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Little Dark Age; a tribute to the visual, symbolic, & emotional parallels within and between âTrainspottingâ and âT2: Trainspottingâ
aka; a small love letter to my favorite film & book series of all time.
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FâIâEâNâDâS
âFriendsâ intro, Trainspotting-style.
(this is the dumbest thing I have ever made, but i am unrepentant)
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14 + mark renton
14. A kiss so desperate that the two wind around each other, refusing to let go until they are finished.
Mark had been in rehab for a few weeks and the doctor thought it was best no one saw him. Granted, you didnât blame the doctor. If he let in any of his friends that werenât you than they would most likely slip in anything and everything they could, just for fun.
But you still missed him. You were getting antsy about it actually which probably meant so little to what he was going through but you were so used to seeing him everyday that it was weird to not.Â
You were the person who could watch over him and that was why you waited out side the clinic for him to come out. He had asked the doctor to call you and you came. That meant something to him. If he had called Sick Boy he wouldâve been sent right back in, most likely by you.
You saw the door open and you smiled, pushing yourself off of the car you were leaning against. You threw your arms up and when Mark caught sight of you he let out a toothy grin, half running half jogging to you. You met him in a middle and you kissed, desperately,Â
The doctor was there to tell you what to do with him still but you were so busy kissing him you couldnât help it. Eventually you had to pull away and smile, putting your hand on the back of his head.
âThanks for coming,â he said and you could tell he was biting his tongue on a cuss.
âOf course, anytime.âÂ
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looking at you
Mark Renton x Reader
Two am in the country tended to be pretty quiet. You were used to the sounds of the city, the constant buzz of noise even when everyone shouldâve been snug in their beds. You were still getting used to the idea that everywhere closed for the night by about ten pm, except for the pub, so when you felt restless there was only one place you could really go.
âThisâll be the third night this week Iâve found you out here,â came a voice from above your head.
You tilted your head back from where you lay on the roof to find that Mark was clambering out your bedroom window, and your heart stopped in your chest for a moment as you watched him, quite gracefully, swing his legs over the sill.
âCanât blame me for wantin a bit of stargazing when light pollutions so shit back in London,â you said, giving him a grin as he crouched low and shuffled down to lay on his back beside you.
Third night this week and it was only Wednesday, you knew. It was just hard, still, to get used to the quiet. To get used to sharing your space with someone. To get used to the idea of someone wanting to share space to begin with.
For a long, long few moments it was just silence between you. He had his hands on his own abdomen and you could see out the corner of your eye that he was almost completely focused on the sky above. There was a bit of wonder in his eyes that made your heart ache and for just a moment you let your mind wander, opening up those pathways youâd long closed off out of self preservation.
What if, you thought, with a kind of wistfulness that had sharp edges. What if, what if, what if...
He caught you off guard when he turned to look at you and for a moment you could still see the stars reflected in his eyes, before he saw the look on your face and his brow furrowed. He turned towards you and tucked his elbow beneath his head, reaching out with his free hand to twine his cold fingers with yours.
âWhatâs that look for, then...?â he asked, voice soft and low with concern. You realized then that heâd caught your look of wistfulness and you tried to school your expression. He squeezed your fingers. âNone of that, now, come on. You can tell me.â
I was wondering what it would be like if you looked at me with the same kind of wonder as you did the stars, you didnât say. The words pushed at your lips but you couldnât bring yourself to actually put them to voice.
Instead, you said, â...why did you invite me to come with you?â
âWhat?â he said, eyebrows lifting and surprise overtaking confusion. You looked down at your joined fingers and took a breath.
âWhen you left London. When you decided to move out here after everything with yourâyour old friends. Why did you ask me to come with you?â Now that youâd finally asked, you couldnât stop yourself from adding to it. âIâI love getting to spend time with you, honestly, and Iâm so happy you did, but I canât figure outâI donât understand why. Why me. Out of everyone you couldâve asked...â
He said your name, soft but intense, and you finally looked back up at him. His eyes were bright and so focused on yours and you swallowed.
âThere wasnât a single other person I wanted to call that night. Not a one.â His thumb stroked over your hand and you had to suppress a shiver. âAnd when I realized Iâd have to leave, I knew I couldnât without you. Without at least asking you to come. I thought it was a fuckin long shot that youâd agree...â
âMark,â you tried to start, tone admonishing, but he shook his head.
âI did. Even with a sack full of cash, what kinda cunt would agree to run off with a former junkie?â He gave you one of his completely mad grins and shuffled a bit closer, getting in your space. âBut you did. And here we are. Does it matter so much why now that weâre here?â
âSâpose not,â you said, voice a bit weak when you were faced with one of those blinding grins. That wistful feeling was curling around your heart, sharp and painful and bright.
His eyes bored into yours for a long, long moment. You couldnât bring yourself to look away, and you could swear you saw the stars reflected back at you from the depths. He said your name again, softer, and in the space of a blink he was closer than ever, so much so you could count each of his eyelashes.
âMark...?â You didnât know what exactly you were going to ask him, and in the end it didnât matter. You felt his breath on your lips for a fleeting moment and thenâthen he was kissing you, rolling so he could lean over you with his elbow beside your head. His lips slotted with yours, his other hand curling into your hair, noses brushing and breath mingling between soft, connecting pecks. A tiny sound escaped you when he pulled back for a moment, a whimper or a whine, and he shushed you with a smile.
When you looked up at him you could still see that look of reverence and admiration and wonder despite the fact that you could see the universe spread out above his back from where you lay. You could still see the stars in his eyes.
He was looking at you.
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Unspoken
Mark Renton x reader
Word Count: 1.1k
Warnings: heroin talk, cuss words, insinuation to smut
Authorâs Note: Bro I wasnât going to write this today, I was just gonna start it and then it was therapeutic and I didnât stop so I hope you enjoy cause I sure did
Requested: by anon, All this morning after with dan talk got me thinking bout morning after with Mark Renton đ also I absolutely loved that dan morning after fic it was real real cute you always write such cute things
Summary: the request!
Genre: fluffF
Song:
(not my gif)
Mark woke up just before you did. He was surprised to find you still there, sure that you were going to leave right after the two of you had finished the night before. He then remembered it was your apartment. He wondered if he should go without waking you. His memories from the night before were still crystal clear except for a little haze of alcohol. There was nothing blocking him from remembering your hips in his hands and your head resting on his chest as you moved.
He stared at you, both of your faces on one of the two pillows, and smiled a closed mouth smile at the memory. You and him had been friends for ages, even in school. There was always a lingering thing that went on but nothing had happened until the night before.
You wanted him to know you were proud he was getting clean, or so he said, and decided to take him out for some dinner. You both knew where it was going to end up but no words were spoken about those plans. You ate your dinner, had a few drinks and stumbled carelessly into your apartment. It may have been rash but it was not unwelcome.
Your eyes opened to the sight of icy blue ones. Mark saw you begin to stir and rose from the bed, trying to make it seem like he was leaving. He wasnât sure where he stood with this and you now. He resorted to when he used to just sleep with girls and leave.
You sat up, hair sticking up in all kinds of places. You propped your head up with your arm.
âAre you leaving?â You didnât know where you stood either. He shrugged on last night's saggy jeans. He turned back to you like he didnât know you were awake which was basically meaningless because you had watched him move away from you.
âI donât know,â he said. You looked around the room as you thought of what to say next. You werenât quite sure what was going to happen and your nerves were to high for it being so early in the morning.
âDo you want to?â you asked finally. He took a minute to think and shrugged. He hadnât put on a shirt yet and you admired his slim figure slightly, glancing away when you felt yourself grow embarrassed.
âNo.â You smiled and laid your head back down on the pillow. Your apartment was a mess and there was no way you were going to find his shirt when he did end up leaving and you held that to your heart, knowing it would make him stay longer. He stepped over one of your heels and laid back down over the covers. Your fingers raised to his arm, tracing an unknown pattern into it. It raised up and down his skin and he watched you.
He was scared if he spoke he would break your concentration. But then your lips flitted up into a sly smile and you continued but this time looking him in the eyes. The covers were over your chest and you made no attempt to grab them as you moved up to kiss him. He responded immediately with something he didnât usually express. Comfort, love, content happiness. The lust was still there as it always would be but now there was more to it.
It didnât go unnoticed by you.
You pulled away. Your hand had moved to his bare chest and he shuddered against your cold touch.
âSo what do you want to do?â you whispered. He raised an eyebrow.
âLike with us?â
âYeah but also in general. Just with life. Now that youâre all sober now,â you said with a grin. You had a falling out over his constant addiction and though your crush on him had never wavered really, your faith in him had.
He took a deep breath and his fingers brushed your cheek to move a piece of stray hair away from your face.
âI donât know. About any of it.â You nodded and your hand halted. It was so sudden he almost took back his words immediately.
âI wanna leave this shitty town and I want you to come with me.â He raised an eyebrow at your forwardness but it didnât inwardly faze him much. He knew he would probably end up going. You were one of the few people in his life that he even liked. You and Spud maybe.
âWhere you wanna go?â he asked. You shrugged. Your eyes had returned to his arm and his chest, where your fingers restarted again.
âAnywhere. Everywhere. Just away.â He understood the feeling. He had been thinking about it too since he was sober now. Getting away from the memories seemed like the best option if he wanted to stay in the same way he was now.
âOkay.â You looked up and smiled at him. He smiled back, because your happiness was just so contagious that he had to smile otherwise he would hurt. He leaned down and kissed you again.
Your relationship up until that point, though strictly platonic (from what either of you remember), had always been rather unspoken. You knew each other well enough to know what the other was thinking or feeling most of the time. There were exceptions but this moment wasnât one of them.
You hummed into the kiss and sat up, hands clasping behind his neck. The sheet fell but you didnât give it a second thought. Nothing he hadnât seen before.
âWeâll act like normal people. Like a fucking house couple who goes to barbecues and doesnât do drugs. Weâll get a fucking job I donât care,â you said as you pulled away. His smile returned, a real smile.
âNormal people would never look like us,â he told you and you rolled your eyes.
âWeâll make them look like us. Iâll give Karen the housewife heroin in her afternoon tea if that's what it takes.â He chuckled.
âThat isnât how it wo-â But you were so busy kissing him again you didnât care.
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Deal
Mark Renton x reader
Word Count: 1.1k
Warnings: insinuation to smut, alcohol, talks of addiction and overdose
Authorâs Note: This was loosely requested by @satanslov3r ! I had to write more for my baby boy Mark.
Summary: The reader and Mark donât really remember what happened last night.
Genre: fluff
(not my gif)
Mark turned and looked at you as you slept on the floor of the hotel room. He couldnât really remember what had happened last night, not yet. Alcohol wasnât his normal choice of poison and he had trouble figuring out how to guide through it but it wasnât something he hadnât done before.
The problem here was you were there. And you always had a shitty way of clouding his memory even when it was supposed to be clear. He got off the bed and surveyed the room with a skeptical eye. He also had a headache but he did his best.
The bed was unmade. He was wearing underwear, his crop top and one shoe. There was a painting on the floor, one of the hotel shitty ones that you hated and he could guess who broke it in. The blanket comforter was on the floor, covering your torso. You were wearing a bra and he couldnât see what else. His pants and your dress were tangled in the sheet, across the room. A broken bottle of vodka was shattered on the table and the phone was off the cord, beside it the room service menu.
He usually woke up in the same room as Spud or Sick Boy or Tommy or someone. A random girl seemed more feasible than you. You were the type to go out drinking with him and from the looks of it, you were at least half way through taking each others clothes off. That worried him slightly. He wanted a real relationship with you and if you woke up and couldnât remember what happended either you might just want to get the fuck away from him.
Mark saw your eyes fluttered open. You groaned, rubbing your face to try and get the sleep away. You squinted around the room, trying to gauge what had happened. You sat up and caught eyes with Mark which made you take a deep breath of relief.
âGâmorning my Mark,â you groaned out. You were both just friends before the last night out but you called him yours out of habit. You had known each other a long time. He ran a hand over his head and smiled his wicked grin.
âMorninâ fuck face.â You rolled your eyes and sat all the way up. You looked at the comforter covering your body and the broken picture at your feet. You smiled at it, sitting up more and leaning over to grab it. A few glass shards came off as you reached it which made you look up at Mark. He laughed and got out of bed, taking it from you.
âOh did you do that?â you inquired with a silly grin. He nodded jokingly.
âI am the one who has the weird vendetta against hotel room pictures. It is I.â You got up and found yourself in your undergarments. You looked at him, panicked.
âOh God Mark did weâŚâ your voice trailed off in worry. His eyes went wide too, hoping you would just not notice the state of the two of you.
âI donât think so. I think Iâd remember that,â he joked. You sighed, running your hands through your hair and grabbing your dress from the sheets. You pulled it over your head, throwing him his pants.
âI hope not. God if I remember later today that we did I donât know what Iâd do. Honest.â Mark got up and shrugged his clothes on.
âWould it be so bad? I mean, I canât be that unappealing.â You shook your head, walking to the small mirror hanging on the wall and fixing your hair in it.
âI just donât want our first time to be a drunken mess that I canât even remember.â
You and Mark had been dancing around feelings for so long, flirting shamelessly for years now. It had always been that way though. You didnât flirt like that with the other boys. You and Mark were reserved for each other and drunken one night stands with people no one knew the name of. Common knowledge in the group. Common knowledge amongst one another.
âI think drunk Mark has always been more of a risk taker really. He is really bloody stupid.â You looked at his face through the mirror behind you, watched his eyes watch your reflection.
âOh sober Mark is just as stupid, trust me. Just never has the guts to kiss me yeah?â
You were challenging him and he wasnât used to that. Had he finally reached the end of your line, the breaking point of you and him? Was it now or never? He wished more than anything that he could remember the night before. And that he had a sandwich.
âWas that an invitation?â he inquired. You shrugged, turning away from the mirror and looking at him face to face.
âIt wasnât a rejection now was it?â
He kissed you and had a feeling he had never done that before. It was spark, just as you both had imagined it to be but it was no surprise. Eventually it had to happen. It was written in your stories. But it did feel amazing to finally do it.
âWhy did you put the dress back on?â he asked and you rolled your eyes.
âBecause you wonât get me that easy,â you whispered, fingers trailing over his chest and neck.
âNow thats fucking cruel,â he whispered through a laugh and you pushed him away, handing him his other shoe.
âPlease Renton, we have plenty of time. As long as we donât overdose I suppose. You wonât if I wonât?â
âItâs a deal.â You hung the painting back up, flicking off a piece of glass. You turned back to him, a smile dancing on your face.
âBreakfast? I am craving hash browns and some water.â He threw you your jacket off the desk under the sheets and you caught it.
âYouâre gonna keel over if you eat any more hashbrowns.â
âAnd I will die if I stay here and have sex on broken glass.â
Ewan tag list: (@ satanslov3r tagged above, @daphne-fandom-writing)
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Relinquishing junk. Stage one: preparation. For this, you will need one room which you will not leave. Soothing music. Tomato soup, ten tins of. Mushroom soup, eight tins of, for consumption cold. Ice cream, vanilla, one large tub of. Magnesia, milk of, one bottle. Paracetamol. Mouthwash. Vitamins. Mineral water. Lucozade. Pornography. One mattress. One bucket for urine, one for feces, and one for vomitus. One television and one bottle of Valium, which Iâve already procured from my mother, who is, in her own domestic and socially acceptable way, also a drug addict. Now Iâm ready. All I need is one final hit to soothe the pain while the Valium takes effect.
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Sandwich Spot
Mark Renton x reader
Word Count: 1.5k
Warnings: mentions of being an addict, mentions of heroin, cuss words, mentions of sex
Authorâs Note: I love writing for Mark and I love writing for Danny so I did both because no one can stop me! But here is baby boy Mark being like the best boy
Requested: by anon, Hey bby can I ask you for a fluffy mark Renton piece or it can be Danny either or but just load that shit up with hella fluff
Summary: the request
Genre: fluff
Song:
(not my gif)
You were startled out of your daze state by the harsh sound of paper being slammed down on a plastic table. You looked up from the swirls of dried paint that had been edged into the surface and at the noise. There was a newspaper on the table now and it looked like it was still shaking from the force it had been put down with. You didnât have to look up to know it was Begbie who had thrown it. He had anger problems.
âWhat is this shit?!â he yelled, like the table before him was now the writers of the New York Times. You were holed up in some run down bar, cramped into a booth as you usually were. You were practically sitting on Mark which neither of you minded much because it meant one; you werenât sitting on Sick Boy on the other side of you and two; that you were sitting on Mark, your boyfriend. It was a loose term when you had both gotten clean, well aware that the state of being high was going to induce you to cheat on one another in the worst ways. But now that you were stone cold sober it seemed easier to fall into place with each other, like you were working around one anothers habits.
ââDonât know whatâs in the newspaper Bagbi-â
âShit! Shit is in that newspaper Spud.â He said Spud like it was a curse word which you didnât think was quite fair to Spud. He was probably the nicest of the lot of you. But you didnât say anything because it would do more harm than good at this point. Whatever Bagbie was worked up about wasnât worth your time.
âWell you lot have fun with the news, weâve got to head out,â Mark said, squeezing your bare arm. You didnât protest but was aware you had nowhere to be. It was almost 3 in the afternoon and last you checked there wasnât anything to do at 3 in the afternoon but sit with your friends and bitch about the news. Still you slid with Mark to the edge of the seat and hiked up your pants as you stood.
You pointed to one of the articles on the disheveled newspaper.
âTerrible about that...kid,â you said with a sly shrug. You almost thought that Bagbie was going to follow you out and shove a drink into your head but Mark was quick to take you out of the scene. You followed his rushed footsteps out the door.
The cold hair hit you with a rush, sending instant goosebumps through your exposed skin. You knew you should have grabbed a jacket but you liked this shirt and you wanted to show it off.
âThought you might get beat the shit out of by Bagbie,â he said. You could see the air he breathed out it was so cold. You shivered again.
âIf it wasnât me it would be Spud poor lad,â you said through a shiver. Mark caught sight of your obvious show of coldness and threw an arm around you, warming you through body contact and friction as he rubbed your arm. You leaned into his touch easily.
âYou could probably take it better than him,â he said with a chuckle. You smiled and followed in sync with his footsteps. You guessed he was walking back to his place or yours or something, but that was further downtown than you cared to walk.
âLets go get some lunch,â you suggested. He raised an eyebrow as you looked up to gauge his reaction.
âWhat like a normal couple and shit?â he asked. You nodded, shrugging.
âWhy not right? What else are we going to do, go back to your place, fuck then eat left overs from four nights ago?â His face gave him away. That was exactly what he had been planning to do if he was even thinking that far ahead.
âQuite like the fucking part,â he joked and you gave him a smile.
âWhy canât I get good food first? Might make me more energetic.â He seemed to like that idea which made you smile. His gears were turning in his head and you saw him pick up some speed.
âHow about that place near the flat? That sandwich place you like so much,â he suggested and you nodded, following his pace. You were there in no time and you sat down in the corner next to the front window but enough to the side where the outsiders couldnât see you but you could see them. It was a regular spot for you and when Mark managed to stick around for lunch he sat there too.
He walked to you, two sandwiches in hand. He sat across from you, taking a sip from the soda and then taking a huge bite from his sandwich. You took a smaller bite, watching him as he ate hungrily. This place was usually pretty cheap for the amount of food it provided which made it ideal for high Y/N and high Mark. Now that you were both sober you managed to look at it differently, just for a moment.
Mark sure looked better than he did when he was high. Sometimes his eyes would sink in and then they would glaze over. You had never really bothered to look at yourself when you were high, never caring you supposed. But now you paid more attention to his face, the way his hair was buzzed off, the crop top that barely clung to his thin frame and the jacket that seemed almost too big for him.
He took out a cigarette and you took out your lighter, lighting it for him without him having to ask.
âWhatcha staring at?â he asked, putting the smoke between his lips and taking a long breath in. You shrugged and took a bite of your sandwich.
âMâ boyâiend,â you said chewing. He rolled his eyes, taking the cigarette out of his mouth. He gave you a fake loopy grin that was borderline genuine.
âLike what you see?â he asked cockily. Your eyes went wide as you nodded.
âOh âcourse. Handsomest boy in town,â you told him. He almost blushed, you could see it, but he suppressed it to avoid being caught. You knew him too well though.
âWell that ainât fokin right if Sick Boy is still a few streets down,â he said cheekily. You rolled your eyes, putting the sandwich down to assert full attention. You leaned over the table a little bit so you faces were close and trailed a line from his adams apple to his lips. You put your thumb on his lower lip and smiled, kissing him softly.
When you pulled away and sat back down he shook his head in a sort of disbelief.
âBullshit I got you. You sure you got the right guy?â he asked and you rolled your eyes.
âLemme check. Mark Renton right? Heroin addict whoâs a sucker for telling people to choose life when he never does?â
âThat is an irony joke and you know it,â he said but his fond smile made you grin. You both laughed a little at the other for no specific reason other than you were happy. Happy for a second in your pathetic lives.
âMaybe weâll make love when we get back to the flat,â he suggested, finishing off the sandwich. You raised an eyebrow, arms crossed over your chest.
âGod, donât tell me Mark Rentons goin soft!â
âFine weâll just fuck,â he said with a smile. You got up moved across the small table to his side, giving him a hand.
âMake love Renton and youâll be stuck with me,â you announced. He took your hand and jumped up, hitting your chest as he steadied himself on the ground.
âMaybe I wanna be stuck with you,â he said. You smiled, leading him out the door.
âOnce an addict always an addict. Just for other things.â He threw an arm around you again and you crossed your arms.
âRight back at you.â
Part 2
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Home | Mark Renton Blurb
Request: 8 from the cuddle prompts with rent boy? // ANON
8. Reluctantly
(a/n: I know I said Iâd do headcanons, but I wanted to turn this one into a short piece/blurb. First time properly writing for Rents, let me know what you think. Not my gif, but what a fashion icon. I love rents with all my heart)
tw: mentions of drug abuse
You went to visit after Markâs stint in rehab, when he was back at his parentâs house still not fully recovered from the effects of heroin withdrawal. You were nervous, not having seen him for a few months, anxious to see how much he had changed. You missed your Renton, your best friend, your partner in crime, most recently your boyfriend. But not anymore.
You opened the bedroom door to be greeted by the familiar peeling wallpaper, collections of Hibs posters tacked to the wall and a dusty record player that hadnât been used months sat abandoned in the corner. Mark was lying on his bed, still as lanky as ever, absentmindedly flicking through a magazine with Iggy Pop was splashed across the cover - most likely the only reason Mark had bought the thing. Or more likely stolen it.
He looked up, having noticed you at the doorway. Dark bags under his eyes, a slight sheen of sweat covering his pale skin, but the corners of his mouth were pulled up into a smile. A small one at that, but definitely a smile. It had been a long time since youâd seen Mark smile sober. It was good to see.
âMark. Hiâ
âYou came. I didnât think you would.â
The magazine was discarded on the floor now. Mark quickly shuffled to the side and patted the space heâd made, his smile growing into a grin as you walked over.
âOf course I came. I should have come sooner really.â
You perched on the edge of the mattress. The sheets under your palms were threadbare and old, but familiar. You remembered the two of you snuggling under them as children, bodies pushed together as you hid from Markâs parents. The light of Markâs brand new torch, his pride and joy, lighting up the comic you had brought round for a sleepover. Stifling giggles as you entertained each other deep into the night, when you knew you should really be sleeping. Falling asleep in each otherâs arms as teenagers, lips ghosting across skin and hands skimming up and down each otherâs bodies.Â
Inseparable, until you were torn apart by the reality of adulthood and heroin.
âYouâre clean?â you looked at Mark, already knowing the answer but wanting to see his reaction anyway.
âFor nowâŚâ his blue eyes flickered down, not meeting yours, his smile dimming a little. âDonât get your hopes up or anything.â
âBut youâre clean now, Mark. Thatâs what matters.â
Silence for a few moments. You gazed around the childhood bedroom again, looking for memories while you waited for a reply.
His ginger eyelashes flickered again and he spoke up.
âIâm gonna try this time, I promise.âÂ
He sounded serious, but his eyes were unreadable, as they always had been. Even as best friends, then lovers, youâd never been able to figure out exactly what made Mark tick. Even Sick Boy didnât know. He was a mystery you were still solving.
âWhatever happens, Mark, Iâm staying with you this time.â You took his clammy hand gently and squeezed it. âWeâll get through it together, yeah?â
An almost imperceptible nod, and then that faint smile reappearing.
âYeah.â His slender fingers squeezed your hand in return, an unspoken promise.
âOne more thing..â
His eyebrows raised in anticipation.
âI havenât seen you in months. Please give me a hug?â
The hand was pulled away, retreating into himself again.
âAw no come on, love, Iâm sweaty and disgusting, you donât-â
âMark. You need a hug. I want to hug you.â
More silence. It was now or never.
âJust come here.â You leaned towards him, scooting forward until you were practically on his lap and he groaned quietly, long arms opening to welcome you in despite his reluctance.
And it was just like youâd remembered, your chests pressed together once again, arms wrapped and tangled in each other.
You buried your head in Markâs chest while he practically collapsed into your shoulder, the feeling of human touch overwhelming after months of starvation. Markâs eyelashes tickled your skin and you rubbed your hand over his buzz cut, savouring the sensation of the hair soft against the pads of your fingers.
A sharp intake of breath followed by a shudder and then you felt him finally relax into you. You melted into one another, bodies fitting together like they had been made for it.
He may have been clammy and shaky and still not fully there, but he was still Mark and he was still home. And it was a start.
âI missed you.â The words were mouthed quietly into the crook of your neck, lips soft against your skin.
âI missed you too, Rents.â
{Renton tags:Â @rosionis @callmearwen @ohhellokenobi @afogocado @stardancerluv @goldenkenobi @a-seeker-of-imagination @saintlaurentkenobi @kuailiangs }
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Grump | Mark Renton
I would like to request a oneshot with Rents đ with the 10 and 11 fluff prompts đ Congratulations on 500 followers! đ¤ / @arianalilyblack 10 - cuddling in bed on a rainy day, 11 - sharing the same headphones
wc: 1.3k
Authorâs note: I havenât written in ages so idk what this is gonna be like but i did love writing it; i missed writing for rents and its pretty fluffy
Warnings: Mark Renton x gn!reader, liv attempting to write soppy shit. Oasis (lyrics in italics). British weather.
Typical British weather. That specific type of rain, a drizzle that wasnât heavy enough to feel too wet, but standing in it for over two minutes would leave you soaked through. This effect was worsened, of course, by the wind, which chilled you to the bones in seconds. Yes. Typical British weather, a constant drip-drop against the windows.
There had been a mutual decision between you and Mark to stay inside that morning, sheltered from the rain in the relative warmth of your tiny rented apartment. It was bare, no furnishings except for a small sofa and TV, a few vinyls and Rentonâs treasured turntable, an old bed frame with a worn mattress than you had managed to put together on another rainy day similar to this one. It wasnât much, that was for sure, but it had been home for the past few months. The small TV propped up in the corner was buzzing away, showing some old rerun of Top Of The Pops that was boring the fuck out of you.
Mark snatched the remote up from the bed with a huff and turned the tv off.
You turned to him with a raised eyebrow. He usually didnât mind Top Of The Pops, occasionally humming along to the songs. But not today, apparently.
âGrump.â
He laughed at your insult, throwing the remote off the end of the bed, and stretching his bare arms up to rest behind his head. He was shirtless - this wasnât unusual. Markâs favourite outfit was just his boxers when it was just you and him in the apartment.
âFucking annoying me, wasnât it?â
You smiled. âLike I said. Grump.â
He sighed again, corners of his mouth lifting up in a small smirk.
âDoesnât matter if Iâm a grump. Youâll love me anyway.â
He had a point, but you werenât gonna tell him that.
Renton leaned over and picked up his battered but trusty old Walkman, which was lying on the floor from last night. Sometimes he put some music on to help him sleep, some Lou Reed or New Order maybe, just quietly so the constant rhythm would settle him down. You didnât complain - he had good taste and there wasnât one song on his favourite mixtape that you disliked.
He untangled the headphones carefully, as careful as he was with all his music paraphernalia. He treasured it, more than anything else than he owned, that was for sure. It seemed like a ritual to Mark, when you watched him put the tape it and turn it on. The same with the record player - carefully holding the vinyl, setting it gently onto the turntable, dropping the needle just right so it was a smooth introduction into the sound, adjusting the speed if he needed to. All practiced movements, something to focus all his attention on.
He offered you one earbud with a steady hand. âCome on, close your eyes. Trust me.â
Of course you trusted him. He was the only thing that really mattered to you at this point. You and Mark Renton against the fucking world. That had been your life for the last few years, hopping between rented rooms and apartments, ever since you had both ran away from home - you on a whim to get out of your small hometown and find adventure, Mark in a desperate attempt to escape the clutches of one Francis Begbie after a âbusiness deal gone wrongâ. Or so heâd told you. It was obvious there was more to the story than that, but if Mark didnât want to tell you then that was his choice. The past was in the past, and you were both happy to leave it there.
So you took the earbud, making sure it fitted comfortably, then lay down next to Mark. He rolled over so that he was leaning on his elbow, swinging his leg over and hooking it over your knee so he could pull you closer, your face now only centimetres from his. You could count every eyelash framing those beautiful blue eyes, every freckle dotted on his smooth skin.
You reached out your hand to stroke it over his cropped hair, the strands feeling spiky as you moved one way over them, soft and fuzzy as you moved back. But Mark grabbed your hand gently, bringing your knuckles to his lips and pressing a kiss to them. It was soft, softer than the fluffy tufts of hair at the base of his neck, softer than the pale skin in the crook of his elbow.
âClose your fucking eyes,â he whispered, smiling, his eyes bright, twinkling.
You did. The opening melody of a song started playing through the headphones, acoustic and slow, immediately familiar and comforting.
Sitting on my own, chewing on a bone, a thousand million miles from home
The lyrics alone stirred up so many emotions in you, a longing, mourning almost for time that you had lost, a nostalgia for years gone by. But it also made you happy, optimistic for your future, grateful that you had Mark to share it with.
You felt a light touch on your hand, so gentle that you wouldnât have noticed it if youâd had your eyes open. But then Markâs fingers fumbled with yours, noticeably shakier than earlier, and you curled your hand around his, letting him hold you, feel you.
I wanna talk tonight, until the morning light
You felt Markâs gaze on you, a sixth sense. Blinking, your eyes adjusted quickly to the light and you took in Markâs face. You were right, he was focused on you (little shit, making you close your eyes but not doing it himself). But his eyes were a little bleary, glistening as if there were unshed tears waiting there.
about how you saved my life
He squeezed your hand at the end of the line. It was purposeful, the look in his eyes making you think that it wasnât coincidental that heâd chosen that moment.
You couldnât always tell what Mark was thinking. Sometimes heâd be sat right next to you, but his mind was back in the past, deliberating over moments and decisions that were privy only to him. You never pried, just waited, because you were sure that one day heâd let you in.
And today, you could see exactly what he was thinking. The grip of his hand tight on yours, the intensity of his gaze and the love in those blue eyes, love that Mark rarely showed so blatantly, so vulnerably. He was saying thank you.
âRents..â you started to speak, but his finger was on your lips before you could finish, urging you not to speak. The music was still playing but you werenât listening, all your attention now on Mark.
His lips moved slowly. No sound came from him, but you could make out the words just fine. Those three words that had only been ever said jokingly between the two of you, but you had wished for them to mean more, those three words that you had hoped for, but never expected. A warmth blossomed in your chest, ten times stronger than the effect of an Oasis song, because you knew that this time, Mark meant it. He meant it, and that was all that mattered.
Mirroring his earlier movement, you hooked your leg behind his and used it to pull yourself in closer to his body, so your chests were pressed against each other, the light smattering of his auburn chest hair ticklish on your skin. You could feel his pounding heart faintly against your skin, his eyelashes fluttering against your cheeks when he blinked.
Squeezing Markâs hand as tightly as you could, in reassurance to him or to steady yourself, you werenât sure, and whispered softly against his lips.
âI love you too, grump.â
*~*~*~*~
Tags : @star-whores-a-new-hoe @rubysnips @funkytxwn @callmearwen @ohhellokenobi @profkenobi @stardancerluv @goldenkenobi @a-seeker-of-imagination @saintlaurentkenobi @million-dollar-legs @imafatassmess @i-am-i-am-obiwankenobi @letmybabysleep @junkieboyfriend @haydens-moles @the-mandalorian-clone-lover @drinksomecoco
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hole oâ the toon / mark renton x fem!reader
a/n: as a scottish person i am legally obliged to write fanfic about scottish ppl in scots dialect. (note: im not from edinburgh so the dialect might be off a little). sorry if you canât understand a word of this lmaoo iâm just experimenting
summary: begbie does something out of order to reader and rent boyâs there to (kinda) comfort n make a plan.
cw: written in scots dialect, usual trainspotting stuff, drug ment, swearing, injury, hurt/comfort, reader has not âchosen lifeâ so to say, begbieâs an arsehole.
â How dare ye fucken waltz in here. Begbie hid said, starein fucken daggers it ye.
Naw yer right tae be in their turf, efter awh the shite ye dae. But whit kin ye dae? Free country n awh att. Didnae seem free whin Begbie wis anywhere in ae perimeter. Ye make yer way tae the bog, fixin yer eyes on anything thit wisnt att cunts face.
When ye come oot heâs right er, snooker pole in haun, in a stance thit made it oot as if he wis aboot tae whack it oâer yer heed. âAhâll nivir lay a haun oan a wummunâ he wance said, load a shite. Ye seen the skelpers oan his misses. Ye ken heâd dae it tae yersel if he wanted.
â Skagginâ in er a bet. Fucken skagginâ skank! Begbie sneered. Poison in his spit as it volleyed oot his mooth n ontae yer face.
Ye staggered back, face scrunched up in cringe. A heavy huff a air left yer nostrils n ye glared at âum. â Fucken Prick!
Ye lunged at ae cunt, grabbin at ae snooker pole n geid him a Glesga kiss; like yer auld man taught ye. Then a knee tae ae baws, ae moustache cunt yelled. He stepped back, clutching his crotch, his free haun gaun fur his glass boatle. Ye shimmied yer fingers, gesturing âMon enâ. Bein aff the skag n oan the uppers meant ye thought ye wur baw-jaws half ae time. Naw even Begbie frightened ye anymore. Yeâd been frew too much noo. N nae cunt kenned aboot it.
Ae reality wis, Begbie coulda killt ye right er if awh the lads nivir hawded um back. Rents, Sick Boy, even Spud wae his gammy arms. Lads at the bar starin, dumbfoonded.
â Entertainin, like? Ye fancy watchin a man threatin a wummun? Sae much fur fuckin hard men, like. Yer words wur steamin oot ye.
â Youâre wanten a death wish, ats wit! Sick Boy shouted. He hid the fucken cheek tae talk. Awh ye could dae wiz laugh it ae pansy.
â If a see yer whorinâ face anywhur again, yer deid hen, YER DEID. Begbie tried going fur ye again, slidin oot the guyâs airms. Ae intensity of ae situation goat a haud ah ye and ye bolted oot the door, flashing a finger tae the hot-heided cunt before disappearing intae an alley.
*
â Your off yer head. Mark Renton hid said. N ae cunt wis right.
Ye sat in his manky bed as ae bandaged ye up. A slit near ae eye n a kisser ae a bruise aroon yer eye. Begbie caught ye red-handed. Leathered intae yer heed when ye least expected it. He hid em golden rings oan which split yer cheek open. Fuckin cunt, ye tried naw tae cry. It hurt a belter. Ye wish Rents wis lighter wae his hauns. He wis treatin yer wound like a heavy-handed mechanic. Ye winced as he scraped ae bloody cloth oâer yer gash and he silently apologized.
â Sicka iss toon. Ye hid said, staring aff intae space. â Am gonnae run away.
Renton jist stared it ye, trying tae make oot yer coopin. Wur ye serious?
â Ur ye gonnae dae it or just talkin shite? Renton challenged. Ye turned tae um.
â Mon wae meh. Ye wondered if ye meant it. Rents wis a pal, but ye nivir admitted it. Canny be saying shite like att when yer a junkie. Nae cunts ya pal. But Renton is. Rentsâs ya pal.
â Wull go tae yer flat in London. Ur fuckitt, git a new wan. Nae danger. Ye began tae ramble. Withoot ye knowin, Renton thought aboot goin aff a loat. Thought aboot gettin tae fuck ootta Leith, the shitehole it wis.
â Ats it then. Me n you. Weâll go away together. Renton said, putting ae last bandage oan yer scar.
â Ye serious, like? Ye wur astonished he agreed. You n him, goin away. Ye thought yeez hid too much history fur him tae be wae ye anymer. Mibbe he still hid feelings fur ye. Ye hoped, fuck ye hoped.
Ye embraced him intae yer arms, mindin ae cut oan yer cheek as ye burried yer face intae his neck. He smelled like shite. Like shite, pish n cough medicine awh in ae wanner. Ye couldnae gee a fuck tho.
â Weâll jist need tae get money somewhere, then weâll head aff. Renton said, feeling him get awh tense. Ye jist smiled n nodded. There wiz money in mind, like. Mibbe ye kin stash some tapes n sell em like usual. While ye thought of yer petty thefts, Renton seen ae biggur picture n minded the drug deal wae the Russian skag, n if he wiz willing tae drag ye intae the deal.
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Choose Life. Choose a job. Choose a career. Choose a family. Choose a fucking big television, choose washing machines, cars, compact disc players and electrical tin openers. Choose good health, low cholesterol, and dental insurance. Choose fixed interest mortgage repayments. Choose a starter home. Choose your friends. Choose leisurewear and matching luggage. Choose a three-piece suite on hire purchase in a range of fucking fabrics. Choose DIY and wondering who the fuck you are on a Sunday morning. Choose sitting on that couch watching mind-numbing, spirit- crushing game shows, stuffing fucking junk food into your mouth. Choose rotting away at the end of it all, pishing your last in a miserable home, nothing more than an embarrassment to the selfish, fucked up rats you spawned to replace yourself.
Choose your future.
Choose life.
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Trainspotting, 1996. Directed by Danny Boyle.
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