaxing?

That morning, Roxie slept in later than she had meant to, and she couldn’t help but internally curse at herself as she scrambled to get dressed and ready for the day. Once she was presentable, Roxie slipped on a pair of flats, grabbed her keys, and quickly exited the apartment to head down the stairs to the first floor.

Initially, Roxie knocked on her landlord’s door several times to no avail. Just as she was about to give up on finding him- again- someone entered through the main door in the lobby and headed down the hallway her way.

It was her landlord.

He was dressed pretty nicely, and if Roxie had to guess, he had just come from church. Of course- how could she not have considered that before? If she had, she probably would’ve been successful in cornering him at least a week ago.

“Roxie?”

Roxie gave him a small smile and stepped aside as the man went to unlock his front door.

“I’m sorry to catch you at a bad time,” Roxie began, “but I really need to talk to you about something. Do you have a few minutes?”

His eyes shifted back and forth. “Uh, now’s not really the best time-“

“Please,” Roxie interrupted, as politely as she could manage. “I’m sure she’s told you- but Betty’s moving out, and soon. I was hoping you knew someone else who was in need of a place to stay?”

Her landlord rested his hand on the doorknob of his front door, and it was clear that he was wanting to head on inside. Normally, Roxie would’ve taken the que and excused herself, but she’d spent too long trying to track him down, and she was quickly running out of time to find a solution to her problem.

“You won’t have to worry about that,” he told her quietly.

Roxie was taken aback. “Wait- really? You already have someone in mind?”

Her landlord glanced down the hallway of the lobby, looking around to see if they were still alone. “No.”

“... You don’t? What do you mean?”

“Come on, Roxie,” he pleaded tiredly. “Don’t make me say it.”

“Say what?”

Her landlord took one last glance down the hallway. “I was going to make the announcement this week, but since you’ve quite literally got me forced here, I’ll tell you now: I’m selling the building.”

…

What?!

“What?!”

Her landlord shushed her. “Pipe down, will you? I just said I haven’t made the announcement yet, remember?”

Roxie lowered her voice, though her words were no less frantic. “What’s going to happen?”

“You’ll have two weeks to find someplace else to live.”

“Two weeks?!” Roxie gasped. “What am I supposed to do if I can’t find somewhere else to go? What are any of us supposed to do?”

Her landlord said nothing.

“What about your other building- the one where my aunt rented that unit from you?”

“I’m selling that one too, I’m afraid.”

Her landlord was being flippant, and once Roxie realized that, her shock quickly shifted to something else- anger. “Why?” she demanded. “Why are you selling when you know doing so is putting dozens of people out on the streets?

Surprisingly, her landlord looked somewhat sympathetic. “Come on, Roxie. Don’t give me a sob story. Ya know how it is right now- times are tough, and they’re tough for everybody, not just tenants like you. I got some offers, and they were just too good to pass up.”

In retrospect, Roxie couldn’t blame him, at least not in principle. But at that moment, her shock and anger won out over her logic, and she couldn’t help but scowl at him.

“I’m sorry, kid.”

————————————————————————————

Riff was feeling just about on top of the world as his team proceeded to put A-Rab’s team to shame.

Baby John swerved past Little Molly and Riff couldn’t help but smile as his protege made a shot that sent the basketball flying through the air before falling through the hoop with a satisfying swoosh.

Another 4 points, and Riff’s team would win.

A-Rab took the ball and proceeded to set up the next play at the top of the court. As he prepared himself to guard Big Deal, Riff saw something that caught his interest out of the corner of his eye.

It was Roxie.

She crossed the street from her apartment building, entered the park, and was walking directly towards him.

Even from a distance, Riff could tell she was upset. His immediate concern for her outweighed his desire to put A-Rab in his place, and he promptly walked off the court mid play without another thought.

“What gives?” Mouthpiece called after him confusedly.

Riff spared a glance back at his team, before looking over at the guys hanging around off the court. “Deez, you mind coverin’ for me for a minute?”

Diesel had spotted Roxie as well. He looked at Riff, nodded, and quickly stepped onto the court to assume Riff’s place.

“What? No way!“ A-Rab declared as he glared at Diesel. “No subs mid game!“

“A-Rab, chill,” Ice ordered. “It’s just a game, pal.”

A small heated discussion broke out in the background, but Riff continued to walk towards Roxie. When he was just a few yards away from her, he called to her, “What’s wrong?”

Roxie shrugged as she came to a stop before him. She placed a head on her forehead and shook her head. “I’m so sorry, I didn’t want to pull you away like this, I just didn’t know what else to do and-“

“It’s fine,” Riff assured her calmly, cutting off her worried rambling when he placed his hands lightly on her upper arms. “Trust me.”

Roxie looked behind him and towards the Jets. Riff followed her line of sight, and quickly discovered that A-Rab’s arguing had ceased. Instead, the guys on the court who had noticed Roxie’s presence were watching them both with intrigued looks. Some were even sending mocking kissing faces their way.

In response, Riff flipped the bird over his shoulder before turning his full attention back to Roxie. “What’s goin’ on?”

“It’s my apartment… my landlord is selling the building.”

“He’s what?” Riff asked, the news shocking him nearly as much as it appeared to have shaken up Roxie.

“We’re all going to get evicted,” Roxie continued, still visibly and audibly upset. “I only have two weeks to find someplace new to live.”

Riff fell silent as he processed everything Roxie was saying.

“I can’t afford to live anywhere else,” she said. “And even if I could, who's to say that whatever building I end up in won’t just get sold and torn down too?”

Riff wished more than anything to be able to say something that would alleviate her worries. She had some valid concerns, though. “Don’t worry, we’ll figure something out,” he found himself saying instead.

“Like what?”

“Well, I’m sure as hell not gonna let you be out on the streets, that’s for sure,” Riff swore.

Roxie nodded in understanding. She looked behind him for a moment, most likely looking at the Jets again. Riff didn’t look back this time though. He hoped they’d returned to their basketball game by then.

“I don’t know what to do,” Roxie confessed meekly, looking back at him.

As Riff racked his brain for a magic solution to her problem, it took him all but a second to realize that he already had one.

“Move in with me.”

Roxie did a double take. Before she could protest the idea, Riff continued, feeling the overwhelming need to present his entire case before she passed any sort of judgment on his proposal. He took her hands in his lightly, but the gesture drew her focus solely on him.

“I know ya said you wanted your independence, but you can have that. You can come and go as ya please, and ya won’t hear a peep from me. Hell, you can even take my room, and I’ll sleep out in the living room with the rest of the guys. Livin’ with them probably ain’t ideal, but they’ll be respectful of ya, I promise. And if they ain’t, I’ll set ‘em straight. A few days ago, you mentioned the bathroom… I know it's a bit of a mess right now, but I’ll scrub every surface clean myself if I have to. Roxie, I’ll do whatever else ya want if it means I can sleep better at night knowin’ ya got a safe place to stay... please.”

Roxie’s face as he gave her his full fledged reasoning behind his suggestion was oddly neutral, and when he was finished speaking, Riff didn’t have an inkling of an idea of what she was thinking.

Naturally, his initial reaction was panic. …Should’ve kept my damn mouth shut.

“… I have a condition.”

Her quiet words surprised Riff. “Yeah?”

“I’m not taking your bedroom from you.”

Riff subconsciously smiled and his grip on her hands tightened as he read between the lines of her simple words. ”So, does that mean you’ll move in?”

“You have to promise me that you’ll tell me if it’s not working for you,” Roxie warned him, calmly though seriously. But even as she spoke, Riff could tell she was fighting off a smile of her own.

Riff doubted he’d ever do that, even if she did somehow find a way to get on his nerves. But he knew that was not what Roxie wanted to hear, so he chose to go along with it in order to not ruin the moment. “I promise.”

“Then… yes. I’ll move in with you.”

Riff beamed down at her, and for a moment, he was stunned and unsure what to do with the sudden wave of happiness and relief that washed over him. A second later, something in his mind clicked, and he quickly leaned in to kiss her.

He could faintly hear the teasing kissing noises behind them from the Jets increasing in volume, but Riff refused to pay them mind. In that moment, all that mattered was them.

Roxie was going to be moving in.

————————————————————————————

“Dios mío,” the young woman said under her breath.

Her companion turned her head towards her as they walked down the sidewalk just outside of the park.

“There is the reason we do not walk back from church this way,” the young woman continued, eyeing the group of boys on the basketball court inside the park warily.

Her companion looked at the group curiously, but was mindful enough to keep up the same walking pace as her friend as she took a gander. “Is that them?”

“Sí,” her friend answered. “The Jets. Aspirantes a gánsteres.”

The other young woman continued to look over towards the group she had heard so much about. The majority of them were playing a game of basketball, but a few lingered around the perimeter.

Though a bit away from the basketball court, one of them stood out. He was tall and slim, and was with a girl. If the kiss they exchanged wasn’t enough of an indicator, it was clear by their physical closeness, intertwined hands, and the way they smiled at each other that they were together.

“Ahi esta,” her friend continued, noticing the object of staring. “The leader. Riff.”

“Riff?” the young woman repeated, the sound oddly foreign to her tongue. It was a strange name, even for an Americano.

For all the awful stories she’d heard from her friends and the friends of her brother, as well as warnings directly from him, the infamous Jets looked to just be a group of boys. It was hard to imagine them being any sort of credible threat, let alone doing even half of the things she was told they had done.

But appearances could be deceiving.

“Sí.”

“Ese chica?” she asked then, turning her attention to the girl next. Whoever she was, the girl seemed absolutely smitten with the leader of the Jets.

“No sé,” her friend replied. “He was with a chica rubia at the last dance…”

The young woman nodded, accepting her friend’s partial answer without further comment. She asked no more questions of her friend, choosing to focus on keeping a brisk pace instead. Her brother’s girlfriend would start to worry if she wasn’t back soon, and as it was, she was already likely to inquire as to where she had gone after mass.

When the park was well behind them, the young woman spared one more thought to what she had seen.

Despite the affectionate display they had had in the park, the young woman couldn’t help but wonder what type of girl would want to be with a boy like the one her brother had described the leader of the Jets to be.

A/N: Thank you for reading!😊 Any and all feedback is welcome and appreciated. If you would like to be added to the taglist, please feel free to let me know as well.😊

Taglist: @whisperofsong @disguisedbassethound @lingerasthesmokeoncedid @westsidelegendary @sallymakesstuff @youngteenagehearts @wombtotombx @loverisi @wnygirl2012 @b-bella9 @princessmiaelicia @childesbbyy @amberash05 @robin-jackkelly @eatslothsat @mikefaistgf @acciosiriusblack @jaemsslut4 @makaelahdelvalle @mixed-theater-faisty-tings @girlygirl-20 @that1fanficwriter

Part 20

Masterlist

#west side story #west side story 2021 #wss #wss 2021 #west side story fanfiction #west side story fanfic #west side story riff #riff west side story #wss riff #riff fanfiction #riff fanfic #riff imagine #slowburn #slow burn #angst #oc jet #west side story riff x oc #mike faist

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whisperofsong · 2 years

Text

An Unexpected Home

Pairing: Riff x OC

Summary: A glimpse into Grace’s life reveals its obstacles and hints at a worthwhile future.

*Disclaimer: I am pleased to finally release the preface of my current fanfiction with all of you. Unlike my previous story, there will not be a set schedule pertaining to the publishing of new chapters. I feel that attempting to adhere to such a schedule will detract from the overall experience and want to ensure the quality of my writing is not affected by time constraints. If you are new to my blog and would like to be tagged in subsequent chapters, please let me know. Thank you so much for your support!

Preface

Grandeur isn’t everything. However, if someone had tried to persuade me with such a notion while I was growing up, I wouldn’t have been receptive. My childhood was defined by meager means at best, not because of a lack of trying, but instead a result of futile attempts. My mom and dad married when they were quite young and the proposal was anything but romantic, unless bending on one knee while intoxicated and slurring the words, “Will you marry me?” could be classified as endearing. If that is one’s idea of romance, then my dad might as well be a regular Romeo.

My dad only proposed because he thought it was what my mom wanted and, on some level, perhaps she did…just not from him. It’s likely she would have declined his offer had she not been four months pregnant with my older brother, David, now known as Balkan, and a petrified twenty-year old who succumbed to the artificial charms of a twenty-two year old man. They were married two months later at City Hall and officially began their lives as husband and wife. When Balkan was born, my dad’s alcoholism was relatively tamed, only getting soused once or twice a week at most. Although my mom deemed my dad’s drinking problem to be unsettling, he was still able to maintain a job and contribute to their finances. Therefore, she didn’t dare pester him about seeking help because she needed his help and knew her badgering would only heighten the pre-existing tension between them.

Three years later, I was born and in addition to our growing family, the issues between my parents heightened. Dad was going to work less and less, which prompted my mom to seek work on her own. Although working at the local convenience store was anything but glamorous, it provided her with some independence because it was becoming abundantly clear she could no longer steadily rely on her husband. When the demands of Dad’s job increased, he turned to alcohol more, disappearing for hours to pay worship to it at various bars. The significant alcohol intake impeded his judgment, thereby causing him to pick fights with other patrons who were twice his size and arrive home with a battered face. My mom grew accustomed to tending to his wounds while ignoring her own in the process.

When I turned four, events took a turn for the worse. I was too young to recall this memory with precision, but Balkan was seven at the time and remembers the day with vivid clarity. Mom requested off from work so we could spend the entire day together. That evening, she prepared my favorite dinner, but throughout the duration of dinner, she checked the clock incessantly, anticipating my father’s arrival home from work. However, time passed and his absence was palpable, particularly for Mom and Balkan. Nevertheless, they made efforts to conceal their concern and disappointment as they celebrated me. When Mom lit the candles on my homemade cake and her and Balkan sang to me, I recall the tinny quality of their voices and it was then that my dad’s absence really affected me. Despite my family members’ convincing grins and the glow of the birthday candles illuminating our modest, cramped kitchen, darkness enveloped me as I concluded my father would not be coming home, not for his family, not for me. When I blew out the candles and their light had been extinguished, sadness washed over me as I realized that their outside appearance matched how I was feeling on the inside.

That evening, long after Mom had tucked me in and Balkan had gone to bed, too, the front door opened with such gusto that it slammed against the wall. My eyes flew open and I immediately crept out of bed with every intention of eavesdropping. Instead, I was startled when Balkan’s outstretched arms pulled me in from behind, shielding me from the inevitable fight that awaited us. My parents’ hushed voices gradually morphed into shouting, hurling insults at one another as if they were engrossed in a tennis match. It didn’t take long for Dad to rush past her, storm into their bedroom, collect his belongings, and leave our apartment. The sound of the door closing reverberated throughout our apartment and Balkan cradled me in his arms as hot tears streamed down my face. The crying must have worn me out because when I awoke, it was daylight and I was laying in my bed.

Dad never returned. It was devastating for all of us and as much as I would like to claim it was most devastating for me as a result of being the youngest person affected by it, it had the most crushing effect on Balkan. After our dad left, he changed. His former goofy, playful, and affectionate self morphed into someone who had been hardened by his circumstances, who had been soured by not having a father figure from whom he could learn and revere. While Balkan was never one to earn As in school, his grades had been respectable, but they began to rapidly decline not long after our dad abandoned us. Once he turned ten, Balkan was given my parents’ bedroom as a gift from my mom because she felt he needed his own space, especially because it was apparent that my presence was solely a nuisance to him. Consequently, Mom took the pullout couch in the living room, reasoning that because we no longer had a TV as a result of selling it for money, there was no need for seating anyway.

Although Balkan was previously popular and had assembled a large group of friends, he gradually lost touch with them and was no longer interested in maintaining contact with them. He often wandered around the city alone, frequenting a convenience store named Doc’s when he wanted to read comics for free as well as the basketball court to release mounting aggression. At the age of ten, Balkan went out one day in the summer with the intention of playing basketball alone at the court only to return several hours later with a boy his age in tow. I was sitting in the tattered recliner in our living room immersed in a book when the two boys walked in, laughing about something to which I was not privy. The boy accompanying my brother was lanky and tall for his age, with light brown hair, piercing blue eyes, and a smirk that was boastful, yet subtle simultaneously.

*Flashback to fourteen years ago

“Grace, this is Riff. Riff, this is my sister, Grace,” Balkan says casually, sweeping by me to grab something from the refrigerator.

Riff gives me a mock salute and I tentatively wave at him, feeling timid by this stranger’s presence.

“Ya want anything to drink, Riff?” Balkan asks while his head is still in the refrigerator. I wrinkle my nose at my brother’s repetition of the boy’s bizarre name, pondering if that’s his legitimate first name.

Riff turns his head in Balkan’s direction to answer him. “Nah, I’m good.” Then he returns his attention to me, eyeing the book in my lap. “Whatcha readin’?”

“Oh, it’s a book about pirates and-“

“Riff, a word to the wise. In the future, don’t ask my sister about books because she’ll never quit yappin’ about ‘em. Besides, we gotta head back to the courts and show those other guys whose court it is. Right?”

Riff looks at me for a few seconds longer, before nodding in agreement to Balkan’s question. “Right! Let’s go!”

The two of them hurry out the door and I’m left alone once again in the apartment, feeling a strange rush of happiness that someone older than me, a boy no less, took an interest in something I’m reading. Perhaps it was because I didn’t have a stable male presence in my life and still craved it, despite my father being gone for three years already. Or perhaps it was because I saw something in Riff even then and I was under the illusion he saw something in me, too.

When I now reflect on my infatuation with grandeur, I recognize that it doesn’t always present itself in expected ways. Rather, it may emerge as something unassuming and innocent before undergoing a gradual metamorphosis. I never foresaw such a transformation in my life, but even if I had, I still would have been inadequately prepared for its impact.

#west side story #west side story 2021 #west side story fanfic #riff x oc #angst #romance #slow burn #mike faist

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thelanguishing · 2 years

Text

pride versus love (mouthpiece x velma)

a/n: one of mouthpiece’s and velma’s fights as a couple! i had minor writer’s block this week, which delayed the completion of this piece. it was very refreshing to revisit the rough patches between one of my fav couples of wss (it’s definitely the angst lover in me). i wanted to keep the conflict resolution somewhat badly addressed on their part, as i believe most 15 year olds fighting in their first serious relationship definitely wouldn’t know how to handle the open communication. to anyone who ends up reading this, i hope you like it! xx

word count: 1747

He couldn’t help the frown that graced his face. Velma had been acting weird all day, and even though he’d already asked, she refused to get into it, only making his scowl deepen.

He had to bite his tongue to stop himself from audibly groaning. Why did girls always say things were alright when they so clearly weren’t? It was stupid, how they expected their boyfriends to read their minds.

‘Chicks are so hard to understand,’ he impatiently muttered, unaware that Velma’s sharp ears had caught every word.

‘Fine. Ya really wanna know? Rhonda laughed at me the other day for not knowing how to jump the turnstile on the subway. And Mamie told me sometimes the girls hide things from me when they think I won’t get it. Because they say I’m too soft to hang out with them. There, I said it. Ya happy?’ She icily divulged.

Despite appearing so cool and confident on the surface, her feelings for Mouthpiece overwhelmed Velma greatly. She wanted nothing more than to fit into his world, and that obviously included the Jets and their girlfriends. How would it look if Mouthpiece was the only one with a prissy rich girlfriend who didn’t have an inkling of how their world really worked?

Mouthpiece couldn’t help the scoff that left his lips. She’d been upset all day, no, all week, because of this? Feeling too rich, having too many things, being too privileged? What had the world come to – where the bourgeoisie actually wanted to be poorer to fit in? Indignation overwhelmed him. He would have done anything to have what she had; was she really here, complaining about it to him, someone who could barely afford to eat two meals a day?

‘Oh, so ya think that ya life is bad? Ya know how many o’ us would have killed ta have ya rich girl problems?’

His jealousy bubbled over as she lashed out at her. If he weren’t so consumed by his irrationality at that moment, he would have seen the flash of hurt across Velma’s normally soft face. The hurt vanished just as quickly as it surfaced, though, as Velma instantly recollected herself to deliver her boyfriend a death glare.

‘If that’s how ya feel about me, then I’ll just go and date some rich kid instead. Ya’d like that, wouldn’t you, Mouthpiece?’

She struggled to keep to her normally collected demeanor, just barely managing it, hissing at him before stalking off in a fit.

Velma’s word choice had felt like a vicious slap to the face, but he chose instead to fixate on his explosive anger. He needed to punch someone, or destroy something to make his hurt go away. Eyes narrowing on the lone Egyptian King across the street, his hands balled into fists, nearly breaking into an impatient run as he itched to direct his brokenness elsewhere.

As he stumbled into Doc’s with bloodied and bruised fists, he spotted Riff toying with one of the Milky Way bars, casually ignoring the pointed stare from Valentina. Upon noticing Mouthpiece’s sweaty figure accompanied with the animalistic glint in his eyes, Riff quickly joined the dots.

‘Damn, buddy boy, ya jumped onea them Kings? Why didn’t ya call me?’ Riff joked, leaning over to playfully punch Mouthpiece on the arm. Unlike most days, a downcast gloom shrouded the younger’s face, and the concerned leader immediately sat them both down, demanding details. Fortunately, Mouthpiece’s impulsiveness fueled the torrent that escaped, recounting the earlier events of the day.

Naturally, he had expected Riff to back him up. Riff was always supportive of his members, being especially protective of the younger ones, namely Mouthpiece, Tiger, and their newest member, Little Moly. What greeted him, however, was an unmistakable frown on the elder’s face. Riff hadn’t originally wanted to be so harsh with the boys he called brothers, but the idiocy of Mouthpiece’s story was too obvious to ignore.

‘Ya dumb or what?’

Eyes wide open, Mouthpiece failed to formulate a decent response. He’d nearly tilted forward to ask Riff to repeat himself, but stopped himself just in time.

Interpreting his silence as confusion, Riff sighed before further elaborating, ‘Ya dumb battery. Yer Velma girl was feelin’ sore about not being able to fit in with the rest of our girls. She probably thought ya’d like her less if she didn’t fit in with the rest of us. Then ya make her feel worse for bein’ rich? Honestly, I ain’t like that she’s rich either. Makes me kinda want to punch her old man. But that ain’t her fault, ain’t it?’

Mouthpiece could feel his mouth form an ‘o’ in realization. If even Riff, the least sensitive and most prideful person he knew, had recognised how stupid he had been, then chances were that he had really fucked things up. Instinctively, he wanted to run to her house that very minute to fix things with her, but his pride was in the way. He was, after all, still a fifteen year old, whose dignity had taken a hit with Velma’s departing threat.

She can date whoever she wants, see if I care.

For the next few hours, a very disgruntled and wounded Mouthpiece skulked the streets of the neighborhood, eyes devoid of their usual glint of mischief. Yet even in his most upset state of mind, a force in him pulled him back to the park, even as he pursed his lips knowing where he was headed.

Kicking a pebble aimlessly, something in the distance caught his eye – a young couple. The girl had eyes that were blue like Velma’s, even if Velma’s were definitely brighter and more beautiful. The girl was clearly in a mood, and the boy knelt down in front of her, trying his level best to get her attention.

At first, Mouthpiece snorted, disgusted by the idea of a grown man throwing away his pride just to win the affections of a girl. But as he watched them a little longer, he saw the priceless smile that crept up the girl’s face as she couldn’t stay mad at her boyfriend. She gradually pulled him up to sit beside her, her head resting on his shoulder. The boy held his girl tightly, as if afraid to let her go. Mouthpiece could help but notice the blissful, radiant glow she had that Velma had around him too.

Suddenly, he didn’t care so much about his pride anymore. What did pride matter, if it was at the expense of his girl and her happiness? He’d just about do anything to regain a crumb of her favor, if she could look even half as happy as the girl before his eyes presently.

Running to her apartment building, he deftly made his way up to Velma’s room without stopping so much as to catch a breath. He noticed the smudged mascara on her cheeks as she sat at her desk, writing something with a frustrated frown plastered on her face. The pen scratched across the paper so hard he thought it might tear, and as he watched, he silently reminded himself never to do something so stupid as to incur Velma’s wrath again. Thank God it was dark out already, so Velma wouldn’t see the new injuries he sported, or she’d get even more upset.

He knocked at the glass gingerly, mustering his best puppy-dog eyed expression to at least earn an audience with her. To her credit, she stalked over and pushed up the window, but refused to let him take another step closer. Instead, she clambered out of her room to join him on the fire escape, a blank expression resting on her face.

‘What do ya want from me now?’

Despite her somewhat disheveled appearance, she still managed to keep her voice detached and even. She even raised one eyebrow in his direction, as if challenging him to say something stupid again.

‘I shouldn’t have said that to ya just now. I’m sorry, Vel. Please don’t be mad at me, ya know I didn’t mean any of it,’ he nearly tripped over his words in his eagerness to get the apology out.

‘But you did. If ya didn’t mean it, ya wouldn’t say it.’ Masking the extent of her hurt underneath the daring reply, Velma held her breath as she anticipated his reply.

He sighed before plopping down on the metal grails. ‘Nah, I was just angry that ya got a better lot in life than me. And maybe kinda scared that ya’d realize ya could be doing so much better than someone like me. It’s like I’m being unfair to ya, by making ya be with me.’

He stared down into his palms as he confessed this, almost regretting letting Velma know how insecure he really was. The onslaught of silence only served to intensify his discomfort, and it took everything out of him not to bolt down the building and run as far away as his legs would take him.

Velma tucked her skirt around her knees and flopped down ungracefully, knocking her shoulder against his gently.

‘Ya didn’t make me be with you. I chose ya. And I’m sorry too, that I made you feel bad about what I said.’

Mouthpiece couldn’t help the bittersweet smile that graced his young face. His heart inwardly sang, reassured by the verbal confirmation from his wonderful girl. But try as he might, he didn’t truly believe her. She made it so easy for him, but he wouldn’t. She deserved one of the rich, smart guys her parents always wanted to set her up with, not the ‘feckless friggin disappointment’ he was, as a social worker so aptly pointed out to him the previous week.

Nevertheless, he bit his lip and lay down to rest his head on her lap, with Velma running her hands through his hair. They’d just made up – he’d do everything to keep their relationship that way. So like a coward, he avoided the issue plaguing his mind, choosing to remain silent instead. He noticed she leaned back on the metal staircase as her breathing became even, her fingers eventually stilling.

Mouthpiece held his breath as he sat up, silently slipping in and out of her room to grab a warm blanket. As he draped it over her sleeping figure, his head couldn’t quieten the way it normally did when he looked at her.

I wonder when she’ll realize I ain’t good enough.

#west side story fanfic #west side story 2021 #west side story #west side story 2021 fanfic #mouthpiece #mouthpiece x velma #velma #ben tyler cook #maddie ziegler #my writings

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ancientvamp · 2 months

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guess who's working on a shaynse fic vaugly inspired by west side story ... my love for scruffy men in tight shirts is gonna be the death of me

#smosh #shaynse #west side story #smosh fanfic #au #sigh

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tracingpatternswrites · 2 years

Text

I was going to get started on my Wolfstar bingo today but instead Riff is taking up all available space in my brain and demands to be written and who am I to refuse.

#fanfic #wss riff #wss fanfic #west side story 2021 #west side story fanfic

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