i’ve been writing the new pistol chapter for a while and eventhough it’s almost finished i wanted to say something before i post it.
i came across some tiktoks from katarsis fans that make it clear fanfiction is something this fandom finds very weird and does not support.
i personally think fanfiction is a part of fan culture that should be allowed to exist as long as it’s not dubbing in weird topics and isn’t written about someone who explicitly said they don’t want fanfiction written about them.
for now i want to continue writing, mostly because i really like writing and because i know there’s people who enjoy my stories. however, if the negative attitude becomes more prominent in the fandom i might stop writing about katarsis.
guys i rewrote the first pistol chapter, it’s longer (over 5k words), better and overall just a new version of the og. i’m planning on rewriting all the chapters and then writing a sequel.
its on wattpad, it really is different than the original so i recommend reading it, especially since there’s gonna be a lot of new chapters <3
the basic storyline is still the same, see this as like a deluxe version of an album.
since i’m gonna be rewriting a lot, feel free to send me ideas you have or things you missed/wanted in the original story!!
"christmas is here, bringing good cheer." ₊˚｡⋆❆⋆｡˚₊
warnings : fluff, mention of sex
pairings : lukas radzevičius x female reader, alanas brasas x female reader
word count : nearly 800
summary : i think the title is pretty clear!!
authors note : hey guys!! its been forever since i uploaded because uni is killing me. ive currently got three different versions of a pistol sequel in my notes app but none of them feel fitting 💔. if anyone has ideas or things you want me to include please let me know!! i really want to publish a sequel but want it to be perfect when i do so <3
⋆⁺₊❅ lukas ⋆˚𝜗𝜚˚⋆
usually doesn't decorate but when you come over he makes sure there's at least a tree and weird little santa statue
insists on a real tree "otherwise is not christmas tree. otherwise is like plastic bottle with lights."
you catch him trying to hang fairy lights upside down on the tree. he refuses help but eventually asks you to “fix small problem.”
has these old, mismatched christmas mugs that he'll pull out as soon as halloween is over
has a christmas playlist on spotify full of weird songs you've never heard
had a go at making a christmas song of his own once. he plays it exactly once for you when he finds it on his old garageband account. afterwards he pretends he doesn't know what youre talking about whenever you bring it up.
surprisingly sentimental about christmas. randomly tells you things about how he celebrated christmas when he was younger. you'll be getting groceries for christmas dinner and he'll go "when i was six i make ornament. look like angel. very ugly. is still in tree at mano tėvų's house."
has some irrational hatred towards christmas markets.
keeps all of his old christmas cards, and will reluctantly show them to you while sighing nostalgically.
if you celebrate in lithuania he'll take you out for a walk whenever the snow has made everything wintery and white.
has no clue what you mean when you say "christmas eve eve"
only christmas movie he tolerates is home alone
when you bake cookies, he insists on neurotically measuring everything down to the gram but then somehow ends up eating half the dough anyway
has christmas dinner with his family. tells you all about everyone before you meet them while showing you pictures on his phone. "this is other cousin. listens to stupid music. i do not like this cousin."
introduces you to family members you havent met yet "teta, tai mano mergina..."
clearly made sure everyone you'd met before remembered you
his family eats all the lithuanian classics. by the end of the evening you swear you'll die if you see another potato
when you're home again he randomly pulls out a pair of christmas pyjama bottoms from the absolute bottom of his closet
you snuggle up in bed with hot cocoa and a movie. lukas talks through the whole thing.
when you wake up the next morning he's already in the kitchen making "christmas breakfast."
got you the most personal gifts ever. a picture of you together in some vintage frame, a ring that matches his, some of his old merch you mentioned liking like six months ago. he also got you a small bottle of his cologne so the hoodies you steal from him never have to lose their scent.
also got you something insanely expensive you've wanted forever
for some reason didn't expect you to get him anything. extremely touched when you did get him something.
❄︎ alanas ⋆.ೃ࿔*:･
starts rewatching the christmas episodes of "the office" back in september
lets you color his tattoos in with green and red markers if you whine about it for long enough
buys a festive lighter at a gas station in like november and uses it until it gives out in may
some american friend of his tells him about elf on a shelf and he's immediately obsessed.
has weird ornaments in his tree (one shaped like a potato, one of the lithuanian flag, etc)
tells you like the weirdest christmas "facts" whenever there's a silence he finds too long
has his family over for christmas dinner and he cooks
his family eats very good food. expensive wine, maybe even steak.
at one point in the evening everyone gets up from the table to go smoke. everyone.
since youre at his parents house he shows you his childhood bedroom. he doesn't even live in it anymore but its somehow still a mess
at the end of the night his mother shows you an album full of photos from alanas when he was a toddler. alanas nearly dies when he finds out
his hand is on your thigh the entire drive back. not in a sexual way, just in that safe, warm way.
plays lithuanian christmas songs in the car.
you snuggle up on the couch together. he's asleep before you even choose a movie.
on christmas morning you have sex before you even open a present
loves wrapping presents in the most confusing way, using ten different rolls of tape and laughing when you try to open them.
somehow found you some limited edition vinyl you've wanted for ages but swore was discontinued
wraps up one of his favourite hoodies you always steal and puts it under the tree for you
thanks for the past year babes, can’t wait for the next one 💋💋
HEEELLLLOOO, hope ur doing well <333 I missed ur work sm, and I thought it would be cool if you would write a fic with Lukas when he just started with katarsis? Like his experimental soundcloud era, and the reader is here to support him? maybe they're not together yet and they confess to eachother..... thank uu, I love ur fics xx
young and dumb ‧₊˚♪ 𝄞₊˚⊹ lukas radzevičius
"my heart is racing, watching you kissing on my guitar..." ₊˚｡⋆❆⋆｡˚₊
warnings : fluff, biology homework
pairing : lukas radzevičius x reader (2019 version)
word count : 2.4k
summary : you and lukas have been together since forever, and recently he found a second love.
authors note : thank you sm for ur request!! i hope this is kinda what you had in mind even though the not being together yet and confessing thing didn't quite make it in. i tried it but it felt like very forced in this specific scenario. plus, i wrote this like super quickly so i hope its okay like this.
anyway, how is everyone doing now that the tour is over? i personally have not recovered from being so close to my babes yet but i don't think i ever will. i miss writing a lot, but i feel like the fandom kinda died out? still, i read all my requests so if you have any ideas don't be shy to send them! the only reason i'm not writing as much at the moment is simply because i think no one will read anyway. but like i said, requests are always open xx
⋆꙳•̩̩͙❅̩̩͙‧͙ ‧͙̩̩͙❆ ͙͛ ˚₊⋆
the sky outside is already dark, heavy and almost purple, the kind of november evening that feels like the world is holding its breath before it snows. the windows of lukas’s bedroom are fogged at the edges, the glass so cold you could trace little hearts into the condensation if you wanted. the radiator under the window works only half the time, so he’s dragged over a tiny space heater, humming quietly by your feet.
you’re stretched out on your stomach on his bed, sweater sleeves hanging over your hands, pencil tapping against your notebook as you pretend to work on your literature assignment. your legs kick lazily in the air, socks sliding together. the whole room smells faintly like citrus laundry detergent and lukas’s shampoo.
and him.
he’s at his desk across from you, back curved like a question mark, shoulders tense, headphones pressed against one ear. his hair — still its natural brown, long enough to brush the tops of his shoulders — keeps slipping forward every time he moves. he keeps tucking it behind one ear only for it to fall again ten seconds later.
you’re stretched out across his bed on your stomach, wearing his sweater — the dark faded one that still smells a little like his detergent and cold outside air. the sleeves cover half your hands, and you keep tugging them up every time you reach for his water bottle. you take another sip, roll onto your back, and let out the most dramatic groan known to mankind.
“lukaaai… i swear biology is actually trying to kill me.”
he’s at his desk, headphones half-on, half-off, hunched over his laptop like he’s pretending to work but mostly watching you in the reflection of the screen. he can’t hear every word — one side of the headphones is still playing whatever demo he’s been obsessing over — but he always hears the tone. your voice is all warm, tired whining, the kind you only use around him.
“mh?” he murmurs, twisting a knob on his little interface, not looking away. “kas yra, mažute?” what is it, baby?
you lift your worksheet in the air like a tragic protest sign. “i don’t get any of this. i swear i’m too stupid for this. why do i need to know the structure of… whatever this is.” you squint at it. “cell division? but like… the annoying kind.”
he smiles to himself, just barely — the soft, boyish smile he never lets the others see. “tu ne kvaila.” you’re not stupid. he says it gently, still not turning around, because he knows if he faces you he’ll stop pretending to work altogether. “you’re just tired. school is… shit.” he shrugs one shoulder. “you finish soon.”
you toss your pencil into the air; it bounces off his pillow. “finish soon means like… seven months. i’m not surviving that long.”
now he does turn, swiveling slowly in his chair to look at you, elbows resting on his knees. his hair falls into his eyes — he really needs to cut it again — and he pushes it back with the same hand he used five minutes ago to adjust his guitar pedals.
“you will,” he says, soft and sure. “you are good student. better than i am. you have… how you say…” he gestures vaguely, searching for the word. “discipline? you force yourself.”
you snort. “i’m forcing myself to not set this whole worksheet on fire, does that count?”
he tilts his head, pretending to consider it. “mm. maybe.”
you smile at him — small, tired, but warm — and he watches you settle back into his blankets, sweater swallowing your whole body, hair messy from rolling around on his bed for the last hour. you open your notebook again, sighing dramatically as you attempt the next question.
he turns back to the desk, but he’s not listening to the demo anymore. he’s listening to you flip pages, breathe through another annoyed groan, whisper your way through some definition under your breath. every few minutes he makes a soft little noise — “mh,” or “jo,” or a low laugh — just to let you know he’s still there with you, even if he’s pretending to work.
you look up from your homework for what has to be the twentieth time.
you watch him fiddle with garageband, mumbling under his breath in lithuanian, clicking something he immediately regrets, groaning softly.
you smile into your sleeve.
he doesn’t even turn around when he says, “i can feel you staring.”
“no you can’t.”
“yes. i can.” he taps his pen against the desk in this impatient rhythm. “your… eyes.” he pauses, searching for the english word. “they are… staring eyes.”
you stifle a laugh. “that’s not a phrase.”
“yes.” he finally turns around, grinning, nose scrunching. “because you stare all the time.”
you close your notebook — slowly, deliberately — and crawl toward the edge of the bed.
“maybe i stare because you look cute when you’re concentrating.”
his face goes pink. not just his cheeks — even the tips of his ears.
he mutters something in lithuanian.
“hm?” you tease, leaning your chin on your hand. “what was that?”
“nothing.” he tries to look annoyed but fails immediately. “come here.”
you bite your lip to hide your smile, push yourself off the bed, and pad across the small room. once you’re close enough, he reaches out, grabs you gently by the waist, and pulls you onto his lap like he’s been waiting all afternoon for that.
his chair is way too small for two people, but it doesn’t matter. your legs drape over his, your back settles against his chest, and his arms instinctively circle around your middle.
he rests his chin on your shoulder, breath warm against your neck. “better.”
“you’re needy today,” you say, but it comes out soft, affectionate.
“i am always needy for you,” he says plainly, like he’s telling you the time. “only you.”
your heart does a whole gymnastic routine in your chest.
you glance at his screen. messy loops. weird synths. a half-finished beat. a second garageband tab he probably forgot he opened.
“okay, show me what you’re doing,” you say.
he shifts a little, arms still around your waist, head still tucked against the side of yours. “i’m trying to make… how to say…” he thinks again. “something like… experimental thing. different.” he clicks a few buttons. “but it sounds… bad.”
“play it for me.”
he hesitates. “no, you will laugh.”
“i would never.”
“you would. tiny laugh. like this—” he imitates you horribly, a high-pitched little “heh” sound.
you smack his shoulder lightly. “i do not laugh like that.”
“you do. i love it.”
you roll your eyes, but your cheeks heat anyway. “play it, lukas.”
he sighs dramatically, like he’s making the ultimate sacrifice, and presses the space bar.
sound fills the room — a strange, echoey melody, raw and jagged at the edges, but undeniably cool. undeniably him. you feel his chest tighten behind you as he waits for your reaction.
when it ends, you turn your head so your cheek brushes his jaw. “it’s really good.”
he stares at the screen like it personally wronged him. “no.”
“yes,” you insist. “i’m serious. it sounds… new. and sharp. and you.”
“you are biased,” he mumbles. “because you are—” he presses his forehead into your shoulder “—in love.”
you smile. “maybe. but i’m still right.”
he groans softly, because receiving compliments physically pains him, and presses another kiss to your cheek. it lingers longer than usual.
you lean forward a little, eyes flicking over the screen. “okay, wait— explain this to me. i don’t get half of what you’re doing.”
lukas shifts, pulling you closer so he can reach the keyboard without you leaving his lap. “okay, okay. i show you.”
he clicks on one of the garageband tracks — a messy, half-finished loop — and points at the layers. “this thing… here? it’s like—” he searches for the english word, fingers hovering. “uh… pieces. sound pieces.”
“tracks?” you offer.
“yes. tracks.” he nods quickly. “you make one for the beat, one for the melody, one for… weird sounds.” he taps one labelled something like glitchy echo 3. “this is my weird sound.”
you laugh softly. “it’s very… glitchy.”
he beams like you just said it was a masterpiece. then he continues, clicking around. “and here— this big thing—” he drags a little arrow across a bunch of rectangles, “—is the timeline. you put everything together. make it sound… good. or…” he winces. “not good.”
“it sounds cool so far,” you say, nudging him gently.
he blushes a little, tries to hide it by adjusting the volume slider. “okay, and soundcloud…” he opens a new tab, and the bright orange logo pops up. “it is like… music posting thing. but for people who are not… professional.” he pauses, then corrects himself. “not yet professional.”
“you mean people like you?”
“yes,” he says simply. “people like me.”
the page loads — his account looks almost empty. a grey profile picture. a random username he clearly picked in five seconds. five followers, one of them you.
he clears his throat and tries to explain it like he’s not embarrassed. “so… you upload music here. and people can listen. comment. share. sometimes maybe someone important finds it.”
you lean your head against his shoulder. “you want someone important to find yours?”
he hesitates. “maybe. i don’t know.” he fidgets with the headphone cable. “i just want… someone to hear it. someone who is not only you.”
“i’m honored you counted me as someone,” you tease softly.
“you are someone,” he says immediately, voice small but firm. “you are my someone.”
you go very still. then warm. then melty.
he starts rambling to distract himself. “so, okay— here is how i upload.” he clicks a button, and a little window pops up. “you put your file here, write the title, maybe description. like…” he squints. “‘made this at 2 am do not judge.’”
you giggle. “that is exactly something you’d write.”
“yes.” he grins. “i am predictable.”
“in a cute way.”
he hides his face in your shoulder for a moment before sitting up again, fingers brushing your knee.
“i can teach you,” he says suddenly. “if you want. how to make one.”
“a song?”
“yeah.” he nods earnestly. “a simple one. i can show you how to cut the track, how to… loop things. how to… uh…” he wiggles his fingers vaguely. “music magic.”
you run a hand through his hair, and he melts into it instantly.
“i’d like that,” you whisper.
he looks up at you, eyes soft and warm and impossibly proud. “good. because… i like when you understand what i love.”
you kiss his cheek, too quick for him to react.
his breath catches, and his hand tightens gently around your waist like he’s afraid you’ll disappear.
garageband is still open behind you, but for the first time all afternoon, lukas forgets it exists.
and then — instead of going back to the laptop — his hands start drifting.
not in a bad way. just… exploring. tracing little patterns on your waist. fingers pressing into the soft fabric of your sweater. thumb sneaking under the hem to touch your skin.
you twist on his lap so you’re facing him now, your knees bracketing his hips. his hands settle on your thighs, warm and gentle.
his eyes flick down to your mouth.
and then—
he leans in.
the kiss starts slow, tentative, the soft kind where your noses bump a little and you both smile into it. his hands tighten on your waist. you fist your fingers in his sweater, pulling him closer.
he kisses you again. and again. little, wanting kisses that make your stomach dip.
eventually he stands, still kissing you, and carries you the two steps back to his bed. you laugh into his mouth because he bumps into the chair, mutters “sorry” even though he doesn’t stop kissing you.
the two of you fall onto the bed in a tangle of arms and blankets. his hair falls around your faces like a curtain. your hands run through it automatically.
“you have so much hair,” you whisper, breathless.
“is this bad?”
“no. i love it.” you tug gently. “you should dye it someday though.”
he blinks. “dye?”
“yeah. bleach or something.”
he makes a horrified noise. “i will burn it.”
you giggle. “you won’t.”
“i will. i know i will.”
he kisses you again before you can reply, and soon you’re half under the blankets, pressed close, warm from the heater and from each other. his hand rests on your hip. your fingers tangle in his hair. your breaths sync without trying.
you’re so wrapped in each other you don’t hear footsteps until—
“lukai!” his mom yells from downstairs. “vakariene jau!”
dinner already.
you both freeze.
then you both burst into tiny, panicked laughter.
“oh no,” he groans. “we will be dead.”
“your mom is not going to kill us.”
“she will kill me. then you. then me again.”
you push him off gently, scrambling upright. your sweater is wrinkled, your necklace is crooked, his shirt is basically halfway off one shoulder. you both look like you just rolled down a hill.
you grab his shoulders and fix his shirt. he fixes your hair. you fix his hair. he fixes your sweater. it’s a whole quiet, frantic dance you’ve perfected over the years.
you slip your socks back on. he straightens your necklace. you wipe a smudge of your lip balm from his mouth with your thumb, and he shivers.
“okay,” you whisper. “we look normal.”
“we look not normal.”
“we look normal enough.”
he exhales like he’s going into battle.
you reach for the doorknob, then pause. “oh— before i forget.” you turn back to him. “your soundcloud name. what are you gonna use?”
he shrugs, but you can tell he’s been thinking about it.
christmas is all around ☥⋆.˚ thomas brodie sangster
"christmas is all around me, and so the feeling grows." °⋆˙⟡
warnings : fluff, significant age gap (but both characters are over 20), slight jealousy, love actually spoilers
pairing : thomas brodie sangster x female reader
word count : almost 2k
summary : watching everyone's favorite christmas movie with your boyfriend, except he's in it.
authors note : this is the first fic in my winter series! i'm making a post just like i did for my fall favs so i'll upload that sometime soon! you can still request fall themed fics too, and obviously anything else you'd like. i've been less active lately but that's really only because i feel like tumblr is in a bit of a dry spell atm. if you request something that i'd like to/ am able to write i will definitely still do so, so please do not refrain for sending me a request. xx
⊹₊ ˚‧︵‿₊୨୧₊‿︵‧ ˚ ₊⊹
the house smelled faintly of tea and cinnamon, the kind you’d brewed together earlier in the afternoon while the rain rattled softly against the windows.
the sofa was piled with blankets and cushions, a small fortress of comfort, and you were curled up in it, knees tucked under your chin, a fleece blanket draped over your shoulders.
thomas sat beside you, one leg stretched along the sofa, the other bent at the knee, his arm draped casually across the backrest, brushing against you whenever you shifted.
“love, are you sure we have to watch this again? it's not even close to christmas yet.” he muttered quietly, voice low and amused, just as the opening scene of love actually began. you barely looked up, a small smile tugging at your lips.
“you know we do,” you replied softly, letting your head rest on his shoulder. the warmth of his jumper seeped into your cheek, and you pressed against him a little more. “we did it last year too. it’s tradition.”
thomas groaned, a faint, exasperated sound, tilting his head slightly to hide his face from the screen. “i know. last year i didn't want to watch it either,” he said, muttering under his breath, the corner of his mouth twitching. “watching myself… at twelve… it’s… it’s unbearable.”
you giggled quietly, careful not to break the hush of the house. “it’s adorable,” you said, letting your fingers brush against his arm. “you’re adorable. even when you’re embarrassed of yourself.”
he let out another groan, more dramatic this time, and pressed a hand over his eyes. “i was utterly hopeless. look at me,” he muttered, voice muffled. “completely ridiculous. who let me say that line?”
“script writers, probably,” you teased, laughing softly. and it was perfect. awkward, yes, but adorable. very, very adorable.”
he peeked out from under his hand, eyes flicking toward you, and you could see the faint flush creeping across his cheeks. “adorable?” he repeated, a little incredulous. “pretty sure the word is horrendous, dear.”
“nah-uh." you disagreed simply, tucking yourself closer against his side.
thomas exhaled, a slow, resigned sound, leaning back slightly. “you’ve got a wicked sense of humor, you know that?” he murmured, voice low. “enjoying someone else’s childhood humiliation like that.”
“not someone else’s,” you corrected, tugging lightly at his jumper. “my boyfriend's. and i enjoy it. you’re whiny. you’re cute. it's very funny."
he let out a small laugh, the sound quiet and low, and you felt his arm twitch against your back, like he was holding you a little tighter without even thinking.
“it’s unfair,” he said after a pause, voice almost wistful. “i don’t think anyone should ever be forced to watch videos of themselves when they were a squirmy little kid.”
you snuggled closer, resting your cheek against his shoulder, letting the blanket pool around the both of you. “well that's too bad because i'm forcing you,” you murmured.
he shook his head slightly, pressing his forehead against the top of your head. “i suppose i’ll just have to endure it then,” he said quietly, but there was a trace of amusement under the words. “but we're not doing this again next year.”
the movie continued, the little twelve-year-old thomas fumbling lines, and he groaned under his breath again. “oh, god… that hair…” he muttered. “that voice. i sound like a chipmunk.”
you laughed softly, tugging lightly at his jumper. “you sound the exact same now, don't be dramatic.”
he exhaled, a long, low sigh, and his hand brushed against yours on instinct. “you’re enjoying this entirely too much,” he said, voice calm but laced with humor.
“i am,” you admitted quietly, leaning fully against him turning your head slightly to press a kiss to his bicep. "you're adorable."
thomas let out another groan, muffled against your hair, shaking his head. “adorable,” he repeated, almost as if testing the word. “i don’t understand how you can say that with a straight face.”
“i can,” you said softly, eyes closing briefly as you pressed closer into him. “because i love you. and i would've loved you back then, too.”
he shook his head again, chuckling softly this time, the sound low and warm. “i’ve got no defense,” he murmured. “none at all.”
for the next few minutes, you stayed like that, quiet except for the soft hum of the television and your occasional whispered comment, the gentle sound of thomas groaning or muttering to himself whenever his younger self appeared on screen.
every so often he would brush a strand of hair from your face, or tuck you closer under the blanket, subtle gestures of care that made your chest ache with affection.
the rain tapped lightly against the windows, the city quiet outside, and the flat felt like a world of its own — golden, warm, and utterly safe.
you rested there, tangled in blankets and in thomas, enjoying the way he muttered under his breath, the soft rise and fall of his chest, and the quiet intimacy of a winter evening spent together, watching a movie that made him suffer just enough for you to find it completely, hopelessly adorable.
as the film rolled towards his end, the cheerful music of the famous airport scene filled the living room.
thomas’s character appeared on the screen, running breathless after the girl he liked, and you felt that familiar little twist of irritation curl in your stomach.
you didn’t say anything at first, just crossed your arms, yanking your hand out of where it was resting in thomas's. he glanced down at you, eyes crinkling in amusement, and reached up to brush a stray strand of hair from your forehead.
“something wrong, love?” he asked lightly, voice low, playful.
you huffed again, not looking up. “no,” you muttered, the barest edge of a growl in your voice.
thomas let out a quiet chuckle, leaning down to press a kiss to the top of your head. “mm-hm. that’s what i thought.”
the scene on-screen continued, and the furrow of your brows tightened.
you shifted, a small pout forming on your face, and he sighed softly, shaking his head with a smile. “you do this every time we watch this movie,” he murmured. “every. single. time.”
“i'm not doing anything,” you said quietly, voice low, stubborn. “i mean—look at her. you running through the airport, chasing her. how fun for you two."
thomas chuckled again, amused. “love, i was twelve. you weren’t born yet when that was filmed.”
you glared at him from beneath your lashes, tilting your face away from him in dramatized anger. “that's not an excuse,” you whispered.
he shook his head, smiling down at you, one hand brushing lightly along your back. “it’s ridiculous, you know,” he murmured, voice soft. “you, jealous of a character in a movie i made nearly twenty-five years ago. ridiculous.”
you let out a dramatic sigh, arms crossing over your chest tighter. “i’m not jealous.” you said firmly, though the way you avoided eye contact said something else.
thomas laughed quietly, low and warm, brushing another stray strand of hair from your face. “not jealous,” he repeated, amused. “right. you look adorable when you're not jealous like this.”
“i’m not adorable,” you muttered, voice muffled against his jumper. “`and i'm also not jealous.”
“you’ve been ‘not jealous’ ever since this scene started,” he said, smirking. “and every year you do this. it's practically a tradition on it's own now.”
you huffed again, pressing a little harder against him. “i am not joking, thomas. i don't like you running after some stupid girl,” you insisted quietly. “this is… a big deal.”
thomas shook his head, letting out a soft chuckle, then lowered his lips to the top of your head. “fine,” he murmured, one arm coming fully around you to pull you closer.
“you're actually unbelievable, you know that? what do you want me to do? i'm not going to apologise, if that's what you're getting at here.”
you peeked up at him from under your lashes, and he just grinned down at you, fingers brushing along your jawline. when he saw the look in your eyes the grin wiped off his face immediately. "you're joking, right? you don't actually expect me to apologise?"
"i hear the couch is pretty comfy this time of year." you threatened, arms still crossed and brows still furrowed.
thomas let out a scoff, shaking his head softly. he opened his mouth to protest, but stopped as soon as you raised your eyebrows in that dangerous way.
he huffed a quiet laugh. “for what, exactly?”
“for—” you paused, sitting up just enough to look at him, eyes narrowing a little. “for running after a different girl. that's cheating. and saying that i wasn't born yet when you made that movie, that's bullying.” you listed, counting the impressive number of two on your fingers as you talked.
he blinked, then grinned, clearly fighting the urge to laugh. “no, that last thing is called a fact, sweetheart.”
you crossed your arms again, nose wrinkling. “thomas...”
thomas let out a long, exaggerated sigh, running a hand down his face. “you’re going to make me do this, aren’t you?”
you nodded solemnly.
he shifted on the couch, turning so he was facing you properly. “alright.” his voice softened as he took your hands, thumbs tracing slow circles against your skin. “i'm sorry for chasing after another girl. even if it was just a scene, and i was acting, and i was also twelve years old, it's still incredibly mean of me to do. i should've waited twenty years so i could film the scene with you instead. i regret my actions and i will never make such a mistake again."
"and the other thing. the bullying." you said, face still extremely straight.
thomas's eyes sparkled in that way they did whenever he had to try really hard to hold in his laughter. "i’m sorry i said you weren’t born yet when i filmed that scene. i deeply regret my thoughtless, insensitive remark about your lack of existence."
that earned him a tiny, reluctant smile. you tried to hide it, but he saw.
“there it is,” he said quietly, voice dipping low, fond. “knew you couldn’t stay mad at me.”
you rolled your eyes, but before you could fire back, he tugged you gently toward him until you were half across his lap, half pressed against his chest.
“hey—”
“shh,” he murmured, adjusting you like he always did—one hand behind your back, one brushing your hair away from your face until it fell just right. “better.”
you let yourself sink against him, pretending to stay annoyed but relaxing under his touch. his fingers traced slow, absentminded lines down your arm. “still a cheater.” you whispered.
he snorted, eyes half-lidded. “and you’re dramatic. terribly dramatic.”
“i’m not—” you started, but his mouth was already brushing against your temple, then your cheek, then the corner of your lips, each kiss a quiet little apology he didn’t need to give.
you finally turned your face toward him, and he kissed you properly then—slow, familiar, the kind of kiss that left you both smiling before it even ended.
when he pulled back, he kept his forehead pressed to yours. “there,” he whispered. “still mad?”
you bit back a smile, pretending to think. “a little.”
he chuckled lowly, brushing his thumb over your chin. “guess i’ll just have to keep trying, then.”
you melted into another kiss, his hand cupping the back of your head, the world fading to the warmth of the couch, the soft flicker of the tv light, and the faint hum of rain outside.
eventually, you mumbled against his shoulder, “we're watching it again next year, you know.”
thomas laughed quietly, tightening his arm around you and pressing a kiss to the top of your head. “sure we are, darling. can't wait."
“it’s close to midnight and something evil’s lurking in the dark…” 𓂃۶ৎ
warnings : fluff, nicotine
pairings : lukas radzevičius x female reader, alanas brasas x female reader
word count : about 900
summary : pretty sure the title sums it up quite well
authors note : ik halloween was 3 days ago but i was violently ill the last two weeks so i completely forgot 💔
⋆˚𖥔 ݁ ˖𓂃.☘︎ ݁˖ lukas 𓈒ㅤׂ 𝜗𝜚
- hates store-bought costumes (“too cheap-looking”) so he’ll end up piecing something together from his closet.
- claims he doesn’t want to dress up, but gives in immediately when you pout.
- will absolutely be a disney prince if you want to be a princess.
- not so eager when he’s actually wearing the costume “this so stupid, mažylė.”
- his hair is a mess, but you convince him to let you fix it “no gel! only brush!”
- he’ll make a show of complaining while helping you zip your dress or lace your corset, muttering “too much skin, everybody will look.”
- you force him into a couple tiktoks. he hates it. grumbles the whole time. yet when you show him the final result, he watches it like ten times and edits it for you.
- every few seconds his hands find your waist under the excuse of “fixing your dress.” he keeps murmuring, “you look too good. maybe we don’t go.”
- by the time you actually finish getting ready, it’s dark out and he’s got red lipstick smeared along his jaw that neither of you bother to remove.
- refuses to let you go without a jacket (“you will freeze to death, mažyte”), even if it “ruins the outfit.”
- sticks close to you the entire time — big hand on your waist, quiet smile when people compliment your costumes.
- doesn’t drink much; prefers holding your drink and making sure you don’t over do it.
- if it’s a house party, he finds the quiet corner or balcony with you; you two end up talking about random deep things — like why halloween feels nostalgic even though you barely celebrated it as kids.
- talks to your friends if they approach, polite and quiet, but always with that unreadable lukas look.
- takes pumpkin carving way too seriously. like, full focus, brows furrowed, tongue between his teeth. yours looks adorable and happy. his looks like a renaissance painting of a demon. he insists he “won.”
- probably makes you watch old horror movies like the shining or the exorcist. he lectures about cinematography while you hide under a blanket. halfway through, he pauses the movie to pull you closer, saying, “you scared, meile? come here, is just movie.”
- pretends to be all tough himself but definitely checks the corners of the room when the movie’s over.
°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･ alanas ⋆˙⟡
- pretends not to care at first “is just commercial holiday.”
- the type to go thrifting two hours before the party and somehow pull together something criminally hot and underdressed.
- probably goes as ghostface
- plays loud music, sings off-key. (“širdelė, is halloween, i have to get in the mood.”)
- makes fun of you for taking too long but then stands there for 15 minutes fixing his hair.
- insists he doesn’t do makeup, then two hours before the party he’s suddenly sitting on the bed with eyeliner on because you “bullied” him into it.
- takes a polaroid of you before you leave — says it’s for memories but it goes straight into his wallet.
- you leave the apartment late because he forgot his lighter. twice.
- you two end up outside at some point, sitting on a cold curb, sharing a cigarette and laughing about the people inside.
- “mano meile, i find jack skelton. take picture of us.”
- by the end of the night, his eyeliner is smudged to oblivion and he’s wearing your glitter somewhere on his face.
- he lost his ghostface mask somewhere around the time he befriended captain america.
- refuses to take off his costume before bed. “no, i look sick.”
- passes out halfway through your halloween movie marathon.
- insists he “doesn’t get hangovers,” but spends all morning groaning on the couch with sunglasses on.
- his pumpkin is… horrifying. but he insists it’s “punk.” you light them both, and his falls apart in twenty minutes.
- you get plastic bats and fake cobwebs. his ceiling is way too high up so you have to climb on his shoulders. when you do, he wraps his hands around your thighs and goes, “we fall, i die happy.”
- acts bored during slashers but jumps during psychological ones. afterward, he won’t admit he’s freaked out but keeps glancing at the windows while rolling a cigarette. when you point it out, he says, “i am checking moonlight, not ghosts.”
- after your last halloween party of the year you end up on his couch, lights off, the faint glow of the jack-o-lantern flickering. he’s got his head in your lap, your fingers in his hair. he mumbles something soft like, “maybe halloween is okay. maybe.”
