#tariq x imaan

[saturnville]

make luv universe

— the first love

pairing: tariq st. patrick x black!fem!oc (imaan).

warning: none.

prompt: "can I love you in your love language?”

tags: @neeville @neewrites + anyone else w/ a love for tariq :)

“What’s your love language?

Physical touch. The primary way he enjoyed to receive love. His mother and grandmother were affectionate, his father, not so much. Having being hugged and kissed on growing up, it was something he grew to adore.

He’d been in other relationships and situation ships before,m and struggled to find a sense of appreciation. Not because of purposeful ignorance on their end, but because they tried to show affection in ways he struggled to receive. They didn’t learn how to love him. So, when Imaan wrapped her arms around his torso, head rested against his back, and muttered those words into his shirt, his heart grew three sizes.

“Can I love you in your love language?”

“Yes.”

[…]

He enjoyed her hands on him. Not only in a sexual way, either. The way her fingertips traced the ridges of his build, how her palm rested on his back when they stood side by side and he would get overwhelmed. That was how he found himself laid on his stomach with his head against a pillow and his arms tucked underneath it. She’d offered him a massage.

Imaan hummed along to the soft melodies of Xscape as she kneaded the tension out of his body. The mood was set to that of mellow relaxation. The lights were off. His college dorm illuminated by the streetlights of the city. The hustle and bustle of nightlight harmonized with the vocalists’ song that bled out of his television.

He slipped into a place of unconsciousness for a moment. The pressure of her palms and the gentle caressing of his skin by her manicured fingers sent him into a dimension he’d never been before. One filled with quietness and stillness. Where he laid peacefully lillipads of peace that drifted down streams of joy.

She instructed him to turn over. Tariq’s hands cupped her the thick thighs that bracketed his hips. The action alone made her clench above him. His eyes met hers. Imaan smiled innocently rubbed along his chest slowly and meticulously. Her fingers caught his chain and she tugged on it teasingly.

“Careful,” Tariq muttered. Imaan raised an eyebrow and lowered her body. Her chest, covered by a thin t-shirt, hovered above his. And her lips, God, her lips ghosted over his. Again, she tugged on the expensive piece of jewelry against his brown skin. “You’re a tease.”

“Do somethin’ about it,” Imaan replied lowly. Her eyes had deepened in color and her tone was laced with lust and desire. “If you really bout it.”

Tariq grabbed her neck and kissed her. “Lay back, baby.”

[…]

Love making was an act of poetry. A physical manifestation of literary desire and expression. If ever given the opportunity to sit with a sheet of paper and a pencil, oh how’d he recall his favorite expression of art. The art of making love.

The clenching over her heat around him was a trap he willfully walked into. No blindfold was needed to take a step over the edge and into a deep, wet abyss he would drown in forever.

Her song was different every time. A range of octaves and pitches yet somehow still angelic and beautiful that he’d allow it to play on repeat at every opportunity. And his favorite lyric, his name, came from her like a record-scratch stuck on a loop.

“I’m close, baby.” Imaan’s voice cracked as she reached her climax. Her face was buried in his neck and her legs shook around his waist. Tariq whispered sweet encouragements into her ear as he was brought to his end. “So good for me…”

[…]

“Thank you,” Tariq whispered into her hair. They laid chest-to-back in the petite college dorm bed. Imaan dropped her hand over his and entangled their fingers. She raised their hands and her lips brushed against his knuckles.

“Love you…”

[saturnville]

make luv universe

— the first kiss.

pairing: tariq st. patrick x black!fem!oc (imaan). warning: none. prompt: "you can stay here if you want...I can get some clothes for you." tags: @zayswriting @neeville @neewrites + anyone else w/ a love for tariq :)

She couldn’t believe she’d said that out loud. Her body grew warm as the embarrassment set in. Suddenly, his brown eyes on hers were too much, and she lowered her gaze. One step backward, she attempted to remove herself from his reach. Tariq’s hand tightened around her waist.

“Oh, for real?” His knee jumped against the side of her thigh as hers as she stood between his legs. Her arms were wrapped around his neck loosely, fingers dancing along the links of his chain. “Act on that then.” His tongue poked from the side of his lips. He was teasing her.

She was a shy girl. Making first moves was never something she’d done. Her hesitation manifested from a fear of rejection and embarrassment, but how could he reject her? He was probing her to step into the boldness that laid dormant inside of her.

Tariq’s eyebrow raised in amusement. The internal battle she had with herself was externally evident. “Are you sure?” she found herself asking after some time. Tariq nodded slyly.

Imaan leaned in slowly. Her glossed lips ghosted over his and she could feel the warmth radiating off of them. Her small hand palmed his neck as their mouths connected.

Tariq’s hands fell at her plush thighs. His fingers wrapped around the back of her knee which tugged her toward. A soft grunt came from him when her heat brushed against the tension behind his jeans.

He was steadily impressed by her initiative, even if she was nervous. Shaky breaths turned to soft moans and trembling hands were steady against the ridges of his shoulders. He broke away from her for a moment and gave attention to her neck, licking and biting slowly. Her nails dug into his shirt. “‘Riq…” 

“Hm?”

“No marks.”

He could work with that.

[saturnville]

make luv universe

— the first sleepover.

pairing: tariq st. patrick x black!fem!oc (imaan). warning: none. prompt: "you can stay here if you want...I can get some clothes for you." tags: @zayswriting @neeville @neewrites + anyone else w/ a love for tariq :)

“You can stay here if you want. The shower’s back there, I can get some clothes for you.”

Imaan nodded with a soft smile. Tariq released a breath he wasn’t aware he held and directed her to the petite bathroom in his dorm. It was just like him, she thought. Dark and brooding. Black curtains and towels, gray placemats and sink accessories. The overhead light was bright, but by the light strips along the wall, she knew he preferred it dim.

“Alright—towel and clothes. You need anything else?”

She shook her head and thanked him once more. She felt bad invading his space, but he refused to allow her to believe that was the case, citing that he’d flee his room too if he heard his roommate having sex with his girlfriend. Imaan watched as the door closed and prepared for her shower.

Her shower didn’t last too long. By the time fifteen minutes passed, she was clean and clothed in Tariq’s shirt. The shorts were loose around her waist and fell to her ankles each time she moved, so she folded them up and laid them on the counter. The shirt would do. She twiddled her thumbs as she entered the bedroom. Tariq was comfortable and in his own world when she walked in. He ditched his graphic shirt and jeans for a wife beater and sweatpants. His arm was hooked behind his head and his eyes were focused on an intense game of Temple Run.

“Minion Rush is better.”

Tariq’s character crashed into a tree. She giggled.

“Man, I was doing good! You a distraction, shorty.” Tariq tossed his phone onto the nightstand and held his arm out. Imaan found a comfortable position laying on his chest and they began discussing potential television preferences for the night.

They settled on Girlfriends, her comfort show. She was surprised he agreed, knowing that he wasn’t too familiar with women-led comedies. However, when she felt the rumble of his chest at Joan’s antics, she knew he’d liked it more than he initially let on.

Hours passed and her eyes grew heavy. They’d changed positions. Tariq was slotted between her legs, his face in the crook of her neck, and his arm thrown over her waist. By his heavy breaths, she knew he was sleeping. Imaan smiled softly and wrapped her arm around his shoulders.

“Goodnight, my love.”

[saturnville]

we back in action 😭😭😭

make luv universe

— the first love

pairing: tariq st. patrick x black!fem!oc (imaan).

warning: none.

prompt: "can I love you in your love language?”

tags: @neeville @neewrites + anyone else w/ a love for tariq :)

“What’s your love language?

Physical touch. The primary way he enjoyed to receive love. His mother and grandmother were affectionate, his father, not so much. Having being hugged and kissed on growing up, it was something he grew to adore.

He’d been in other relationships and situation ships before,m and struggled to find a sense of appreciation. Not because of purposeful ignorance on their end, but because they tried to show affection in ways he struggled to receive. They didn’t learn how to love him. So, when Imaan wrapped her arms around his torso, head rested against his back, and muttered those words into his shirt, his heart grew three sizes.

“Can I love you in your love language?”

“Yes.”

[…]

He enjoyed her hands on him. Not only in a sexual way, either. The way her fingertips traced the ridges of his build, how her palm rested on his back when they stood side by side and he would get overwhelmed. That was how he found himself laid on his stomach with his head against a pillow and his arms tucked underneath it. She’d offered him a massage.

Imaan hummed along to the soft melodies of Xscape as she kneaded the tension out of his body. The mood was set to that of mellow relaxation. The lights were off. His college dorm illuminated by the streetlights of the city. The hustle and bustle of nightlight harmonized with the vocalists’ song that bled out of his television.

He slipped into a place of unconsciousness for a moment. The pressure of her palms and the gentle caressing of his skin by her manicured fingers sent him into a dimension he’d never been before. One filled with quietness and stillness. Where he laid peacefully lillipads of peace that drifted down streams of joy.

She instructed him to turn over. Tariq’s hands cupped her the thick thighs that bracketed his hips. The action alone made her clench above him. His eyes met hers. Imaan smiled innocently rubbed along his chest slowly and meticulously. Her fingers caught his chain and she tugged on it teasingly.

“Careful,” Tariq muttered. Imaan raised an eyebrow and lowered her body. Her chest, covered by a thin t-shirt, hovered above his. And her lips, God, her lips ghosted over his. Again, she tugged on the expensive piece of jewelry against his brown skin. “You’re a tease.”

“Do somethin’ about it,” Imaan replied lowly. Her eyes had deepened in color and her tone was laced with lust and desire. “If you really bout it.”

Tariq grabbed her neck and kissed her. “Lay back, baby.”

[…]

Love making was an act of poetry. A physical manifestation of literary desire and expression. If ever given the opportunity to sit with a sheet of paper and a pencil, oh how’d he recall his favorite expression of art. The art of making love.

The clenching over her heat around him was a trap he willfully walked into. No blindfold was needed to take a step over the edge and into a deep, wet abyss he would drown in forever.

Her song was different every time. A range of octaves and pitches yet somehow still angelic and beautiful that he’d allow it to play on repeat at every opportunity. And his favorite lyric, his name, came from her like a record-scratch stuck on a loop.

“I’m close, baby.” Imaan’s voice cracked as she reached her climax. Her face was buried in his neck and her legs shook around his waist. Tariq whispered sweet encouragements into her ear as he was brought to his end. “So good for me…”

[…]

“Thank you,” Tariq whispered into her hair. They laid chest-to-back in the petite college dorm bed. Imaan dropped her hand over his and entangled their fingers. She raised their hands and her lips brushed against his knuckles.

“Love you…”