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msjr0119 · 5 years ago

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One Temptation

Part 10

*This series is based on The Royal Romance characters who belong to Pixelberry - AU Plot switch*

Riley Brooks moves back to New York after leaving five years prior- struggling to get by in life she wanted to go home. After getting mugged, a woman and man come to her rescue and offer her a job at their strip club. A rich business man Liam Rhys is forced to visit the club as part of his bachelor party. What will happen that night?

Tags-if you want to be removed from the list, let me know 😊: @pedudley @kacie-0156 @loveellamae @annekebbphotography @burnsoslow @ladyangel70 @kingliam2019 @bbrandy2002 @butindeed @bascmve01 @drakewalker04 @captain-kingliamsqueen @duchessemersynwalker @drxkewalker @texaskitten30 @ibldw-main @kimmiedoo5 @nikkis1983 @gnatbrain @walker7519 @lodberg @cmestrella @kozabaji @hopefulmoonobject @addictedtodrakefanfic @angi15h @liamxs-world @rafasgirl23415 @notoriouscs @whenyourheartskipsabeat @jovialyouthmusic @nz1091 @yukinagato2012 @seriouslybadchoices @rainbowsinthestorm @cordonianroyalty @dcbbw @qammh-blog @jared2612 @princess-geek @desireepow-1986 @indiacater

A/N: This part is smaller than most, the next part will be posted once I’ve finished work or tomorrow.

Warnings: Swearing, abuse.

*****

I miss you. X

Hey, are you okay? I haven’t heard from you in a few days. X

Ri, I love you. Please text back. I just want to know that you are okay. X

Can I come and see you? X

Riley sighed as she re read all the messages that she had received from, messages that she hadn’t responded to as if they didn’t exist. It had been a few weeks since she had seen him in the hotel room. Waking up the following morning, she snuck out of the room. Regretting letting her feelings get the best of her- she knew it was best to just leave without saying a word. Maybe in time, they could gradually speak- when she was sober.

“I’m going to have to get you a bucket, are you coming down with something?” Gill asked as she walked over to Riley, noticing that she was pale, as she sipped the water behind the bar and was immediately sick.

“I don’t know? It must be that seafood that we ate last night. I’ve had an upset stomach since this morning...”

“Just stay behind the bar tonight, I’ll get you a bucket in case you can’t make it to the toilet. If you need time off, just go home.”

Staying behind the bar, she was hoping that this shift would go quickly. The usual punters attempted flirting with as they always did- as much as she tried, she tried to flirt back. But the smell of alcohol was making her feel instantly ill. Bending down, she discreetly puked up in the bucket on the floor.

“Hello, can I have a scotch please.”

“I’ll be one minute...” Wiping her mouth, she placed some gum in her mouth as she slowly stood up.

“Bertrand?”

“Hello, stranger.” Wiping his finger along the bar, he looked disgusted viewing all the dust and the sticky residue stuck on his finger like super glue. He was shocked to see her behind the bar, when she first arrived back in New York City- he was horrified when Maxwell blurted out that she was a stripper.

“What are you doing here?”

“It’s a free country.. I’m just checking that you are okay. You don’t look okay- you look as white as a sheet. You haven’t spoken to anyone - we were all concerned about you.”

“I’m fine, shouldn’t you be with Savannah? Congratulations by the way, how is the little bundle of joy?” Providing him with the drink, she explained that it was on the house to congratulate him on becoming a father- as well as ‘wetting the baby’s head’. She knew that this day was coming, but it still hurt knowing the day that their baby arrived could have been the day that she was holding her own bundle of joy.

“He’s amazing. We are having a get together tomorrow night, you should come and meet Bartie.”

“I might do, it depends if I can get time off work or not.” He’s going to be there. Covering her mouth, that all familiar taste made its way back in to her mouth.

“Are you pregnant?”

“No, don’t be fucking stupid...” fuck. I could be. Horror was soon written all over her face, of course Bertrand would assume this- Savannah was pregnant and had morning sickness, so he was now an expert knowing the symptoms.

“I ate seafood last night, I don’t think it’s agreed with my stomach...”

“Or maybe that little rendezvous you had in Times Square has had some consequences...” Perking his eyebrows up, he knew she was in denial- if she was indeed pregnant, he knew that she wouldn’t be alone- she would have support from everyone.

“How do you know about that?” Shaking his head, everyone knew. Due to the man explaining what had happened and him being concerned as she ran off and had ignored him ever since.

“He’s worried about you, he asked if anyone had spoken to you. What is it with you and hotel rooms?” He laughed attempting to make the situation a joke rather than it being a serious matter.

“You know me B. Whenever Liam had conferences with his father, I’d stay in the hotel room with him. Leo, in Florida- when he found me. Maxwell when we all got drunk in Vegas. And Drake, the hotel before we arrived at the ranch the following day..”

“Well we are meeting tomorrow at the Hilton, midtown. Who’s next on your hotel fuck list? You could use tomorrow as an opportunity.” See her frown at him, he laughed. “I’m joking! Thank you for the drink, Ri. I hope you can attend.”

*****

The sickness had deteriorated the day after, feeling relieved she was sure it was due to the food. Getting ready to go to hotel, she was a bag of nerves. Deep down she didn’t want to go- however as Bertrand said they were practically family years ago.

Arriving at the Hilton, she was greeting by a waiter who gave her a champagne flute. Gulping it in one, it would give her dutch courage that she most likely would need to survive the whole event. Scrutinising the room, she saw everyone- as well as Drake’s family. Fuck, I forgot about them. Just breathe, Riley. Bertrand noticed her stood vacant at the threshold. Carrying Bartie over towards her, she placed a fake smile onto her face.

“Bartie, this is Auntie Riley...” Riley placed her finger into the newborns open hand- his tiny fingers wrapped around her immediately with a tight grip.

“Hey, gorgeous... aw Bertrand he’s adorable.”

“Do you want to hold him?” Riley nodded, holding the newborn- she was in love immediately. Bartie began to panic, possibly sensing that his mother and father wasn’t present and that he was in a strangers arms. Natural instinct made her coo at Bartie, before singing him a lullaby. Whilst singing- she placed the baby's head in the crook of one arm and wrapped the other arm around him- she was scared of dropping or breaking him.

“You’re a natural...are you still up for those babysitting duties?” He said with an encouraging tone of voice. Looking up at him, she smiled softly.

“Of course I’ll babysit him. No B, I’m not a natural- I’m a woman. He probably just thinks that my breasts are Savannah’s. Although if you carry on drinking beer, you could grow some man boobs...”

“I’d usually be offended with your sarcasm, but it’s good to see you smile.”

“He’s so gorgeous isn’t he? Hello, Riley.” Shifting her gaze from Bartie, she looked up at the woman. The woman who could win so many oscars with her fake attitude.

“Hello, Mrs Walker. Erm - Bertrand, I think he’s hungry- he’s getting far too close to my breasts..” Bertrand bend down to collect his son, he knew that this was probably just an excuse to remove herself from Bianca’s presence.

“Can you stop following me please...”

“I just want to say sorry for everything I did to you in Texas. Bertrand has explained about your true personality and you sound like a really nice person. I feel awful for the way we treat you...”

“I loved your son, I just wanted to make a good impression. At the time, I’d actually given up work. Who told you that I was a prostitute? That question has been lingering in my mind this whole time...”

“Liam Rhys...” Of course, it was him. That slimy bastard. “Did he give you that money?”

“No, it was from Kiara’s father.” Sighing, she really didn’t want that name to be mentioned, it was just a reminder of more heartache that she had received.

“Thank you. See you around.”

“Riley, wait!” Rolling her eyes back, she couldn’t be bothered with anymore of Bianca’s games. Not quite believing her new sincere attitude, she wanted to keep a distance- a long distance away from the woman.

“I’m so sorry about the baby...” holding her tears back, she began to struggle concealing the emotions. “You are a natural as Bertrand said, I do apologise again.”

“I’d have had our baby by now, imagine if I did. You hated me before you even got to know me. What would you have been like with your grandchild? Ignored it because you had a vendetta against its mother? Please, don’t try and talk to me again Mrs Walker...”

****

Seeing him smirking and laughing with people, the tears that she held back were now non existent. Instead anger built up throughout her body. Just the sight of him made her feel physically sick, him acting as if he had done nothing wrong. Storming through the crowd towards him, his eyes widened seeing her face like thunder.

“Liam! A word now!”

“Riley, it’s nice to see you...” swinging her fist back- this had become her new hobby especially with Liam. The scotch that he was holding was soon all over the floor- as the glass shattered the room went mute.

“How could you do that to me?” The tears that she had held in soon resurfaced and fell down her face, as her chin began to tremble she was unable to prevent all of the emotions bursting out.

“Do what?” Coming closer towards her, he wiped the wetness that was smudging her make up- not that she cared in the slightest.

“I dropped the charges, you avoided punishments because of my stupid goddamn heart. I went for lunch with you. I thought we had closure. Then I find out that you was the reason behind the Walkers hating me!”

“You went for lunch with him?” Leo walked over with Maxwell and Drake, concerned overhearing the shouting. “What have you done now?”

“He told Drake’s family that I was a fucking goddamn prostitute..”

“Ri, that was before I saw you in Starbucks and we went for lunch. I felt awful for doing that, but he is engaged anyway... we put all that behind us. We had closure...” Smirking at Drake, Riley was too emotional to realise this- Liam knew it would get under his skin that he went for lunch with her. Hoping that this little ‘confession’ would fill Drake with jealousy and rage.

“I am not fucking engaged!”

“Does it fucking matter who’s engaged or not? Does it matter what I fucking do for a living? Why can’t you all just let me live my life? I was thinking about your daughter in all of this Liam, and all you do is fucking screw me over.. continue to fucking break my heart...”

“I’m sorry. I am grateful for you thinking about Alice. Have you made a decision about the offer that I offered you all those weeks ago in Times Square?”

“Go to hell, Liam.”

*****

Maxwell followed Riley, out of all the friends he believed that he was the closest to her- the one who’s daft antics would make her smile instantly.

“Are you okay?” Knowing this was an idiotic question to ask, he didn’t know why he asked her- grabbing the ice out of his cocktail, he rubbed it against swollen hand.

“Yeah.. my hands killing though...”

“You really should quit the bar work and become a professional boxer.” Max pretended to throw some punches towards her.

“Me the professional boxer and you the professional dancer. You totally showed off in front of all those dancers in Times Square.” Doing a re-enactment Of his dance moves from that night, she threw her back laughing.

“Of course I would, they were all amateurs... when Maxwell Beaumont is around no one has a chance... so what do you think about Bartie? Is he a Beaumont or a Walker?”

“Definitely a Walker looks wise, but that can change. Hopefully he takes after his uncle’s rather than his serious father.” Impersonating Bertrand, Maxwell nearly fell over laughing. Pulling her into a hug, he held her tightly- he had missed her.

“What are you laughing about?” Leo asked, as he is put his arms around Riley’s waist and kissed her on the cheek.

“Ask Riley to show you her impression of Bertrand... I’m going to steal a cuddle from my nephew- I need to win the best uncle award.”

“How are you? I’ve missed you.”

“I’m fine, I’ve missed you too. How are you?”

“I’m good. It’s good to see you. Even when you are acting like the hulk...”

“He deserves it... what is he even doing here?”

“He paid for the venue, as usual. But I had my little input...”

“The flower arrangements?”

“How did you guess?”

“Well when you bought me flowers, they were beautiful.”

“I should become a florist? A beautiful bouquet for a beautiful girl. You deserve it. Love ya Ri.”

“Charmer... love ya too.”

****

Leo had left her alone, walking towards the bar, she ordered a drink- staring vacantly into it, she wasn’t sure why she was even here still. Drowning her sorrows, she felt like she was back at the Crowne plaza- the drinks were disappearing far too quickly.

“Hey.”

“Hi.”

“I’m sorry about what Liam did, as well as my family...”

“Don’t be. Congratulations on becoming a uncle.” Ordering him a drink, their hands touched as they both went to pay the bar man- the warmth of the touch lingered around their bodies. Quickly creating a distance again, Drake was desperate to pull her into his arms- but decided against it, especially with the mood she was in.

“Thanks. He’s amazing. I can’t wait to teach him a few things. I saw you holding him before, you’re a natural.” That could have been us, you holding our baby.

“I’ve already been told.” That could have been us. You talking about teaching our son or daughter about things.

“Don’t be drinking me under the table again, you know how one drink turns into two then into three before you know it. You don’t want a stinking hangover.”

“You know I can handle my hangovers. You don’t need to worry about my head.”

“I worry about you. I care about you. I love you.” Opening her mouth, she wanted to talk to Drake- civilly, but didn’t know where to start.

“Come on you two, B and Savannah are about to make an announcement...” Maxwell dragged the two of them towards the mini stage. Riley could feel Drakes eyes on her more than the star of the show, his own nephew.

“Riley, before the speech begins I want a private word with you. Savannah will talk and talk - so quick, follow me.” Following Bertrand, He led her to the bathroom- shutting the door, she was confused by his actions- until realisation sunk in as he pulled the object out of his pocket.

“Here, I think you should take this.”

“I’m not pregnant B. It was the seafood.”

“You looked like shit last night. Please.” Taking the test, she knew it would shut him up. Not knowing why he was insisting that she took a test. Peeing on the stick, she hid it in her bag wrapped around some tissue. Re-entering the room, Savannah gestured for Bertrand to join her on stage.

“Sorry for arriving late, I apologise if I repeat anything that has already been said. I’d like to thank you all for coming here today, our friends and family- we appreciate all the support....” the alarm went off on Riley’s phone, panicking that she was disturbing the speech- her hand was shaking as she tried to cancel it. Bertrand looked at her, knowing what the alarm was. Riley swiftly removed herself from the crowd, turning her back- she looked at the result. Covering her mouth, she wished that she had kept her legs closed- turning around she couldn’t look at the father instead she just nodded towards Bertrand hoping that he would understand the gesture. Clearing his throat, he quickly finished off his disastrous speech, knowing that she needed his support especially due to him forcing it upon her.

“Anyway, thank you for all the gifts. Thank you. Thanks...” Running off stage he followed Riley who was lingering at the door- still in shock. Still not knowing how to handle the situation.

“Was I correct?”

“I need to go. I didn’t get Bartie a present I wasn’t sure what he needed. Here, just take this money and get whatever you need. Thank you for inviting me.”

Bertrand, I need your assistance. Savannah shouted attempting to gain his attention- realising that he wasn’t aware that everyone was overhearing his conversation with Riley through the microphone.

I’ll only be a second Savannah, darling.

“Riley!”

“What?”

“Tell me... I am always here for you... you are like my little sister.” Passing him the test, she didn’t care if he was touching something that had her urine smeared all over it.

“I’m pregnant. Happy?” Savannah’s eyes widened, as everyone else’s did as they all turned to face the people who were oblivious that their conversation wasn’t private and was in fact public.

“Darling... you left the microphone on. We heard everything...”

“Bertrand! You fucking dipshit....” still in shock with the result - possibly denial, she just wanted leave. This whole event had been a disaster from her point of view. As the father walked over to her, along with the others- she looked at each of the men. Fuck. This is not happening. He will want to keep the baby. Can I trust him?

“Is the baby mine? Is Alice having a sibling?”

#trr #trr fanfic #trr au one temptation #riley brooks #liam rhys #drake walker #leo rhys #maxwell beaumont #riley x drake #riley x liam #riley x leo #riley x maxwell #bertrand beaumont #savannah walker #bianca walker

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ehentha · 6 years ago

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Maldives Twitter VS Francesca Borri

Imagine getting harrassed on twitter by a bunch of people you claimed didn’t know english or have smart phones 😂

— ‎ބ̸̤̯̍̏ު̵̩͔̬͑͝ރ̴̢̝͓̅ަ̶̜̌͊ކ̴̱̮̚ަ̶̹̱̥̽ށ̸̘͒ި̵̻̘̍̆͗❓🎈 (@Burakashi) January 27, 2019

*smartphone 😫🔫

The Maldives is one of the most oppressive countries in the world. It has a constitution that makes the lives of non-Muslim and LGBT Maldivians illegal. This makes life incredibly difficult for any progressive Muslims that want to bring about reforms as well as saying anything against extremist sheikhs will get you labled an apostate. Progressive Muslims like @moyameehaa (Ahmed Rizwan / Rilwan) and @yaamyn (Yameen Rasheed) who have spoken out for Maldivian minorities, progressive Islam, and secularism have been taken away from us. Sheikhs are not safe either, as one of the only moderately progressive sheikhs, Afrasheem Ali, was also brutally murdered in 2012.

First they came for the bloggers, and I did not speak out Because I was not a blogger. Then they came for irreligious, and I did not speak out Because I was not laadheenee. Then they came for me and there was no one left to speak for me.

— Mohamed Shuraih (@MohamedShuraih) January 27, 2019

The greatest battlefield in the war for the hearts and minds of Maldivians is the internet. Bloggers like Hilath Rasheed have been the targets of escalating campaigns of harassment and death threats. In 2012, Hilath himself barely survived his neck being slashed. This was after years of attacks against people deemed laadheenee.

Maldivian extremists have used the internet for their terror and propaganda activities. One of the earliest Maldivian extremist groups, of which Rilwan was an ex-member, called “dot” or “dotu” literally got it’s name from “dot com”. Right now there are dozens of terrorist recruitment facebook and twitter pages, telegram, whatsapp, and viber groups, and websites brainwashing Maldivians with extremist propaganda.

He made a list of “dhivehi kaafarun”. We reported his account and now he’s changed the name to “Dhivehi atheists”. But here is proof of the original name https://t.co/WvbfkKbMp1

— ‎ބ̸̤̯̍̏ު̵̩͔̬͑͝ރ̴̢̝͓̅ަ̶̜̌͊ކ̴̱̮̚ަ̶̹̱̥̽ށ̸̘͒ި̵̻̘̍̆͗❓🎈 (@Burakashi) June 16, 2018

Their latest efforts including making a list of Dhivehi Kaafarun (Maldivian infidels) on twitter (which twitter support refused to remove, the account is still active), and a telegram group called “MV Murtad Watch” (Maldives apostate watch). This has also not been removed despite even making the local news.

Maldivian extremists are free to spread hate on the internet. Especially if they use Dhivehi, a language that cannot be automatically translated. This means that the support staff of these platforms often don’t even know how to recognise hate and fear speech when it is written in Dhivehi.

Murtad Watch MV is still active on @telegram. They claim to not be making death threats.But they state multiple times the verdict for apostasy is death. After which they list pictures, names & personal info of alleged apostates. Calling stoning cruel is enough to get labeled one. pic.twitter.com/hqcOXAI0fb

— ‎ބ̸̤̯̍̏ު̵̩͔̬͑͝ރ̴̢̝͓̅ަ̶̜̌͊ކ̴̱̮̚ަ̶̹̱̥̽ށ̸̘͒ި̵̻̘̍̆͗❓🎈 (@Burakashi) January 27, 2019

murtad watch is like "these people are apostates & apostates should be killed. here are their personal info. BY THE WAY THIS IS NOT A THREAT" that's a death threat. why would police do anything? when these groups commit murder police's job has always been to cover up the murder

— 🎈Thihen Vany (@basneyheemaa) January 27, 2019

I hope I have set the scene for you. An intolerant constitution that outright bans thinking and freedom of conscience. Extremists getting away with murder, and using technology as a means of oppression in a highly connected and tech literate society while the multi-million dollar companies that run them turn a blind eye.

It’s so fucking insulting that Maldivians have to fear for their lives because of goddamn @telegram groups, but meanwhile there’s western experts writing books claiming we go gaga at the sight of an iPhone. I wish these terrorists didn’t use phones, would make our lives easier 🤬

— ‎ބ̸̤̯̍̏ު̵̩͔̬͑͝ރ̴̢̝͓̅ަ̶̜̌͊ކ̴̱̮̚ަ̶̹̱̥̽ށ̸̘͒ި̵̻̘̍̆͗❓🎈 (@Burakashi) January 27, 2019

#NowReading Destination Paradise - Among the jihadists of the Maldives pic.twitter.com/6y4E5BYQf5

— Nash (@NashNasheed) January 21, 2019

Enter Francesca Borri with the radical insight that there is only one bookstore in Male’, all the while seeming to imply that most Maldivians don’t know English.

This book was published in 2017. It is factually incorrect. There’s only an Islamic bookstore? 🤦🏻‍♀️ This author is delusional. pic.twitter.com/ngPcG5yRhY

— Nash (@NashNasheed) January 26, 2019

And that there is no local cuisine.

Page 39. “I think that the Maldives are the only country in the world where there is no local cuisine”. Okay. Now this is going too far 😡

— Nash (@NashNasheed) January 26, 2019

And that Maldivians are amazed by smartphones.

Page 53. “A text arrives and my phone lights up... there’s an ooh of general amazement because it’s an iphone and no one has ever seen an iphone here”. 🤦🏻‍♀️ Seriously @francescaborri? Starting to doubt that you were even in Male’. Btw. Tweet sent from my iphone.

— Nash (@NashNasheed) January 26, 2019

“While the rest of the world watched the Olympics, in the Maldives most people watched the battle of Aleppo. And rooted for al-Qaeda”. What? Which channel on medianet was the battle of Aleppo broadcasted on? pic.twitter.com/wSaOPpQKRR

— Nash (@NashNasheed) January 21, 2019

But perhaps most insulting is the fact that we’d give a damn about the Olympics when we could be watching football. Also how the heck do you reckon people cut up the “Battle of Aleppo” for broadcast television? Do you think they had an HBO style miniseries?

Hey @francescaborri what medieval technology do you think this Maldivian terrorist group used to post this to Facebook? A 🥥 ? Can you help decipher the strange language they’ve used to threaten my life? I’m sending this via economy pigeon. May it reach you safely. Pls send halp. pic.twitter.com/wNvYbd06kZ

— ‎ބ̸̤̯̍̏ު̵̩͔̬͑͝ރ̴̢̝͓̅ަ̶̜̌͊ކ̴̱̮̚ަ̶̹̱̥̽ށ̸̘͒ި̵̻̘̍̆͗❓🎈 (@Burakashi) January 27, 2019

You get the picture. A hastily strung together piece of orientalist trash that makes the situation worse for people suffering because of Maldivian extremists. The last thing progressive Muslim, non-Muslim, and LGBT Maldivians need is more misinformation out there. Especially not from someone with a savior complex.

How can you trust anything written in this book when it features so many blatant fabrications? Fabrications deliberately worded to make Maldivians sound like backwards people rife with extremism who can’t read and are technology inept.

98% of our population had internet access five years ago. We have one of the highest tech proliferation and device per capita stats in the world. This isn't lazy research, this is outright malicious https://t.co/slgUtYcoYe

— Naailu🎈 (@kudanai) January 27, 2019

Well I’ll have you know us Maldivians are backwards people who are incredibly tech literate. And we can read too, to the shock of the author who is currently at the receiving end of the wrath of Maldives twitter.

Finally in bookstores. pic.twitter.com/ujRIg867gI

— francesca borri (@francescaborri) November 13, 2018

Here are some of the funniest and most insightful tweets directed at this latest savior who thought they could turn a profit on the suffering of the global south. These are the words of Maldivians speaking about their own country. Listen to them.

Lmao loving how conservatives and liberals are uniting against the mostly false portrayal of our country by @francescaborri . Nobody can trash-talk Maldivians except us amirite? 🇲🇻

— 🎈Nora Nazeer ✨ (@NoraNazeer) January 27, 2019

When western "journalists" parachute in to a South Asian country and assume they know everything and that they are always right. A Frenchman, who did the same, told me after visiting Maldives that Borri "took a lot of liberty" when writing her book. As in, she made up stories. https://t.co/wnBPUZgoi1

— Junayd 🇲🇻 (@mjunayd) January 27, 2019

But you could see how it perpetuates an idea of Maldivians that’s quite patronizing, even to the extent of orientalism, right? I mean, I do agree that extremism is at a critical stage here, but surely that could have been said without this inaccurate depiction of the rest?

— Aryj (@Arrryj) January 27, 2019

So tell me, how did you come up with this shit? 👎🏻👎🏻👎🏻 I graduated in an IGSE Cambridge examination back in 2008...from my island. Got an A in English. Even starting primary school, I had access to books from authors like Enid Blyton, R.L Stein and Louis Cooper... 🤦🏼‍♀️

— ShinyShine (@ShinyShine18) January 27, 2019

Might want search Google Maps for "bookshop" next time. This book is a blatant lie at this point. Even given the benefits of the doubt, this book falls short of acceptable. Tldr: Riddled with lies for dramatic purposes. pic.twitter.com/TXycTvAzqC

— A. A. Nawaz 🎈❓ (@aanawazu) January 27, 2019

When someone from the global north decides to do a book about one of the smallest countries in the global south without much research and one that won't easily be scrutinised for the factual inaccuracies, with sweeping generalisations, this happens. Awesome thread btw https://t.co/0TKA9KmHV4

— Ahmed Tholal🎈 (@Tholman_79) January 27, 2019

Whats an iPhone? Im tweeting on my iCoconut https://t.co/RPYxQKUFDR

— Faafa🎈 (@psychofart) January 27, 2019

Actually it’s Dhonmeeha: *whips out iPhone 6S* Mordis meeha : *whips out iPhone XS Max, iPad Pro, the New Mac book Air DJI Mavic pro, DJI Osmo and 2 GoPro Hero* https://t.co/nK3ux1I7VZ

— Simbro (@aachym) January 27, 2019

(“Dhon meehaa” literally means “fair skinned person”. It is the word used by Maldivians for “white people”. And it’s true, turn a Maldivian upside down and shake them little. The contents of an Apple Store will fall out).

the "worst parts" in the book are absolute lies. are we as maldivians not entitled to be upset over them? ignore them and move along? these are "facts" written by a "journalist" in a published book. https://t.co/2mFKGEw7hn

— ˗ˏˋ 𝑅𝒾𝒻𝑔𝒶 ˎˊ˗ (@MRifgaR) January 27, 2019

for the record i'm still a bit confused about your reviews @dbosley80 but ok. at least you made it clear that you don't recommend this book by @francescaborri pic.twitter.com/DUpatyXurX

— ˗ˏˋ 𝑅𝒾𝒻𝑔𝒶 ˎˊ˗ (@MRifgaR) January 27, 2019

Love it when white people feel the need to exaggerate and look down on an entire country and reduce their entire culture and history to what they came across in a day or two lol. pic.twitter.com/olIe8jDGoj

— Alhaaves NulaaFA (@ShafaRameez) January 27, 2019

I think the verdict of this would end up like, i condemn thee @francescaborri to 1 year of internship at Divehi Bahuge Academy 😅 so that by the time she's done there she can translate this godforsaken book to Divehi so us natives could actually learn about ourselves

— Aishath Ibahath (@AishathIbahath) January 27, 2019

Just had garudhiya, baiy, theluli faiy and theluli mas. The height of Italian cuisine!

— Junayd 🇲🇻 (@mjunayd) January 27, 2019

In Maldives we have no local cuisine to the point that when we attempted to make that shit, we sucked so much that we left it to cook for days and that is how we had rihaakuru and now we just eat that

— thikujja stan account (@ahunafu) January 27, 2019

If @francescaborri did her research properly she'd know about the dissent against extremists from Maldivians. Specially in our twitter community. I for one didn't applaud them as heroes. https://t.co/358lReKjMq

— 🎈Nora Nazeer ✨ (@NoraNazeer) January 27, 2019

At the end of the picture that sentence, is that saying the minority that speak English is rich and WHITE????

— Sharlight❓🎈 (@sjaufar) January 27, 2019

Shame these important interviews are in an a book with so many lies in it @francescaborri https://t.co/GeHpH5BU0m

— amani naseem 🎈 (@amaninaseem) January 27, 2019

Francesca Borri Vaguthu 🤝 Jaanalizam

— Threefish 🎈❓ (@three3fish) January 27, 2019

(vaguthu [“time” lol] is a Maldivian tabloid rag that primarily posts moral panic inducing “journalism” about Maldivian minorities).

Maldives has no local cuisine?!? I wasn't bothered when the author called us all extremists cause that's just typical white people racist fear mongering but NO LOCAL CUISINE?? Ive half a mind to make a thread about local cuisine & tag the author in it. https://t.co/QrpE3QPBcP

— Faafa🎈 (@psychofart) January 27, 2019

just because I am so offended I am going to write my whole masters thesis on Maldivian food

— Malsa Maaz (@malsamaaz) January 27, 2019

So fiction writers, here's a heads up. @7StoriesPress are very fond of fiction, specially investigative parody works. Ask franny @francescaborri she had the easiest of rides with that "Maldives in a Parallel Universe" work she did.

— Naif Naeem (@nAAYf) January 27, 2019

People like @francescaborri is what is wrong in the literary world, creating fake news with half truths to earn a buck. And also publishers, bookstores etc who support to push this garbage onto mainstream. Shame. https://t.co/Vi53939fLG

— p3st (@p3st) January 27, 2019

I read what was available on google because I’m not going to give a racist money - and yes, @francescaborri you’re racist.

— くたばれ🎈 (@hoshiyoshii) January 27, 2019

I’m tweeting from my iphone while I’m eating ‘Rihaakuru ‘ u know.., local cuisine. 😎 After finishing my food, I’m going to the ‘book store’ next to my house with English Arabic n international language books. 🖕🏼that’s for u 😉

— Jen (@jennasym) January 27, 2019

Hello uncultured jihadi Maldivians without bookstores tweeting using rocks and smoke signals or whatever, If you have a moment, please do send a messenger pigeon with your thoughts about @francescaborri’s book to google DOT com review What’s what? Click https://t.co/822PDLTTgR https://t.co/uR1UpoAFkm

— insaan🎈❔ (@pikomonster) January 27, 2019

people are saying @francescaborri makes sense despite exaggerating some stuff. but i think her “exaggerations” demonstrate an extremely skewed, clearly orientalist perspective which entirely rescinds her entire narrative. she lacks any coherent context. what a silly woman

— xiena saeed 🎈 (@dorinbakedbeans) January 27, 2019

Thanks @francescaborri. The roasting you're receiving is really entertaining. The tweets coming from iPhones are especially tasty. Almost as tasty as our cuisine, and now I'm craving some rihaakuru dhiya. Ta Ta, gonna go have some while I keep up with this roasting.

— Nomura-sama has slain Nabith (@nabithahmed) January 27, 2019

What an ignorant writer @francescaborri is! Our school system is based on the English language since decades ago—almost every Maldivian can converse in English. Many physical+online bookstores in Male. I own an iPhone. Tweet at me and I will send you recipe for Rihaakuru Dhiya https://t.co/TA773n5PgQ

— Maahil🌺❤️🍃 (@MaahilMohamed) January 27, 2019

How long was the research period to write this book? 😂 #localtweetingfromiphone

— Azza Rushdy (@UGLY_Y) January 27, 2019

Its from a parallel dimension...on Earth 51, maldives is like that 🤪 tuna has run out of the oceans and no more rihaakuru and palms sold to dubai hence no coconut for mashuni...

— p3st (@p3st) January 27, 2019

Your portrayal of maldives as backwards and having little or no indentity of its own (except the one you try so hard to force on your readers) is proof that you wrote this on hearsay and some internet research done whilst sitting on your ass at home.

— Ahusan (aka.Jack / Pusheen) (@awhosun) January 27, 2019

Hi @francescaborri, there are about 4 main bookstores with multiple outlets in Malé and many independent ones that stock many titles in English. This tweet was kindly translated to English by a member of the minority and sent from my garudhiya baiythashi. https://t.co/iSloEziYl1

— 🌞 (@izznzz) January 27, 2019

According to the author Maldives is the only country in the world with no local cuisine. So @francescaborri should I stop researching for my PhD on, guess what, LOCAL MALDIVIAN CUISINE? Shameful. https://t.co/7gntvUeCeV

— Mo S. (@moshen81) January 27, 2019

We have many qualified people capable of producing an accurate assessment of radicalisation in Raajje that @francescaborri so spectacularly failed at. If one good thing comes of this, can it be that? Or is it only the dhon meehaa who can talk abt it w/out fearing for their lives?

— Azka (@Azka__Anees) January 27, 2019

Nothing brings Maldivians together like a good roast.

Thank you @francescaborri. It's really nice to see you get roasted by a whole country, everyone together.

— Emaz (@emaaaz) January 27, 2019

#twitter

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ragehappysecretsanta · 7 years ago

Text

Author: https://redvsvblue.tumblr.com

Recipient: http://aleksandr-is-probably-gay.tumblr.com

Summary: Ryan, do you want to - “...go for dinner sometime?” (Reader/Ryan Haywood)

Warnings: NSFW

Word Count: 4,215

Okay.

This is it.

Fuck it, you can perfectly well ask a guy out.

Totally.

You glance over at Ryan again and something inside you drops out – you bite your lip and look away just as he looks up at you and internally you kind of want to bang your head against a wall. It feels awkward, but maybe that’s just because you’re the only two people in the office kitchen and you haven’t said anything since Ryan walked in – unusual, yes, but you’re not sure you trust your voice with even a simple greeting yet.

“You usin’ that?” He asks, pointing to the condiments tray. You mutely shake your head and step back to let him use it, cradling your cup of coffee in your hands and wondering if he would even say yes. Hoping he would.

You get on well with him – really well. And he seems to like you, too, always sitting next to you at lunch or at least inviting you if no one else does, and you can’t help but think that maybe your easy interactions could be, well, something more. You’re not really sure how Ryan Haywood flirts but you’re pretty sure you’ve been flirting back and – oh shit, Ryan’s staring at you now and shit, did he just say something?

“What?” You ask, your eyebrows flying up.

“I said are you okay? You seem – spaced out,” He explains, waving a hand in the air.

“Yeah, no, yeah, I’m just...tired,” you say, flashing him a smile before sipping your coffee. Ryan glances around the empty kitchen and steps over to lean against the counter beside you, setting his mug down.

You should do it.

Now.

Any fucking moment.

Just fucking say it.

Ryan, do you want to -

“...go for dinner sometime?”

You freeze like a deer in headlights and Ryan coughs nervously, looking back down at his mug.

“What?” You ask, your voice quiet with shock.

“No, no, nevermind,” he mumbles, pointedly avoiding your gaze. “It’s nothing.”

“No, wait, what did you say?” You insist, turning to face him head-on. He lifts one shoulder in a half-shrug.

“I thought maybe – you’d want to...go to dinner sometime? With me?”

Okay, well.

Holy fucking shit he’s actually asking you out. Holy fucking – you should probably answer before he decides it’s a no, but you need a moment to actually fucking process that Ryan goddamn Haywood is asking you out.

“Don’t have to,” Ryan mutters, and that’s when you realise you’ve spent too long not answering, staring wide-eyed at him.

“Yes,” you blurt out, wincing at how eager it seems. “Yeah, no, I’d – I’d like that.”

“You would?” He seems – surprised, almost, like you’ve just flipped his world over, and you just nod again. “Does – Friday work?”

Friday. Two days.

“Yeah.”

Ryan relaxes a little and picks up his mug, swirling the liquid before drinking some. You scoot closer to him – closer than normal, and he only smiles at you and shifts the mug to his other hand.

“You seen the new Aliens yet?” You ask. He raises an eyebrow.

“No, why?”

“Well, y’know.” A shrug. “Dinner and a film. Classic combination.”

Ryan’s eyes crinkle in the corners with his warm grin.

“It’s a date,” he says.

Ryan picks you up at home half an hour before the film starts – even walks up to your door after texting you that he’s here and knocks. It startles you out of fixing your hair and you try a grin in the hall mirror, tucking a stray strand behind your ear again before grabbing your bag and heading to the door. When you open it with a pleasant smile, Ryan’s already fiddling with his cuffs, glancing nervously up at you before tucking his hands into the pockets and smiling back.

“Hey,” you say, looking him over.

“Hey yourself,” he replies, leaning against the doorframe. “You look beautiful.”

“Not so bad yourself,” you tease. “Give us a twirl.”

Ryan rolls his eyes and you laugh – he obliges, shuffling around in a circle and raising an eyebrow at you when you’re done.

“Do I pass?” He asks. You purse your lips in hard, scrutinising thought for a moment before giving him a decisive nod and pulling your door shut behind you.

“So, lead the way?” You laugh, offering your arm up – Ryan takes it easily, fondly rolling his eyes as he leads you down to his car – even opens the door and gestures to the empty seat with a flourish, one eyebrow cocked and his smile entirely too playful.

He shuts the door with a gentle thump and you take a moment to calm your nerves before buckling in – at the same time, Ryan slides into the driver’s seat and clicks his belt on, grinning at you before turning the key.

“So, where’s the plot picking up from?” He asks as he starts the car.

“All right, so, you remember the first film?”

Traffic delays you a little but that just means the condiments stalls are near-empty and the popcorn is fresh and hot from the machine – you get a bucket and a couple drinks and Ryan insists on paying even though you’ve already got your wallet out.

“You can cover dinner,” he teases as you’re walking to the theatre with your armful of buttery popcorn.

“Oh, sure, let me get the expensive part,” you joke dryly, nudging his elbow.

“That’s the plan,” Ryan says before tugging open the theatre door, stepping back to usher you in with a quiet laugh.

You find a couple of empty seats during the last of the previews, giggling quietly when you both trip over the same step and popcorn spills out over your fingers – Ryan takes your elbow and guides you into the row and you both fumbles your way into the seats, tugging the arm down between you to balance the popcorn and use the cupholder.

Ryan makes an immediate dive for the popcorn and you fight playfully for a few minutes until the film starts, and then Ryan catches your hand in the tub and links your fingers together and you’re too tongue-tied to respond. You glance over to see him looking nervously at you, a faint flush dusting his cheeks in the low light of the theatre, but when you squeeze his hand he smiles and squeezes back.

Halfway through, when the popcorn tub is sitting empty by your feet and your hands are sitting on the armrest, you disentangle your hand to yawn and stretch and oh-so-casually lay it over his shoulders – you both break into laughter moments later and Ryan shoves the armrest up so he can wrap an arm around your middle and tug you a little closer.

And it’s so nice there, Ryan pressed up warmly to your side and his fingers curled gently around your side, that you almost can’t help the happy little sigh that escapes your lips when you lean back.

“God, I’m full of popcorn,” you whine as you leave the theatre, dramatically leaning against Ryan’s shoulder and laughing when it shakes underneath you.

“I never expected to hear that as a complaint,” Ryan teases, easily wrapping an arm around your waist. You elbow his ribs and he laughs brightly, squeezing your middle as he steers you towards the doors.

“So, where are we going?” He asks as he pushes it open, gesturing for you to step forward. The warm night air breezes gently over your face and disturbs your hair – you brush it back with a hand as you flash Ryan a playful smile.

“Aw, I have to choose?”

“Well, it was your idea,” Ryan replies. “Only right that you choose.” He tucks his hands into his pockets, rocking idly on his toes as you think.

“How’d you feel about burgers?” You ask a minute later, cocking an eyebrow.

“I feel...amazing about them.”

“Even cheesy diner ones?”

“Especially cheesy diner ones.”

Dinner is, indeed, overly cheesy diner burgers and greasy chips, and it’s the best first date you could have asked for.

You’re tucked into a booth at the back, trading sips of each other’s milkshakes and stealing each other’s chips – even though you have the same order, Ryan points out in the middle of nabbing your fry – as you laugh and talk and talk and cover almost everything under the sun.

“I’m telling you, I’m telling you, next time there’s a storm,” Ryan says, swiping his chip through ketchup.

“No way,” you scoff. “There’s no way.”

“It does!”

“Ryan, there’s no way – that’s not even how rain works!”

Ryan chuckles and his eyes sparkle with mirth when they meet yours and you ignore your skipped heartbeat to -

“You liar!”

Ryan only breaks down into more laughter as you dramatically lean back against the booth and gesture vaguely to an invisible audience.

“I – I - ” you give up and just toss your hands in the air, mock-glaring at Ryan as he smugly sucks on his straw.

“I hate you,” you declare.

“I had you for a moment,” he teases. You squint harder and he leans forward to touch your nose with a fry.

“Fuck you,” you says before you go to catch the chip with your teeth, relaxing when Ryan lets you have it.

“Remind me why I agreed to this,” you mumble around potato, leaning forward again to grab your shake.

“Because I’m pretty,” Ryan jokes.

“You’re on thin fucking ice, Haywood.”

Ryan pouts. Your mock-stern expression falters.

“Thin. Ice,” you mutter, fighting back a smile. Ryan breaks into a wide grin and sits back, casually crossing his legs.

“Oh, then you won’t want to hear about the hail, then?”

“No.”

“Because it’s really quite interesting - ”

You sigh into your drink and Ryan bites his tongue to stop his laughter – you collapse into giggles a moment later at the absurdity of the whole night.

“You’re lucky you’re pretty,” you laugh, glancing up to see a faint flush rising on his cheeks, and he lightly kicks your foot under the table.

“I’m lucky I’m here,” he says, his gaze fixed meaningfully on you.

“...tryin’ to be all smooth now?” You tease. He rests his elbows on the table and cocks an eyebrow.

“Is it working?”

“Maybe.” You shrug one shoulder and force yourself to keep the eye contact even though you can feel a fierce blush already spreading up your neck. “Wouldn’t hurt to try again, though.”

You insist on paying for dinner, and when you’re outside afterwards, between diner and car, you notice the pretty swirl of stars painted across the sky, sweeping over your heads like a sprinkling of fairy lights.

“Whoa, look,” you say, halting Ryan with a hand on his wrist, head tipped back to gaze up at them. “Stars.”

Ryan makes a noise of agreement and steps closer, his chest warm against your shoulder. You don’t let go of his wrist. He doesn’t pull away.

“They’re pretty,” he murmurs – you glance over to see him admiring them as well, his eyes tracking over the spread of sparkling dots.

“Yeah,” you breathe, tearing your gaze from the reflection of them in his eyes to the real things. They’re ever so pretty, not blocked by clouds and smog for once, twinkling brightly in the deep blue of night.

“Think there’s any constellations hidden in there?” You ask with a quiet laugh, turning to look back at him and -

And Ryan’s still only inches away and he’s looking at you with something caught between awe and desire in his eyes and if you squint you can see the reflection of the streetlights in them and it knocks all the breath out of your lungs. You turn a little more to face him, the stars above forgotten in favour of the stars in his eyes.

Ryan curls his fingers through yours. Lifts a hesitant hand to hover over your cheek.

You swallow thickly. Shift to press your jaw to his palm.

Ryan worries his bottom lip for a moment. Sucks in a breath. Opens his mouth to speak and nothing comes out. Tries again. Starts something in the softest, quietest voice you’ve ever heard from him.

“Can I - ”

“Yes,” you breathe, and his eyes flick down to your lips and back.

You think for a moment he’s going to waste more words, more starlit seconds, but he just nods ever-so-slightly and closes his eyes and you meet him halfway.

It’s gentle and – firm, and warm and god, you never want to pull away.

His scruff catches against your chin when you tilt your head more – when you sigh quietly through your nose he becomes a little bolder, his thumb skating over your cheek and holding you closer.

He pulls away before you can figure out where to place your hand, and it only takes one beat for your eyes to meet and another for you to curl your fingers around the back of his neck and pull him in for another.

Ryan drives you back and parks in front of your place and – and after quiet, hesitant questions and unhesitant answers, he ends up walking inside with you.

Only minutes later, what starts out as a lull in conversation ends up with his lips on yours and it’s so easy to melt into it, to sink into the sofa and tug him in for more – and he responds so readily, eagerly opening his mouth against yours and planting a hand on your thigh.

“Wow, putting out on the first date?” You tease, chasing it with another addictive kiss that muffles his attempt at a response.

“I’m a cheap date,” he replies eventually, squeezing your thigh. He presses a kiss to your lower lip and his eyes flutter open to meet yours, wide and startlingly blue in the white light of the living room.

“Do you - ” he asks, trailing off with another suggestive squeeze.

“I never start what I can’t finish,” you quip, and he laughs into the next kiss, nodding as his other hand drifts up to your shirt.

You take his hand by the wrist and urge it up under your shirt, smiling at Ryan’s surprised noise as his fingers brush over your bra – a moment later, they’re dipping under the fabric to trace at sensitive skin and you gasp into his mouth, your hand falling away to fist his shirt as he rubs in slow circles around your nipple.

Ryan doesn’t linger around your chest for long, chasing the tingles his fingers send down your body and dragging them down to your jeans, pausing for a moment before unbuttoning and unzipping them – you moan quietly, encouragingly, and he slips his hand into your jeans to press over your underwear, his fingers still cold against your clit even through the fabric, and your little jump makes him chuckle.

“Cold,” you mutter, and he hums thoughtfully.

“Let me fix that,” he says, and curls his fingers so the tips press up into the wet spot you can feel forming there, cold against everything and this time you let out an involuntary little squeak that he cuts off by pushing a knuckle against your clit.

Ryan’s other hand stays warm on the back of your neck and your tongue goes clumsy when he withdraws his hand to slide it down under the panties, two fingers pressing over your clit and rubbing in a slow circles that makes you moan shakily against him. His teeth tug at your lower lip as his other hand skates down to fondle your chest again, easing up under your shirt and the bra to brush the edge of his nail over a nipple. The touch sends a warm shock through you and your hips jolt against his hand – god, you can feel yourself growing wetter, enough for his fingers to slip in it.

“God,” Ryan breathes, breaking the kiss to chase the flush spilling down your throat with his lips – you crack open an eye to see the visible bulge in his jeans, and the knowledge that you’re the cause makes you hot all over in a different way than his fingers, which have definitely warmed up by now.

“Shit,” you pant, shifting to rock up against his hand – Ryan rumbles into your skin and a finger slides down to tap over your hole.

With your nod, it gently pushes in, and just that little bit of stretch is nice, especially paired with the gentle rubs of his other hand. Although at this rate, you’re not going to last long, tension already building in your flexing thighs and behind your navel and Ryan seems to know this, doesn’t waste much time fingering you in favour of grinding against your clit, rubbing in firm, fast circles that have you trembling in no time.

“Fuck – fuck,” you breathe, hips rolling jerkily up into his hand.

“That’s it,” Ryan whispers, planting another kiss on your lips.

You think he might say something else, perhaps your name, but you don’t hear it over the rush of blood in your ears, your quiet moan breaking into a sharper noise as you come, greedily bucking up into his fingers and shuddering at the relentless pleasure that radiates through you, chased by his eager fingers until it sharpens to oversensitivity and you’re trying to escape it, whimpering a little when you push at his wrist.

Ryan obediently slides his hand out, looking entirely too pleased with himself as he wipes his fingers on his shirt and drags you in to crush your lips together, removes his hand from your chest to grasp your shoulder instead.

“Mm, fuck, gonna let me return the favour?” You pant, kissing back as good as you can and boldly reaching over to rest a hand on his abdomen – it jumps with his sudden inhale and your hand sweeps down to his crotch, resting over the very obvious erection trapped under the zipper.

“Don’t have to,” Ryan breathes, breaking the kiss to groan when you squeeze.

“But I want to,” you say. He takes another look at you and nods, his cheeks flushing when you deftly undo the button – the zipper takes a couple tries but when you drag it down he shudders rewardingly and tips his head back against the sofa.

He’s hot under your hand, already making a wet spot in the fabric when you palm him a little – by the way he twitches at just that, he’s already past ready. You decide to take mercy on him, watch how his chest stutters with his breath as you ease down the waistband to take him out, wrapping your hand around his cock and giving him a slow stroke.

“Fuck,” he spits, hips twitching up – you grin and lean in to kiss the underside of his jaw. His throat moves with his swallow and, well, you’re in a good spot to start making hickeys, so you scrape your teeth over his skin and listen to the rumble of his pleased groan in his chest.

Ryan’s unafraid of touching you, now, running a hand through your hair and holding you in place as you bite up another mark halfway down his neck, panting out your name. With his appreciative groan, you stroke a little faster and swipe your palm over the leaking head to smear pre-come down the length, slicking him up before easing into a rhythm that matches the rise and fall of his hips.

“Shit, shit,” he breathes, fucking up faster into your fist and you can feel how close he is just by the twitch of him against your palm, more pre-come beading at the tip and his little choked-off moan when you tap over the slit.

You’d urge him on if you weren’t busy grabbing his chin to turn him to kiss you, messy and off-centre but it doesn’t matter because seconds later he’s moaning openly as he comes over your fist, some of it landing on his shirt but mostly dripping down your knuckles in hot globs.

Ryan whimpers when you try to pull away, so you gladly keep your tongue where it is and work on coaxing out all his little shivers with your hand, stroking until he starts to soften and goes oversensitive and winces at your touch. Still, he shifts to kiss you better, nipping at your lower lip and not making any move to tuck himself in yet.

“Need to wash my hand before this dries, Ryan,” you laugh against his lips, holding your hand carefully away from any clothes.

“Sorry,” Ryan pants, pulling back to glance at your come-slick knuckles. One side of his mouth drags up in a lazy smirk and he playfully leans forward to lick your finger. A startled laugh bubbles out of you and he jokingly pulls a face as he leans back against the sofa.

“Salty,” he says, and you roll your eyes.

“Shocking.”

Ryan chuckles and you let him kiss you anyway – softer, chaster despite what you’ve just done, his lips against yours and his hand resting over your pulse-point.

You’re reluctant to leave but you do, eventually, dropping one last peck on his kiss-swollen lips before you part to go clean yourselves up – you direct him to the guest bathroom and retreat to your own to wash the come off your hand and fix your clothing, quash the thrilled giddiness filling you practically to the brim. You can’t help grinning at yourself in the mirror, at that just happened.

When you emerge again, Ryan’s already in the kitchen, pawing through a cupboard and flashing you a grin when you walk in, an amused smile on your face.

“What are you looking for?” You ask, cocking an eyebrow. “Post-sex snacks? Man, I didn’t think I knocked that much out of you.”

“No,” Ryan agrees with a laugh, his tongue sticking out between his lips as he peers in the cupboard. “Lookin’ for hot chocolate.”

“Oh?”

“Well, I believe you promised TV?” He asks, glancing at you. His smile falls a little. “Unless – oh, uh, unless you wanted me to – leave - “

“No, no, I – I don’t want you to leave,” you say all in a rush, taking a hesitant step closer. “Not, uh, not if you don’t – want to.”

“You sure?” Ryan asks quietly, his fingers twitching against the counter. “Because I can, it’s not – if I made things awkward - “

“I had an amazing time,” you interrupt, closing the distance between you to nudge his shoulder with yours. “I’d – like to continue it. Tonight. If – yeah.”

Ryan nods slowly and swallows audibly, his eyes flicking up to you again.

“I’d love to,” he says quietly. A beat passes and you smile – when he returns it, the tension practically dissipates, melting back into the easy rhythm you’ve been in together all night.

“Hot chocolate’s in this cupboard.”

“ - and anyway, that’s not even how you do that!”

“Well apparently, it’s how they do it!”

“It’s wrong!”

“I mean is there technically a right way to - ”

“Yes! Yes there is! That’s why there’s a manual!”

“Okay, okay, but improv, right?”

“No!”

You break into laughter as Ryan tosses his hands up in exasperation, a smile plastered on his face despite his frustration. The TV got forgotten somewhere along the line and now you’re deep into Ryan’s college past, and you’re almost surprised that he’s got just as many dumb stories as you. You figured quiet nerd Haywood would have less involvement in all of that, but it turns out the theatre off-hours are just as crazy as the rest of campus. Except their type of trouble is jury-rigging their laptops up to the expensive theatre recording equipment and driving the techies – and Ryan, apparently, insane with their inexpertise.

“Wow, theatre’s wild, man,” you say through a giggle, fighting back a yawn. It is way past your usual bedtime and you’ve gone through two mugs of hot chocolate each but only now is the exhaustion hitting, making you lazy and dopey as you talk.

Without preamble, you scoot along a bit to rest your head on Ryan’s shoulder – Ryan jumps in surprise but settles easily enough, wrapping an arm around your shoulders and pressing his cheek to your hair.

“You’re totally about to fall asleep, aren’t you?” He asks through a laugh.

“No,” you lie.

“Mhmm.”

“I am – completely awake. And weren’t you going to tell me about uh – vodka and a cauldron?”

“Oh god,” Ryan says, a yawn threading through his voice. “Yeah, some idiots decided to make their own fuckin’ - potion.”

“And?”

“And it involved – an obscene amount of alcohol. I think there was – vodka, whiskey, Scotch?, definitely rum, definitely beer – some sort of white drink that was disgusting – ”

And he talks, and you mumble responses, and with the deep rumble of his voice and the warmth of his body up against yours, you’re – content. Happy. Definitely asking him for a second date. And definitely making him pay for dinner next time.

But for now, you listen, and think about the greasy burgers and the fluorescent diner and the way the stars sparkled in Ryan’s eyes before he kissed you.

Neither of you make it to the end of the story.

It’s perfect.

#Ragehappy #redvsvblue #aleksandrisprobablygay #rhss17

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