• imagines, fanfiction, one-shots and drabbles reuploaded from my tumblr and ao3 @p1nkcanoe
!! CONTAINS MOSTLY SMUT AND OTHER NSFW, TREAD CAREFULLY
right now I'm writing for:
• ghost characters and personas
• ghouls
• papas
• reader inserts
!! I d...
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rain x fem!reader angst pt2 to "will you stay with me 'til then?"
Cheap whiskey, creaky wooden floorboards, shitty live music, and the faint scent of warm vanilla.
Rain doesn't know it yet, but an old friend has just walked through the door. She walks in hidden between a circle of friends who are unfamiliar, but her scent wafts off of her and splits through the thickness of the atmosphere tainted with sweat, dust, and the utter filth of humans. It takes him a moment to catch it, but the second it hits his nose it causes him to freeze like he's been doused in ice-cold water. Warm vanilla, a hint of coconut, fresh laundry; her.
He sits with his back to the bar, an ornately decorated rocks glass perched between his fingers, and stares at the wall where a faded poster of some local vodka brand hangs from rusted tacks. He's honed in on her scent and feels the way that she passes somewhere from his left side to his right until she settles somewhere in the bar. This can't be happening, he thinks and stares down into his glass. He must be drunk. He has to be. The honey-colored liquid swirls around as he anxiously spins the rim against the table and tries to figure out what to do with himself. It can't be her, but it is, because he knows her scent more than he knows his own. It's unmistakable, potent, and his hands begin to shake with the realization that his entire world has stumbled into the same dingy bar as himself. He isn't even supposed to be here. He's supposed to be back at the abbey in the practice room, mentoring and helping the new touring ghouls with the songs and adjustments, but he hasn't been there to help in months... maybe even years... he can't remember. Time runs together; a blur. He isn't even sure the new summons would know who he was if he showed up like he's supposed to. He should be disappointed with himself, but that feeling had become numb sometime far in the past.
He's become a shell of himself. The light within his eyes left when she did. His spirit did, too. He was retired from touring a little over eleven years ago and since then has spent his time wandering the halls and stringing guitars with arthritic fingers. The rest of his pack was sent back to the pit when they retired only a handful of years ago– Rain wasn't allowed to. They said it was because they needed help with the new summons, but he knows deep down they don't trust him to not be self-destructive. It's pathetic. Everyday he longs to go home, to free himself of this purgatory, but something unexpected has happened for the first time in years and suddenly he feels like the walls are collapsing on top of him.
Warm vanilla. It feels like secret meet-ups in broom closets and fleeting kisses in the halls. Coconut. Dates on the lake and fingers intertwined. Whispers of 'I love you' spoken into the other's ear while gentle fingers brush hair behind an ear bloomed pink with blush. Fresh laundry. Rumpled sheets and clothing discarded on the floor.
"Will you ever be back?" He'd whispered into her skin on the morning she'd left. He couldn't even look into her eyes. He's had plenty of time to think about it. Avoiding the inevitable only scarred him, made him bleed. It still makes him bleed.
