Band Oneshots x Reader

The Rhythm Of Love (Mitch Mitchell)

~16 years ago we lost this amazing drummer. He played for Jimi Hendrix and it was a great loss so here is a one-shot honoring him~

Setting: London, 1967 — The heyday of psychedelia, flower power, and the height of the music revolution. The smell of patchouli lingers in the air, and the streets are alive with the hum of new ideas and free spirits. The music scene is electric, and one of its brightest stars is Mitch Mitchell, the drumming sensation from The Jimi Hendrix Experience.

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The apartment was small but cozy, nestled in the heart of London's swinging scene. Your bed was cluttered with old vinyls, beads, and the faint smell of incense, which you had left burning on the windowsill to help clear the air. In this bohemian bubble, time seemed to have its own rhythm, one that was far different from the regular tick-tock of the world outside.

The world outside was a bit mad — but inside, it was just you and Mitch.

You were sitting cross-legged on the floor, flicking through a magazine. It was a rainy afternoon, the type that seemed to make the entire city feel like it was tucked under a soft, woolen blanket. The rain gently pattered against the windowpane, almost as if it were playing a lullaby just for you.

Mitch, on the other hand, was sprawled out on the couch, one hand lazily drumming on the armrest while the other fiddled with his latest possession — a shiny, new tambourine that Jimi had given him after a show last week. His long, wild hair was falling in messy waves, and you couldn't help but smile at how effortlessly cool he looked. He always did.

"Oi, babe, you still with me?" Mitch's voice cut through your thoughts, light and teasing.

You looked up from the magazine, catching his eyes glinting mischievously.

"I'm right here, Mitch. Just soaking in your presence," you said, grinning. "You're a lot more entertaining than this silly magazine anyway."

He laughed — the sound deep and warm. "Oh, don't flatter me," he said, sitting up and tossing the tambourine to the side. His eyes softened as he leaned back, looking at you with that familiar gaze. "What are you really thinking about, eh? Something on your mind?"

You paused for a moment, suddenly unsure. It wasn't that you didn't trust Mitch — quite the opposite, actually. But in that moment, there was something about his laid-back aura that made you feel like you were in the middle of a dream, one where the only thing that mattered was the beat between you both.

"I was thinking about the show last night," you admitted, gently folding the magazine and setting it aside. "The crowd was so electric... but it's strange, y'know? You're up there, doing your thing, and everyone's just caught in the music. I feel like I'm watching a painting come alive."

Mitch leaned forward now, clearly intrigued by what you were saying. His legs were bare, stretched out in front of him, and his fingers tapped rhythmically against his knee.

"Yeah? What else, darling?"

"Well..." you trailed off, trying to find the right words. "I mean, you — all of you — it's like you don't even care. You just lose yourselves in the moment. There's no 'trying,' just... being. It's like you're letting the music take over, not the other way around. And I guess, when I'm with you... I feel that too. Like, when you play, I forget about everything else. Like the whole world falls away."

Mitch was silent for a moment, his expression softening as he processed your words. He could be a man of few words, but when he spoke, it was always full of sincerity.

"You know, babe," he started slowly, looking down at his hands, "I feel the same way when I'm with you. It's like I'm not playing for a crowd. I'm playing for you. For us."

You felt your heart flutter, and suddenly it seemed like the rain outside was just a distant memory. All you could hear was Mitch's voice, his breathing, the pulse of your own heartbeat that seemed to sync with his.

He scooted closer to you now, his legs folding beneath him as he sat beside you on the floor, his arm brushing against yours. "You're so... real, y'know? Not like all the other people running around with their heads in the clouds. You've got this... tangible energy. And when I'm with you, it's like the world makes sense in a way that it never has before."

You smiled, brushing a strand of hair from your face. "That's a very poetic way of saying I'm grounded."

He laughed and nudged you with his shoulder. "Well, you are. But you're also wild in a way I've never known, like a spark that can't be tamed. I don't think I'll ever get tired of that."

The words felt like something you could carry with you for a lifetime. And maybe, just maybe, you would.

Mitch took a breath and stood, offering you his hand. "C'mon, let's go out. The rain's letting up, and I need to grab a bit of air before we head to the studio later."

You took his hand, letting him pull you to your feet. It didn't matter that the world was buzzing with fame and the band was taking off in ways that most could only dream of. In this little corner of London, it was just the two of you. The rhythm of the rain, the hum of the city, and the steady heartbeat of the man who had somehow become everything.

He tugged on your hand, pulling you into his arms, and kissed you softly, a moment of sweetness between the chaos.

"Let's make our own kind of music," he whispered against your lips, his voice full of mischief.

You smiled and leaned into him, feeling the warmth of his embrace. "I'm all in, Mitch. Always have been."

And for a moment, the world outside was nothing more than the soft drizzle of the rain, the hum of a distant guitar, and the two of you, dancing to the rhythm of something far beyond time.

As you stepped outside together, you felt the pulse of the world around you. The city was buzzing, alive with possibility. And with Mitch by your side, it felt like you were part of something bigger. Something electric.

~The Rhythm Of Love~