Elijah’s known Lashawn, since they were kids. Since she was knock-kneed and gangly and his mom used to shop in the husky section. Eli, sometimes swore he knew her better than himself. He remembered watching her run around the neighborhood, arguing down bullies and fighting down those who just didn’t know when to quit. He knew when her spine went ramrod straight, she was preparing for a fight. He knew that too long stare she’d always give him when she was about to change their relationship, like the first time she kissed him. He knew when pushing her buttons for the occasional argument was okay.
Eli also knew how to read between her lines.
She wasn’t saying the break-in scared her. He’d heard the lie as she reassured her parents on the phone. As she tried to reassure him. Maybe it was because of the past he tried to let it go. Let her stay with her sister, backed out of her peripheral because it was what she wanted.
He caught wind she was moving back (a cryptic message from her mom he’s sure) and Eli is thankful she doesn’t immediately rebuff him, as took her bag and waited for her to open the door. He waited and watched behind her as she walked through, surveying the damage. Her spine is painfully straight, face strategically blank, as she picked up and continued to bring together pieces of her life. Elijah himself is quiet as he set her bag on the floor by her bedroom. “Let me help.”
He tried not to read into the silence before she uttered some small orders. They move in tandem as they finish bringing the order back to her home. She swept up the broken glass in the kitchen, he refolded her linen closet how she liked. Elijah watched a few tears leak through as she put her broken frames back in place and remained quiet as he placed a box of tissues in her space and took out some bags of trash for her. By the time darkness fell across her living room, he decided to speak again.
“How do you feel about wings and rice from that spot around the corner?”
Eli tried in vain to fill the gaps in the conversation as they ate dinner. He’s rambling about everything; the players on his team, his previous job, the mosque gossip his mother would fill him in on, shit he even tried talking about his niece. None of it earned him more than a few words and a distant smile.
“I’m staying tonight.” His words are met with wide eyed silence as he finally turned from closing her fridge. “I’ll sleep on the couch, just please. Let me stay alright?”
He’s thankful at the slow nod she gives as he settles on the couch with a book from her bookcase. Elijah can hear her go about her night routine as he flipped idly through the pages.
The words are swimming in front of him by the time the light flipped off in her room. He’s not quite sure when he drifted, but he’s woken up by the quick shuffling behind her door. He didn’t move from his stretched out position on the couch when her door opened and the padding of her feet, circled in front of him. “I can’t sleep.”
He doesn’t speak as he cracked his eye open at her. It’s a sight that transports him back five years before. God, how’d he ever let this woman go?
“Sleep with me out here.” He lifts his blanket and waits for her to climb on top of him, before covering them both up.
“Try to get some rest alright?” His hands move up and down her back and when he feels warm wet spots on his shoulder, he doesn’t stop or speak.
If only she knew, he wasn’t planning on going anywhere.
Tariq blinked. Out of the many sights he expected to see when he got home, his fiancee in deep sleep on the couch was not on the list. One of Ryan’s double shifts was expected. Still, hours into the night when he’d stopped by to pick up his girl and go to a work event, Tariq was surprised at the clear sight that he was probably going stag. He moved to wake her up. Ready to help the tired woman to the bedroom when he heard a pitiful sound. “Don’t.” A groggy voice muttered as he nudged Ryan. A series of coughs and sniffles came after. He lifted a hand, pressed the back of it to her forehead. A few days earlier, she mentioned some bug going around the hospital. “Stop it. I’m sick.” Looked like it finally hit.
“No shit, Doc.” Tariq rolled his eyes, hand falling from her forehead to join the other one curled under her before lifting Ryan from the couch. He held her to him, making sure she was stable against his chest before walking to the room and laid her down on the bed. Tariq ignored her quiet protests as he got her comfortable. “I’mma get you some juice.” Tariq uttered as he left the room. In the kitchen, aside from Tariq moving around, was the faint sound of another conversation being carried. Tariq was staying home. He returned with the juice in one hand and cold syrup in the other. After coaxing Ryan into drinking the medicine first, he moved to kiss her. Moving on pure autopilot before she dodged her face from his. Tariq rolled his eyes again. “Fine,” He reached for her hand and kissed the back of it instead. “Dramatic ass.” He muttered, before rising from the bed. Wordlessly, he handed her the orange juice. “Gonna get you some soup.” He replied, heading back towards the kitchen.
🎀 give my muse a gift
The whole Christmas gift exchange was her idea. Not that Tariq was opposed to it. She wasn’t the first Christian to hit him up for a possible free gift. She wouldn’t be the last. He thought about being cheap. Also petty. By lying and telling her that the cool ass space cadet hoodie that she stole from him was her present. But her could feel his Ammi’s judgment for that alone. So… he just let Ryan steal, erm, have the damned thing.
For weeks, he wondered what to get her. It wasn’t like Tariq was her fiance. Not that he had to try hard to upstage Jimbirino. But still. And then he found it. Honestly, Tariq wasn’t a hundred percent sold on the damned thing. But time had wound down. With a few days left before the exchange, Tariq bought the damn item. They could only spend to a certain amount anyways. “It’s not a dog but..” He trailed off, handing Ryan the small box that held a pink Tamagotchi inside. “Should hold you for a while though.”
Tariq. Duh. It sort of just…happens. For Ryan, anyways. For months, Tariq secretly stressed over how to do it. Part of him - the over the top person that he is, wanted an ‘all eyes on us’ kind of proposal. ‘Cause that’s what Ryan deserved. But the more he thought about it. The more he knew Ryan and what she’d want. He decided that a more lowkey proposal was the best way to go. So he did. He’d slipped the ring on her finger after she’d crashed hard from a double shift. The question in bold sharpie writing on one of her old bright pink note cards tapped on the bathroom mirror for her to see when she shuffled in. And the living room littered with her favorite flowers trailing from the bedroom, the table set with her now cold favorite meal and him chilling on the couch as if he hadn’t been waiting for hours for her to wake up.
Who stressed more over wedding planning:
Both. It’s the cultural clash that Tariq expected would happen after proposing to a good old, Southern Christian black girl. From the food to the music. To who’ll preside over their ceremony. “Should we just have a justice of the peace? I mean, it will be a interfaith marriage.” Tariq sighs and pulls Ryan into a silent hug. He is two seconds away from grabbing his fiancee and heading to the courthouse to marry her. Right the fuck now. Some of his uncles are asking if she’ll convert. Or if he will. His aunties are talking kids. And all Tariq wants - besides marrying the woman in his arms - is to take her somewhere quiet with nice ass weather so he can see her in as less clothing as possible. No wonder a few of his cousins laughed when they found out his fiancee was Christian. In the end, they work it out ‘cause failure was not a fucking option. But damn, if he isn’t looking forward to their honeymoon.
Who decorated the house:
It’s a weird mixture of both of their tastes. The integration of Ryan’s favorite colors with his (green and gold) is an interesting sight for Tariq. An argument - or several - originated from him learning not to use decorative pillows for anything other than aesthetics. “Pillows are used for sleeping, Nae.” “Not those, Tariq! You’ve smushed them. Do you know how much those cost?” And it’s not like Tariq didn’t know. He just assumed that as a grown man, he could sleep on any pillows in his house. …Apparently not all of them. “I’ll cash app you the money. Just.. damn.”
Who is more organized:
Ryan. Hands down. Not that Tariq isn’t organized. But Ryan likes things in their place. All the time. He knew that going into this. Them finally living together. And he thought that knew. Or that, at the very least, she’d tried to warn him. But…he’s… learning to keep his shoes are out of the way so she doesn’t trip in the dark of night as she trudges to bed exhausted. Or remember to put up reminders when he’s used the last of something. It’s not perfect but Tariq is learning.
Who initiates bedroom fun:
Tariq. But in his defense, have you seen his wife? He continues to give praise to Allah on that alone. Especially considering how they met. He’s been threatened with a ‘no-touching’ rule that has to go into effect when Ryan has important things to do. Like major reports to complete and things like that. But so far, Ryan hasn’t used it yet. She will though. One day. Until then, Tariq is more than willing to keep her distracted.
Who suggested kids first:
Verbally, between the two of them, it’s Ryan. Tariq shouldn’t find the anxious look she gives him, or the wringing of her hands and thinning of her lips, to be cute. But he does. His Ammi has been asking for a grandchild since a week after they returned from their honeymoon. Which, trust him. Tariq was trying. The idea of a unique, smaller version of them out and causing havoc in the world was something that Tariq couldn’t shake. “I’ve been waiting on you, Doc.” He laughs ‘cause it’s the truth. “Fuck yeah. Let’s do this.”
Who’s more dominant:
Tariq. It’s not because he’s a man. But that Ryan has this unspoken thing about telling him what she wants aloud. He figured that out as he got to know Ryan. Not that she doesn’t have her moments. It’s weird but Tariq likes it. Which, dealing with him, appears to come easier and more regularly than before they met. Ryan’s not entirely demure - see how they met. It just has to coaxed out of her. Which is something Tariq doesn’t mind. At all.
Who’s the cuddler:
Tariq. He’s a tactile communicator. He talks with his hands. He works with them. Like most people, he uses them often. But it’s just something about Ryan that makes him gravitate towards her. Like a ship steering towards a lighthouse near the coast. His hands have to touch some part of her. Most of the time. So cuddles are natural. He likes the feel of her near his side. Or front. And on his emotionally draining days, his back. Her fingers combing through his short hair as he listens to the beat of her heart.
What’s their favorite non-sexual activity:
Cuddling aside? Ryan may or may not have gotten Tariq hooked on some trash tv show. One that, save to say, he does not watch without her. “Alright, alright. Explain this to me again?” They sat on the couch, Ryan curled against his side, as a earlier season of a Bravo reality tv show classic starts up. “Okay. So that’s Nene. She doesn’t like Kandi this season. That’s Kandi. Oh. And she’s not cool with Kim again - Nene, I mean - but they’ll probably make up in a few episodes. And then there’s Sheree…” Tariq will damned if he’s clowned for even knowing this. Let alone watching it.
Who kills the spiders:
Tariq is the go-to killer of all things creepy crawly. There’s this one instance of Ryan being unpleasantly surprised by a spider crawling along the shower wall. While she was in there. Ass naked. “Why’d you leave the window open, Ryan?” Tariq asked, in between chuckles. His sides hurting from laughing so hard. He’d thought a burglar was in there with her, from the scream he’d heard. “I got it. I got it. It’s dead now. Don’t worry.” Tariq almost slipped and fell from the water splatter on the floor left behind when Ryan hauled ass out of the shower to get to safety. “No, we’re not moving! You should’ve turned on the damn fan.”
Who falls asleep first:
They take turns. Mostly due to their erratic schedules. A first year doctor and a late-night hip hop radio personality? Of course sleep is the last thing on their minds.
Who is louder?
Sexually? Ryan. Non-sexually? It depends. When it comes to the World Cup. Or football - see soccer - in general, Tariq is an obnoxiously loud fan. Anything that lets him proudly wear Pakistan’s colors is a guarantee for him “show out” as Ryan would say. On the flip side, she’s the same way about things she enjoys. So it depends on the season for both. Tariq is definitely louder when it comes to shit talking. He keeps trying to give Ryan pointers but “Who’s gonna stitch you up if I’m shit talking with you?”
Who is more experimental?
Both. Tariq isn’t afraid of try new things. But depending on the subject, Ryan can be more hesitant. “What do you mean, out here? Tariq. Have you lost your mind?” “Noori. It’s our honeymoon.” My light. It’s one of Tariq’s new nickname for Ryan. He’s been using it since they’ve got engaged. It’s becoming a favorite of his. “You’re telling me that you don’t wanna feel me under the stars? C’mon, nobody’s here.” They discover that mirrors are a great compromise.
Do they fuck or make love?
Both. For someone who doesn’t drink, alcohol definitely plays a part in this. Tariq can tell the night he’ll have, depending on the number of drinks Ryan has. Nowhere is she like Amy from Brooklyn Nine Nine. But he’s learned the higher the number of drinks, the more likely fucking will happen over making love. Drinks aside - emotions are the other factor. If they’re in a stalemate as both of them can, and will be, stubborn as hell - Tariq knows that the first few rounds of makeup sex can hardly be called that. Maybe a few things end up getting damaged or even broken. But in the end, his marriage is in tact. Which is all that matters.
Who is more likely to be caught masturbating?
Tariq has. Not that he planned on it. But, in his defense, it’d been a minute and he missed his wife. Obviously. Ryan was at work. Or well, he thought. The shower - yes the same one that Ryan had the classic run in with the spider - was supposed to be a safe place. But sleepy doctors do not like walking into their marital home hearing moans greeting them in the night. Especially from their husband. Without her. “So you gonna stand there or…?” Tariq shot Ryan a challenging eyebrow, stepping back in open invitation for her to join. So it was all good.
Who comes first?
Ryan. It wasn’t for lack of not trying. It’s just that… well, she married a man that makes sure that she comes before him. Literally. Not that she’s complaining.
Who is better at oral and who prefers it?
For a good, old born and raised in the church Southern Christian, Ryan is excellent at oral. Which was a top-notch surprise for Tariq when he finally learned this fact. However, Tariq certainly prefers to give as good as he gets. He has this smug quirk that he does in the days following. Tariq struts around their place shirtless afterwards, proudly displaying his supposed battle scars from his efforts. Despite saying otherwise, he knows Ryan loves it.
Who usually initiates things?
For the most part - Tariq. Ryan initiates calling Tariq out on his shit. Or when she needs her stubborn husband to gain an objective perspective. A busted lip and bruised knuckles on her husband is not what she expects to see when paged down to the ER from her rotation in the lab. “You can’t just fight everybody that says stupid shit.” “What?!” “You can’t. What if something happens to you? What am I supposed to do then? I didn’t marry you to become a fucking widow, Tariq.” With a heavy sigh and an apology on his bloody mouth, Tariq agrees to pick his battles next time.
Who is more sensitive?
Ryan. Hands down. She has the emotional sensitivity on lock. Physically - “Stop that shit.” Tariq jerked, his body moving from Ryan’s reach instinctively. “Are you…” “Nah, what’re you doing? Get your hands-” The noise that left Tariq neared a pterodactyl screech. “You’re ticklish!” “No the fuck I’m not.” “Stop moving. Let me see.” She could barely get the words out, laughing around them. “Ryan get your fucking hands away from me.” “Oh my god, Mr. Big and Bad, is ticklish. I got your ass now.” “Ryan!”
Who has the most patience?
Both. In different ways. Tariq directs people to the near-saint like patience he says he used while “waiting on my wife to stop being another man’s fiancee.” To which, his voice may sound annoyed but the confident smirk Tariq wears while uttering it says something else. As a doctor, Ryan has patience in spades. It’s something that Tariq jokes about - still he likes that about her. She’s the calm to his ongoing storm.
❛❛ I took your hoodie and I’m not giving it back. ❜❜ you know what i'm here for
Music blared through the speakers of Tariq’s place. Faintly, the floorboards bumped with the bass of the latest song airing off some playlist he needed to listen to for work. Head ducked behind the door of his refrigerator, Tariq rummaged through it. The music so loud that he didn’t hear Ryan. Or see her. He muttered under his breath, head bobbing to the beat while reminding himself to get groceries. Or hit up Amazon for some new deliveries. Whichever came first. The feel of a small hand on his bare shoulder grabbed Tariq’s attention. He blinked, head pulling back on his neck to glance at the source. Tariq chuckled under his breath and the apples of his cheeks rose.
“I took your hoodie and I’m not giving it back.” Was directed his way. “So you’re just gonna steal my shit, huh?” He asked, in lieu of her comment and eyeing one of his new hoodies. He’d just bought it less than a month ago. Shit was nice. “I told you. I’m gonna turn up the air.” At the expression he received, Tariq rolled his eyes. “I was gonna-” One of his hands raised, palm up and facing the general direction of his hallway, where the thermostat was located. “-do it on the way back. If you’d have waited.” Quietly, Tariq shook his head in obvious judgement of Ryan. He closed the fridge door before opening his freezer. “You want something?” Briefly, Tariq glanced back and took Ryan in. “Looking ethereal as fuck.” He commented, a gentle look on his face before grabbing himself a chocolate ice cream bar. He closed the freezer door. “You’re still a thief.” But his freehand extended and tugged at the front bottom of his hoodie. He bit back telling Ryan that she looked good in his clothes. Damned good. “…Majestic ass space cadet.” He muttered instead, humor in his tone and a dazed smile on his lips. “C’mon, Doc. We still gotta watch that last Spike Lee joint.”
neicyrps replied to your post: “Why haven’t you proposed to me yet?” (Baja to...
WOW im not ok i missed them so much
Right now Baja wants to move to Ireland to be with Kenneth but he’s like “don’t uproot your life for me” trying to be all adult but it just makes him sound like he doesn’t want her... so much angst happening with them rn! lol
