⟢ she definitely loves to cuddle and listen to music while you play with her hair and like braid it.
⟢ absolutely adores baths or showers with you, especially if its a bubble bath in the middle of the night.
⟢ sitting outside smoking cigarettes and reading with you on a cloudy day.
⟢ constantly takes blurry film pictures of you all the time and keeps them as bookmarks or just around her room.
⟢ if you guys are holding hands she loves to mess with your rings, like she'll even steal them and claim she found them lying around.
⟢ surprisingly knows alot about films and will literally tell you all sorts of random facts about movies.
⟢ when you first meet her parents its extremely awkward like uncomfortably. But she'll hold your hand and scoff at almost everything her parents say. At some point one if her parents will saying something and she'd storm off to her room, of course with you following. And she'll go on a rant about how much she dislikes her parents and you'll kiss her to calm her down ykyk.
⟢ love bugs and moths and stuff but will absolutely not go near a spider and scream and make you catch it and bring it outside. If you even bring up the idea of squashing it she'll yell at you.
⟢ one night while you guys cuddle youll trace her sh scars and open up to you about why she did it, she pretends like shes not going ti cry but deep down she wants to sob.
authors note : hey guys! First fic kinda nervous. I hope you guys enjoy!
"I think you're letting me win," i giggle, placing the word blues down on the Scrabble board.
I look up at Tate, who was sitting across from me, his blonde curls falling over his forehead gently as he stared at the collection of wooden letters in his rack with quiet concentration. His pale hand ran through his messy curls before he leaned forward, a smug smile slowly growing across his face as he carefully lined up each tile across the board.
"Lovely," he murmured, sitting back in his chair with a satisfied grin.
I narrowed my eyes at the board before looking back at him. "Seriously?" I muttered, reaching for the score pad and scribbling another twelve points beside his name in messy tally marks. "You're actually insufferable." He only shrugged, trying to hide the smile pulling at his lips.
"What? It's a good word." I glanced down at the scores before looking back up at him. "It's a twelve-point word." "Exactly," he replied simply, resting his chin in the palm of his hand as he watched me rearrange my own letters.
I hated how calm he looked. While I was shuffling my rack every five seconds, hoping another word would magically appear, Tate barely seemed to think before every move. He just sat there comfortably, occasionally chewing on the inside of his cheek while nirvana played softly from the cd player across the room. The afternoon sun poured through the windows, making his light blonde hair look almost golden.
I reached into the velvet bag for another five letters, only to stare down at my rack in disbelief. "You've got to be kidding me." Tate glanced over curiously. "What?" I held my letters up dramatically. "Six vowels and an X. Tell me how that's fair." He bit back a laugh, though the corners of his mouth betrayed him almost immediately.
"Don't laugh," I warned, pointing one of the wooden tiles at him. "I'm having a crisis." He chuckled anyway, quietly enough that it somehow made it worse. "Sounds like a skill issue." I tossed the tile at his shoulder, earning an overly dramatic gasp as he pressed a hand against his chest. "Violence? Over Scrabble?"
For a moment the room fell quiet again, filled only by the soft crackle of the record spinning and the distant laughter of children somewhere outside. It wasn't awkward silence, though. It never really was with Tate. It was comfortable, the kind that didn't need filling. I looked down at the board before absentmindedly tracing one of the wooden squares with my finger.
"I still think you're letting me win," I said after a moment, quieter this time.
His eyes lifted to meet mine, softer than they'd been all afternoon, before he gave a small shake of his head. "No," he said simply. "I'd rather earn the win." I couldn't help the smile tugging at my lips as I rolled my eyes and reached back for my letters. "You're the worst."
"Maybe," he replied with a grin, "but I'm still twelve points ahead."
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