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the-kr8tor · 2 months

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In Pursuit of Blood: A trip down goblin lane.

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)

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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?”

Support banner by @/cafekitsune

A/N: Thank you for reading! And happy 1k! 🎉

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catmansquad · 10 months

Text

The Thirst (P2)

Part 1 Part 3

You recall being led back to Miguel’s penthouse; it was expansive, the home of someone very rich and decorated with the tokens of someone well-travelled. Guided through the moonlit streets by his arm across your shoulders. His smile was gentle, his eyes were kind, he was so very warm to the touch. You had melted into his touch, as he peppered sweet kisses to your skin, humming pleasingly. Then, you had taken his hand and he had pulled you close, that broad chest and strong muscles firm at your back, his arm across your chest in a gently embrace as his other hand took your wrist in some form of a lover’s embrace, like he was feeling your racing pulse under his touch, more kisses, on your cheek, along your jaw, to your neck and then….

Then you’d… He’d… Memory became hazy past that moment, there had been the sense of sensual delight, a moment where pain and pleasure escalated into utter bliss and your next clear memory was of waking, weak and weary, wrapped in silken sheets of a king-sized bed. He must have truly been an amazing lover for nothing but those sweet sensations to cling to you, bone deep. When you finally found the strength in your limbs to pull yourself free, you found him in his spotless kitchen, gloomy with all the blinds still drawn and his eyes hidden by tinted glasses. Likely, he was just hungover, yet that sense of endless vitality and eternal calm remained about him. A romantic gentleman kind enough to make you breakfast, to help you get your strength back after the night’s ordeal.

Miguel was not bothered by these so called “hunters” in their attempt to gather more to their cause. There had been others, there would be more. Acting out in any way would only fan the flames of their fervor. The only reason for their presence in the city were the spontaneous Fledgling explosion recently. So many newly Turned, overconfident, hungry, no control of their newfound thirst leaving a trail of bodies that needed to be cleaned away. If he found the one or the group who were responsible for these mass Turnings, he would send them into death himself. Too much mess, too much attention and the mortals became nervous. All in all, he could wait. This new band of would-be hunters were, like all the rest, mortal. They would wither and crumble, like all else in the world. He would remain, he always did.

In the daylight, the streets were far safer, yet your journey home would not be uneventful. Not several streets away did a small crowd gather in a local park, to where a figure stood atop a bench, calling out to the assembled.

‘… I tell you, brothers and sisters! There are monsters among us! Beasts who wear the skins of men! I know there are those of you who know of what I speak! How many of you have felt their presence? How many of you have suffered for it! Anemia! Missing time! Hours of our lives stolen from us! There are people who vanish in dark alleys, are they devoured by the very shadows?! No! We are but prey! We are the sheep who do not know the wolves are among us! Open your eyes! Read our words! We. Must. Fight. Them! Or all is lost…’

Their tirade fell into a gradual calm once again, one or two people applauded, the rest broke into murmurs.

‘Hobie, please…’

At their beckoning, their aide stepped forwards, cradling a stack of leaflets in his arms and strode amidst the crowd, handing them out one by one. Eventually, he came to you, leaving the cream-coloured leaflet held out for you to take.

‘Please… It ain’t madness. It’s truth.’ His voice was low.

‘I met one of ‘em… Once. Nearly sucked me dry like a capri-sun… Barely escaped with me life...’

As if to prove his point, he softly pulled down the collar of his shirt, revealing the twin, jagged scars that trailed from what looked like healed puncture marks. His eyes looked you over, and you didn’t realise your hand had been on your own neck until you snapped back to yourself and took the leaflet from him. There were no marks, not even the hint of a wound upon your skin. Nothing untoward had happened between Miguel and you; it had just been sex. Right…?

‘It’s like they do somethin’ to the brain… Makes you forget. Some people just remember it as… a fun night, or a brutal assault in a dark alley…’

‘Hobie!’ The leader called out for him again, and he gave a sad smile as you took the leaflet.

‘You know where to find us, all in there.’

As he weaved back through the crowd, you stared down at the leaflet; the caricature of a masked beast with sharp teeth.

“BEASTS AMONG US”. – A Warning by Avis Hardinger.

‘Is this seat taken…?’

You looked up from the leaflet, the coffee cooling on the table, and a stunned smile graced your face at the sight of Miguel, leaning one hand on the back of the chair opposite you, fingers drumming, almost squinting at you behind his sunglasses.

‘Miguel! No, it’s free…’ You had just considered inviting your friend out, if their hangover was any better, but now all thoughts fled your mind, replaced solely with Miguel’s presence as he sat down opposite you. As fine and fancy as the night before, ringed fingers entwined as he peered over the top of you at them.

‘How are you doing…? Achy? Sleepy?’

‘I feel better now, thanks.’ Your smile matched his own, but he concealed the full breath of it behind his hands. Curious, you slid the leaflet across the table before him.

‘What do you… What do you think of this?’

He hummed thoughtfully, hands parting as he picked it up, skimming over it before placing it back down with an amused laugh.

‘Surely, you don’t believe this? Heh… These are the same people who claim their grandmothers get abducted by UFOs to Jupiter every night. “Help, aliens stole my memory and my pet canary!”’

He chuckled softly again, leaving you utterly enchanted with him, even in the midday sun, the shadows seemed to cling tighter to him.

‘I’ve heard about that Avis Hardinger. None of them good…’

He slid the leaflet back across to you, fingers entwined as he peered at you over them again. You couldn’t quite pull your attention from just how handsome Miguel was- it was like your mind was on auto-pilot. Even people who passed by were stealing little glances.

Miguel knew his power had only grown with age; he was no longer that smug, hungry Fledgling who believed himself to be at the top of the world. Well… Maybe some part of that self still lingered inside him. It would probably explain why he, at five-hundred years of undying experience, was currently sat across with a mortal he’d fed on, the softest touches of his charms keeping their attention solely on him. This was how it always started, the inevitable descent into yet another romantic mishap. He could entertain a fun date, indeed…

‘Having said that…’ Behind his hands, he let his tongue lick along one of his fangs, smirking. Your attention was rapt on him.

‘They’re having a meeting tonight. Did you want to go along…? Just for a laugh…’

It was time to see what this scared huddle of mortals would do to consider themselves “hunters”.

When you saw Hobie next, he was greeting people with a gentle smile, a procession of people into the meeting hall made out of a community center. Beside him, the pale, tall form of Avis Hardinger watched, eyes flitting among people.

‘Hey!’ Hobie took your hands, shaking them softly, greeting you at the doorway filled with silver crucifixes hanging from strings.

‘Glad you came! Go in and take a seat.’

‘Hobie, w-what is all that?’ You glance up at the crucifixes, feeling Avis’ paranoid eyes on you briefly before he turned away. Hobie’s smile became clever, and he winked.

‘My idea! Great, innit? See, the beasts can’t stand silver and powerful faith, so why not combine the two! Gotta make sure there’s no… unwelcome guests, y’know? Go in, get settled… Avis gets… impatient easily- man needs to chill…’

You watched Miguel casually brush the silver crucifixes aside, in no mood to simply duck under them, and gave your hand a reassuring squeeze.

‘Hobie!’ Avis’ voice barked from inside the hall and you watched the man in question roll his eyes.

‘Yes, boss?’

‘The incense!!’

‘Sure, the incense… Sure you can find a fuckin’ match if you took yer head outta yer ass… Tosser.’

He cleared his throat after his mutterings, forcing that pleased smile back on his face.

‘We’ve got juice if you’re thirsty!’

Only half the many chairs had been filled, by people of all walks of life, but you sat softly beside Miguel, in the back row, leaning into his warmth as he rested with long legs stretched out, lazy, at ease, a man with all the time in the world. His eyes glinted, dark brown as he looked to you.

‘Sorry this is an awful first date…’

He reached one hand to cup your jaw, stroking a thumb across your cheek, voice a low whisper.

‘I promise to take you somewhere fancy…’

You blushed under his touch, heart thundering.

‘I… I uh… Don’t think I’d have anything classy enough for the places you’ve got in mind, Miguel…’

His smile did not falter, his eyes crinkled with delight.

‘Then we’ll have to go shopping for something that is…’

You swallowed the thick lump in your throat as his eyebrows wiggled briefly. You were fairly sure he was going to spoil you rotten if you allowed him to. You watched Miguel bring a hand to his mouth, covering as he coughed, then doubled up into a brief wheeze, and the spell was broken.

‘Miguel?’

‘… ‘m fine… Must be the incense…’ He waved a hand across his nose, like he was trying waft the smell away. You turned in your seat, squirming to see the several sets of lit incense sticks that curled into the air, filling the room with a cloying, sweet scent. Silence settled as Avis stepped up to the podium, hands raised.

‘My friends! Brothers and sisters! Thank you for coming. At least here, huddled together in our sanctuary, we can rest assured that we are safe. We will begin with our notes from out last meeting…’

Avis speech nearly bored you to sleep, several times you found yourself nearly drifting onto Miguel’s chest, feeling his hand stroke softly across your back. Through heavy eyelids, you scanned the room, a few people were listening intently, the rest were sneakily on their phones, and even behind Avis, Hobie had put earbuds in and was now quietly rocking out, miming an air guitar. He brought a soft smile to your face, watching him. You woke up properly as you heard Miguel cough again, his chest jolting.

‘…But now, we have the home advantage!’ Avis slammed a hand onto the podium, and everyone sat upright to attention.

‘Through the combination of science and esoteric rituals, we finally have a means to combat this threat, not just ward against them as we cower in our homes!’

You were torn between listening to Avis and watching in concern as Miguel hunched over, desperately trying to clear out his chest. You patted his broad back reassuringly.

‘… Behold! We have created an airborne toxin- please, calm yourselves, my friends… The very incense sticks you see alight before you are no mere mood setter, they are our weapon against these bloodthirsty beasts! To us, they are utterly harmless, also quite nice to enjoy- I am rather proud of that…’

Miguel’s wheezing coughing became worse, and you swore the hand he coughed into was being speckled with red.

‘The stolen blood in their abominable bodies rebels at our sacred incense. No more are we their cattle. From this night on, we let them know that we…. We….’

People were beginning to turn to look at you both, you soothingly tried to rub Miguel’s back as his suffering continued, only half paying attention. But Avis’ words had found their purchase in your mind.

‘… Oh dear god…’ Avis’ voice was haunted, from the podium, he pointed a trembling finger across the room. Your hand stilled on Miguel’s back and lifted away, slowly rising from your seat, the inevitable could not be ignored. Realising something was happening, Hobie stopped his silent jam and pulled out his earbuds, head tilted in confusion as Avis let the moment build to a conclusion among the terrified, whispering citizens giving you both a wide berth.

‘… My friends…. There is a beast among us…’

Miguel drew a deep, shuddering breath and lifted his head up; eyes blazing crimson, lower face smeared with the blood that coated his hand. You backed away as Avis stepped from the podium, some citizens began to scream, already running for the fire exit.

‘… Well now…’ Miguel rasped, one hand gripping the folding chair in front of him as he resisted the urge to succumb to another coughing fit.

‘… Finally, something interesting.’

With a snarl, and one hand alone, he threw the chair across the room with frightening force, crashing into the incense burner, and carrying it to the far wall to shatter through a window.

‘It stinks in here…’

His sharp, terrifying eyes looked to you, and the memory of the other night rushed back in full- not of blissful sex, but of a ferocious embrace, his teeth in your neck; devouring you, enrapturing you, then soothing that pain with a gentle lick, the wounds healing in one firm stroke of the tongue-

You felt something crash into you, Hobie bolted past you towards the doors, and you were sure you heard him muttering “fuck this!” back to back under his breath. His gaze lingered on you, teeth gritted in an annoyed snarl, those fangs, the smeared blood, those blazing eyes- he looked monstrous, so different from the charming, handsome man you had sat beside only moments ago.

‘You may want to leave. Or close your eyes. This may get… Unpleasan- STAY THERE, AVIS!’

His gaze snapped to the cowering figure, voice escalating into a low roar that froze the man to the spot with terror. The chill night air blew away the cloying sweetness, and shocked some sense back into you. Stumbling away from him, you headed out into the night, fleeing with everyone else.

Back in control of his faculties, Miguel rested his hands in his coat pockets, hiding the worst of his nature as he stepped in long strides to where Avis stood trembling in his skin, rooted by fear and willpower both.

‘So, would be Hunter… I think that you have had the worst luck tonight. Were I in a more charitable mood, I would simply wipe your memory, or perhaps convince you to take a long walk into the Thames. Alas, I think a more necessary punishment is in order for you…’

The shorter, skinnier man whimpered, eyes flitting over him, glancing to the exit repeatedly, yet he could not will his body into action.

‘Although I will say thank you, for actually managing to give my somewhat banal existence a new, exciting twist. I’m afraid you just had the misfortune of having absolutely no idea of who you’re fucking with.’

He stopped close to the trembling man, glancing at his watch, just to watch the second hand tick by.

‘I am not just “a beast”. I am a very old, very ill-tempered Vampire, and you have just ruined my chances with someone I cared for…’

He grinned, slowly running his tongue over those fangs, nose wrinkling at the scents from the mortal. Terrified indeed.

‘Ugh… I think I have toyed with you enough for tonight, Avis. So…’

He reached out and grabbed the front of Avis’ shirt, well away his claws were out and biting through the cloth and scratching skin.

‘…. I do really hate having to deal with rampaging Fledglings, and I did swear a long time ago I wouldn’t subject anyone else to this curse, but I think you need to be taught a lesson.’

He saw Avis’ eyes widen, another terrified whimper, perhaps a plea that never emerged.

He stepped close enough to whisper into his ear.

‘… Brace yourself, Avis… You’re about to enter a nightmare you can never wake up from….’

#miguel o'hara #miguel x reader #vampire miguel o’hara #hobie brown

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