Can u imagine Dateables with a new homeowner because the og!homeowner moved out after achieving all of their hate endings LOLL
The objects are unsure of what to think of you, as— unlike the og!homeowner— they know nothing! Do you have siblings? How do you like your coffee made? So many questions and some are afraid you’ll turn out just like the og!homeowner.
When you officially move in however, they realize their concerns were for naut. The moment your name was signed on the paper, the door slammed opened, revealing your guardians/parents. The house was used to quiet and stillness. After all, the og!homeowner isolated themselves due to the datevatiors and were’t a very sociable person in general.
So suddenly having guests over, startled the objects to a high degree.
Shelley was practically hooting and hollering. Her shelves began to warp and become loose due to natural wearing. You’d asked your guardian to teach/help you fix them. Shelly wants to give you a bear hug!
Mac felt like they could breathe lighter. You figured out how outdated their system was, immediately updating them. You also deleted the 50k fanfiction of the og!owner. (They laughed when your curiosity got the best of you and you began to read it. You didn’t make it past three paragraphs.)
Koa indeed took comfort within the silence. But won’t deny that being used by many people felt… nice. You even complimented how soft his cushions were, patting the arm of the couch (aka his arm). He couldn’t help but feel bashful.
The sudden visits didn’t stop there though. Later in the week, you invited any nearby friends for a welcoming party and they all showed up!
Beverly thrived as she finally had a purpose other than serving a single (unappreciative) person. You also whipped out the most vicious, creative cocktails! She’s taking notes.
Daisuke was concerned about the amount of delicate plates/cups being used. However, he watches as you lightly scold everyone to not ‘fuck up’ and drop the plates. He finally lets himself relax, a chuckle slipping out seeing your rather stern expression.
Mitchell taps his pen against his notebook, looking at all of the food being displayed on top of Abel. While inviting your friends, he overheard you ask for each person to bring something for a huge potluck. The different aromas and textures of the food complimented each other nicely. He nods: rating the potluck an 9/10 (Deducted points for one person lugging in store-brought food. Unbelievable!).
Dateables who typically aren’t involved in social gathers even caught sneak peeks of your real personality. You noticed one of your friends didn’t look very well, so you asked them to head upstairs if they needed a break. Sooner or later, you snuck away from the main group, only to find your friend hiding away in the dark storage closet.
They opened up about relationship issues: feeling like they’re pulling away from each other. You continued to listen and comfort them, despite sitting in such a cramped space.
“Well… maybe actually sitting them down to have a proper conversation could help?” You suggested, patting their back with a soft smile. “I know it’s scary to talk about these things. But something has to change, otherwise… things will continue to fall apart. At that point, it’s too late. And you’ll wish you did something earlier.”
At the end of the conversation, you hugged your friend tight, never judging nor criticizing them once.
Eddie is hurting. Badly. The faulty wire is continuing to knock power in and out of the house. Yet, he’s lucid enough to hear your advice. It wasn’t directly to him, but he understood the seriousness of your tone. He wonders: if you learned about him and what’s actually happening to the power, would you say the same thing?
Volt is struggling. Badly. He took over the main base of the electricity to give his lover a break. He knew it wouldn’t be easy, but damn it hurts. Your conversation drifts in his ear and out the other. The man laughs bitterly. Change, huh? If you managed to find the dateviators, he hopes you’ll keep the same comforting energy after you face him.
Dorian nods his head. He understands perfectly where you’re coming from. Whether the change is welcomed or not, sometimes it’s very necessary. Maybe this new owner isn’t that bad… but he’ll continue to observe you— not wanting a repeating incident from the og!homeowner.
A week after the party ended, one of your friends asked a favor: to baby sit their kid. For or a day or two give-or-take. You absolutely had no issue this (and the dateables are wondering how truly nice humans can be). Now, there’s a small boy— no less than six-years old— squealing around the house. Furthermore, once it was bath time, it felt like a second house party all over again.
Bathsheba hummed in contempt, watching the child eagerly splash within the tub. She sees you and the boy blow bubbles into the air and onto each other. It was messy. Maybe quite icky. But the bright grins on the top of your faces was endearing. Fine. She’ll allow this for now.
River made sure the water was at the perfect temperature. Never too hot, never too cold. She decided to ignore the splashes of water against the floor. It’s been… some time since the she’s seen such lively within her domain.
Amir wished he was a camera. If so, he’ll be able to commemorate this moment forever. How adorable! Your t-shirt is soaked and arms are covered in soapy residue. Despite the soiled appearance, he admits you still look enchanting as ever. The kid you’re babysitting is quite the charmer too!
Many things have changed since you moved in, but— oddly enough— the objects didn’t mind. Your habits, hobbies, and social life is significantly different than the og!homeowner. Yet, you’ve shown so much kindness in the short time living here.
Perhaps, when the bitter feeling the og!owner left behind disappears, they hope you’re willing to build a proper friendship— and or— a potential relationship with them.
I love your writing, you capture every character perfectly! Can I request the kitchen dateables reactions to the homeowner-who got the love endings with each of them-having to go away for over a week to attend to family matters and is unable to bring them. This is the first time in a long while since the homeowner left for that long and the dateables have grown quite attached and not used to being left alone for a long period. Maybe even some of them get in a fight because the homeowner isn't there to ease the situation (maybe Luke, Stefan, and Errol argue or Cam says something that gets to someone)? When the homeowner gets back they all get so happy and overjoyed to see them. Please take your time, no rush! Thank you!
oooo i do love them kitchen dateables
This is a really interesting request! I don't think I've gotten one like this before, this'll be fun
Something had come up in your family. Nobody had died, thankfully, but your family had messaged you, insisting that they were worried about you living alone for so long, and having an online job away from people. You were encouraged to come and see them, just for a week, to reconnect with people again.
So, you'd packed your things and were just about ready to leave, when practically the entire kitchen ushered you over, and had bombarded you with questions. Mitchell had suggested that you bring some food along the way, in case any at your parents wasn't to your liking. Daisuke asked if your parents wanted their old china sets and plates back. But you’d denied each of them with a laugh or two, firmly insisting that you’d be fine,before leaving without another word.
The first few days had been quiet.
Cam sat in silence, leaning against the wall next to the can with a tightly pressed expression. He didn’t seem to react much when others occasionally handed him things to throw away.
Luke kept looking over towards the door, muttering something about ‘patrols’, even though the look he gave down that hallway wasn’t guarded, it was almost longing.
Sinclaire, shockingly, had quieted down for the first time since he’d began thinking of himself as Martin Applegate. His scattered energy was a lot more collected, although he’d occasionally whisper a thing or two of utter nonsense to himself.
Daisuke polished the silverware over and over again, until he was sure that he’d be able to see himself in the dishes for the next twenty years. But he didn’t stop. He kept re-arranging them, polishing, washing, drying…
Miranda plucked at her guitar strings half-heartedly, scribbling out lyrics she’d written only a moment before after just playing a note or two.
Kopi attempted to busy herself by making coffee for everyone, trying out nearly every recipe she’d ever heard of and wanted to make. But, after every coffee she finished, out of a force of habit, she’d always turn and look for you.
Dishy occasionally spoke up loudly, saying something along the lines of him needing a restart. He didn’t. He realized after about seven hours that you’d actually left, but he assumed if he notified you enough, Valdivian would call or text you or something, and you’d have to come home right away.
Mitchell was a little more snappy with everyone, though he did apologize after with a sigh and a wave of his hand. He was a lot less passionate in his food reviews, most of them just being: ‘Adequate. I suppose.’
Cabrizzio didn’t have that usual classy attitude he usually carried himself with. He’d often ask Telly to switch on some of those rom-com movies he liked, even though they didn’t exactly bring him as much joy as he hoped they would.
Beverly drank just like normal on the first few nights, but after around the fourth night, she just didn’t feel the energy for it. You weren’t there for laughs and stupid conversation, and occasions where she’d normally drink out of lack of anything else to do, she just didn’t have any more motivation.
Freddy seemed pretty normal while you were away, he had a few nice chats with Bev and Mitchell, all the sort, and he gave them cheerful smiles all the while. But when he wasn’t talking to them, he was quiet. Eerily quiet. Sort of just standing there and shifting on his feet occasionally. Not angry. Not carefree. Quiet.
Stefan flared up even more than usual, shockingly. Most of the other kitchen objects didn’t even know that such a thing was possible. But, instead of the occasional break of anger from Mr. Cluckles’ squawking, he was constantly at max volume, not even letting people near the oven, regardless.
Friar Errol hadn’t done much up until Sunday, when he had glanced over at Cam (who had started eating again after a few days— and a few words from Lady Memoria— and was now munching rather loudly on an apple core) with barely concealed disgust.
“Cameron, by all that is oily, would you stop that incessant noise? I can’t concentrate on—“
“Don’t call me Cameron, dipshit, it’s just Cam.”
He snapped, suddenly irritated. Rod snorted from his place next to Curt.
“Oh, damn, really? Is it somethin’ exclusive between you and Memoria—“
“Would you shut the fuck up?!” Cam suddenly exclaimed.
“All of you shush!” Mitchell countered, whipping around from where he’d been, tapping his pen against his bread-notebook with an exasperated huff. “Honestly! There’s been such a lack of creative thought in this house lately, I don’t need to hear it all the time!”
“Oh my god, not this again.” Freddy suddenly interjected with an eye roll. “Your critic thing is where creativity goes to die.”
Mitchell’s face went red, fuming. “Excuse me?!”
“You’re excused.” Daisuke’s voice cut through the air, sharp and cold. He glared over at them all, hands folded over his chest. “But not from that hideous review of my omakase place. It’s omakase, you fool, what did you expect me to make you?”
“Well it was disgusting-“
“The only thing disgusting is that bit of bread the human hasn’t cleaned up from inside Luke for a month.” Friar Errol grumbled .
“WHAT?!” Luke yelled. “Well, you know, it’s the sign of a good job, that’s what they always told me!!”
“That’s because your job has expectations lower than the damn floor!” Stefan rebuked, pointing a finger at the microwave. “And- well, knowing Florence, interpret that any way you want!”
“Don’t you go around telling people how to live their lives, Stefan!” Miranda said, tone frosty.
“Oh, we want to talk about telling people how to live?? Look at that object over there who keeps trying to turn my human against Stefan and Luke—“
“Your human?” Kopi turned to Beverly, expression pinched. “I wasn’t aware they were exclusively yours and the rest of us are just extra.”
“You know that’s not what I meant! You know, if we wanna start with that whole thing, what about Cabrizzio?? His whole ‘act’ thing?”
“It was not an act, it was an exaggeration!” The Italian protested, a hand on his chest.
Some of the objects were peeking into the room, drawn to the noise, some by concern, others with complaints, and Scandalabra in particular who grinned from ear to ear.
“I bet the human left because of you. You’re gross, and you’re not even nice.”
“They understood me, that’s why they’re better than all of you! And you’re all talk, with your fuckass haircut. That’ll make them throw up way sooner than any rotten fruit or moldy bread could.”
“The only thing moldy is your personality.”
“At least I have one.”
“YOU—“
Every object’s head turned suddenly as the door unlocked, and your cheerful voice suddenly rung through the air.
Requestor: @cupcat1 (tysm by the wayy <33 you didn’t specify what exactly you wanted with him so hopefully I didn’t write anything too out of line with what you were thinking)
Description:
Mitchell was always glad to share a little dessert with you. However, when your tongue is dragging along the flat of the knife to gather the crumbs that stuck to it, he's inclined to say he's hungry for more than just cake.
There was little Mitchell liked more than a good culinary experience. Except, of course, sharing said culinary experience with other like-minded critics. And he found you to be the most perfect companion in his endeavours. So here he was, doing just that, watching your fingers wrap around a kitchen knife to slowly cut into the cake he had laid out for the night. Though, if he were to be honest, he found his gaze drifting more to your hands than the actual food, focusing on the curve of your wrist and slow movements down with each careful slice. His eyes flicked to your face instead, only to find that much, much worse. You looked so focused, your brows furrowed just slightly, a slight content smile on your face when you nodded along to his words… presentation in food is extremely important. And, he must say you’d get an easy five stars there.
He wondered if your taste was just as good.
He swallowed thickly, trying to continue his speech about the origins of the cake in the midst of his distraction.
“I see… I’m quite curious to try it.” You plated the slice, having cut quite the large piece.
“I’ve never tried this particular type of cake, so I share your enthusiasm.” He watched as you moved over to the sink. But instead of placing the knife inside for later washing, you raised it to your lips.
His face completely fell as you pressed your tongue against the flat side of the blade, dragging it up to gather the sweet residue of the cake. He swore he would’ve fallen over if he wasn’t already seated. He cleared his throat, using a handkerchief to cover the sudden redness to his cheeks.
“You… you shouldn’t do that. Beyond just being bad table manners, you could cut yourself.”
You just laughed, tossing the knife into the sink. “Oh, relax. I’ve never been cut on it before.”
“That doesn’t mean it can’t happen.”
“Sure, but, whatever.” You waved off his concern, plopping back down into the seat next to him. “What’s a little blood? If anything it adds flavour.”
He sighed, shaking his head. “You and your… distasteful jokes.”
You ignored him and picked up a fork, cutting a piece from the slice. “So? Want the first honours?”
His face lit up. It really was hard to dwell on anything for long when it came to you. “Of course…”
You lifted the fork, pressing it to his lips. It was a little ritual of yours that started not too long ago, and he certainly can’t say he hated it. Quite the opposite, in fact. He took a moment to savour the scent of the sweet, eyes meeting yours as he slowly took it into his mouth. He watched as you took a bite yourself with the same fork, drawn to the way you ran your tongue over your bottom lip to gather the stray crumbs.
“The verdict?” He already made his own opinion up, but he wanted to hear yours before saying anything and possibly tainting your perception.
“Perfect.” You smiled, taking another bite. “Its not too sweet. I like that.”
“Right! The vanilla glaze is an addition to the—“ He continued on, letting the familiar sensation of critique distract him from his… other fixations. However, it wasn’t long until he realized your eyes were just a little lower than his eyes, a little more distant than one who was listening. He trailed off as he realized you were looking at his lips.
A beat passed between you. You seemed to realize a little too late that he wasn’t talking, and snapped your gaze up to his again, your slightly slack jaw and dilated pupils looking suspiciously like someone just caught in an indecent act. He didn’t know how long you stayed like that. How long he had spent lost in the slight flutter of your eyelashes and the little furrow of your brows, not a single twitch or movement lost on him. He always did have an eye for detail, and being this close allowed him to observe so much more about you. Every dip and groove and curve of your face, and, a little lower, to the slight patch of skin your fantastic red shirt parted to reveal. He trailed even lower, letting imagination guide him on a tour over the shape of you hidden beneath the fabric…
“Well then.” You coughed, startling him out of his thoughts. “Should we continue?”
“Right! Of course, yes.” He laughed, knowing for a face his face was as red as the cherries adorning the surface of the cake. “Shall we try these cherries, then?”
You plucked one off the cake by the stem, some of the icing glazed across its crimson body. “These are the pitless ones?”
“Yes. Kind of cheap… but they make for a good garnish nonetheless.” He watched you twirl the cherry a little between your fingers, glinting in the dim light of the candles he set up earlier. He found himself looking up at your face again, bathed in the warm glow. “Beautiful…” He whispered it before he could even think, and froze up.
“Yeah, they look quite pretty.” You popped one into your mouth, and he didn’t know whether to be relieved or annoyed that you misinterpreted his words. You picked up another, holding it up to his lips. “Here.”
He took hold of your wrist to steady it while he bit the fruit off of the stem. As he thought, it was certainly artificial. But somehow, when paired with the sight of you… it tasted so, so much better. Even once he swallowed, he didn’t loosen his grip on you, and you made no move to pull away. In fact, he could’ve sworn you got even closer.
He tried to drop your hand, only for his to be caught in yours and your fingers entwined. His eyes snapped to yours in surprise, and… oh, you suddenly looked intense. There was a certain hunger in your eyes he hadn’t seen on you before, and it sent the most pleasurable shiver through him. You seemed to realize what you did, and dropped his hand, much to his dismay.
“Ah… sorry.” You chuckled awkwardly, pulling away. “Didn’t mean to… uh…”
“You did.” He breathed out, his voice coming out significantly more desperate than he would’ve liked. “And that’s perfectly fine.”
You froze, and he hoped to god you were feeling that same nervousness he was. It’d be dreadfully lonely otherwise. “Oh?”
“Well… we came here to fill our appetites.” He brushed his fingers against yours just a little, feeling something akin to sparks shooting up his skin. “And those aren’t always for food…”
Your breath audibly stuttered, and you grabbed his hand a little too eagerly, a little too quickly. He didn’t mind that at all. He was growing a little tired of all this buildup, in fact. He was done with the appetizers, it was well time for the main meal. “And? How strong is this ‘other appetite’…?”
“Oh, personally, I’m famished.”
“Then…” You raised his hand up, pressing a kiss to his knuckles. “I am here to help you sate it.”
“Excellent.” He was practically vibrating with excitement at this point, giving your hand a small, reassuring squeeze. “Come closer, mon cherie…”
He didn’t have to tell you twice. Your lips were on his in such a flash he barely had time to process it, soft yet firm yet hungry all at once. The sweetness of the icing and the cherry mixed so well with something that was uniquely you in such a tantalizing dance of flavours he couldn’t help but moan, free hand flying up to the back of your head to pull you closer. When you pulled apart, you didn’t even take a moment to catch your breath, you were kissing his cheek, his jaw, dipping down to his neck and coming back up to the corner of his mouth. He laughed, grabbing hold of the back of your shirt and giving it a low-effort pull.
“Ah, stop teasing me, love—“ He was cut off by your lips on his again, the feeling completely melting his brain like ice cream on a hot day. “You’re insatiable…”
“Sorry, sorry.” You chuckled a little sheepishly, pressing a final kiss to his lips before finally moving down to unbutton his shirt. “You’re just so… mm, how do I put this… edible?”
He almost barked out a laugh, but kept it in. “Edible?”
“I mean, considering what you are, that shouldn’t be surprising, right?” You slipped off his jacket, running your hands down his chest. “You’re just incredibly appetizing.”
His hands dipped down your body, tracing the shape of you through your clothing before moving to the top button of your shirt. He shared chaste kisses with you between every piece of clothing shed, thrown haphazardly on the kitchen floor. Once you were rid of your top layers, his hand came down to the buckle of your belt, hovering over it, waiting for your permission. You grabbed his wrist and pushed his hand down, and he got the memo.
He slipped off your belt, but before he could toss it to the side, you stopped him. “Wait… I have an idea, if you’ll allow it.”
“An idea…?”
Mischief sparkled in your narrowed eyes. It both intrigued and frightened him. Still, when you commanded him to run around, he did so without a moment’s hesitation.
Your fingertips trailed down his arms with a featherlight touch. You pulled his forearms together, and when the cool leather of the belt touched his wrists he realized what you were doing with a shock through his whole body. He tensed up, and you paused.
“May I?”
He met your gaze over his shoulder. You were looking up at him from where you were seated, concern etched across your face. Conflicting emotions marred his mind for an agonizingly long couple seconds. He’d never done something like this before… but… what kind of critic wouldn’t try anything once?
“Do it.”
You were oddly gentle with it, slowing down your previously fiery motions to soft touches against his hands, kissing his wrists before wrapping the leather, pulling it taut and securing it snugly around them. He shifted a little, testing how they felt. He tugged against them, something fluttering in his chest as he realized his hands were firmly locked behind his back.
“How does that feel?” You paced your hands on his waist, guiding him around to face you. As if on instinct, he tried to reach for you, only to once again be thwarted by the restraints. They were a tease all to themselves, but it was much more comfortable than he would’ve initially assumed.
“Interesting…” He was standing between your legs now, eyes fixed on where your fly was pulled down to reveal the undergarments beneath. He felt his mouth water once more. “It feels… strange. But oddly nice. I’ll have to experience a little more to properly rate it, though.”
“Is that right?” You raised your brows, a little grin playing on your lips.
“You know I’m all for new culinary experiences” He couldn’t help his own smile. “And I have a feeling this one will prove to be quite stimulating.”
“What shall be our next course, then?”
“Mm… I have a few ideas…” he let his gaze fall over your body without shame now, lingering on your legs. “I do wonder what you taste like.”
“Why don’t you find out, then?” You moved your hands up his sides, until you made it to his shoulders. You barely had to put any force down, he was already sinking to his knees in front of you. His hands flexed in their restraints, anticipation clouding his mind as he watched you slowly pull down your clothing, revealing what was beneath. A wave of something akin to hunger washed over him at the sight, god, he was practically drooling and he hadn’t even started yet. You placed a hand on his hair, gently tugging on the roots to pull him closer. He eagerly followed your lead, pressing the flat of his tongue to your sex and dragging upward.
Your breath stopped for a moment, and that only fueled this need burning within him. He found your most sensitive spots with ease, relishing your flavour on his taste buds while his tongue drew languid circles into you.
“Fuck, you’re good…” You breathed out, hold tightening in his hair. Pride bloomed in his chest, and he pulled off of you to look up at you with a bright smile, teeth and lips already stained with you.
“I have a lot of practice with eating.”
“I know. God, I should’ve expected this…” You took a moment to calm yourself, closing your eyes and taking a deep breath in. You relaxed, then nodded. “Continue…”
He eagerly got back to it, taking you into his mouth like a man starved. God, he was a man starved, absolutely deprived of this divine taste for his entire life. You let out long sighs and little sounds with each slow roll and lap he gave you, and it only spurred him on more, only heightened his delight. He was straining against his pants, unable to do anything but squirm and buck into nothing with his hands tied behind his back. He pressed his legs tightly together, desperate for any sort of friction he could get. He heard you let out a breathless laugh from above, placing one of your legs over his shoulder to lock him in place.
In that moment, the restraints were both a curse and extremely hot. His instincts screamed at him to grab your thighs and pull you closer, but his mind relished in the idea of being completely at the mercy of his caterer. He moaned into you, knowing by the way you flinched those vibrations felt good. When your hold on his hair grew ever so slightly painful and your body tensed, he knew you were getting close.
The thought of pulling off of you, of denying you, entered his mind. But with your firm grip on him, and his building arousal… oh, he couldn’t do it if he tried. He sped up, pressed his tongue down harder until you were crying out and finishing hard into his mouth.
He slowed down into gentle, slow laps, gathering as much of your release as he could before a gentle tug on his hair forced him to look up at you. Your breaths came out in short puffs, Dateviators fogged up and sat askew on your nose, what he could see of your eyes blurry and glazed over. The sight filled him with the urge to dive back into you, but he restrained himself.
“Well?” Your breathless voice went straight to his neglected cock, making him all too aware of how aroused he was by all this. “How would you rate me?”
He laughed, resting his head on your thigh for a moment. “Five stars… simply exceptional.”
“Was it good enough you’d want seconds?”
His eyes snapped to yours again, and soon enough, he was on his feet, your lips on his, and his body being tossed onto the table right next to the cake, the delicious scent mixing with the lovy taste of your tongue.
Summary: You convince Mitchell to carve a pumpkin with you, and maybe even let loose a bit.
Notes: MITCHELLL MY BELOVED AGGH ohh my gosh he’s so pretty and smug and ugh i just wanna *glomps him*
Flufftober day 21: Pumpkin Carving
Tags: post-realization, pumpkin carving, shenanigans involving pumpkin guts, flirty banter, kissing, fluff, reader-insert, no use of y/n for reader insert, gender-neutral reader-insert, no beta we die like chappy
Word Count: 1,430
—————
Both you and Mitchell have just returned home from a trip to the grocery store, where after purchasing the necessary groceries you somehow managed to drag him to the pumpkin display. With much convincing on your part and a lot of skepticallness on Mitchell’s, you both walk away with a pumpkin for each of you. The concept of carving pumpkins and setting them outside for halloween is not beyond him, but he still has some reservations in wasting the flesh for simple decoration.
“I still can’t believe we’re not using these perfectly good pumpkins to make seasonal crème brûlées, or even a simple pumpkin soup.” Mitchell turns the gourd around, inspecting it closely.
You heave your own pumpkin onto the table next to Mitchell’s, letting out a huff. “Don’t worry, not all of it’s going to waste. We’ll clean the seeds we scoop out, toss them in oil, salt, and cinnamon, then roast them in the oven! Trust me, they taste delicious.”
Mitchell hums. “Yes, I suppose. You raise a good point, mon chéri.”
Except when it comes to you, in which he could be convinced quite easily, you’ve found.
As you clumsily cut into your pumpkin, you try making small talk. “So, do you have a face planned for your pumpkin?”
Mitchell, with the ease of an expert, sinks his knife skillfully into his own pumpkin and begins smoothly cutting away. “I can’t say I’ve given it much thought. Something will come to me, I’m sure.”
“Ooo, spontaneous! I didn’t take you to be the type.”
Mitchell grins smugly. “I need to keep you on your toes somehow.”
And so it goes between the two of you, the attempt at small talk gently slipping into more casual conversation. Discussions of Mitchell’s review of the latest snobby critic, debate over whether or not pineapple ‘belongs’ on pizza, and playful banter fill your kitchen. The scent of pumpkin permeates the air, making the room smell like autumn and Halloween.
You're in the middle of scooping the last of the insides when it happens.
A simple miscalculation, just a little too much strength. Scraping the sides too hard with your spoon, causing a small chunk of pumpkin guts to fly into the air and—
*splat*
— right onto Mitchell’s face.
He doesn’t even react, simply freezing in place, spoon pausing mid-scoop in his own pumpkin. The only indication he’s even acknowledged the accident is a small intake of breath and a slight widening of his eyes in surprise, crossing as he attempts to look at the pumpkin innards that have found themself on his cheek.
You, however, immediately jump to action. “Oh, shit. I am so sorry, Mitchell. Hang on…” You hurriedly turn to the side to grab some paper towels. “Damn pumpkin guts… I’m sorry, I should’ve been more careful—”
You’re cut off the moment you turn back to face Mitchell by something cold and wet hitting you square between the eyes. The smell that assaults your nostrils soon after tells you it’s a bit of pumpkin that’s landed on your face. You gasp at the sudden incursion, and blink rapidly in bewilderment.
When you look at Mitchell, you notice he’s traded his look of shock for a grin that’s downright impish. His fingers are still in a post-flick motion, giving him away. “Oops.” There’s not an ounce of regret in his tone, despite his words.
You grin right back at his unspoken challenge. Oh. It is so on.
Before he can react, you quickly reach into the bowl of discarded pumpkin guts, pinching a dollop, and hurl it directly at Mitchell. It hits him right in the chest, splattering against his shirt with a satisfying *splurt*.
You swear you’ve only blinked when you see a blur of orange hurtling towards you. It gives you barely enough time to dodge the oncoming ball of goop, ducking under the table to avoid being hit. It lands somewhere behind you, making a *plap* as it hits the wooden flooring.
Mitchell chuckles devilishly. “Oh, you aren’t getting away that easily.” From your position under the table, you hear a wet *squelch* followed by the sight of Mitchell standing up, the chair he is sitting on scratching awfully against the floor. He’s already halfway around the table when you realize exactly what’s happening.
You yelp and quickly dart the opposite way, leaping upright so you're no longer hunched over. What you see only confirms your suspicions: Mitchell’s hand is full of a large glop of pumpkin guts and his smile is full of mischief. It only spurs you to keep running, intent on putting as much distance between you and the sticky orange slop.
Mitchell doesn’t waver, chasing you around the table one, two, three, four times. All the while, both of you are laughing with a childish glee that you haven’t felt in quite some time. Joy and adrenaline rush through your veins as you desperately avoid Mitchell’s attacks.
You and him come to a stand-still when you find yourself on one end of the table, and Mitchell on the other. Both of you are hunched over the table, tensed up and prepared to dash at the slightest hint of movement from the other.
“Come here!” His order is incrementally broken with ill-hidden snickers.
You do your best not to giggle back at the absurdity of the situation you’d found yourself in. “No!” You feign to the left, and then quickly bolt to your right.
But Mitchell is expecting the fake-out. With a swiftness you don’t expect from him, he all but launches himself at you, tackling you to the ground and pinning you underneath him. In no time at all, you find yourself lying supine, Mitchell practically sitting on top of you as he straddles your sides with his legs, effectively immobilizing you. His lack of visible muscles is deceptive, it seems, as he has no trouble keeping you restrained, no matter how intensely you squirm in an attempt to escape his grasp.
Your struggle for freedom is futile, Mitchell’s hold on you only growing tighter as he slowly leans forward, the handful of goop inching closer to your face. “AH! Wait! Mitchell—!” You let out an involuntary shriek when his finger — covered in pumpkin — makes contact with your forehead. It’s cold, slimy, but not the most uncomfortable. Most of your dramatics are just that, dramatic. Honestly, you don’t mind being held in place while your boyfriend drags his pumpkin-drenched fingers down your face.
Mitchell dabs a finger back into the pile of sludge in his hand, and continues in decorating you in orange. “De toute beauté.” He mutters under his breath as he wipes what feels like erratic lines of pumpkin slop on your face. “There is no finer paint than food. It can be spread in beautiful patterns, making a work of art. So long as it covers the right canvas, its presentation is only surpassed by its edibility.” He smiles gently as he delicately taps the tip of your nose, leaving behind a small dab of pumpkin. “And you, mon chéri? You make the perfect canvas.”
You blush at his proclamation, finding yourself at a loss for words. “Uh…” You flounder, not knowing what to say. What does anyone say in this situation? Nothing comes to mind.
So, you do the next best thing, one that requires no words to be spoken.
Fast as a thought, you reach up and grab Mitchell by the collar, yanking him down and into a passionate kiss. He — unsurprisingly — tastes like pumpkin, but there’s smaller notes of something more savory underneath, something akin to salt, perhaps. Whatever it is, it’s delicious, just like him.
Now it’s Mitchell’s turn to blush, making a small noise in protest, taken off-guard by your sudden forwardness. But he melts soon enough, his eyes closing in pure bliss. You feel his hands cup your jaw, ignoring the way the pumpkin guts still leftover squish against your skin.
You stay like this for what could be hours, but really is only a few minutes, before Mitchell breaks away, gasping for breath. “Oh my, mon cœuri… I… goodness.”
You give him a salacious grin. “Didn’t think I had it in me?”
Mitchell, shaken from his momentary trance, grins right back. “Au contraire, I simply admire your boldness. Kissing me so deeply, yet so early in the day? It’s almost like you want something to happen.”
“Well, you know what they say: it’s midnight somewhere.”
“I’m fairly certain the phrase is ‘it’s 5 o’clock somewhere’.”
“Oh just shut up and take me.”
“Absolutely.”
—————
Notes: De toute beauté = absolutely beautiful
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Hey Mitchell Lin, do you eat both normal food and blood or just blood?
He hums as he considers your question,
"Well, yes and no,"
He straightens in his seat as he makes eye contact with you, his lips curled in an easy smile that has you relaxing as well,
"Normal food doesn't taste like anything, it's just nothing, I can only register the texture of it. However;"
His smile curls upward a bit, in a way that makes him look like he's almost teasing you- almost.
"Blood can be very tempting even if it's draped over raw broccoli, my judgement is a little clouded because I haven't fed in quite a while— it pains me to say that I need sustenance first to judge anything properly,"
He winks at your direction, clearly trying to point to something,
The playlist is here! There’s not really a theme, mostly good vibes i think match him and a little bit of Mitchell x Reader. Enjoy!! I’d love to hear your thoughts :3 I’m probably going to make an angst playlist for him too, so this one is the happy one!
Summary: More of Mitchell’s past comes back to haunt him when the first person he ever turned shows up at the flat needing his help. On the run from her coven in Ireland, the reader seeks refuge with the one person she ever truly loved in her decades of living.
Notes: Mitchell, to this day, is one of my favorite characters both in general and to write. I’ve never really done a series for him, so I thought this could be fun. I have no idea how long I want this to be, I’m just going with it.
-
June 7th 1917
My dearest John,
Another summer day passes without you and the only question anyone can figure to ask me is if I’ve decided upon a date. I’m half tempted to lie and tell them we eloped before you left just to see their reactions. Though, sometimes I wish it was true.
Look at me, rambling even through paper and pen. I know you’ve always said how fond you are of it, but I always feel so ridiculous. I hope here it can bring a smile to your face. You know how I long to see that smile again.
I know it won’t be long, my love. I can feel it, though you may not believe in that kind of thing, I do believe there are forces that even you, John Mitchell, cannot understand. Until then, I will keep you with me through your words.
Write soon, my love.
Yours completely,
Y/N
-
The ferry horn blared in your ears, ringing around like the thoughts in your mind.
This was a mistake. You didn’t have any other choice. He would turn you away. He owed you. You promised yourself to never think of him again. How could you see him now?
You didn’t have any other choice.
This was a mistake.
Over and over, round and round, the parade of problems just made your hangover worse.
You should have had more to drink. Maybe then you’d still be drunk for what was going to happen next. It was already going to be a wreck, so what could a little whiskey hurt?
Just the thought of a shot almost made you hurl over the rail.
You ran a hand down your face and sat on one of the rain-soaked benches. Your phone sat in your lap. It wasn’t your fault you couldn’t call first. There weren’t exactly phone numbers the last time you saw each other.
So there you were, on the ferry headed toward the last remaining thread of your past. The man you loved. The man who’d left you.
You hung your head and stuffed your phone in your pocket. “Damn you, John Mitchell.”
-
It wasn’t fair. One would assume being dead meant being immune to such human problems as a hangover, but that just wasn’t the case.
Mitchell gripped the coffee mug in his hands, sitting on the sofa with a grimace and a glance at his roommates that said not to bother him.
They’d never understood it. There was something about this day, some reason that he always drank too much, always insisted on spending it alone.
Annie, of course, had many theories. Maybe it’s the anniversary of when he was turned? Maybe vampires just have a set day every year when they turn into wankers. Or, her favorite, perhaps today reminded him of some great love that he’d lost. She’d never voiced that last one to either of them so she had no way of knowing how right she was.
Mitchell stared at the wall.
He should be over it by now, shouldn’t he? All these years, all of the other horrible things he’d done. But this was the one that would stay with him forever. The one he would never get past. The one that started all of it.
“So… calling in sick tonight?” George asked, looking at the time. Sure, they had hours before their shift, but he had a feeling his flatmate wouldn’t be moving from that couch anytime soon.
Mitchell just nodded.
Annie opened her mouth to suggest making a night of it, but Mitchell stood and hurried up the stairs to avoid any other interactions for the rest of the day.
He couldn't handle their worried glances or pitying comments. Not today.
“What’s gotten into him?” Annie asked. “It seems every year, he has to choose today to be his time of the month.” She laughed lightly. George just gave her an exasperated look. “Get it? Because you… and I used to… oh never mind.”
George had known Mitchell for only slightly longer than Annie had, but he’d made the same observations. And he’d decided it was probably best to let vampire problems remain vampire problems.
The day passed away, ticking slowly on, and neither of them heard or saw Mitchell at all.
“Just… keep an eye on him,” George said as he headed for the door.
Annie held up a hand, an idea clear on her face.
George sighed. “Not by poofing into his room.”
Annie frowned.
The roommates bid each other goodnight and George cast one last worried glance up the stairs before he left for work.
He stepped out into the early evening air and took a long, deep breath. He looked up at the moon. Still a good two weeks away from his least favorite day of the month. Things were going to be okay, even if Mitchell was broodier than usual George took a step off of the front stairs and ran right into something.
Not something.
Someone.
Mitchell hadn’t moved in hours, but he couldn’t sleep either. All he could do was sit and stare and smoke and put out cigarettes and smoke some more. The coffee had helped his hangover enough to have him thinking about round two.
Anything to clear the sound of her voice from his head.
“Oh, god, I am so-” George stammered, looking down at the woman he’d stumbled into.
“It’s fine, really.” You backed away, the scent of wolf invading your senses before you could prepare for it. “I wasn’t looking where I was going.”
“No, the fault is all mine.” George glanced over you and you tried to imagine what he saw.
Shaking.
Tattered.
Broken.
What a great first impression.
“Can I…” His brows drew together in confusion. “Help you?”
You could smell it from the street. Cigarette smoke wafting down from an open window. Had your heart been beating it would have stopped. Somehow… you just knew.
“No, I think I’ll find my way, thanks.” You gave the werewolf a smile and watched him head off.
You breathed in, staring up at that open window.
There, beneath the smell of the tobacco, was him.
You could sense him, see him as if he were standing there in front of you. Those dark curls, his hazel eyes that seemed to burn like candlelight. His lips. Lips that used to kiss you goodnight. That smiled whenever he saw you.
You doubted you’d receive such a warm greeting now considering how you left things. Or rather, how he left.
Rock music played into the street. It was odd, hearing him listen to modern music. It reminded you of how much of your lives you’d spent apart now.
You knocked.
“Good lord, George, forget something alr- oh-” A pretty woman opened the door, mouth falling open when she saw you. “Hello. Sorry, I thought you were my flatmate.”
“Hi,” you smiled, trying to sound as cheerful as possible. But as you tried to form your next words, it felt like you had cotton in your mouth. Just the idea of saying his name…
“You alright dear?” She asked. She pushed the door open further. “Why don’t you come inside, you look like-”
“I’ve seen a ghost?” You blurted. That’s what she was, you realized as you took in that faint glow of death around her.
She blinked, looking more concerned.
You continued before she could start something else. “Does John Mitchell live here?”
“Um, yeah-” Her brows drew together in confusion. “I’m sorry, who are you?”
“How rude of me,” you exclaimed, plastering a charming smile on your face. “John and I go way back. I rang him earlier, he knows I’m here.”
Annie seemed a little more at ease with your sunny demeanor.
“Let me go get him,” she said. “You can come in and wait if you’d like?”
You stepped over the threshold, the invisible barrier falling.
“Thank you.”
She turned away and started up the stairs.
You took a deep breath.
This was a mistake.
You couldn’t do this. You couldn’t stand there, in his living room, like you really were just some old acquaintance.
You stepped back into the dark and let your gaze go back to the window.
Annie knocked lightly and opened the door.
Mitchell was laid out on his bed, exhausted from his day at work, with a book in his hands. He looked up with a rather annoyed expression.
“There’s a woman here for you,” Annie said. She shrugged. “Irish, I think. Says she’s an old friend of yours, which I’m assuming means she’s a vampire.” Realization washes over her face and Annie bites her lip. “Oh, that means I shouldn’t have invited her in.”
Mitchell scrambled out of bed.
“I’m still not used to that, you know,” Annie defended, hurrying after him as he ran down the stairs.
Both paused, finding the front door open and the living room empty.
“I swear, she was just here,” Annie said.
The pieces started to come together in Mitchell’s mind.
It couldn’t be.
“Just,” he let out a heavy sigh, “be more careful about who you let in.”
“What are they going to do, kill me?”
Mitchell rolled his eyes and returned to his room. His mind was reeling with too many thoughts for him to notice that, when he walked in, he wasn’t alone. Mitchell froze as the door clicked behind him.
“Hello, John.”
It wasn’t possible. That voice. Those eyes. You sat on the edge of his bed and were glad. If you were standing, you might have collapsed under his gaze.
“Y/N,” Mitchell gasped. He steadied himself against the door.
Those eyes.
Eyes he’d dreamt of for decades. The ones he could never get out of his head.
“Sorry for the dramatics. I thought you might not have wanted this conversation to happen in front of your… friend.” You stood, trying to force yourself to stay calm. You were here for a reason.
He straightened, letting whatever frustration and anger he could muster take over.
“What are you doing here?”
“I-” You reached up as if trying to see if he was really there. If he was real. But when you saw your shaking hand, you stuffed it in your jacket pocket. “I need your help, John.”
“You can’t be serious,” he scoffed. “It’s been-”
“I know how long it’s been,” you snapped, taking a step toward him. “Do you think I would be here if it wasn’t important?”
“I can’t imagine what would bring you here at all.”
You lowered your gaze to the floor and took a breath. “I heard about Herrick.”
Mitchell crossed his arms. “And you decided to pop by? Share your condolences.”
“Of course not. You know how much I hated…” You trailed off, shaking your head. “My point is, I'm not the only one who has heard, John.”
“I go by Mitchell now.”
“That would be a tad confusing for me, don’t you think?” You were letting your emotions get the better of you. “Look, I’m not here to hash out old problems. I’m here because you’re the only one who can help me, John-” You winced. “Mitchell.”
There’s a tremor to your voice, one that always used to send protective shocks through his limbs. It still did. You were scared and it made his cold exterior melt.
Mitchell sighed. “What happened?”
The blood. The fire. Your cohort's bodies turned to ash and whisked away into the night.
“I think I need a drink.”
Mitchell frowned.
You rolled your eyes. “Christ, I’m talking about whiskey, Mitchell. Not a waitress.”
“So you don’t…”
“I’m not perfect, I’ve had a few slips over the decades but,” you blew out a sigh, “I’m clean. For a while now.”
He nodded. Something flashed in his gaze. If you didn’t know better, you might have thought it was admiration. The way he used to look at you…
“I’ve been trying, too,” he said. “Get clean, I mean.”
“I’m sure Herrick took that well.”
“It doesn’t matter anymore, does it?” His ferocity returned. “Herrick’s dead. Everything can go back to normal now.”
“My God, do you hear yourself?” You scoffed. “Everything can go back to normal. What is normal?”
“I have a life now, Y/N. One away from the shadows and the,” he sucked in a breath, “the blood.” He gave you a long, hard stare. “I won’t let anything mess that up again.”
“They’re going to kill me, John,” you finally blurted. “And for the first time in a long time, I am right scared.” The wavering in your voice made it hard to speak but you forced yourself to remain steady. You felt pathetic enough begging for his help.
“Who?” Mitchell growled. He clenched his fists at his sides.
“The coven I’ve spent the past decade with.” The name tasted foul on your tongue like you were still breathing in the ashes of your home. “Their leader- Lizzy Kain.”
Mitchell’s face shifted again.
“You pissed off the Kains?” He said. His voice was so calm it scared you more than the hoard of angry Irish vampires on your tail.
You swallowed.
Mitchell opened his door and motioned for you to follow.
“I think I’ll get us that drink now.”
-
Y/N,
Things are getting worse. They say that one of the big players in England just became werewolf-chow and now Lizzy is going mad. She keeps talking about following in Herrick’s footsteps and taking what’s rightfully ours. I remembered you saying that name before and I was wondering if we could talk? I’m getting scared. They’re just taking people from the streets now. That creep, Ron or whatever, brought in a thirteen-year-old girl. He didn’t even turn her, just tore her apart.
We have to stop them, somehow.
Meet me at the old clock tower at sunset.
Kieran
-
“So you didn’t go along with the big bad plan and Lizzy makes you an example?” Mitchell paced in front of you. “Something there doesn’t add up.”
Your fingers gripped the beer bottle in your hand so tight you thought you’d break it.
“What did you do?” Mitchell eyed you.
You took a drink.
“Y/N-”
“I may or may not have,” you took a deep breath, “killed her husband.”
Mitchell almost dropped his bottle. “Y-you what?”
“He was a creep who harassed me every chance he got and he was recruiting kids. Kids, Mitchell.”
“So you decided to take matters into your own hands, well that’s just great.” He ran a hand through the dark curls you used to tangle your fingers in. “I’m sure you feel very noble now.”
Anger pulsed through you like the heartbeat you no longer had. You stood, setting your drink aside. “I knew it was a mistake coming here.” You started for the door.
Mitchell sighed. “Y/N, wait.”
You kept moving.
A hand closed around your arm.
“Just wait.” There’s a slight plea to his voice. “I shouldn’t judge you for trying to do something… good.” You always were the good one, he wanted to add but didn’t.
You stood there for a moment, taking him in.
He did the same.
“I’m sorry, but could someone please clue me in as to what the hell is going on?” Annie huffed.
You’d forgotten she’d been standing in the kitchen doorway, listening in even though Mitchell had specifically asked for some privacy.
Frustration returned to his face.
“It’s complicated-”
“I’m sorry, I have been incredibly rude.” You flashed the ghost a grin, a touch of your ingrained Irish charm breaking through your panic. You crossed the living room to shake her hand. “I’m Y/N.”
“You said that, yeah.” She eyed you suspiciously.
“Mitchell and I have known each other for a long time.” You glanced over your shoulder, unsure of how much he wanted to reveal.
“He knew Herrick for a long time, too.”
“Annie-”
You held up a hand to stop him. “It’s okay.”
Annie shifted on her feet. It wasn’t normal for her to be like this and it made her uncomfortable.
“I can understand why you might have a healthy distrust of vampires.” You motioned behind you with a smirk. “Other than him, of course.”
Finally, a small smile spread across the spirit’s lips. “Even him sometimes.”
“I can hear you.”
“We know.” Both of you said at the same time.
Annie peaked over your shoulder. “Okay, I think I like her.”
“I’m already winning your friends over.” You gave Mitchell a victorious smile. “Now you have to help me.”
He rolled his eyes. “You haven’t met George.”
“Oh, yeah, he’s right,” Annie grimaced. “Plus Nina just moved out and that’s a whole mess unto itself, let me tell you-”
Mitchell cut her off.
“Can we get back to the reason you’re here?” He said. “What makes you think I can help you?” Mitchell held out his arms, motioning to the flat. “It isn’t exactly the perfect place to hide.”
“Who are we hiding?” The door opened as he was speaking. The man you’d bumped into before stepped in. He spotted you and furrowed his brows. “Oh, um, hello.”
“Wait,” Annie said, still trying to wrap her mind around everything. “How exactly do you two know each other again? Were you part of Herrick’s groupies?”
“Herrick?” George gulped.
“No, it isn’t that.” Mitchell moved to stand next to you. “George, this is Y/N.” He turned to you, a flicker of who he used to be resurfacing as he spoke. “My wife.”
(A/N); Hello and welcome back to Dancing With Death! I present to you the second instalment! Please note, it's my first time writing proper smut, so I'm really sorry if it sucks!! Otherwise, enjoy!! ❤❤
Plot; When a human is invited to live with the gang, things get rather complicated for one John Mitchell...
Fate is rarely kind to those who tempt it. There is always a price to pay in the end.
The days drifted onwards, neither you or Mitchell caring to mention the almost-kiss you'd shared. Despite this, it was all you could think about. The way his gaze was so loving, his laugh, his confession in that hushed Irish accent. It gave you blissful goosebumps. But, those lips. So close, yet so far. You'd often imagined the feeling of him kissing you, the closest thing being that accidental brush. Tingles lingered where his lips had touched. It was so light and–
"(Y/n) (L/n), are you paying attention??", your teacher's voice rang out, shocking you from your thoughts.
"Pardon?", you sputtered. Your classmates giggled amongst themselves.
"Keep your attention in the here and now, Miss (L/n)", he reprimanded, before drawing his attention to the screen at the front of the room. It was going to be a very long morning for not just yourself.
Mitchell was working until noon at the hospital, bustling around in a hurry. Almost everywhere there was a spillage of some kind. It was unending for the poor vampire. And it was about to get worse.
A familiar head of blonde hair was weaving its way through the crowds, an exasperated sigh leaving the Irishman. "Ah, Mitchell", the older male greeted his acquaintance.
"Herrick", Mitchell returned, leaning on his mop.
"Don't look so unimpressed. I'll be needing word, if you don't mind?". With reluctance, Mitchell decided he'd entertain Herrick for a few moments, nodding silently. To anyone watching, Mitchell was a cleaner being questioned by a Police Officer. The head of the local department to be exact. Nothing out of the question there.
Their usual place to chat was the hospital canteen, Herrick ordering a coffee rather than the crappy hot chocolate that was made for him the last time. "What do you want? I work for a living", Mitchell ground out, staring the older man down from across their chosen table. Herrick was unintimidated by his counterpart, sipping his coffee without much care.
"I'm rather disappointed that you've forgotten", Herrick sighed. "Seth certainly hasn't".
"Seth is an arsehole", Mitchell shot back with a shrug.
"That's hardly news to the world, Mitchell. I'm talking about a very alarming incident. You know which one I'm referring to". The raven haired male narrowed his eyes for a moment before responding,
"What of it?".
"Your playing human, restricting your food habits is fine with me. But, taking it upon yourself to restrict others of our kind? That's just selfish", the blonde chided. "To make things worse, she now knows our secret".
"It's under control". Herrick's brows rose in intrigue.
"You must really trust this woman to be so sure of yourself", he mused. "Who is she to you, Mitchell? A colleague? A lover??". His eyes lit up with his next suggestion. "Your flatmate??".
"It's not your concern", Mitchell responded, irking Herrick into a laugh.
"Who's sick, sadistic idea was it then??", he asked, leaning across the table with a wolfish grin. "Gods, you must be suffering being so close to a human. Then again, you've always enjoyed being God's punching bag, haven't you?". The Irishman glowered, chewing the inside of his bottom lip. A violent delight flashed in Herrick's piercing blue gaze as it trailed over Mitchell's expression. "You've thought about it, haven't you? Plunging your fangs into her soft flesh, drinking the sweetness of her hot blood". Mitchell shifted uncomfortably, his gaze darting away from Herrick's in shame. "Letting that divine warmth trickle down your chin, finally satisfying the beast inside".
"Get to the point already", Mitchell snapped.
"You know what I want from you and it's all completely voluntary".
"To join your little 'army'? You really think this revolution is going to work, don't you?", he scoffed.
"I know it's going to work. We're high in number now, Mitchell. It's only a matter of time", Herrick insisted. "We want you back. I certainly do".
"And what if I did join you, Herrick?", Mitchell challenged. "Hypothetically. What would become of my life then?".
"Your friends are hardly our focus, Mitchell. We're using our gift to help people", the blonde huffed. "If you join us, I'll leave them be".
"Just like that?", Mitchell retorted. "So unlike you".
"Your friends are of no concern to me. One is a floating spirit, the other can't hope to lay a paw on me unless the moon is full and the last? Well, we all know how fragile humans are". Herrick tugged at his shoulders, taking another sip of his coffee. "If you're that worried for her, I can guarantee that she won't be harmed".
Mitchell's gaze narrowed in silent contemplation, suddenly widening at the sound of your voice. "Mitchell?", you called to him from the doorway of the canteen, a sense of horror filling him. You couldn't be here, not now. Herrick's grin widened, his charm switching on. The blonde smelt your scent from where he sat, recognising it as the same sweet smell he'd detected on Seth.
The Irishman stood, his counterpart following suit. You could tell something wasn't right, but the both of you stayed silent when you strayed into the room to embrace your friend. Herrick eyed you keenly, your eyes then falling onto him expectantly. "Well, Mitchell. Aren't you going to introduce us?", he chuckled.
"(Y/n), meet William Herrick", Mitchell's voice remained unenthusiastic. "Herrick, meet (Y/n)". Eagerly, the blonde officer shook your hand, almost startling you with his cold. Those keen eyes reminded you of– He had to be a vampire.
"A pleasure", he assured you, an unreadable twinkle to his blue eyes. "I'm an old friend of Mitchell's".
"Nice to meet you", you forced a smile in your nervousness. Mitchell's hand remained protectively on the small of your back, suddenly taking his chance to remove you from this situation.
"If you'll excuse us, Herrick. We really must be going", the Irishman began to pull you along steadily yet with some hurry, allowing for Herrick to show himself out whenever he chose.
"Of course, of course", he nodded, smiling knowingly. "You will consider my proposal, won't you?". Mitchell froze, turning over his shoulder to acknowledge Herrick's words with a curt nod before leaving.
"Who was that?", you asked when you both had reached the end of the hallway.
"Someone I would have preferred you never to meet", Mitchell sighed, sparing a worried glance over his shoulder. "But, it's done".
"I see now, I shouldn't have come".
"Nonsense. You got me out of there", he nudged you gently, the both of you lapsing into a short fit of laughter. "Why did you come?".
"I just wanted to walk home with you. Class finished early today", you gnawed on your lower lip nervously. He nodded in understanding,
"I'm off work anyway now". Maybe it was better that you had come to find him? With Herrick around, goodness knows who else could be lurking.
The walk home was comfortable, despite your previous awkwardness with Mitchell. In sensing that your hands were cold, the vampire had offered you the surprisingly warm crevice of his strong arm and his fingerless mittens. The sun was more forgiving today, hiding behind the rain clouds that were slowly moving in from the south. Mitchell had been practising going into public without his sunglasses. It was working for him, the dull brightness no longer affecting his sight. You smiled to yourself. With every passing day, he considered himself more human than the last. Yet, you already considered him more a human being than anyone else you'd met.
You both stepped into the house, expecting an excited Annie to greet you both. But, the house was dim and uncharacteristically quiet. A note was left on the table, saying that she was out shopping with George for tea bags among other important things for the pantry. "I can't imagine the tea canisters ever being empty again", Mitchell chuckled, slipping his jacket from his shoulders. In noticing your quiet, his brows furrowed. "Is something the matter?? Did Herrick frighten you?".
"No", you replied dismissively, waving him off with a smile. "I'm thinking".
"About??". Your eyes closed in a form of dread, bracing for the worst at your answer, "About us, Mitchell". He swallowed nervously. "What are we, you and me?". His hazel hues darted from yours, forcing a smile.
"We're friends?", he feigned confusion.
"Are we??", you challenged, your brows raising. Your eyes traced him. "I haven't stopped thinking about it, you know? That kiss".
"It was an accident", he insisted gently, his voice wavering in unsurity.
"Were your words an accident too, Mitchell??". His lashes fluttered, blinking away in anxiousness. He parted his lips to speak, but there was only silence. You stepped closer to his taller frame, your warmer hand reaching out hesitantly. Testing the waters, your fingertips brushed over his hand. He reciprocated in tangling your fingers within his. "Look, I know what you said could've been spur of the moment, but—".
"It wasn't", his soft voice cut in, his form moving almost flush against yours. His eyes were suddenly drawn to your own. "I meant what I said". He heard the flutters of your heart, every fibre of him being drawn to you. Your spare hand rested upon his silent chest, pulling him gently to you. His head dipped, your lashes tickling his skin. "We shouldn't—", he reasoned as his last form of restraint, his lips finally meeting yours.
And so, your dance with death began...
Fireworks gave off beneath your skin, Mitchell's spare hand reaching to twine his fingers into your hair. His other hand released yours to steady your face, your hands gripping his flannelette shirt to bring him closer. You both stumbled into the wall nearest to you, Mitchell's lips working in concentrated passion with your own. Your lips parted, his kiss becoming devouring. His fingers gripped at your hair, only tugging gently enough for a sigh to pass through your lips.
In retreating from your lips, he traced his own down your throat in delicate touches whilst you caught your breath. The temptation for your blood was undoubtedly there, being completely drowned out by Mitchell's other desires. His lips marked your collarbone, his lashes brushing over your skin when his ministrations grew slower. You sensed his hesitation, knowing that he must be growing worried.
To soothe him, your fingers wound through his dark curls whilst he worked, your lips brushing over his forehead and his cheek before you leant in close. "It's alright, Mitchell. I trust you". Your whisper against the shell of his ear, combined with your nails raking over his scalp awoke something almost feral within him.
More sure of himself, Mitchell's lips moved fervently across the skin of your neck. His tongue darted out to strike at your flesh, his lips caressing a place there that had you gasping. Mitchell's forehead met yours, his strong arms having no trouble in hoisting your legs around his waist, your hands grasping at his hair and shoulders.
His nose brushed yours, your lips moulding together in tender open-mouthed kisses as he guided you both out of the living space and up the stairs. Your waist moved against his, a soft groan heaving from his throat. "Christ, don't move like that, (Y/n). We'll never make it to the bedroom if you do", he warned with a playful grin, offering your lips another quick kiss before his steps lead you both into your room. One of his legs kicked out, the door slamming behind you both.
Mitchell's feet stumbled to the edge of your bed, the both of you smiling against each other's lips when they met again sweetly. His arms suddenly became absent beneath you, a short cry leaving your lips when you crashed onto your mattress. A laugh slipped from you, Mitchell's expression mirroring your own. His fingers gripped his undershirt, lazily pulling it and his flannel shirt over his head at the same time. "You're certainly praticed at this", you jested, his brows wiggling suggestively.
"You haven't seen me with a bra", Mitchell replied with a short giggle, discarding his clothing. You stood from the bed, circling your arms around his broad frame.
Carefully, you'd noted his battle scars from his time at war, his hazel gaze glinting with a tenderness in watching you look over them. His lips parted when your mouth and fingertips graced over those old wounds affectionately. No one had ever cared for or noticed those marks before. "Thank you", he murmured against your forehead, a soft smile still present in his gratitude. His fingers moved to your back, silently asking for permission.
"Please", you responded, his face lighting up. The Irishman pressed a kiss along your jaw, before lifting your shirt over your head. You nodded, beckoning him to continue. His lips ignited goosebumps over your skin when they kissed slowly and sensually along your bare shoulders. With a twisting of his fingers, your bra clasp suddenly fell loose, the garment being completely discarded. Your brows rose. "You weren't kidding".
Another soft giggle slipped from Mitchell's lips, his hazel hues glittering with adoration when they met your own. "You're so, so beautiful", his hushed breath fanned over your skin. His cooler hands grazed over your bare back in loving caresses, moving his hand to cup one of your breasts. He only swiped his thumb over your bud, your form jolting forwards into his instinctively. His head ducked, laying feathersoft kisses on your lips, cascading down your throat again, his hands tracing soft patterns over the sensitive flesh of your stomach to the hem of your pants.
"Please, Mitchell", you begged softly, the Irishman wasting no time in pulling the button of your pants loose, allowing them to form a pile by your feet.
Mitchell guided you gently onto the mattress, his form coming to hover over your own. His large hand flattened over your stomach, his lips grazing the shell of your ear.
"Do you want me to—", he began, inching his fingers lower in suggestion.
"Yes". His soul warmed, the vampire relishing in how trusting and carefree you were within each other. He delighted in the gasp that tumbled from your lips when his digits slipped into your underwear, quickly becoming coated in your slick. Your nails clawed into the muscles of his arm when he moved them languidly between your folds and across that sensitive bundle of nerves. He bit down on his lip to fight his smile at feeling you writhing beneath him, letting him know wordlessly in your huffs and mutterings that he was hitting all the right places. His teeth nibbled against the shell of your ear pleasurably, hoping to get your folds slick enough in preparation for him. You fought your building high, begging Mitchell to stop. He obeyed, a soft laugh escaping him when your hands worked down the bare skin of his abdomen, to tug on the hem of his pants. The Irishman relented to your shared wants, pressing a loving kiss to your forehead. Both his boxers and jeans were removed together, quickly becoming discarded with the other items of your clothing.
Mitchell's soft lips seized your own, your hands coming to cradle his face. He braced himself on your mattress, lining himself up carefully. Once sure, his hips snapped upwards, your mouth falling open against his. His eyes fell closed in a squint, his dark brows furrowing as a shaky moan passed through his throat. Your breaths steadied as you became adjusted to him, his hips slowly beginning to rock into your own experimentally. You hummed eagerly, snatching his lips into your own. "Mitchell", his name tumbled from your lips, your fingers lacing into those thick curls as his pace quickened.
His kisses were searing, but gentle. There was mixtures of your teeth and his, pulling at each other as Mitchell's movements became deeper. The thirst for your blood had him tensing and grimacing, his lower lip being drawn between his teeth in concentration. A metallic taste hit his tongue; his own blood from biting down so hard. You helped to keep him grounded, allowing his hands to run across your open palms before pinning them to the mattress.
The Irishman's brows remained furrowed, focused on giving and sharing in your pleasure. Your breathy whimpers, soft curses and ragged gasping were all music to his ears. He found joy in the fact there was a deeper connection than just lust or a means to feed, as sex had often been for him. It was instead loving, slow and caring towards each other's needs. Mitchell finally felt that he could love and be loved equally in return.
A sharp gasp suddenly slipped from your throat, Mitchell hitting a place that had you seeing stars. Your back arched into him, your waist snapping up to meet his rhythmic movements. Feeling a heat tightening in his lower abdomen, Mitchell didn't allow himself to lose any self control over the side of him that hungered for your blood. His hazel eyes flickered open, ablaze with desire and adoration. Your heated breaths mingled, Mitchell's lips lowering again to your own. Gods, you really were beautiful.
With your heart now racing, you felt every wave of stimulation building up within you. You felt your eyes lolling back, Mitchell's movements allowing him to continuously drag across that spot in you without mercy. "Oh, Mitchell", you sighed, your gaze barely able to focus on his face.
Mitchell smiled. You were so close now, he could feel it. Your breaths had quickened and you were practically squirming with every thrust. His hands pinned yours higher, holding them down with only one. His now spare hand travelled between the small space between your moving bodies, a small cry of pleasure shooting from you when his digits began rubbing circles over your small bud.
Mitchell's tongue traced the skin beneath your ear, fighting the painful urges to feed from you whilst he pressed hot open-mouthed kisses to your flesh. His ministrations in time with his thrusts were too much, suddenly hitting a boiling point within you.
Trembling beneath him, your throat suddenly tightened, your mouth falling open in a silent scream. Your eyes squeezed shut, your back arching again into him as all the gravity in the room seemed to change. Mitchell's name was a hushed mantra on your lips, the winding tightness snapping within Mitchell's abdomen not long after. His body felt alight with a sudden wave of euphoria as a few strained grunts left his lips. Your name tumbled from his lips amidst a string of other profanities, slowly coming down from his high and allowing you to ride out yours.
When his movements ceased, your bodies remained tangled for a few moments, completely reduced to putty within each other's embrace. Mitchell's eyes had closed, suddenly shooting open in concern. There was no blood, well— he wiped at his mouth, the crimson wetness of his own apparent on his fingers. Fang marks were etched into his skin where he'd bitten down harshly. Shocked at his own restraint, he looked down at your peaceful expression with a growing smile. He'd done it.
Your (e/c) orbs flickered open, a lazy smile meeting your eyes when you cradled his face. Unbothered by the blood, your lips captured his, stroking your fingers over his skin when he returned the kiss. When your lips parted, your fingertips traced over his small wounds in concern. "It's fine", he insisted softly, noting your worry. "Hardly hurt".
Removing himself from you, Mitchell happily took it upon himself to carefully clean you both up with a warm cloth. Neither of you redressed, slipping under your covers to relax in each other's arms.
Pulling Mitchell's dark curls from his face, his head shifted from its place upon your chest to gaze up at you. His wounds on his mouth had miraculously healed after he'd cleaned them, your brows rising in wonder. "Was it hard for you?", you asked with great hesitation. Knowing what you were referring to, the Irishman felt that he should be honest.
"It was", he murmured, conceding that his predatory side was quite painful to control. You took a breath, your lips parting. A silent debate on whether or not to ask.
"If I wasn't human, would that make things easier for you?". Catching on to what you meant, Mitchell's brows furrowed,
"Why would you ever want to give up what you are to become like me??".
"To lessen your pain, to be with you without risk of injury or loss". A kind, yet sad smile dawned on the Irishman's strong features, his hand reaching to sweep the fringe from your face.
"All are human", he whispered, his hand retreating from your face to curl his arm around you affectionately. "You don't want this life, (Y/n). And I won't give it to you".
"Why not??", you asked quietly. Hazel hues danced over your features, his fingers drawing imaginary patterns along the bare skin of your abdomen before grasping your hand. He placed it over his cheek, your thumb caressing over the stubble of his face. His head leant into your touch, his mouth pressing a kiss into your palm.
"I'd miss this warmth. Your skin is so beautifully warm to the touch. All that life; gone in an instant", he sighed, squeezing your hand. Mitchell moved his head to lay it where your heart thrummed beneath your skin. "I'd miss hearing this sound too. It's soothing".
You couldn't help the smile that came to your face, having no prior idea that he'd appreciated these things so much. Whilst you swept your hand over his hair in careful strokes, he continued, "(Y/n), this life took all of that and more from me. I'm just thankful that this life gave me you, but I won't let it take that from me too".
"I'm not going anywhere", you assured him, softly laying a comforting kiss to the top of his hair.
The haunting image of Lauren's hatred filled his mind. Mitchell couldn't handle it if ever you looked at him in that way, the way she had. The thought terrified him to no end, his eyes furiously blinking away the tears forming in his gaze. "This life changes you, (Y/n). I wouldn't wish it on anyone", he mumbled, pressing a kiss to the skin of your chest. "You're perfect as you are. And I love you".
Your embrace tightened around the Irishman, both your eyes and his coming to a restful close. "I love you too, Mitchell".
In the many days and weeks that followed, your relationship with the vampire flourished. George and Annie were overjoyed when the both of you made your status known. Mitchell was now sure of where he belonged in the world and what he'd do to protect those people closest to him.
Foolishly thinking that Herrick had growing morals and that he'd offer his family protection, Mitchell had made the decision to accept the proposal. The blonde's jaw almost hit the floor when Mitchell marched through the doors of his office at B. Edwards.
"They won't be harmed? I have your word??". Smiling broadly, Herrick replied,
"Of course".
"I'm in".
The vampires welcomed Mitchell back into their coven with open arms. It was blissful at first, to be part of his own kind again. The Irishman hated the stories told about his early days as a vampire, having no choice but to give in to his urges to survive back then. It was a time he'd rather forget.
Herrick respected that Mitchell still wished not to feed on humans, hoping that he would come around at some point. The blonde was recruiting more people, saving them from the cusp of death to live in his growing underground society. Mitchell gave him the edge and reputation he needed just by standing in the room. It was perfect.
Until you'd found out from Josie, another former lover of Mitchell's from the 60s, that Mitchell was getting himself into a lot of trouble. She'd met you only a week or two ago, over the moon that Mitchell was pursuing a strong relationship with yourself. Now she worried that it would all end in tatters if he went on any longer with Herrick and his goons.
You'd had no idea, alike to Annie and George, that Mitchell had joined Herrick. Feeling as if your trust had somewhat been betrayed in him not telling you, you had also grown confused. "He hates Herrick— why— what could make him join that man?", you sputtered. Josie's hand clasped your own.
"Mitchell does a lot for those he loves", she sighed wistfully. "He tried to get Herrick to convince me to join them, in their society. To stop my cancer. As honourable as it seemed, he knows as well as I that death is human".
Your mouth fell open slightly, the truth striking you almost painfully. This sounded so different from the Mitchell you knew. Your mind drifted back to his words to you in the afterglow of your first lovemaking. It seemed so long ago now. Josie squeezed your hand. "You need to stop him, (Y/n). Find him. Get him back. I'll tell George". You nodded, returning the gesture before breaking into a sprint down the street.
Every thought you had was honed on Mitchell. You had an inkling to his whereabouts, George having mentioned something about a 'B. Edwards' place to you once. You prayed that you'd get there in time, a sinking feeling beginning to pool in the pits of your stomach.
Your legs burned with fatigue and your lungs gasped for air in the cool winds of the day, your journey leading you through many streets. The funeral home was only a handful of blocks from your house, the sign with 'B. Edwards', like an eery archway over the gates when you'd spotted it. Fury and adrenaline coursed through your system, not caring or thinking when you passed through the glass doors of the establishment.
An elderly woman sat to your left upon entry, her pale eyes fixed on a magazine. The air was unusually cold and musty, every piece of furniture or decor an antique. Your entry sparked the male seated at the desk to rise to his feet. You instantly recognised his face. Seth. Your mind flashed to that night from months ago and it seemed his did as well when a sly grin grew onto his features. "Nice to see you again, Lovely—", he started.
"Where's Mitchell?". Your question had the growing fire in his eyes dimming into a scowl.
"She certainly gets her manners from Mitchell, don't you think?", Herrick laughed upon entering the room, responding to you before his counterpart could. Your eyes darted to the blonde male who offered you a charming smile. "Come now, we're all friends here".
"Just tell me where he is and I'll be on my way", you snapped.
" 'On your way'??", he repeated, wholeheartedly amused. "That just wouldn't be good hospitality, Darling". Your teeth clenched within your mouth, fighting the urge to scream in frustration. "Nanna has made us some lovely biscuits and tea! We'd be so delighted to have you!". The way he'd offered it was so lighthearted, anyone else would've thought him kind. You knew better.
Seth rounded the desk all too quickly, flanking your right to ensure you couldn't escape. The elderly lady, you came to realise, was the vampire Herrick had referred to. She eyed you keenly from where she sat, also making sure you couldn't run. Seth's hand was at the ready, hovering behind you to grip your arm should it be necessary.
With reluctance, you forced a smile, Herrick delighting in your decision to join them without struggle. You marched forwards at your own accord, slowly realising that every set of eyes in this establishment belonged to a vampire. The way they stared was so unlike Mitchell's glance. His was soft, kind. Every gaze here was fixed on you like a vulture. Some part of you wished you'd brought a weapon or a stake with you before rushing into this situation.
Herrick lead you with a kind hand on the small of your back to a room with biscuits and tea laid upon the table. "Have a seat there, Love", he gestured to a comfortable seat, the anxiety and regret rising into your throat. Still, Herrick's voice remained feathersoft, unintimidating. His touch had given you chills, his blue gaze seeming to see through you. Two security guards, also vampires, flanked Herrick. Seth quickly left your side to attend the front desk again once you were seated.
The blonde poured you a cup of tea, adding but a sugar or two before passing it across the dining table. "Pick yourself some biscuits, Love", he grinned. "Don't be shy, now". You didn't trust the tea or the biscuits, afraid they'd been drugged or laced with something malicious. Vampires were immune to poisons and drugs, after all.
"Where's Mitchell?", you repeated your question, more gentle than it had been with Seth. "I want to speak with him".
"Mitchell's just out for the moment. When he's back, I'll give him straight to you". His response was careful and you didn't trust his words in the slightest. "I'm sure he'd appreciate us taking care of you. After all, it's what he wanted?".
"Liar", you muttered, his brows raising.
"How you wound me, (Y/n)", he sighed with some disappointment. "I wasn't lying. How else do you think I managed to convince him to join us?". He took a sip of his tea, eyeing you from the lip of his cup. "Goodness knows why he protects you. You clearly hurt him more than your words could ever hurt me". Your brows creased.
"What are you talking about?". A soft laugh slipped from the blonde,
"What? Hasn't he told you?". Herrick took your silence as his answer, growing further amused with the situation. "He's in pain, Sweetheart. Every day. To be near a human is agonising enough for a few moments. Mitchell has to live with you, 24/7". His blue gaze trailed over your features. "It's a wonder he hasn't given in yet or turned you".
A thickness formed in your throat, the guilt swirling in your eyes. Mitchell had never mentioned such pain to you. Was it really that difficult for him??
"He told me he'd never give me this life", you shot back. "That this life changes you. And as far as I'm concerned, I'll take his advice in not wanting it". Herrick pursed his lips, a slow sigh exhaling from his nostrils. Softly, his head shook in some semblance of dejection.
"Now that is a pity", he sighed. "But to be expected". Your brows furrowed again in confusion. "Mitchell has truly got you wound around that thumb of his to blind you so easily from the gift that is immortality".
"Gift?", you scoffed. "It took everything from him!".
"Is that what he told you?", Herrick huffed in amusement, beginning to drum his fingers on the table. "The same man who would pass immortality out like pamphlets on the street? It's thanks to Mitchell that our recruitment is up, Sweetheart".
You blinked profusely, stiffening up in a sense of disbelief. Yet, there was no dishonesty in Herrick's keen blue gaze as it scanned over you the way Seth's had. It was unsettling.
"You poor girl", he mused, his grin becoming almost wolfish. "How misplaced your loyalty has been. It can have better uses. With any luck".
"What do you mean?". And that's when you noted the rhythm of Herrick's fingers. It almost sounded like a heartbeat, progressively growing quicker. Taunting you.
The guards that flanked the blonde's side slowly shifted, your arms gripping your chair and eyeing them in nervousness. "Listen", Herrick whispered, drumming his fingers louder. "That's your heartbeat, (Y/n). Savour that sound. It just may very well be the last time you hear it".
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I hope you all enjoyed this second instalment with a part three coming soon!! As always, any and all feedback is welcome!! If you want to be a part of my taglist, check out my masterlist and let me know what you'd like to be tagged in!! Thank you all for stopping by and supporting my works!! ❤❤
