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fandom-imagines-stories · 6 months ago

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Letters Part One

John Mitchell x Reader

Words: 2927

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.”

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