Ok but F!Hobie who has a secret crush on yew but doesn't confess right away because she's not sure if you swing(rub??) that way.
Normally, she wouldn't care about others that are weirded out by her preferences(I headcanon her to be pan but I'm really conflicted bc yk labels :,)). But it's you we're talking about.
She's really smitten with you, often offering comfort and movie nights while cuddled together on the couch in her house boat.
So imagine her shock when you pounced on her because she opened the door to her just wearing a shirt and only panties underneath.
She discovered that you were indeed Bi! that morning..
.... :)
(I wrote this in honor of pride month and because Fem!Hobie isn't talked Abt enough😞)
IMAGINE COWBOY HOBIE WITH A SINGER READER WHO SINGS TO MAKE MONEY SO ONE DAY HOBIE COMES TO THE CITY BECAUSE HE HAS TO LIKE HUNT SOMEONE DOWN OR SMT AND GOES TO THE TAVERN AND SEES READER SING AND HES ABSOLUTELY MESMERISED
SORRY AN IMAGE IS MY HEAD RN
Another cowboy! Hobie request! Thank you, lovely, I hope you like it 🫶
Pairing: Hobie Brown x gn! Reader
Tags: no use of Y/N, minimal dialogue, No specific physical description of the reader, Cowboy! Hobie, Western AU, Cowboy AU, TW violence, CW injury, CW drinking. Fluff.
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Hobie enters the tavern, all bloodied knuckles, leather and broken skin. His horse, Harley, whinnies outside, glad of the rest from all the running she'd done earlier. The patrons quiet down, roaming their eyes on the stranger. Some glare at him, looking for a fight while the alcohol is still fresh in their veins. A few look away after seeing his twin pistols strapped on his waist. His lasso swing next to his pistol, the rope shredded and well used.
His hat hides the cut on his eyebrow, lips dry, he saunters over to the bar, spurs clinking, hands tucked in his belt buckle.
Sitting down on the creaking stool, he flicks the brim of his hat, emerald eyes wordlessly stares at the bartender who slides a glass of whiskey over to his waiting hand.
The amber liquid warms his insides, numbing the pain from his recent injuries. He swirls the alcohol in the glass like a swirling whirlpool of ambrosia, threatening to drown him in its warmth.
A soft guitar strums on his right, his aching neck turns to the sound, his eyes find you sitting on a similar stool, a worn guitar sitting on your lap, a smile on your lips. A sight for sore eyes in the dim smoky tavern.
You press your lips close to the mic, hands shaking, eyes fluttering shut as you start singing.
The noisy bar suddenly silences, numerous eyes watch you on the little stage covered in sticky alcohol. Ears perk up at your rhythmic strumming. There's goosebumps rising under Hobie's leather clad arms.
Your voice drops on him like a bucket of ice water, waking him up from his stupor. He can't seem to remove his eyes from you, for the first time in a while, Hobie smiles genuinely.
The alcohol lay forgotten in his hand as you sing your third song of the night. Apparently the patrons don't like him staying for two songs more.
Two men sidle up next to him, one blocks you from his view, the other right behind him, so close that he can feel the man's foul breath on his nape.
“You're far from home, stranger” one drawls, whiskey breath fanning Hobie's face.
“This town ain't big enough for ya.” The other man says, fingers reaching for Hobie's collar.
Before they get their hands on Hobie, he grips his glass, flinging it towards the man behind him, nailing him right on his temple.
A fight ensues, you jump away from your seat, eyes wide, using your guitar to shield yourself from flying bottles. Backing away, you dodge a glass.
Hobie fights his way towards you, kicking a man right on his groin, earning a high pitched scream from the man. Another patron, too drunk to see straight, hobbles over to you with a sick grin. Hobie sees this, already sprinting and dodging flying stools to get to you.
He unclips his lasso to hogtie the man down, but you beat him to it by smashing the man's head with your guitar. The broken wood splinters, the sound pinging in his ears.
The drunkard fall on his back like a hay bale, the broken guitar around his neck, head poking out of it.
Hobie looks at you dumbfounded, a growing smile on his lips. He stands there with his hands holding on to the lasso while chaos surrounds him. The second you look at him with your pretty eyes, everything seems to stop just for you.
You smile back at him, all saccharine, eyes crinkling in the corners. Your reach for him, flexing your fingers. Without a word, he takes your hand. And you run away with him, through the backdoor, away from the mayhem, and onto the dry plains.
He knows he's met his match. And you can't wait to get to know the mysterious cowboy who gladly took your hand without question.
Now, this may be not original of me but just hear meh out first!! :v
Childhood best friends Hobie and R that practically live together.
Like, you already have a drawer full of your clothes, a toothbrush, some loose used hair ties, and probably a pair of underwear too somewhere on the floor of Hobie's houseboat.
Honestly, Ned and the rest of you and Hobie's group of friends are suprised everytime either one of you two say or mention that you both are just close friends.(No, they don't buy it one bit)
Now, you just come back from a 9 hour shift at a slightly run down diner that you work in. It's look might be a bit deceiving because the food and staff are actually decently good there, pays great too. You earned just enough to pay the rent at your suprisingly cheap flat(probably because your the one that's doing the renovating with all the cracked walls and mouse holes and whatnot), and food for atleast a week.
You trudge through the soil, going deeper into the thin forest surrounding the lake where Hobie's houseboat is currently docked
Finally arriving at the dock, you scrape the soles of your shoes against the wood, taking off a layer of dirt that got stuck to it after the small trip in the woods.
You follow through with your routine, a bit inconsistent at most times, but still routine.
You get clothes from your personal drawer, freshen up, eat dinner, watch some shows on the telly, and go to bed with Hobie.
This time though, it felt different, being surrounded of things that are technically his and treating it as yours feels awfully..domestic..Kinda like those stupid couple vlogs you see on your phone, all cheesy and shit. You always question whether or not those people were only doing it for views.
You let the idea of your relationship with him developing into something more than friendship get to your head as you felt your heart thump against your chest, face getting warmer by the second.
You snap out of your mental cloud of questions when you felt the weight of the bed dip beside you, where he usually sleeps.
"You alright there, Lovie? A little flushed there." He said, taking note of your reddening cheeks.
"Are ya secretly a tomato?"
Hobie teases, looking at your very warm face.
God, you could combust right then and there.
(Yeah, this is just word vomit I thought of when reading other fics :p)
Honestly, I would've drawn a lot of Hobie content if not for my lack of experience of drawing him and drawing different body types so I can represent other PPL w other body shapes😞
So, now that I think about the medic R for motorcycle fmx Stuntman Hobie who only does this as a side gig most of the time, imagine how R acts once they find out that not only does this infuriating man risk his life doing all these crazy ass stunts, but he's also coincidentally Spider-Man??? R has white hairs growing just imagining the danger he always puts himself in💀🤚🏾 Like, full on about to throttle the man who smiles down at them so lovingly while he's bleeding from a scrape on his forehead and nursing bruised ribs with his arm around his middle😮💨
BROOOO I'D BE PISSED Because imagine fretting over him being so worried about him getting injured or worse only for him to reveal that he's got powers that includes super healing?! He's getting bandages thrown at him before he gets any smooches from me
Imagine treating him after he tells R that he's spiderman
"I think I cracked a rib, lovie."
🙄 "why don't you wait a few hours, it'll heal by itself."
"love, please" 🥺
And he's all pouty and frowny until you relent with a sigh and basically give 10ccs of cuddles and kisses just to make the pain go away 🥰
LMAOOOOOO the sounds coming from the med bay would have the crew raising their brows 😂
When it hits his head he acts as if a brick hit him and out of instinct you rush over to him and then you see him with a smug smile 😆 he gets another kit thrown at him
Hello, I've been trying to reach you about your cars extended warranty:)
(Requesting Reverse Isekai AU thingy please^^)
I don't even have a car 😭 (thank you for requesting muah 😘)
Pairing: Hobie Brown x fem! Reader/ Spider-Punk x fem! Reader
Word count: 1.1k
Tags: No use of Y/N, no specific physical description of the reader, lovestruck reader, reverse isekai AU, fluff.
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One minute you're mindlessly scrolling through your phone with your headphones blaring loud music, a minute later you're screaming bloody murder when a geometric glowing portal pops up in your room. It made everything in the room glow orange and yellow as confusion and surprise took over your form.
Are you getting abducted by aliens? Are you in an episode of Rick and Morty? If so, then multiverses are real, it's either that or the mold from your numerous stock water bottles has finally gotten to your brain.
A half second into your contemplation, out comes a man that you're oh so familiar with and oh so smitten with. His boots thump loudly on your floors, spikes glimmering under the red LED lights. The whites of his mask widen when he spots you cowering in the corner, darkness overtakes you when his oh so familiar voice echoes above the whir of the portal.
“This ain't 1346.” You fall off the bed like a damsel in distress.
—
You wake up to water gently splashing your face, flicking more like. And your head aching, eyes adjusting to the sudden light.
“Fuckin' finally, I thought you were dead.” A garbled voice utters as your ears try to waken up from your deep nap. “You alright there?” His voice clears and you still think you're dreaming when Hobie Brown's mask pops up in your vision, droopy eyeliner, spikes and all that jazz that you've practically memorized in your mind.
You thought your poster has once again fallen off the walls and onto your bed. But no, when you touched his bicep abruptly, eyes as wide as saucers, lips stuttering out his name. Your favourite character is real and right in your bedroom, flicking water from one of your numerous discarded water bottles on your bedside.
Even your wildest imagination couldn't make this up.
“You're Hobie Brown.” You say in disbelief, voice just above a whisper.
“Yeah, I figured you know me based on all of these…” he roams his eyes on your walls and table. “...posters and stickers. What am I over here? A rockstar or somethin’? Since you know my name.”
“You're Hobie motherfucking Brown!” You screech, suddenly jumping off the bed, looking like someone just told you Santa isn't real.
“That I am.” Said man has the audacity to smirk at you. And you swear you would have fainted again. “You a big fan?”
“I love you.” Your voice merely a murmur but he for sure heard it as the eyes of his mask widened for a brief second.
“I think it's time for us to chat, yeah, love?”
“L-love? Fucking…” voice wavering, you drop once again, but this time he catches you perfectly without the motion sickness from traveling to one dimension after another.
Hobie chuckles, eyes staring at your sleeping face, mouth still agape from the surprise and skin hot under his gloves. “Never thought someone could faint twice in one day.”
—
There's a glass of cold water in your hands, legs nervously bouncing under the blanket. He sits at the foot of your bed, giving you enough space so as to not make you uncomfortable in your own home, and to also not make you pass out (again) from the close proximity. His iconic boots are discarded, vest folded next to him, and mask in his pocket. You almost fainted again when he took it off.
“So, this Miles from earth–1610 is gonna get chased by Miguel and the entire society because he doesn't want his canon event to happen?” You nod as he recalls your story. Not a story anymore as this Hobie hasn't experienced it yet. Of course you didn't tell him the entire plot, just in case it rips a hole in the space time continuum. “And a few people are gonna need a watch?”
You sniffle, skin so warm that you think you're boiling the water in your hands.
“Hmm, that checks out. Good thing I started making these watches then eh, love?” His mischievous smile makes your stomach do flips, you're sure he's doing it intentionally.
Pinching yourself under the covers, chugging down the cool water, you muster up enough courage to actually speak coherent words.
“H-how’d you get here?”
“Fucked up my coordinates, I think. I'm pretty sure I'm not in Kansas anymore.” Hobie chuckles at his own joke before switching his attention to your wide eyed self. “Wizard of oz, you do have that here, right?”
“Y-yes,” you say meekly, drowning in his blue? Grey? Or brown eyes? You have no idea as his borders and colors change every minute or so. Nevertheless, you're absolutely done for. You guess this is what it feels like to meet your favourite celebrity, or in this case, favourite character. “Reverse isekai.” You whisper, nerding out at the possibilities.
“A what?” He says in his accent and you tamp down the feeling of wanting to say it back jokingly.
You clear your throat, “nothing.”
Nodding, he inhales, eyes darting around your fangirl room full of fandom merch and of course spiderverse merch. He zeroes in on the body pillow peeking under the blanket. You immediately lift the covers up to hide it, accidentally spilling water all over yourself and the bed. *Great, very smooth, you thought.
His eyes are soft and full of endearment whilst he watches you frantically and desperately dry yourself off.
You hope that he doesn't tease, but you know him, know his character, so you anticipate what happens next.
“What was that then?” He pats your foot, head tilting to look at you. You feel your head swirl again, and you swear the water spilled all over you evaporates from the sheer heat from your skin.
“N-nothing, Hobie.” You sink into the mattress.
“Right,” He unfolds his vest, putting it back on. “It's been great, but I gotta go.”
“Oh,” you blink, “do you want me to take out the posters? I'm sorry for making you uncomfortable.”
He shakes his head with a smile. “Nah, not uncomfortable, I've been in worse dimensions. This ain't that bad really.”
“They're bootlegs if that makes it more okay.”
Hobie laughs and you practically melt from the sound.
“Bootleg, huh? That's a great name, project bootleg it is.” His smile blinds you for a second. You feel like you've ascended to heaven. “I have a tight schedule, being Spider-Man and all, but maybe I can visit again to get some insider knowledge of the future. Eh, Oracle?”
“S-sure,” you choke on the singular word. “It's a date— wait– no, I meant—”
Hobie chuckles, hands on his hips, bouncing on the balls of his boot clad feet, and border turning bright pink. For some reason, in all your clumsy and goofy self, you just made *the Spider-Man sheepish. Not just any Spider-Man, Hobie Brown, your absolute favourite out of all the thousands of Spider-people in the entire multiverse.
“It's a date then, no fainting next time yeah? I'll still catch you anyway, but it wouldn't be that fun if you're sleeping through it.”
“Okay.” You manage to say, heart loudly beating in your chest when his art style changes into love poems etched into his design.
He jumps inside the portal to hide the poems, winking at you before his body disappears into the void.
As the portal closes, you pass out once again, with a lopsided smile this time.
Imagine Dancer!reader!! (Like, more on choreography)
And Normal Hobie(Like nothings changed, he's still spider-man and in a band)
Like, think about him dropping by your studio and watching you do your dance with your partner after he's done patrolling.
He stares at you from the side(assuming that you're in a mostly open space) , observing how your body moved to the rhythm of the music, syncing with your partner, with a determined face, body slightly covered in sweat from all the action.
Bonus points if the choreography is a bit suggestive
Not that good of a thought, but I just gotta get it out there (´ . .̫ . `)
Wait, wait, wait, lemme get this thought out before I gts. Motorcycle FMX Stuntman! Hobie👀👁👄👁 Like, like, do you see the vision? Spider reflexes and shit help TREMENDOUSLY and he does it as a part time gig when he needs a little bit of funds👀 Like, omfggggg, ik he's fucking cock about it when he hits the meanest trick in the fucking air, like, uhnnnnnn😩🫦💕💕💕💕 Ripping that damn helmet off and tugging by that damn suit into the sloppiest kiss because I thought he was gonna hurt himself and he knows it and he's so smug about me being worried about him and ahdbfosnabfkwlalqb
I NEED DAT COOKIE SO FUCKING BAD, GUYS, WTAFFFFF AHHHHHHH😩❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️
"I don't date the um..." You look him up and down. Ignoring how nicely the leather jacket he wears hugs his forearms. "Racers."
He cocks his brow. Leaning back on his uninjured arm. "You gonna break my heart over a bloke who screwed you over angel?"
Your heart skips a beat but you continue on like nothing's happened. Not even with his smile widens when you catch his stare.
"Two blokes, actually." The slang sounds foreign on your tongue.
"Ah."
You think that's that because if you've learned anything aside from the cafeteria bagels being as stale as concrete, riders only enjoy the chase for so long.
Hobie clicks his tongue to get your attention. Eyes focused as his smile softens to something more thoughtful.
OMG PINKY MY POOKIE YOU ABSOLUTELY COOKED WPMSOWMSKSMSKMSKS AHHHHHHB THE WAY I SHRIEKED AT THAT LAST LINE HE'S SO SMUG ABOUT IT
Ngl I would've fallen for that pick up line broooo
Yume, you called 😉
Now now imagine if Hobie doesn't stick the landing, he's completely fine because he knows how to fall RIGHT but he knows that you're watching with your med kit in hand, always ready to come running if need be so he stays down, face flat on the dusty ground and does not fucking move an inch and it has your heart stopping and your feet already moving towards him. You're absolutely sprinting to his side, blinking away the tears and you're immediately taking his pulse until Hobie lifts his head with that smug look on his face that he always gives you whenever he comes by the med bay with nothing but a paper cut on his cheek asking for a bandaid or a kiss to make it better quickly.
So when he expects to get the usual eye roll from you, he instead gets a desperate embrace from you as you cry in his arms. He doesn't mention the fact that his shoulder aches a little or his heart is thudding in his chest like he's about to have a heart attack when his mind is flooded with your scent, your lips on his neck and the relief in your voice. You, you, you, his mind is filled nothing else but you in that moment.
Guys, GUYS, guys, this is actually too much hotness and sweetness for me???? I'm gonna combust????
Hrs just holding you close and going, "'M sorry lovie, look at me, fit and fine, promise." And you're hitting him on the shoulder that aches as he cradles your face and thumbs away your tears beneath his gloved fingers, completely fine with you taking out your worried frustration on him because he's an ass and he knows it. But once you're done, you grab him by the front of his leather jacket and haul him towards the medbay because there are cameras and no one needs to see the desperate kiss you're about to give him.
Pairing: Vampire! Hobie Brown x fem! Vampire hunter! Reader
Word count: 5.6k
Synopsis: You, an amateur vampire hunter, find it really hard to kill the one vampire you were tasked to kill.
Tags: Use of Y/N sparingly, no specific physical description of the reader (except for her clothing), same universe as the WWDITS series, CW blood, TW violence, CW suggestive, Mockumentary AU, established relationship, Fluff.
A/N: Special thanks to @al1x00 (ly fr) for the idea! Happy 1k! 🫶 (Enjoy my attempt at humor lol)
Navigation
Hobie's Masterlist
The camera focuses on a leather clad man sitting on a patchwork armrest. His long leg is crossed over the other, metal clinking against each other when he moves. He places his elbow on the armrest, hand under his chin, ringed fingers tapping on his cheek—bored and clearly disinterested. Red eyes lined with dark eyeliner, piercings glimmering under the camera lights, sharp nails painted, he makes the crew suck in a breath.
He's the perfect picture of a rockstar.
The dimly lit gothic home provides the perfect backdrop to the ‘confession booth’, various books, knick knacks from far flung places are littered all over the living room. A grand piano stands proudly to his left, dark oak polished and well taken care off. Tapestries from the sixteenth century are tacked on the walls next to seventies and eighties band posters. His coat rack is full of jackets that look like they come from different times in history.
The producer nods at him, asking for the man's name, his voice just above a whisper so that the microphones don't catch the sound.
He sighs, jaws tighten for a second. “Name's Hobie, Hobie Brown.” His voice shakes the crew's bones. The blond haired producer clears his throat and Hobie rolls his eyes like a spoiled celebrity. “And I'm a vampire.” he says flatly.
The blond gestures for him to continue, asking him how old he is. “Fuckin' hell.” Hobie says under his breath. “Were you not taught manners? Come off it, you don't ask a vampire their age.”
The clipboard holding man, who pretends to be important, asks him why he agreed to the interview if he's so disinterested.
“Fine,” He smiles, showing his sharp fangs, the simple act makes the documentary team's heart skip a beat. “Before you say ‘m following a trend of vampires givin' interviews and a ‘peak behind the cape’ like the wankers in staten island or the lovebirds in dubai. ‘m not, ‘m only doin' this because,” he points dramatically at the clipboard holding man. “Your director told me all proceeds from this goes to charity. And it better be—”
Something thumps outside. The camera sharply turns to the closed floor length curtains.
“Oi, eyes back ‘ere.” Hobie exclaims, the camera whizzes back to his figure. “Again, vampire, been alive for…” he inhales, “a long bloody time. Been a pirate, a cowboy, hell even a rockstar. But always an anarchist.” He says proudly. “I've been rebelling against the one who bit me for centuries,” the camera zooms in on his scowl. “Hate that knobhead.”
Something falls right outside his windows, a groan and a curse sounding out, voice muffled by the walls.
The crew expects Hobie to hiss or even deal with the intruder but he smiles, posture loosening up.
“That,” he points at the source of the ruckus. “That’s a vampire hunter.” Smiling, the crew could hear a muffled ‘fuck you’ behind the walls. “She's been hunting me for a few years now. She—eh, hasn't been close.”
The cursing was louder, camera swishing towards the source, your angry face peeking out from the curtains. The boom mic captures your annoyed growl clearly as you place your face as close as possible on the glass.
“Fuck you, Hobart!”
He chuckles as the crew's face grows with concern. “Don't worry, she's—I guess bad at her job. She's interestin’ though. Y’know what, let me just show you.” He stands up, the cameras and the entire crew follows him through the hallways of his home.
The cameraman almost trips on a stray guitar on the floor. “Careful now, that was a present from some rockstar in the seventies. That's why I leave it on the floor, it works best as a boot scraper.”
Hobie stops in front of double doors, scenes of a love story are carved on the wood.
“It was a gift.” He addresses the doors, “not my first choice but where else would I put the bloody thing?” With a small push, hands braced on both doors, he reveals the expansive room lined with hundreds of paintings and photographs.
He sucks in his teeth. “The entire house is a gift, I'd rather live in a boathouse honestly but this works fine I guess.” Shrugging, he points at the oldest looking wood carving hanging on the wall. A man kneels in front of a woman, rose in his hand as she looks down at him with glee.
“Yes, that's me courting. The wood carver fucked up the scene though, it was more like me ravaging– uh” he clears his throat “…this won't show in pbs right?”
The people behind the cameras shrug as Hobie looks to them for an answer.
“I'll tone it down then, for the children, just in case.” He continues down the lineup of pictures.
Stopping by a large painting of what looks like Hobie in medieval clothing. The painted version of him is surrounded by flowers and trees. His antlers protruding from his head, webs clings to his arms.
“This was when people thought I was fae.” He makes a face, “everyone was tripping on shrooms back then.” walking towards the middle of the room, passing by a few more paintings and tapestries, He pauses on a yellowed painting of a woman who looks similar to you, only less angry.
“Look at her,” sighing, the vampire has heart eyes while looking at the painting. “this was before she was cursed by that bitcharse jealous witch. Now every descendant of hers is cursed to never harm me or any of my spawns, which is bad because they all think I killed their ancestor, and all they want is to kill me. A consequence of dating a vampire hunter during the fifteenth century, I guess.”
“The curse is a two way street, they can't kill me, I can't hypnotize them. It's not that I want to anyway.” he continues.
Another ruckus echoes throughout the house. Hobie smiles again. “I believe she doesn't know about it, so hush, yeah?” He does a double take. “Wait, can you cut that part out?”
—
The second crew runs towards you as you climb the tresses of the house. The camera lens zooms in on your clumsy climbing. Looking down, hearing leaves crunch underfoot, you yelp in surprise.
“What—?!” Losing your hold, you fall on a bush, landing directly at his wild flowers. “Ow! Who the fuck—?!”
—
Now sitting down on a lawn chair, leaves stuck in your hair, face and clothes covered in dirt, you scowl at the producer behind the camera.
Sighing, clicking your tongue, you answer their questions with another question. “Who the fuck are you guys?”
You raise an eyebrow at the words ‘documentary crew’ uttered by the producer.
“Seriously? Who would want to interview Hobart? Scratch that, is it because of those fuckers in staten island?”
A cameraman answers, ‘for charity.’
You blink in surprise, “charity? You fuckin' kidding me? Well if it's for the kids then.” sighing, you resign, looking directly at the camera with disdain, you say your first name. “And I'm a vampire hunter, I mean obviously I am just looking at all the stakes and holy water strapped to me. I look like I'm very fun at parties.” You say jokingly, “and church, probably. Dunno never been.”
The camera cuts back to Hobie still in the large room full of paintings and memorabilia.
“— I didn't do anythin’ wrong. They're absolutely mad at me for no reason—” he stops, thinking. “But I guess I was the reason their family was cursed innit?”
He changes subjects, showing the camera a painting near the end of the room.
“Oh this? This is when her great great great great grandfather almost got me, memories huh? He was mighty fit.” The crew zooms in on a gorgeous painting of a man trying to put a stake through Hobie's heart while he smiles up at him like he's smitten.
“Good times.” He chuckles.
—
“Fuck this.” You say, standing up from the chair, grabbing the mic off from your shirt abruptly. The camera follows you as you grab the lawn chair that you were just sitting on. You then proceed to throw it at a stained glass window. Giving you entry to his abode.
“It was gaudy anyway.” Entering the house, your shoes crunch the broken glass.
—
“Huh, she's inside. That's a record.” Hobie says almost excitedly. “I'll show you the rest of the room after this—.”
The double doors burst open, the camera swivels to you and the camera crew behind you. Holding a stake, you scowl at Hobie.
“Hello, darling, how was your commute?” He genuinely smiles.
“I have a car now, fuck you!” You lunge at him.
Lightning fast, he grabs your wrist right before the stake kisses his chest. The camera crews film on the sides, avoiding getting hit themselves.
“Good for you, finally saved up then?”
Lifting your legs, you kick his chest, you tumble, landing on your feet, staring at him menacingly. “Yes! It's a kia!” you scream before you run full speed at him.
“You got a good deal on it? Automatic or manual?”
“No!” You swing at him, he dodges. “I think I got swindled!” Kick “And it's a manual!” Punch “I’m not a pussy!”
Hobie clicks his tongue, avoiding the pointed edge of the stake. “Point ‘em to me, love, maybe I can get you your money back.”
Stepping back further away, you pause while he stands at the end of the room. Changing your hold on the sharp wood, you throw it at him, he leans slightly, dodging the projectile. it hits the wall right next to your ancestor’s portrait.
“You'll just drink him dry like the last guy!”
He shrugs, making a face that makes you want to punch him harder. “Not my fault he was a knobhead.”
You bounce on your feet, pouncing at him. “He was my dentist!”
He moves to the side, seeing you running towards one of the paintings, in danger of getting smashed by you. In his panic, he raises his arm to stop you, accidentally clothes lining you. His wall-like arm hits you right on your face.
Falling harshly on the floor, you're completely unconscious.
Hobie looks at the cameras with concern. “Shit.”
—
You wake up on an ancient looking couch, it's soft despite its appearance. Lifting your head with a groan, headache punching through the back of your head, you grimace loudly at the camera crew still filming in the corner.
Falling back on the couch, you hide your flustered face with your arm, pulling the blanket further up your chest.
“I promise I'm not that bad at fighting.” You murmur, still hiding your face from the cameras. “You just caught me at a bad time.”
Hobie suddenly appears with a whoosh, he holds a metal tray with tea and a hot compress placed on it.
“Who's giving you a bad time?”
You audibly groan. “No one.”
He places the tray on the coffee table, sparing a quick glance at the camera. “I caught you lackin’ you're not always that bad. Tea?”
Wordlessly reaching up, you flip him the bird. Hobie smiles softly, tapping your legs to give him space on the settee. The documentary crew is surprised that you actually move to give way to him.
He sits by your legs, preparing your tea just like how you always take it. Two sugars and a dash of milk. The entire production staff is perplexed to say the least.
With a clink of the tea spoon against the cup, you sit up, wincing slightly. “Can I get another sugar cube?”
Hobie raises a brow, “it's that kind of day huh? What's bothering you, love?”
You scoff, taking a cube for yourself then plopping it in your tea cup. “Nothing.”
He flicks his eyes at the camera with a knowing glance. Resting his elbow atop his thigh, chin placed on his hand, he pokes at your leg using his foot. Wordlessly having a conversation. With a sigh and a frown, you sip at your tea.
“Ex kicked me out. Now I'm living with the family again.”
Hobie's nonchalance drops, hand instinctively reaching out to you until he realizes what he's doing, he retracts his hand back.
“Shit, ‘m sorry. Their loss.”
“Mm-hmm, consequences of living with someone you've only dated for three months.” You finish your drink in one gulp. “‘sides, I don't have to pay rent anymore.”
“You've got shitty taste in partners.” You snort, half agreeing with him. “But you have to live with your psycho family so there's that.”
You laugh, the camera zooms in on Hobie's pleased expression.
“They're tolerable now, mellowed out after they took out count Belois.” You look at Hobie, copying his position like a mirror.
“He was an arse, did all of us a favour.” he stares at your eyes while the camera continues to film, yet you two don't seem to notice them anymore.
“Yeah, wish I was there though.” You say in a small voice. “They never invite me to those hunts. Always left watching outside.”
Hobie reaches towards you again, this time he actually holds you. Long fingers curling around your wrist, his thumb rubbing gently. “If only they know how hard you could kick.”
“You barely moved when I kicked you.” Chuckling, your eyes sparkle under the dim lights.
“Well it's me,” he inches closer to you in the seat, knee brushing against yours. “But if it was any other vampire out there they would have flown.”
You scrunch your face. Laying your hand down to your thigh, Hobie intertwined his fingers around yours properly this time. The camera captures the confusing scene.
“Because they turned into a bat?”
He grins, showing you his teeth, you don't even flinch. “Nah, because you kicked ‘em too hard. Did you hit your head that hard?” Knocking his knuckles against your temple softly, you move back like lightning has struck you.
“No, I'm actually okay, thanks.” You take your hand away, eyes flitting nervously at the camera then to Hobie. “I gotta go, dinner with the psycho family.” Standing up, you take your belongings from the floor. “You know how it is.”
He looks up at you with an unreadable expression, “yeah, I know how it is.” He says forlornly.
Patting his shoulder awkwardly, your hand lingers for a half second. “Bye,” you stare at the crew in the corner, “bye to all of you, I guess. Don't get eaten.”
The camera pans towards Hobie who just shrugs, fangs poking out of his lips.
—
Hobie eats alone in his empty dining room. The table is long, made of strong narra, designed to sit a dozen or so people. He sits in the head of the table, utensils scraping against the bloodied plate. His goblet is full, untouched.
He looks up at the camera on the other side of the table, observing his every move.
“The table's a gift too.” He says before continuing to eat silently.
—
The camera follows Hobie throughout his day. Roaming aimlessly around the house, he floats above the ground, hand and feet sticking on the wall while he dusts pictures that's placed on the highest shelf.
In the afternoon, he writes music on his piano while he flashes back and forth towards the drums and guitar, testing the music he wrote.
The crew captures Hobie burying something in the backyard. Jacket off, tank top and bare arms in full display. Moonlight illuminating his skin. His necklaces clink together as he shovels in dirt, packing the hole in tightly. The producer asks something about familiars and Hobie scowls at the word.
“No, just no. ‘m fully against havin’ familiars, it's fuckin' wrong.” He sticks the shovel harshly on the soil when the producer questions him again. “Ask me again and you'll be the one ‘m burying next.”
The camera shuts off abruptly.
—
The small supermarket's repetitive jingle from the nineties irks Hobie as he shops for some meat. But what irks him more is the documentary crew finding him especially after he went out of his way to hide from them.
He tosses a box of your favourite tea in the basket, annoyed at the team behind the cameras and boom mics. “Do the lot of you have a tracker on me or somethin’?” Shaking his head, he stomps down the aisle, heavy boots thudding loudly on the floor.
With his leather jacket plus all the metal and spikes on him, Hobie looks like a regular punk shopping for groceries. But if you looked closer, stayed too long in his presence, your flight or fight response kicks in, rendering anyone frozen on the spot.
His ruby eyes scan around the soap display, trying to ignore the cameras and people trailing after him, he gets a whiff of a familiar scent: strawberries and cream, it's you.
Hobie's feet move on its own, carrying him towards your direction. He spots you standing in the fruit section, weighing a watermelon in your hands, knocking on it then listening to the sound closely like you're trying to eavesdrop.
“What's the watermelon saying?”
“Christ!” You jump, dropping the watermelon.
Thankfully he catches it before the fruit splatters on the linoleum. “Just me, love.”
Clutching your chest, you take deep breaths. “I thought I smelled something rotten.” He raises a brow at your comment. “What are you doing here? This is far from your place.”
“First of all, I smell like sandalwood and fresh linen, fuck you.” You snort, rolling your eyes. “And ‘m tryin' to avoid them.” He points behind him, towards the cameras.
“Augh, they're still following you?”
“Apparently I signed a contract, it's not a one time thing.” He places the watermelon back to the crate, taking one that is riper and sweeter just for you. He then gently drops it in your cart, you nod a thanks.
“I told you before don't sign anything when you're drunk off of alcohol filled blood.”
“You're right, lovie, should've listened to you. Can't blame me when I only hear music whenever you open your pretty mouth.” He leans on your cart nonchalantly, giving you his signature smirk that has people falling over themselves for centuries.
“That's not much of a compliment.” You grimace, unaffected by his charm. “Listen, since we're in a public place I'm not gonna try to kill you so please get off my cart, I've got some shopping to do.” Shaking the trolley, he leans away, dismayed. “Also, the owner seems to like me, which is rare enough, so I don't want to ruin my relationship with the old lady. Shoo, Hobart, I'm off the clock.”
“You've got two people who like you now. One more than the other, I suppose.”
You narrow your eyes towards the vampire. “Who's the second one.”
Hobie walks backwards, arm wrapped around his basket, smile blinding everyone in its vicinity. “Me, darling, isn't it obvious?”
The bright fluorescent lights shouldn't do him any favours but by god, he looks amazing under it.
You don't answer, the camera zooms into your hands gripping the handles of the shopping cart, chest heaving, swallowing thickly.
He leaves, going towards the cashier to pay for his groceries. And you spot a sign that's labeled ‘50% off on garlic!’ you glare at the camera, pushing the cart towards the display.
—
Hobie sits on his work table, pieces of a TV are jumbled out on the table as he tinkers with them. His hands shake slightly, he should really feed.
“—‘m pretty good with technology, not like the other vampires. I've adapted well with—” he sniffs, “wait, what's that smell?”
He opens the door to find thousands of garlic circling around his house, “what—?”
“Tada!” You pop out from the side, hands carrying bushels of garlic, no doubt smelling like it too. “Wait, no, not tada, that's in poor taste because you hate them.”
Hobie gags at the smell, eyes watery and irritated. “This is a bad idea!” He rubs at his eyes, tears fully streaming on his cheeks.
“Why? Because it's working?!” You cackle, throwing the vegetable like confetti, one lands right on top of your head.
“Because it attracts—!”
You screech when you feel a sharp tug at your coat. A little green creature shrieks at you, the sound rings your eardrums, almost breaking the boom mic. Its eyes are dark and glassy, ears pointed, teeth sharp.
“A Goblin?!” Falling on your ass, you crawl backwards, watching as more and more of them appear from the bushes.
“I'm a goblin.” The one with a worn out party hat says, voice cracking like foil.
“What are you a Pokémon?!”
Hobie runs after you as fast as he can with the garlic hindering him. “Get inside!” He yells, dragging you towards the door. His hands sizzle atop your arms, the garlic searing his skin.
The creatures skidaddles towards you, towards the smell of garlic. Waves upon waves of green skitter and crawl on all limbs, eyes hungry, mouths agape.
“Hobie!” You hold on to his wrists as the ground scratches your back. Kicking an incoming goblin, you yelp as the door closes at the nick of time.
Claws scratch at the windows and walls. One of them even bangs its head hard on the glass just to get to you.
Hobie hides you behind him, eyes still stinging and skin aflame. “Get to the basement!” He screams when one breaches the house with glass shattering. “Go!”
Running down, Hobie lets you and the crew go first. He grabs a cutlass from the wall, chopping one that comes a little too close to your leg.
You look back at him with worry. “Hobie!”
“I'll be there! Just go!” He grabs one by the neck, throwing it away haphazardly.
It yells a faint ‘whee’ as it sails through the house.
Reaching the large basement, you search for the light switch, a cameraman beats you to it and you yelp at the sudden brightness.
The basement is full of things from different centuries. An iron maiden lays discarded on the corner, its steel rusted and brown. A sculpture of a woman sits on a shelf, it looks like it's a long lost work of Rodin. There's a large tapestry depicting a vampire war that is now collecting dust on the wall.
But the thing that catches your eyes is the massive metal cage that sits in the middle of the room. You would gawk but the swarm of goblins are nearing the basement. The familiar thumping of boots shakes you with relief.
“Cage!” Hobie grabs you effortlessly, you have no time to react as he carries you like a duffel bag by your waist.
The crew follows frantically, closing the metal doors shut behind them just as the swarm gets close. They shriek and bang on the bars, little arms trying to reach towards you.
He lays you back to your feet, dropping the drenched sword on the ground, palms still healing. He cups your face, searching for any injuries.
“You alright?” He heaves, out of breath, legs covered in goblin bites and palms searing but he looks at you like you're the one who's bleeding.
Staring at him with your irises blown out, mouth slightly parted, you embrace him to his surprise and the crew's.
“I'm okay,” you lean away before he could hug back. Hands placed on his shoulders, nails digging into him like he's about to be yanked away from you. “Are you?”
Hobie forgets about the other people inside the cage and the goblins trying to nibble at him. It's only you in his hands, even though the pungent smell of garlic makes his nose itch. Eyes tender, touch gentle, he could only nod.
“Yeah, I'm good now.” His voice lacks the usual charm.
You can finally breathe. “I thought…I'm the only one that's allowed to kill you.”
Chuckling, he traces your jaw with his thumb. “I know. You're first in line, darling.”
The crew stands near the sides awkwardly.
—
The goblins are trashing Hobie's basement, and based on the sounds from upstairs, they're also wreaking havoc in the entire house.
You sit back to back with Hobie in the middle of the cage, away from the bars, hands braced to your sides, his own are mere inches away from yours. He's glad that the garlic smell has wafted away from you, but not enough to get rid of the goblins still hankering for your flesh.
The crew stays away from the openings of the cage whilst a handful of the creatures try to grab at their equipment. It's been hours since the initial attack and everyone's getting hungry and thirsty, including Hobie.
“Why do you even have a dungeon in your basement—? Wait, scratch that, don't answer.” You try to pass the time.
“It was for your great great uncle—”
“Ew!”
“Get your head out of the gutter.” He says flatly, hands shaking from hunger. “I got it so he has a safe place to transform every full moon.”
“What? Huh, so that's why that branch of the family is so hairy.”
He changes the subject. “What were you thinkin’ with the garlic?” Hobie lays his head right on your shoulder, craning his neck to face you, he uses the closeness to memorize your face. His crimson eyes are dimmer than you're used to.
“I dunno, I thought it was a genius idea back then. Y’know, trap you inside, starve you then when you're weak enough I'd put a stake through your heart.”
“It's a good thing you're bloody fit.” He murmurs, chuckling quietly. “You almost got me though.” Your ears pick up the fatigue in his voice.
“And here I thought you fancy me for my amazing personality.”
“That too.” He smiles weakly, feeling the ache in his bones. “We need to get out of here.” His jaw visibly tightens, wanting to get away from you and your scent. Unfortunately it's not so easy when you're trapped.
“I know,” You sigh, Hobie sits up, covering his ears with the heels of his palms. “You okay?”
“I can hear your blood rushing through your veins.” He bites the inside of his cheeks. “Fuck, we really need to get out of here.” Standing up on wobbly feet, you help him up while the crew stands as far as they can without getting slashed by goblin claws.
“You're hungry.” You state the obvious.
“Starvin’” his red eyes flick down to your neck, already feeling guilty from the simple look.
You swallow thickly. “When was the last time you drank?”
“A couple days ago.” His vision blurs.
“Why are you starving yourself?” Scolding him, you guide him back down on the cold granite. “Hobart.”
“Why do you keep callin' me that?” Cold hands against your own, his eyes zeroes in on your face, avoiding the veins in your neck. “You sound like her when you call me that.”
Your eyes soften, warming him with your palms atop his cheeks, you worry. “You haven't answered my question.”
He groans, head lolling backwards. “Got busy, forgot what day it was.”
“Busy with what?” You click your tongue, lifting his head back up with your hands under his head. You search his hungry eyes, making a decision you could regret in the long run.
“If I let you feed, will you be able to get rid of the goblins?”
That has him picking his head back up, waking him up from his hungry stupor. “What—?”
You reiterate, voice determined. “If I let you drink from me can you get your strength back and get rid of the little fuckers?”
“Y/N, I can't let you do that.”
“I know what happens if you don't feed and judging by how the goblins are devouring your entire house like some frat, they aren't leaving soon enough.” You ball his shirt in your hands for emphasis. “I'm letting you drink, just this one time so we could all go home.”
“Are you really sure?”
“Just don't turn me into your spawn, deal?”
Hobie cracks a smile, fangs glinting off the basement lights. You suddenly feel your nerves kicking in.
“I promise I won't. Just tell me if it gets too much, yeah?”
“Okay,” you inhale deeply, tugging down the collar of your shirt, showing him what he needs. “Don't drink me dry.”
“That depends, for all I know you taste brilliantly.” His joke alleviates your fear a little. You're both unaware of the cameras watching, recording everything. Even forgetting that they were there in the first place.
His hand is on the back of your neck, the other is gripping on to your arm like his life depends on it. Eyeing your skin, lips brushing along it, fangs barely piercing, he gives you enough time to lean away.
“Hurry on with it, I need to pee.”
With a deep chuckle, he sinks his teeth in you.
Gasping, you bite down on your bottom lip, stifling any sounds. But Hobie can hear them from your chest, feel how your body quivers with every suck and nip from his teeth.
You whimper and he holds on to you tighter.
He wants to devour you whole, his instincts tell him to ravage you until you're dry and limp in his arms— to rip you apart with his bare teeth. But he doesn't, he's careful and gentle like he's drinking nectar straight from a flower.
“F-fuck…” you let out, hands shaking, sliding down to the back of his neck, pressing him closer.
He turns warmer with your crimson flowing through him, not letting a single drop of the precious liquid dribble from his mouth.
Hobie feels like his dead heart beats once again after centuries.
Eyes closed, you feel like you're on cloud nine. You look like it too, eyes hazy, lips parted, hand holding on to him weakly.
Before he could drown in you, Hobie carefully eases his teeth out from your pierced skin, maw covered in your blood, thumb pressing down to your wounds to stop the bleeding.
It will scar, but you're alright with that thought.
He feels anew. His eyes are sharper, adrenaline coursing through him like your blood in his system. His ears perked at every breath you let out. Eyes blown up like the size of dinner plates, his warm breath fans your cheeks.
Half of him regrets doing it, now that he has gotten a taste, he can't go back to biting random rich assholes. His other half delights in your after taste, so sweet and nectarine that makes him crave more.
You crane your neck slowly like molasses to look at him sweetly through your half lidded eyes, and a soft yet tired smile on your lips. Still clinging into euphoria, vision swirling and heart beating a thousand times per second. You feel like you've ascended and you'll never go down from it.
Licking his teeth, Hobie resists the urge to dive back in. But he's more than that, you're more than a blood bag.
“You alright?” He whispers, he smells like you.
You hum, smiling giddily like a child who just got what she wanted.
“‘m gonna go and kill some goblins now. Stay here for me?”
You hum a tune that sounds like a rendition of ‘happy birthday.’ Giggling, you pat his cheek.
“Yeah, you'll be alright. I'll get you some orange juice after this.”
“Orange sounds nice… such a pretty color. And cookies, yum.” You chortle like you just heard the best joke. “Oh handsome, so handsome. I'm gonna bite you back one day.” Staring up at him, your eyes roll back, falling unconscious.
“Lookin' forward to it.”
Hobie gently lays you down on the floor, standing up, ears listening to your fast heart beat, but it's not enough proof for him. Eyes observing your chest, watching it go up and down, making sure he didn't go too far. Satisfied, he points at the crew cowering in the corner, their cameras still rolling. The documentary won't air anywhere at this rate.
“Watch her.” He says sternly, eyes glaring.
They all nod frantically.
With a swift kick to the metal door, he strikes down every goblin he sees.
—
You sit on the same patchwork armchair, sipping on a warm cup of tea, comfortable and content in your seat. The two pin prick scars on your neck peeks under your collar. The camera has you in the spotlight, zoomed in on your freshly washed face.
“Do you know about the curse?” The man behind the camera asks, his voice wavering with every word like it's taboo to mention it.
“What curse?” You watch as their faces morph into panic. “I'm fucking with you,” you laugh at their expense.
“Of course I know about it. Why do you think I hunt him down? For fun? Well, partly because of it but we broke that curse like five generations ago when my ancestor figured it all out and made friends with the witch.”
Smiling fondly, you continue. “She's my godmother now. Don't tell him.” You warn. “Hunting him down is an initiation for us really, a tradition to try and kill him, just really doing our best to cause damage. He's pretty powerful.”
Laying your elbows on your knees, you look directly at the camera.
“I mean you've seen the room right? He's fucking obsessed, someone has to off him or just—I honestly think he should just move on.” shrugging you sip your tea that he made for you.
“Is that why you're living with him?” They ask unabashedly. The camera zooms out, showing you still in your pajamas, complete with fluffy slippers.
“Uh—”
Hobie appears in the corner, leaning on the doorway casually, a similar pajama pants hanging low on his hips.
“Darling, have you seen my good jumper—?”
You take your crossbow from under the chair, twisting in your seat, you aim it at his head, shooting, the arrow whizzes past him, he ducks down as the arrow imbeds into the oak.
Hobie laughs on the floor, lifting up a black and red jumper. “Found it!”
“Goddamnit.” The word is laced with endearment. You turn back towards the crew, eyes narrowed at them. “Wait, why are you guys here so early?”
Hobie lounges on the roof of his boat, a thick blanket under him, sunset bearing down on his form painting him in an orange glow, the heat from the sun melting him. Sweat dribbles on his temple, arms in full display, savouring the last days of summer. Waves laps softly at the sides of the boat, rocking him to a sleepy state. He looks content with his arm under his head, eyes closed, hand cold with condensation from his drink.
There's still that missing piece in his heart, longing and waiting. It's practically painless now, a dull ache whenever he sees remnants of you.
Late night calls through bleary eyes and tired muscles help wade him through it. With Letters slowing down, he doesn't seem to mind as long as he knows you're safe and happy wherever you go. But he can't help it whenever his heart seeks you out.
Hobie's finger grazes the pockets of his leather vest laying next to him. it's well worn and loved, cloth having indents and scars, a proof that he lived through it all. His pinky instinctively feels for the polaroid tucked inside, crinkled and folded a hundred times. With a soft smile on his lips when the mental image of it appears in his mind's eye. He Memorized every detail of it, from your tight grip on him to your grin under the dim light of his bedroom.
"Heard you're looking for a roommate"
Hobie opens his eyes lightning quick, elbows sitting him up from his position. He thinks he's still dreaming of you. Frozen, eyes glued to your familiar form yet different from what he's used to, from what he's learned by heart. The pictures you've sent don't do the real thing any justice.
Hands on your suitcases, you drop it theatrically when he rushes towards you. Elated, Hobie jumps off the roof with the same finesse of a cat. Arms outstretched, you giggle when his body reaches yours with a thud. He sweeps you off your feet, clinging, twirling you around.
His arms fit around you just like how you remembered it. Fingers tracing the muscles on his back, you take a big whiff of his scent, leather and citrus with something you don't quite recognize from before, yet it calms you all the same.
The embrace lasts for a hot minute, hands roaming, trying to remember how the other feels. Heartbeats syncing together once again.
Hobie resists the urge to pull away but the heat makes it difficult. Eyes glossy, he pulls away, still holding you as closely as the warmth could let him without suffocating you. He takes you in, taking all the new details to heart. Your eyes crinkling to a smile, the same ones that's currently doing the same to him.
You notice new lines on his young face, tracing it carefully with your thumb, his ring still on your middle finger, dutifully watching over you the entire time you were away.
"Hi, Wallace" you say through happy tears. Eyes shining bright.
"What?–How?...You?" He fumbles with his words. Chuckling, you get the desired reaction from him when you intentionally didn't tell him about you coming back home.
You're back to old habits, teasing him. "There's this thing called a plane, invented years ago I think– oof"
He doesn't let you finish your sarcasm laced sentence, pulling you back to his chest, warm hand behind your head, caressing, reminding him that you're back and not just some mirage from the heat.
You sigh in his hold, cheek right next to his steadying heartbeat, arms wrapped around his torso just like before.
"I'm home" you say softly, eyes tightly closed, breathing calm at his mere touch.
"For a visit?" He hopes.
You look up at him, a grin spreading on your lips, fingers looped around his necklace. "For good"
Cupping your face, calloused hands soft against your skin. You hold his hands right on top of his, kneading and tender.
"Welcome home" Hobie closes the distance, eyes fluttering shut, you don't miss a beat to kiss him back, lips moving with him. The touch you've both yearned for finally satisfied.
"Sorry, for making you wait" you say in between breathless kisses. He kisses you deeper, already missing you from the split second unlinking of lips.
You pick up where you left off, both changed yet it seems like time hasn't passed with every caress and kiss.
Breath hitching, you're more than ready to continue spending your life with him by your side again. You seep back in his marrow, staying there as long as he's willing to have you.
He smiles blissfully, heart finally full again.
A/N: Again, thank you all for the love! If you want more TTN! Hobie feel free to request, I'm more than happy to fulfill it! (I will forever miss this story)
AWWWWW it's actually a good time to finish it bc it adds to the bittersweet ending!! And the comfortable cold irl adds to the sweet relief they both felt in the epilogue! Nah you're never too late to read fics!!
Well, it's kinda vivid, and I don't remember most of it. But I'm certain that I was sitting on a bed, braiding his hair while he patches something up, a vest or his spider suit(I don't really remember what it was). He was humming some song, and it was humid out. What really confuses me is how'd I braid his wicks?? I'm not certain whether it's actually possible irl since I don't know much about the nature of wicks and how they grow. Maybe it's dream logic, Idk :p
Pairing: Vampire! Hobie Brown x fem! Vampire hunter! Reader
Word count: 5.6k
Synopsis: You, an amateur vampire hunter, find it really hard to kill the one vampire you were tasked to kill.
Tags: Use of Y/N sparingly, no specific physical description of the reader (except for her clothing), same universe as the WWDITS series, CW blood, TW violence, CW suggestive, Mockumentary AU, established relationship, Fluff.
A/N: Special thanks to @al1x00 (ly fr) for the idea! Happy 1k! 🫶 (Enjoy my attempt at humor lol)
Navigation
Hobie's Masterlist
The camera focuses on a leather clad man sitting on a patchwork armrest. His long leg is crossed over the other, metal clinking against each other when he moves. He places his elbow on the armrest, hand under his chin, ringed fingers tapping on his cheek—bored and clearly disinterested. Red eyes lined with dark eyeliner, piercings glimmering under the camera lights, sharp nails painted, he makes the crew suck in a breath.
He's the perfect picture of a rockstar.
The dimly lit gothic home provides the perfect backdrop to the ‘confession booth’, various books, knick knacks from far flung places are littered all over the living room. A grand piano stands proudly to his left, dark oak polished and well taken care off. Tapestries from the sixteenth century are tacked on the walls next to seventies and eighties band posters. His coat rack is full of jackets that look like they come from different times in history.
The producer nods at him, asking for the man's name, his voice just above a whisper so that the microphones don't catch the sound.
He sighs, jaws tighten for a second. “Name's Hobie, Hobie Brown.” His voice shakes the crew's bones. The blond haired producer clears his throat and Hobie rolls his eyes like a spoiled celebrity. “And I'm a vampire.” he says flatly.
The blond gestures for him to continue, asking him how old he is. “Fuckin' hell.” Hobie says under his breath. “Were you not taught manners? Come off it, you don't ask a vampire their age.”
The clipboard holding man, who pretends to be important, asks him why he agreed to the interview if he's so disinterested.
“Fine,” He smiles, showing his sharp fangs, the simple act makes the documentary team's heart skip a beat. “Before you say ‘m following a trend of vampires givin' interviews and a ‘peak behind the cape’ like the wankers in staten island or the lovebirds in dubai. ‘m not, ‘m only doin' this because,” he points dramatically at the clipboard holding man. “Your director told me all proceeds from this goes to charity. And it better be—”
Something thumps outside. The camera sharply turns to the closed floor length curtains.
“Oi, eyes back ‘ere.” Hobie exclaims, the camera whizzes back to his figure. “Again, vampire, been alive for…” he inhales, “a long bloody time. Been a pirate, a cowboy, hell even a rockstar. But always an anarchist.” He says proudly. “I've been rebelling against the one who bit me for centuries,” the camera zooms in on his scowl. “Hate that knobhead.”
Something falls right outside his windows, a groan and a curse sounding out, voice muffled by the walls.
The crew expects Hobie to hiss or even deal with the intruder but he smiles, posture loosening up.
“That,” he points at the source of the ruckus. “That’s a vampire hunter.” Smiling, the crew could hear a muffled ‘fuck you’ behind the walls. “She's been hunting me for a few years now. She—eh, hasn't been close.”
The cursing was louder, camera swishing towards the source, your angry face peeking out from the curtains. The boom mic captures your annoyed growl clearly as you place your face as close as possible on the glass.
“Fuck you, Hobart!”
He chuckles as the crew's face grows with concern. “Don't worry, she's—I guess bad at her job. She's interestin’ though. Y’know what, let me just show you.” He stands up, the cameras and the entire crew follows him through the hallways of his home.
The cameraman almost trips on a stray guitar on the floor. “Careful now, that was a present from some rockstar in the seventies. That's why I leave it on the floor, it works best as a boot scraper.”
Hobie stops in front of double doors, scenes of a love story are carved on the wood.
“It was a gift.” He addresses the doors, “not my first choice but where else would I put the bloody thing?” With a small push, hands braced on both doors, he reveals the expansive room lined with hundreds of paintings and photographs.
He sucks in his teeth. “The entire house is a gift, I'd rather live in a boathouse honestly but this works fine I guess.” Shrugging, he points at the oldest looking wood carving hanging on the wall. A man kneels in front of a woman, rose in his hand as she looks down at him with glee.
“Yes, that's me courting. The wood carver fucked up the scene though, it was more like me ravaging– uh” he clears his throat “…this won't show in pbs right?”
The people behind the cameras shrug as Hobie looks to them for an answer.
“I'll tone it down then, for the children, just in case.” He continues down the lineup of pictures.
Stopping by a large painting of what looks like Hobie in medieval clothing. The painted version of him is surrounded by flowers and trees. His antlers protruding from his head, webs clings to his arms.
“This was when people thought I was fae.” He makes a face, “everyone was tripping on shrooms back then.” walking towards the middle of the room, passing by a few more paintings and tapestries, He pauses on a yellowed painting of a woman who looks similar to you, only less angry.
“Look at her,” sighing, the vampire has heart eyes while looking at the painting. “this was before she was cursed by that bitcharse jealous witch. Now every descendant of hers is cursed to never harm me or any of my spawns, which is bad because they all think I killed their ancestor, and all they want is to kill me. A consequence of dating a vampire hunter during the fifteenth century, I guess.”
“The curse is a two way street, they can't kill me, I can't hypnotize them. It's not that I want to anyway.” he continues.
Another ruckus echoes throughout the house. Hobie smiles again. “I believe she doesn't know about it, so hush, yeah?” He does a double take. “Wait, can you cut that part out?”
—
The second crew runs towards you as you climb the tresses of the house. The camera lens zooms in on your clumsy climbing. Looking down, hearing leaves crunch underfoot, you yelp in surprise.
“What—?!” Losing your hold, you fall on a bush, landing directly at his wild flowers. “Ow! Who the fuck—?!”
—
Now sitting down on a lawn chair, leaves stuck in your hair, face and clothes covered in dirt, you scowl at the producer behind the camera.
Sighing, clicking your tongue, you answer their questions with another question. “Who the fuck are you guys?”
You raise an eyebrow at the words ‘documentary crew’ uttered by the producer.
“Seriously? Who would want to interview Hobart? Scratch that, is it because of those fuckers in staten island?”
A cameraman answers, ‘for charity.’
You blink in surprise, “charity? You fuckin' kidding me? Well if it's for the kids then.” sighing, you resign, looking directly at the camera with disdain, you say your first name. “And I'm a vampire hunter, I mean obviously I am just looking at all the stakes and holy water strapped to me. I look like I'm very fun at parties.” You say jokingly, “and church, probably. Dunno never been.”
The camera cuts back to Hobie still in the large room full of paintings and memorabilia.
“— I didn't do anythin’ wrong. They're absolutely mad at me for no reason—” he stops, thinking. “But I guess I was the reason their family was cursed innit?”
He changes subjects, showing the camera a painting near the end of the room.
“Oh this? This is when her great great great great grandfather almost got me, memories huh? He was mighty fit.” The crew zooms in on a gorgeous painting of a man trying to put a stake through Hobie's heart while he smiles up at him like he's smitten.
“Good times.” He chuckles.
—
“Fuck this.” You say, standing up from the chair, grabbing the mic off from your shirt abruptly. The camera follows you as you grab the lawn chair that you were just sitting on. You then proceed to throw it at a stained glass window. Giving you entry to his abode.
“It was gaudy anyway.” Entering the house, your shoes crunch the broken glass.
—
“Huh, she's inside. That's a record.” Hobie says almost excitedly. “I'll show you the rest of the room after this—.”
The double doors burst open, the camera swivels to you and the camera crew behind you. Holding a stake, you scowl at Hobie.
“Hello, darling, how was your commute?” He genuinely smiles.
“I have a car now, fuck you!” You lunge at him.
Lightning fast, he grabs your wrist right before the stake kisses his chest. The camera crews film on the sides, avoiding getting hit themselves.
“Good for you, finally saved up then?”
Lifting your legs, you kick his chest, you tumble, landing on your feet, staring at him menacingly. “Yes! It's a kia!” you scream before you run full speed at him.
“You got a good deal on it? Automatic or manual?”
“No!” You swing at him, he dodges. “I think I got swindled!” Kick “And it's a manual!” Punch “I’m not a pussy!”
Hobie clicks his tongue, avoiding the pointed edge of the stake. “Point ‘em to me, love, maybe I can get you your money back.”
Stepping back further away, you pause while he stands at the end of the room. Changing your hold on the sharp wood, you throw it at him, he leans slightly, dodging the projectile. it hits the wall right next to your ancestor’s portrait.
“You'll just drink him dry like the last guy!”
He shrugs, making a face that makes you want to punch him harder. “Not my fault he was a knobhead.”
You bounce on your feet, pouncing at him. “He was my dentist!”
He moves to the side, seeing you running towards one of the paintings, in danger of getting smashed by you. In his panic, he raises his arm to stop you, accidentally clothes lining you. His wall-like arm hits you right on your face.
Falling harshly on the floor, you're completely unconscious.
Hobie looks at the cameras with concern. “Shit.”
—
You wake up on an ancient looking couch, it's soft despite its appearance. Lifting your head with a groan, headache punching through the back of your head, you grimace loudly at the camera crew still filming in the corner.
Falling back on the couch, you hide your flustered face with your arm, pulling the blanket further up your chest.
“I promise I'm not that bad at fighting.” You murmur, still hiding your face from the cameras. “You just caught me at a bad time.”
Hobie suddenly appears with a whoosh, he holds a metal tray with tea and a hot compress placed on it.
“Who's giving you a bad time?”
You audibly groan. “No one.”
He places the tray on the coffee table, sparing a quick glance at the camera. “I caught you lackin’ you're not always that bad. Tea?”
Wordlessly reaching up, you flip him the bird. Hobie smiles softly, tapping your legs to give him space on the settee. The documentary crew is surprised that you actually move to give way to him.
He sits by your legs, preparing your tea just like how you always take it. Two sugars and a dash of milk. The entire production staff is perplexed to say the least.
With a clink of the tea spoon against the cup, you sit up, wincing slightly. “Can I get another sugar cube?”
Hobie raises a brow, “it's that kind of day huh? What's bothering you, love?”
You scoff, taking a cube for yourself then plopping it in your tea cup. “Nothing.”
He flicks his eyes at the camera with a knowing glance. Resting his elbow atop his thigh, chin placed on his hand, he pokes at your leg using his foot. Wordlessly having a conversation. With a sigh and a frown, you sip at your tea.
“Ex kicked me out. Now I'm living with the family again.”
Hobie's nonchalance drops, hand instinctively reaching out to you until he realizes what he's doing, he retracts his hand back.
“Shit, ‘m sorry. Their loss.”
“Mm-hmm, consequences of living with someone you've only dated for three months.” You finish your drink in one gulp. “‘sides, I don't have to pay rent anymore.”
“You've got shitty taste in partners.” You snort, half agreeing with him. “But you have to live with your psycho family so there's that.”
You laugh, the camera zooms in on Hobie's pleased expression.
“They're tolerable now, mellowed out after they took out count Belois.” You look at Hobie, copying his position like a mirror.
“He was an arse, did all of us a favour.” he stares at your eyes while the camera continues to film, yet you two don't seem to notice them anymore.
“Yeah, wish I was there though.” You say in a small voice. “They never invite me to those hunts. Always left watching outside.”
Hobie reaches towards you again, this time he actually holds you. Long fingers curling around your wrist, his thumb rubbing gently. “If only they know how hard you could kick.”
“You barely moved when I kicked you.” Chuckling, your eyes sparkle under the dim lights.
“Well it's me,” he inches closer to you in the seat, knee brushing against yours. “But if it was any other vampire out there they would have flown.”
You scrunch your face. Laying your hand down to your thigh, Hobie intertwined his fingers around yours properly this time. The camera captures the confusing scene.
“Because they turned into a bat?”
He grins, showing you his teeth, you don't even flinch. “Nah, because you kicked ‘em too hard. Did you hit your head that hard?” Knocking his knuckles against your temple softly, you move back like lightning has struck you.
“No, I'm actually okay, thanks.” You take your hand away, eyes flitting nervously at the camera then to Hobie. “I gotta go, dinner with the psycho family.” Standing up, you take your belongings from the floor. “You know how it is.”
He looks up at you with an unreadable expression, “yeah, I know how it is.” He says forlornly.
Patting his shoulder awkwardly, your hand lingers for a half second. “Bye,” you stare at the crew in the corner, “bye to all of you, I guess. Don't get eaten.”
The camera pans towards Hobie who just shrugs, fangs poking out of his lips.
—
Hobie eats alone in his empty dining room. The table is long, made of strong narra, designed to sit a dozen or so people. He sits in the head of the table, utensils scraping against the bloodied plate. His goblet is full, untouched.
He looks up at the camera on the other side of the table, observing his every move.
“The table's a gift too.” He says before continuing to eat silently.
—
The camera follows Hobie throughout his day. Roaming aimlessly around the house, he floats above the ground, hand and feet sticking on the wall while he dusts pictures that's placed on the highest shelf.
In the afternoon, he writes music on his piano while he flashes back and forth towards the drums and guitar, testing the music he wrote.
The crew captures Hobie burying something in the backyard. Jacket off, tank top and bare arms in full display. Moonlight illuminating his skin. His necklaces clink together as he shovels in dirt, packing the hole in tightly. The producer asks something about familiars and Hobie scowls at the word.
“No, just no. ‘m fully against havin’ familiars, it's fuckin' wrong.” He sticks the shovel harshly on the soil when the producer questions him again. “Ask me again and you'll be the one ‘m burying next.”
The camera shuts off abruptly.
—
The small supermarket's repetitive jingle from the nineties irks Hobie as he shops for some meat. But what irks him more is the documentary crew finding him especially after he went out of his way to hide from them.
He tosses a box of your favourite tea in the basket, annoyed at the team behind the cameras and boom mics. “Do the lot of you have a tracker on me or somethin’?” Shaking his head, he stomps down the aisle, heavy boots thudding loudly on the floor.
With his leather jacket plus all the metal and spikes on him, Hobie looks like a regular punk shopping for groceries. But if you looked closer, stayed too long in his presence, your flight or fight response kicks in, rendering anyone frozen on the spot.
His ruby eyes scan around the soap display, trying to ignore the cameras and people trailing after him, he gets a whiff of a familiar scent: strawberries and cream, it's you.
Hobie's feet move on its own, carrying him towards your direction. He spots you standing in the fruit section, weighing a watermelon in your hands, knocking on it then listening to the sound closely like you're trying to eavesdrop.
“What's the watermelon saying?”
“Christ!” You jump, dropping the watermelon.
Thankfully he catches it before the fruit splatters on the linoleum. “Just me, love.”
Clutching your chest, you take deep breaths. “I thought I smelled something rotten.” He raises a brow at your comment. “What are you doing here? This is far from your place.”
“First of all, I smell like sandalwood and fresh linen, fuck you.” You snort, rolling your eyes. “And ‘m tryin' to avoid them.” He points behind him, towards the cameras.
“Augh, they're still following you?”
“Apparently I signed a contract, it's not a one time thing.” He places the watermelon back to the crate, taking one that is riper and sweeter just for you. He then gently drops it in your cart, you nod a thanks.
“I told you before don't sign anything when you're drunk off of alcohol filled blood.”
“You're right, lovie, should've listened to you. Can't blame me when I only hear music whenever you open your pretty mouth.” He leans on your cart nonchalantly, giving you his signature smirk that has people falling over themselves for centuries.
“That's not much of a compliment.” You grimace, unaffected by his charm. “Listen, since we're in a public place I'm not gonna try to kill you so please get off my cart, I've got some shopping to do.” Shaking the trolley, he leans away, dismayed. “Also, the owner seems to like me, which is rare enough, so I don't want to ruin my relationship with the old lady. Shoo, Hobart, I'm off the clock.”
“You've got two people who like you now. One more than the other, I suppose.”
You narrow your eyes towards the vampire. “Who's the second one.”
Hobie walks backwards, arm wrapped around his basket, smile blinding everyone in its vicinity. “Me, darling, isn't it obvious?”
The bright fluorescent lights shouldn't do him any favours but by god, he looks amazing under it.
You don't answer, the camera zooms into your hands gripping the handles of the shopping cart, chest heaving, swallowing thickly.
He leaves, going towards the cashier to pay for his groceries. And you spot a sign that's labeled ‘50% off on garlic!’ you glare at the camera, pushing the cart towards the display.
—
Hobie sits on his work table, pieces of a TV are jumbled out on the table as he tinkers with them. His hands shake slightly, he should really feed.
“—‘m pretty good with technology, not like the other vampires. I've adapted well with—” he sniffs, “wait, what's that smell?”
He opens the door to find thousands of garlic circling around his house, “what—?”
“Tada!” You pop out from the side, hands carrying bushels of garlic, no doubt smelling like it too. “Wait, no, not tada, that's in poor taste because you hate them.”
Hobie gags at the smell, eyes watery and irritated. “This is a bad idea!” He rubs at his eyes, tears fully streaming on his cheeks.
“Why? Because it's working?!” You cackle, throwing the vegetable like confetti, one lands right on top of your head.
“Because it attracts—!”
You screech when you feel a sharp tug at your coat. A little green creature shrieks at you, the sound rings your eardrums, almost breaking the boom mic. Its eyes are dark and glassy, ears pointed, teeth sharp.
“A Goblin?!” Falling on your ass, you crawl backwards, watching as more and more of them appear from the bushes.
“I'm a goblin.” The one with a worn out party hat says, voice cracking like foil.
“What are you a Pokémon?!”
Hobie runs after you as fast as he can with the garlic hindering him. “Get inside!” He yells, dragging you towards the door. His hands sizzle atop your arms, the garlic searing his skin.
The creatures skidaddles towards you, towards the smell of garlic. Waves upon waves of green skitter and crawl on all limbs, eyes hungry, mouths agape.
“Hobie!” You hold on to his wrists as the ground scratches your back. Kicking an incoming goblin, you yelp as the door closes at the nick of time.
Claws scratch at the windows and walls. One of them even bangs its head hard on the glass just to get to you.
Hobie hides you behind him, eyes still stinging and skin aflame. “Get to the basement!” He screams when one breaches the house with glass shattering. “Go!”
Running down, Hobie lets you and the crew go first. He grabs a cutlass from the wall, chopping one that comes a little too close to your leg.
You look back at him with worry. “Hobie!”
“I'll be there! Just go!” He grabs one by the neck, throwing it away haphazardly.
It yells a faint ‘whee’ as it sails through the house.
Reaching the large basement, you search for the light switch, a cameraman beats you to it and you yelp at the sudden brightness.
The basement is full of things from different centuries. An iron maiden lays discarded on the corner, its steel rusted and brown. A sculpture of a woman sits on a shelf, it looks like it's a long lost work of Rodin. There's a large tapestry depicting a vampire war that is now collecting dust on the wall.
But the thing that catches your eyes is the massive metal cage that sits in the middle of the room. You would gawk but the swarm of goblins are nearing the basement. The familiar thumping of boots shakes you with relief.
“Cage!” Hobie grabs you effortlessly, you have no time to react as he carries you like a duffel bag by your waist.
The crew follows frantically, closing the metal doors shut behind them just as the swarm gets close. They shriek and bang on the bars, little arms trying to reach towards you.
He lays you back to your feet, dropping the drenched sword on the ground, palms still healing. He cups your face, searching for any injuries.
“You alright?” He heaves, out of breath, legs covered in goblin bites and palms searing but he looks at you like you're the one who's bleeding.
Staring at him with your irises blown out, mouth slightly parted, you embrace him to his surprise and the crew's.
“I'm okay,” you lean away before he could hug back. Hands placed on his shoulders, nails digging into him like he's about to be yanked away from you. “Are you?”
Hobie forgets about the other people inside the cage and the goblins trying to nibble at him. It's only you in his hands, even though the pungent smell of garlic makes his nose itch. Eyes tender, touch gentle, he could only nod.
“Yeah, I'm good now.” His voice lacks the usual charm.
You can finally breathe. “I thought…I'm the only one that's allowed to kill you.”
Chuckling, he traces your jaw with his thumb. “I know. You're first in line, darling.”
The crew stands near the sides awkwardly.
—
The goblins are trashing Hobie's basement, and based on the sounds from upstairs, they're also wreaking havoc in the entire house.
You sit back to back with Hobie in the middle of the cage, away from the bars, hands braced to your sides, his own are mere inches away from yours. He's glad that the garlic smell has wafted away from you, but not enough to get rid of the goblins still hankering for your flesh.
The crew stays away from the openings of the cage whilst a handful of the creatures try to grab at their equipment. It's been hours since the initial attack and everyone's getting hungry and thirsty, including Hobie.
“Why do you even have a dungeon in your basement—? Wait, scratch that, don't answer.” You try to pass the time.
“It was for your great great uncle—”
“Ew!”
“Get your head out of the gutter.” He says flatly, hands shaking from hunger. “I got it so he has a safe place to transform every full moon.”
“What? Huh, so that's why that branch of the family is so hairy.”
He changes the subject. “What were you thinkin’ with the garlic?” Hobie lays his head right on your shoulder, craning his neck to face you, he uses the closeness to memorize your face. His crimson eyes are dimmer than you're used to.
“I dunno, I thought it was a genius idea back then. Y’know, trap you inside, starve you then when you're weak enough I'd put a stake through your heart.”
“It's a good thing you're bloody fit.” He murmurs, chuckling quietly. “You almost got me though.” Your ears pick up the fatigue in his voice.
“And here I thought you fancy me for my amazing personality.”
“That too.” He smiles weakly, feeling the ache in his bones. “We need to get out of here.” His jaw visibly tightens, wanting to get away from you and your scent. Unfortunately it's not so easy when you're trapped.
“I know,” You sigh, Hobie sits up, covering his ears with the heels of his palms. “You okay?”
“I can hear your blood rushing through your veins.” He bites the inside of his cheeks. “Fuck, we really need to get out of here.” Standing up on wobbly feet, you help him up while the crew stands as far as they can without getting slashed by goblin claws.
“You're hungry.” You state the obvious.
“Starvin’” his red eyes flick down to your neck, already feeling guilty from the simple look.
You swallow thickly. “When was the last time you drank?”
“A couple days ago.” His vision blurs.
“Why are you starving yourself?” Scolding him, you guide him back down on the cold granite. “Hobart.”
“Why do you keep callin' me that?” Cold hands against your own, his eyes zeroes in on your face, avoiding the veins in your neck. “You sound like her when you call me that.”
Your eyes soften, warming him with your palms atop his cheeks, you worry. “You haven't answered my question.”
He groans, head lolling backwards. “Got busy, forgot what day it was.”
“Busy with what?” You click your tongue, lifting his head back up with your hands under his head. You search his hungry eyes, making a decision you could regret in the long run.
“If I let you feed, will you be able to get rid of the goblins?”
That has him picking his head back up, waking him up from his hungry stupor. “What—?”
You reiterate, voice determined. “If I let you drink from me can you get your strength back and get rid of the little fuckers?”
“Y/N, I can't let you do that.”
“I know what happens if you don't feed and judging by how the goblins are devouring your entire house like some frat, they aren't leaving soon enough.” You ball his shirt in your hands for emphasis. “I'm letting you drink, just this one time so we could all go home.”
“Are you really sure?”
“Just don't turn me into your spawn, deal?”
Hobie cracks a smile, fangs glinting off the basement lights. You suddenly feel your nerves kicking in.
“I promise I won't. Just tell me if it gets too much, yeah?”
“Okay,” you inhale deeply, tugging down the collar of your shirt, showing him what he needs. “Don't drink me dry.”
“That depends, for all I know you taste brilliantly.” His joke alleviates your fear a little. You're both unaware of the cameras watching, recording everything. Even forgetting that they were there in the first place.
His hand is on the back of your neck, the other is gripping on to your arm like his life depends on it. Eyeing your skin, lips brushing along it, fangs barely piercing, he gives you enough time to lean away.
“Hurry on with it, I need to pee.”
With a deep chuckle, he sinks his teeth in you.
Gasping, you bite down on your bottom lip, stifling any sounds. But Hobie can hear them from your chest, feel how your body quivers with every suck and nip from his teeth.
You whimper and he holds on to you tighter.
He wants to devour you whole, his instincts tell him to ravage you until you're dry and limp in his arms— to rip you apart with his bare teeth. But he doesn't, he's careful and gentle like he's drinking nectar straight from a flower.
“F-fuck…” you let out, hands shaking, sliding down to the back of his neck, pressing him closer.
He turns warmer with your crimson flowing through him, not letting a single drop of the precious liquid dribble from his mouth.
Hobie feels like his dead heart beats once again after centuries.
Eyes closed, you feel like you're on cloud nine. You look like it too, eyes hazy, lips parted, hand holding on to him weakly.
Before he could drown in you, Hobie carefully eases his teeth out from your pierced skin, maw covered in your blood, thumb pressing down to your wounds to stop the bleeding.
It will scar, but you're alright with that thought.
He feels anew. His eyes are sharper, adrenaline coursing through him like your blood in his system. His ears perked at every breath you let out. Eyes blown up like the size of dinner plates, his warm breath fans your cheeks.
Half of him regrets doing it, now that he has gotten a taste, he can't go back to biting random rich assholes. His other half delights in your after taste, so sweet and nectarine that makes him crave more.
You crane your neck slowly like molasses to look at him sweetly through your half lidded eyes, and a soft yet tired smile on your lips. Still clinging into euphoria, vision swirling and heart beating a thousand times per second. You feel like you've ascended and you'll never go down from it.
Licking his teeth, Hobie resists the urge to dive back in. But he's more than that, you're more than a blood bag.
“You alright?” He whispers, he smells like you.
You hum, smiling giddily like a child who just got what she wanted.
“‘m gonna go and kill some goblins now. Stay here for me?”
You hum a tune that sounds like a rendition of ‘happy birthday.’ Giggling, you pat his cheek.
“Yeah, you'll be alright. I'll get you some orange juice after this.”
“Orange sounds nice… such a pretty color. And cookies, yum.” You chortle like you just heard the best joke. “Oh handsome, so handsome. I'm gonna bite you back one day.” Staring up at him, your eyes roll back, falling unconscious.
“Lookin' forward to it.”
Hobie gently lays you down on the floor, standing up, ears listening to your fast heart beat, but it's not enough proof for him. Eyes observing your chest, watching it go up and down, making sure he didn't go too far. Satisfied, he points at the crew cowering in the corner, their cameras still rolling. The documentary won't air anywhere at this rate.
“Watch her.” He says sternly, eyes glaring.
They all nod frantically.
With a swift kick to the metal door, he strikes down every goblin he sees.
—
You sit on the same patchwork armchair, sipping on a warm cup of tea, comfortable and content in your seat. The two pin prick scars on your neck peeks under your collar. The camera has you in the spotlight, zoomed in on your freshly washed face.
“Do you know about the curse?” The man behind the camera asks, his voice wavering with every word like it's taboo to mention it.
“What curse?” You watch as their faces morph into panic. “I'm fucking with you,” you laugh at their expense.
“Of course I know about it. Why do you think I hunt him down? For fun? Well, partly because of it but we broke that curse like five generations ago when my ancestor figured it all out and made friends with the witch.”
Smiling fondly, you continue. “She's my godmother now. Don't tell him.” You warn. “Hunting him down is an initiation for us really, a tradition to try and kill him, just really doing our best to cause damage. He's pretty powerful.”
Laying your elbows on your knees, you look directly at the camera.
“I mean you've seen the room right? He's fucking obsessed, someone has to off him or just—I honestly think he should just move on.” shrugging you sip your tea that he made for you.
“Is that why you're living with him?” They ask unabashedly. The camera zooms out, showing you still in your pajamas, complete with fluffy slippers.
“Uh—”
Hobie appears in the corner, leaning on the doorway casually, a similar pajama pants hanging low on his hips.
“Darling, have you seen my good jumper—?”
You take your crossbow from under the chair, twisting in your seat, you aim it at his head, shooting, the arrow whizzes past him, he ducks down as the arrow imbeds into the oak.
Hobie laughs on the floor, lifting up a black and red jumper. “Found it!”
“Goddamnit.” The word is laced with endearment. You turn back towards the crew, eyes narrowed at them. “Wait, why are you guys here so early?”
I imagine @the-kr8tor's R's having different timelines compared to when they were written. And with that, I also imagine OG r accidentally 'recruiting' the other R's in different timelines (Start, during, and current story).
And I also just finished reading TTN (It's so goodd, got me in my feels and made me actually want Hobie to be real so effin' bad😖 I actually teared up too when I read about Finn cus I first started reading BDAS b4 your other series😭[I don't usually read stuff in order when things are in master lists])
Also, I imagined a scenario like this when Hobie finally got bit by the spider:
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
*TTN R gets picked up by the council when she excused herself because she is "sick"*
Spidey!R: Calm down, tell us everything from the beginning.
*OG!R giving her tissues*
TTN!R: Well *sniff* there was this-
*TTN!R explains the whole situation while Older!R takes care of her*
TTN!R: -and, he was real sweaty y'know? In his boxers too..
*While the others comfort TTN!R, Spidey!R silently observed from above*
Spidey!R(POV): wait.. that sounds awfully similar to when I got bit by the spider.
*It clicks*
Spidey!R(POV): Should I tell her? No, it might disturb her Hobie's canon event..
*She talks to herself while dropping down to the floor*
Spidey!R: I think it's best for you to talk to him.
*TTN!R hums in response, sipping the tea that OG!R handed, salty tears finally drying on her cheeks*
IPOB/BDAS!R: Wow, you look like shit..
Older!R: Shut it, you two. The gal needs some time to think.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Sooommeeethiiingg like that! Anyway, I have another thing on my mind that I might turn into a blurb! :D (TTN!R is included too :›)
Hobie lounges on the roof of his boat, a thick blanket under him, sunset bearing down on his form painting him in an orange glow, the heat from the sun melting him. Sweat dribbles on his temple, arms in full display, savouring the last days of summer. Waves laps softly at the sides of the boat, rocking him to a sleepy state. He looks content with his arm under his head, eyes closed, hand cold with condensation from his drink.
There's still that missing piece in his heart, longing and waiting. It's practically painless now, a dull ache whenever he sees remnants of you.
Late night calls through bleary eyes and tired muscles help wade him through it. With Letters slowing down, he doesn't seem to mind as long as he knows you're safe and happy wherever you go. But he can't help it whenever his heart seeks you out.
Hobie's finger grazes the pockets of his leather vest laying next to him. it's well worn and loved, cloth having indents and scars, a proof that he lived through it all. His pinky instinctively feels for the polaroid tucked inside, crinkled and folded a hundred times. With a soft smile on his lips when the mental image of it appears in his mind's eye. He Memorized every detail of it, from your tight grip on him to your grin under the dim light of his bedroom.
"Heard you're looking for a roommate"
Hobie opens his eyes lightning quick, elbows sitting him up from his position. He thinks he's still dreaming of you. Frozen, eyes glued to your familiar form yet different from what he's used to, from what he's learned by heart. The pictures you've sent don't do the real thing any justice.
Hands on your suitcases, you drop it theatrically when he rushes towards you. Elated, Hobie jumps off the roof with the same finesse of a cat. Arms outstretched, you giggle when his body reaches yours with a thud. He sweeps you off your feet, clinging, twirling you around.
His arms fit around you just like how you remembered it. Fingers tracing the muscles on his back, you take a big whiff of his scent, leather and citrus with something you don't quite recognize from before, yet it calms you all the same.
The embrace lasts for a hot minute, hands roaming, trying to remember how the other feels. Heartbeats syncing together once again.
Hobie resists the urge to pull away but the heat makes it difficult. Eyes glossy, he pulls away, still holding you as closely as the warmth could let him without suffocating you. He takes you in, taking all the new details to heart. Your eyes crinkling to a smile, the same ones that's currently doing the same to him.
You notice new lines on his young face, tracing it carefully with your thumb, his ring still on your middle finger, dutifully watching over you the entire time you were away.
"Hi, Wallace" you say through happy tears. Eyes shining bright.
"What?–How?...You?" He fumbles with his words. Chuckling, you get the desired reaction from him when you intentionally didn't tell him about you coming back home.
You're back to old habits, teasing him. "There's this thing called a plane, invented years ago I think– oof"
He doesn't let you finish your sarcasm laced sentence, pulling you back to his chest, warm hand behind your head, caressing, reminding him that you're back and not just some mirage from the heat.
You sigh in his hold, cheek right next to his steadying heartbeat, arms wrapped around his torso just like before.
"I'm home" you say softly, eyes tightly closed, breathing calm at his mere touch.
"For a visit?" He hopes.
You look up at him, a grin spreading on your lips, fingers looped around his necklace. "For good"
Cupping your face, calloused hands soft against your skin. You hold his hands right on top of his, kneading and tender.
"Welcome home" Hobie closes the distance, eyes fluttering shut, you don't miss a beat to kiss him back, lips moving with him. The touch you've both yearned for finally satisfied.
"Sorry, for making you wait" you say in between breathless kisses. He kisses you deeper, already missing you from the split second unlinking of lips.
You pick up where you left off, both changed yet it seems like time hasn't passed with every caress and kiss.
Breath hitching, you're more than ready to continue spending your life with him by your side again. You seep back in his marrow, staying there as long as he's willing to have you.
He smiles blissfully, heart finally full again.
A/N: Again, thank you all for the love! If you want more TTN! Hobie feel free to request, I'm more than happy to fulfill it! (I will forever miss this story)
