#junkieboyfriend

[robotpussy]

"I wonder why it only took a few months of weirdos before you guys made an article but TO THIS VERY DAY actresses are still sexualized non stop, even sometimes underage actresses. People post about them wanting them to be 18 and the day after their birthday they'll get a weird nsfw Reddit dedicated to creeping on them. But yeah, sure, this is the REAL problem."

#its still gross to sexualize celebs #but tbh we need to address the sexualization of feminine bodies #in like every piece of media we have #and stop oggling celebs like they arent real people #im just annoyed that when it happebs to women it seems like it doesnt even matter #like no one even cares #both are fucked up but on has been around suvstancially longer than the other #and i feel like its being allowed?? #like no this should not be allowed

like they said this in their response but when I go to look up Sydney sweeny the FIRST article that comes up is one discussing how sam Levinson disgustingly sexualises and harms the actresses in his work and I know this isn't the best example to use AT ALL but I wonder why they came out and proclaimed nobody is talking about how the same thing and even worse happens to actresses and famous women and girls when for years I have been reading articles about this kind of thing.

(written 3 days ago)

and the initial article isnt the best, by claiming to end misogyny is for women to do to men what they do to women but they didn't even bring that up, just "how come this article exists?" as if people are not currently talking abt this happening to women right now. a circulating tumblr post is not the entire landscape of the internet! and all I said in my response was 'this article existing isn't really taking away from anything.... like at the end of the day sexual harassment is wrong regardless of who it is happening to

(og post)

[junkieboyfriend]

Love when people comment on an old fic I have on AO3. I'm like "aww thanks, I didnt think anyone liked this one" and I wrote it so long ago I'll go back and read it to see what the reader really got to experience. Didn't know I liked my writing so much but yeah. Read I Like You on AO3 @ junkieboyfriend.

[areyouwaiting]

I posted 5,240 times in 2022

That's 4,687 more posts than 2021!

11 posts created (0%)

5,229 posts reblogged (100%)

Blogs I reblogged the most:

@heavenbarnes

@mlmxreader

@satan-incarnate-666

@headlinespunk

@mecharex2

I tagged 738 of my posts in 2022

#simscc - 24 posts

#andor spoilers - 21 posts

#yeah - 20 posts

#yes - 20 posts

#ofmd - 20 posts

#fuck - 16 posts

#andor posting - 15 posts

#our flag means death - 11 posts

#babygirl posting - 11 posts

#help - 10 posts

Longest Tag: 113 characters

#writing a whole ass movie where just about him and he survives and liam neeson dies a horrible and gruesome death

My Top Posts in 2022:

#5

reblogging so much fanfic privately because I wanna show my gratitude to the writer but I’m a wuss,,, a little pussy boy if you will

2 notes - Posted May 2, 2022

#4

HAPPY 19TH BIRTHDAY BABEEEE *smooches you* 💖

THANK YOU BABE!!!!!! MWAH <3 💕

3 notes - Posted May 27, 2022

#3

Sobbing once again because my two best friends are openly discussing plans about going out or going on vacation together right in front of me and when I ask if I can come too they stop talking and don’t answer

3 notes - Posted May 6, 2022

#2

I was tagged by @mlmxreader and @onaiclockwork heh

Favorite colour: blue

Currently reading: Das Avalon Projekt

Last song: The Sea by Sierra Ferrell

Last movie: Two/One

Sweet/savoury/spicy: savoury

Currently working on: designing the characters for my graphic novel

I tag: @sabrewan @sailorbowie @junkieboyfriend @ronaldrx @annoying-astro @headlinespunk @king-trash-cryptid @gnrlkenob @richdesire @lookatyou-strawberrybun (I know I haven’t actually spoken to most of you but this is kinda fun and I’m curious)

4 notes - Posted October 19, 2022

My #1 post of 2022

I was tagged by @sailorbowie for the 5 songs on repeat game hehe

1. White Room - Cream

2. The High Road - Broken Bells

3. Hermit The Frog - Marina and The Diamonds

4. Gilded Lily - Cults

5. Undiscovered First - Feist

(these are gonna change by next week trust me dkfjdk)

Tagging some moots: (you obviously don’t have to do this if you don’t wanna) @clonecaptainrex @spettrocoli @horrfilm @headlinespunk @king-trash-cryptid @sabrewan @onaiclockwork @lookatyou-strawberrybun @gnrlkenob @junkieboyfriend @richdesire

4 notes - Posted November 19, 2022

Get your Tumblr 2022 Year in Review →

[king-sdw]

thank you sm for tagging me @junkieboyfriend ily! :D

favorite color: blue

currently reading: nothing but i was thinking about re reading skagboys because i miss nicksy

last song: edging by blink-182, still can’t believe tom is back i’m so <333

last movie: 1985. such a beautiful and heartbreaking movie that touched my heart in ways i can’t even explain, i sobbed the whole time but i recommend it so much

sweet/savory/spicy: savory but also sweet sometimes !

currently working on: myself. sike

tagging: @sickrent and any of my friends from discord who want to do this! i miss talking to you guys

[howblunt]

I got tagged @junkieboyfriend !!! Thank you<3

Favorite color: blue

Currently reading: ((nothing as of right now!))

Last song: Gutter Girl by Hot Flash Heat Wave

Last movie: Hocus Pocus 2 !!!

Sweet/savory/spicy: sweet

Currently working on: I have a little Workaholics fan fic I’m working on right now!! I can’t wait to finish it :D

I tag: @trashangel-dee @infinityandme and @heavy-focking-metal !

[rentsturner]

Bruised Knuckles | Mark Renton

Warnings - Reader has punched a wall, mentions/descriptions of injury, mentions of (non-specified) scars, alcohol and drugs, content that some people may find as very similar to self-harm, reader is paranoid and insecure. If any of this triggers you pls don’t continue to read. I’ve tried to note all the possible triggers.

wc - 1.7k

a/n - I’ve had a pretty shitty few days tbh and I still feel the lowest that I’ve felt in months. So I’ve channeled all of that into this fic. It’s quite angst heavy but there’s fluff at the end (what can I say, hurt and comfort is my shit). You may find the reader’s emotions a bit dramatic but I’ve basically self projected on to this and I’m not rlly arsed. Read the warnings and if you don’t like it, don’t read it. I don’t want any shit over this

It’s a cold day in Edinburgh, the skies grey and cloudy over the city.It’s been a long day without Mark. He’s been out since the early hours with Sickboy, no doubt dragged into another of Si’s infamous schemes, leaving you to spend the day alone in your tiny apartment. As much as you don’t want to admit it, the isolation has gotten to you - you slipped, more than once. Yeah, you regret it, but also there’s that nagging need for more at the back of your mind. You try to push it out, to forget about it, but the cold in the air doesn’t help to ease the ache in your knuckles.

The door to the apartment shuts with a click and a jangle of keys, footsteps heading towards the door. He’s back. A wave of relief, before you remember and your chest clenches in panic.

‘Alright, love?’ Mark flops onto the bed with a lazy grin, stretching his arms up over his head.

‘Yeah, fine, you?’ Keep it simple. You busy yourself with a stack of books by the bed, straightening the pile of novels so it’s not about to topple over. Keep the hand busy.

‘Yeah, alright. Si led us on a fucking wild goose chase but we got there in the end, y’know?’

You didn’t know, but you nodded along anyway and let him recount the story. You’re admiring the way his lashes flutter against his pale skin and how his arms flex as his hands come to rest behind his head, when you realise that Mark’s stopped talking. And you’ve stopped moving.

‘Your knuckle...” his eyes dart down to the hand you’ve been trying to hide ever since he walked through the door. Busted.

‘Oh.’ You move to get up, anything to get his eyes away from your swollen knuckles, red lines criss crossing over the flowering purple bruises where your hand collided with a solid wall. Multiple times. The open cuts are still weeping, even though it had happened hours ago.

‘It’s nothing. Don’t worry about it.’ You offer a small smile, but it doesn’t fool Mark.

‘No.’ He moves as you do, standing in front of the bedroom door to block your escape. His arms are crossed over his chest, stance serious , but the worry in his blue eyes betrays him. ‘Love. Let me see it.’

He holds out his hand, pale fingers reaching out to you, his skin just as scarred as yours - different actions, same result. He knows how to help. The hand reaching,an offer of support, reassurance, love, all those things that you crave but can never admit. Emotions aren’t your forté - never have been.But Mark knows that. There’s no secrets between you. You almost laugh out loud at the thought. No secrets, but you won’t even show Mark your hand.

Mark would do anything for you, you know that - he tells you all the time. Days spent in bed chatting shit to each other.

‘I’d run to John O'Groats and back for you, y’know?’

‘Would you now, Mark? What about down to Land’s End?’

‘In a heartbeat.’

Bright eyes, wide smile. Your Mark. He’s joking, of course, but his tone is so serious, his answer without a second of hesitation. Your heart skips a beat.

So now, you give him your hand (and your heart).

He takes it tentatively, one cold hand underneath, the other poking at your raw knuckles gently. When one of his prods reaches a tender spot, you wince and he moves his finger away, meeting your gaze in apology.

‘You punch something?’ His brow creases, a hand running instinctively over his closely cropped hair, before scratching at the back of his neck. He refuses to grow it out, no matter how much you try to persuade him, still getting his razor out every other month like clockwork.

‘It’s easier this way.’ He insists. Less hassle in the morning is what he means.

The sting in your hand brings you back to the present.

‘No.’ You look away from Mark’s gaze, knowing that in doing so you’ll give yourself away, but not having the energy or willpower to stop yourself. Much like the ‘incident’ earlier in the day.

‘I’m going to take that as a yes.’ Mark huffs, not in anger, but in frustration - frustration that he wasn’t there to help, to calm you down. ‘Let me clean it up, give me a sec.’

His hand rubs at his eyes, scrunched shut for a moment. There’s dark bags marring his pale skin there - he’s tired too. He goes to move to the bathroom, but you grab his arm with your good hand, gripping it as tight as you can. Don’t leave.

‘No, Mark, it’s alright, I’ll sort it.’

But he shakes his head. He doesn’t look happy. Not that you’d expect him to, but...he’s frustrated with you, you can tell.

‘You can’t clean yourself up with one hand. Just wait here, alright?’

The inkling is worming its way in now, from your subconscious to your conscious, until its at the forefront of your mind. He’s angry, he’s disgusted, he’s going to leave. He’s not going to the bathroom, he’s going to the front door so he can get out of here. You’re sure of it.

‘I’m sorry.’ The whisper escapes you and you have to bite the inside of your cheek so no tears will spill. The words are almost silent, your hand dropping Mark’s in defeat.

But Mark turns his head at your weak apology, stopping in his tracks.

‘What? Why -‘

With a jolt, he notices the way you’ve changed - unable to look at him, arms beginning to wrap around yourself, one fist clenched. He knows what’s happening.

‘No, no, love, I’m not angry.’

He’s back at your side in a heartbeat, bringing his hand up to your chest, thumb carefully wiping away the rogue tear that’s tracking a salty path over your cheekbone.

‘I love you. I just want the best for you, alright? I don’t like seeing you hurt, just like I’d fucking hope you wouldn’t like seeing me hurt.’

His face breaks into a sad smile that doesn’t quite reach his eyes, and you realise he’s right - of course he is. You don’t want to see him hurt, he’s been through enough, but that’s what you’re doing. He’s hurting just from seeing your hand, it’s obvious from the crease in his brow, the blue of his eyes dulled and flat. Mark’s got too much to deal with already, you’re just one extra problem to add to the mix. You don’t want to be his problem.

And suddenly it’s all coming up to the surface, ready to combust, explode, these emotions that you never really have a grip on. You bottle them up and push them down, so far down that the only way they can escape is through a rush of anger, jagged and uncontrollable.

But instead of that, you bury your face into Mark’s neck and let it out as slowly as you can.

‘I’m sorry, I was angry, I just wanted to feel something. Some pain. I don’t want to make you feel like this. I’m sorry.’

You’re clutching onto the worn fabric of Mark’s shirt like your life depends on it. You can’t possibly let go of him, the only one you have left.

Mark is steady, your rock in a storm of emotions. He listens, stroking your hair, pale fingers threading through the strands to knead at your scalp, knowing it tends to calm you down.

‘You’re alright, I promise. I promise you, love. I know you get angry. I know you. And I know what it’s like to want to feel something, trust me. We can get through it together, or we can be a mess together. I don’t care, as long as we’re together, honest. I’m not going anywhere.’

And the sincerity in his eyes, those familiar bright blue eyes, it convinces you. He means it.

You stay like this for a few minutes, your good hand clinging onto Mark’s ratty jumper, the other grasped tightly (but not too tightly) in Mark’ grip. His right arm is around your waist, pulling you closer, as if in doing so he can pour all of his reassurance, all of his love, directly to your heart. He knows it’s not possible. But he tries anyway. Because he’ll do anything for you. Your Mark.

Mark helps you clean your hand later, shushing you everything you wince (though that isn’t often). His hands are steady and practiced as he dabs at the cuts with alcohol, wrapping the gauze over your knuckles and securing it with some tape, humming to himself as he works, the steady tune in time with his deft movement. He doesn’t look up until the job is done - and a good job it is too. He knows what he’s doing, probably after years of wrapping Sickboy’s hands up in the same way - late nights out in the rough streets of Leith, fuelled by alcohol and amphetamines (and worse)

Mark kisses the bandages gently when he’s done - a silent ‘I love you. I care for you and I love you.’

And you smile, a smile that fills your whole body with warmth, a smile that drowns out the demons, if only for a little while. Because how can you not, when you have Mark. He tries his best and so do you - neither of you can ask anymore. You’ll be a mess together.

‘Let’s order Chinese and watch Dr No, eh?’

Or you’ll get through this together

*~*~*~*

@callmearwen @ohhellokenobi @darthserling @stardancerluv @goldenkenobi @lunarthoughts @saintlaurentkenobi @million-dollar-legs @i-am-i-am-obiwankenobi @letmybabysleep @haydens-moles @alideetoo @all-hallows-evie @junkieboyfriend @the-mandalorian-clone-lover @star-whores-a-new-hoe @arianalilyblack @sigynragnarsdottir @funkytxwn @drinksomecoco @darlingkenobi

[horniejunkie]

Rating: Explicit Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings Relationships: Mark "Rent Boy" Renton/Simon "Sick Boy" Williamson Characters: Mark "Rent Boy" Renton, Katrin, Simon "Sick Boy" Williamson Additional Tags: trans!mark, Trans Male Character, Trans Character, Vaginal Sex, Vaginal Fingering, Oral Sex, Rough Oral Sex, Overstimulation, Adultery, mark 'cheating on my wife again' renton, simon does aftercare kinda <3, Flashbacks, Nostalgia, Squirting, Multiple Orgasms, Shameless Smut, Shame, Dirty Talk, Dirty Thoughts Summary:

He knows he shouldn’t be there. Mark knows damn well that he shouldn’t. As he sits across from those dangerous dark eyes gazing at him, he knows he really shouldn’t be here.

Simon acted so mature, though — so normal — but, as Mark looked at him now, he recognized that wild twinge in his brown eyes. He sipped his drink, feeling somewhat uncomfortable with the way Simon was looking at him. The blond circled his wine in his glass, grinning at Mark, his arms crossed.

[obilovesani]

Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: Star Wars Prequel Trilogy Rating: Explicit Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings Relationships: Obi-Wan Kenobi/Anakin Skywalker, Obi-Wan Kenobi & Anakin Skywalker, Obi-Wan Kenobi/Darth Vader, Obikin - Relationship Characters: Obi-Wan Kenobi, Anakin Skywalker, Anakin Skywalker | Darth Vader, Darth Vader

Summary:

When Obi-Wan received intel that his former Padawan was living and wanting to see him, well how could he say no? Of course he braced his hand against his blaster belt, unsure of an attack; he knew Anakin must not be very pleased with him.

[robotpussy]

bye that junkieboyfriend person blocked me 😭😭

[junkieboyfriend]

Fandom: Trainspotting (Movies), Trainspotting Series - Irvine Welsh Rating: Explicit Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Mark "Rent Boy" Renton/Simon "Sick Boy" Williamson Characters: Mark "Rent Boy" Renton, Simon "Sick Boy" Williamson Additional Tags: Drug Use, Recreational Drug Use, sad sex, Unresolved Romantic Tension, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Molly - Freeform, Party Drugs, commitment issues, Pining Summary:

Mark wants commitment and Simon wants hedonism. What could possibly go wrong?

[areyouwaiting]

I was tagged by @sailorbowie for the 5 songs on repeat game hehe

1. White Room - Cream

2. The High Road - Broken Bells

3. Hermit The Frog - Marina and The Diamonds

4. Gilded Lily - Cults

5. Undiscovered First - Feist

(these are gonna change by next week trust me dkfjdk)

Tagging some moots: (you obviously don’t have to do this if you don’t wanna) @clonecaptainrex @spettrocoli @horrfilm @headlinespunk @king-trash-cryptid @sabrewan @onaiclockwork @lookatyou-strawberrybun @gnrlkenob @junkieboyfriend @richdesire

[areyouwaiting]

I was tagged by @mlmxreader and @onaiclockwork heh

Favorite colour: blue

Currently reading: Das Avalon Projekt

Last song: The Sea by Sierra Ferrell

Last movie: Two/One

Sweet/savoury/spicy: savoury

Currently working on: designing the characters for my graphic novel

I tag: @sabrewan @sailorbowie @junkieboyfriend @ronaldrx @annoying-astro @headlinespunk @king-trash-cryptid @gnrlkenob @richdesire @lookatyou-strawberrybun (I know I haven’t actually spoken to most of you but this is kinda fun and I’m curious)

[junkieboyfriend]

Chapters: 2/2 Fandom: Trainspotting (Movies), Trainspotting Series - Irvine Welsh Rating: Explicit Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings Relationships: Mark "Rent Boy" Renton/Simon "Sick Boy" Williamson, Mark "Rent Boy" Renton/Johnny "Mother Superior" Swanney Characters: Mark "Rent Boy" Renton, Johnny "Mother Superior" Swanney, Simon "Sick Boy" Williamson Additional Tags: First Time, Anal Sex, Anal Fingering, Age Play, Praise Kink, Dirty Talk, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Jealousy, Roommates Summary:

Simon locks Mark out for the night, but when one door closes, another one opens!

[junkieboyfriend]

Fandom: Trainspotting (Movies), Trainspotting Series - Irvine Welsh Rating: Explicit Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply Summary:

Simon is emotionally constipated, so he does drugs with Mark and we all know what happens when he does drugs with Mark....

[rentsturner]

Shirt | Obi Wan Kenobi

‘oh my god if u do #3 from the fluff list with obi i think i might combust’ / @alideetoo

3 - ‘’Is that my shirt?” “You mean our shirt?”

warnings: Modern!AU obi wan, reader overthinking and stressing a little, kissing

a/n: just cute fluff involving obi’s fav shirt. Hope you enjoy (love u @alideetoo ) THANK YOU @profkenobi FOR HELPING ME WITH THE ENDING YOURE THE BEST

wc: 1.4k

It was the first day off work that you’d had in a long time, and god knows how much you needed it. Finally a day where you could sit back and relax, no need to do any work, no matter how much you felt like you needed to. No chores, no cooking (you’d ordered in a pizza just to fully embrace the day), only relaxing. Obi was out at work, so you were well and truly home alone.

So you’d settled into bed, catching up on some Netflix shows until you got bored and tried to nap.

But something wasn’t right. You couldn’t let yourself relax, no matter how hard you tried. Something was always nagging at the back of your mind - an unopened email that was begging to be read, maybe you could just add one more paragraph to that unfinished essay, this time could be much better spent doing a little extra research. It was giving you a headache. No, you told yourself. Relax.

You looked around, needing to find something to calm yourself down and take your mind off everything, a stressball maybe or a colouring book or -

There it was, hanging from the top of the wardrobe in the corner, in all its glory. Obi Wan’s shirt. Red and black flannel, worn from use and slightly frayed at the seams. You touched the sleeve, slightly too long for you but perfect for Obi, fitting his strong arms so well. The fabric was so soft, softer than any of your shirts by far. It looked so warm, so cozy... so Obi Wan. The shirt slides easily off its hanger and you bury your face in it, breathing in its scent. It smelled so like him, even when Obi washed it, that faint scent of sandalwood and cinnamon still remained. It was intoxicating, immediately bringing back happy memories for you.

You pulled the fabric over your shoulders, tugging the sleeves down and wrapping it tightly around you. Obi is so much broader around the shoulders than you, the shirt practically hangs off your frame, but you were right, it’s warm and its cosy and it feels like home, more than your apartment itself.

It’s easy to relax now that you have the shirt, especially as the evening brings in the cold sting of winter. You’re glad to wrap the soft flannel around you, savouring the way it feels against your skin, keeping you warm and comfortable.

A few hours later, you hear the front door shutting, a familiar click, then some rustling as Obi discards his coat (and tie probably - he hates those things), a jingle as his keys are thrown into the bowl.

“Love, I’m home!” There’s a shout as footsteps approach the bedroom door, Obi Wan sounding surprisingly cheerful considering the long day he’s spent at work. Obviously in a good mood.

You’re stretched out on the bed, flipping through a worn paperback. This must be at least the fourth time that you’ve read it in the last few years, but the pages always seem to call you back and you’re sucked easily right back into the story every time, without fail.

The door creaks open to reveal a smiling Obi Wan. His hair is tousled, like he’s just ran his hands through it, messing it up on purpose. He’s rubbing over his jaw and down his neck with one hand, pushing the collar of his shirt open (you were right - tie has been discarded and top button hastily undone). He looks a little tired, but still positively gorgeous. It still took your breath away when you saw him sometimes, even after all these years.

He leans playfully against the doorframe, looking you up and down, arms crossed over his chest, the sleeves of his white shirt rolled up past his elbows.

His eyebrow is quirked up, a smirk growing on his face as he takes in your outfit. He doesn’t say anything else, just waits for you to give in. Teasing, as always.

He’s like this when he’s with you. Quietly determined at work, never drawing too much attention to himself, but when he’s at home with you, Obi Wan is a real devil. Teasing, joking, anything to have your attention on him. He knows he has you wrapped around his little finger, just as he is (happily) wrapped around yours.

After a few moments of playful tension, you give in.

“What’re you looking at?” You know exactly what he’s looking at.

Obi Wan takes a step forward, out of the doorway, towards the bed, hand lifting to gesture in your direction.

“Is that my shirt, darling?”

He’s still fucking smirking. well if he’s going to tease, then it’s only fair if you do too.

“You mean our shirt?”

He doesn’t say anything for a moment, just chuckles and brings one hand up to stroke his beard, scratching at his jawline before smoothing the short hair back down.

“That’s my favourite shirt.”

“I know. It’s my favourite too. Hence why I’m wearing it.” Obi’s eyes are locked on yours and you can tell he’s enjoying himself, playing this little game with you, his eyes bright and twinkling with mischief.

“Well then. I suppose we’ll have to find a compromise, darling.” The devilish smirk on his face suggests that he has some kind of plan in store - Obi Wan was never without a plan, that was for sure. Always devising and calculating, always prepared. He scratches his chin, other arm still crossed across his chest - you quickly recognised his ‘scheming pose’, as he affectionately called it.

“You may wear it for tonight. But first I have to get something out of the pocket.”

Now you were confused. The shirt was no heavier than normal fabric - you were almost sure that the one front pocket was empty. What was he talking about? You stood up, feeling at the pocket as you moved.

“What? There’s nothing here, Obi.”

“Here. Just let me-“

He moved a few steps closer and suddenly the sandalwood and cinnamon scent doubled in intensity, clear blue eyes so close to yours, those long eyelashes framing them so beautifully. A hand slowly moved up your side, stroking gently until it reached the chest pocket of the shirt. Obi’s hand slipped inside, searching the corners of the pocket for...whatever it was he was looking for. You’d have to wait and see.

“Where is it, I can’t seem to...” He was making a big show of this, whatever his plan was, his brows practically touching as he feigned a face of deep concentration.

“Ah! Here it is.” His face lights up in equal intensity as the last expression and you can’t help but smile at the sight of him, so overdramatic, so present, so Obi Wan.

He brings his fingers out of the shirt, holding them up to you, as if to show you what he’s found - but there’s nothing there.

You look at Obi quizzically, confusion obvious on your face.

He smiles. Not a smirk. Just a smile.

“A left over smooch. Just for you.”

And as the warmth begins to blossom deep on your stomach and bubble up inside of you, he brings his fingers tenderly to his lips, leaving them there for a moment before moving even closer to you. You smile as he moves in, kissing you gently and slowly, savouring every second. You bring your hand to the back of his neck, rubbing your thumb over the soft hair there and pulling him in closer, your Obi Wan.

When you finally pull away, the sheepish smile on Obi’s face is the first thing you see.

“Did you like my joke, darling?”

“I loved it, Obi.” You smile. It had been very cute, to be fair to him, very clever. But a little more teasing wouldn’t hurt. “But I’m afraid I’ll be keeping the shirt.”

~*~*~*~

THE LEFT OVER SMOOCH WAS BRIT’S IDEA SHES A GENIUS OK SO EVERYONE SAY THANK YOU BRIT

Obi tags: @ohhellokenobi @doublesunsets @karasong @callmearwen @jangohshit @rosionis @profkenobi @stardancerluv @goldenkenobi @fenharel-enaste @filthybookworm @weirdfangirl2416 @a-seeker-of-imagination @saintlaurentkenobi @justanotherpadawan @hawkerz12 @xxinvisiblexx @million-dollar-legs @imafatassmess @i-am-i-am-obiwankenobi @letmybabysleep @junkieboyfriend @Fishswimbetterunderwater @katsav17 @haydens-moles @princessxkenobi @chogisss @the-mandalorian-clone-lover @ewansblve @marvelinsanity @pete-is-fanatic @agent-catfish-kenobi @star-whores-a-new-hoe @darlingkenobi

[rentsturner]

Grump | Mark Renton

I would like to request a oneshot with Rents 💙 with the 10 and 11 fluff prompts 😊 Congratulations on 500 followers! 🤗 / @arianalilyblack 10 - cuddling in bed on a rainy day, 11 - sharing the same headphones

wc: 1.3k

Author’s note: I haven’t 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 wasn’t 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 Renton’s 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 wasn’t 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 didn’t mind Top Of The Pops, occasionally humming along to the songs. But not today, apparently.

“Grump.”

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 wasn’t unusual. Mark’s favourite outfit was just his boxers when it was just you and him in the apartment.

“Fucking annoying me, wasn’t it?”

You smiled. “Like I said. Grump.”

He sighed again, corners of his mouth lifting up in a small smirk.

“Doesn’t matter if I’m a grump. You’ll love me anyway.”

He had a point, but you weren’t 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 didn’t complain - he had good taste and there wasn’t 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. “Come on, close your eyes. Trust me.”

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 ‘business deal gone wrong’. Or so he’d told you. It was obvious there was more to the story than that, but if Mark didn’t 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.

“Close your fucking eyes,” 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 wouldn’t have noticed it if you’d had your eyes open. But then Mark’s 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 Mark’s gaze on you, a sixth sense. Blinking, your eyes adjusted quickly to the light and you took in Mark’s 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 wasn’t coincidental that he’d chosen that moment.

You couldn’t always tell what Mark was thinking. Sometimes he’d 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 he’d 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.

“Rents..” 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 weren’t 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 Mark’s hand as tightly as you could, in reassurance to him or to steady yourself, you weren’t sure, and whispered softly against his lips.

“I love you too, grump.”

*~*~*~*~

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