#ipob

When you start to walk over to him, he doesn't even glance at you nor run away. He just stays there, looking at a flickering candle or outside the window whilst you try to ask him what's wrong or placate him with your kind touch. It's unusual, the house used to feel alive, cheery and warm, now it feels like how it used to before you dropped the wooden stake that was aimed at his heart and loved him instead. It's dark and cold, the perfect vibe for a vampire's abode, but not for this vampire.

It's just like any other day in the manor, you wake up to an empty coffin unlike before where you would wake up to his kisses and embrace. With a concerned sigh, you don your robe and go out trekking around the manor to find him. It's unusually cold in the halls, you miss Pav's spells lingering in the kitchen, Gwen's loud footsteps, and Miles' presence in the drawing room. They're still at camp, maybe that's why he's all brooding? The nest is empty and he misses them? But he was so excited when he realized that you two would be alone for weeks while they're away, or perhaps he has grown tired of you? You wish that wasn't the case and he's just having some vampire blues.

You found him being mopey around in the living room this time, chin resting on his palm as he stares outside where the last remaining sunset slowly drenches the sky in deep purple and blues.

“Hobie, you hungry?” You tentatively ask, palm gently grasping at his nape as you duck to meet with his eyes.

“Not really, lovie.” His tone is small, and yet heavy in your bones. It's impossible not to feel his sadness through his voice.

Thunder rolls in the distance, lightning piercing the sky. Great, rain, that'll definitely lighten his mood.

“How about you go help me with breakfast, hm?” Your thumb glides along his cold skin as he avoids your eyes. “You can make a fruit smoothie, you like using the blender.”

Hobie shakes his head, pulling his legs closer to him as rain drenches the whole yard. The cold rolls in, thunder and lightning striking in the distance.

“Or maybe not, it's not a smoothie kind of day anyway.” Trying to smile, you sit adjacent to him on the window nook. “Maybe some tea would be better.” Mumbling, you rest your back against the padded wall, velvet fabric soft on your skin.

Not a single word uttered by you is missed by Hobie's ears. “D’you want me to make some for you?”

Inhaling, you mirror his position, tucking in your legs as you watch raindrops drench the stained glass window. “That would be nice, but I'm way more comfortable here with you.” Your gaze softens, smiling fondly at him.

“Jus’ say the word, yeah?” With a nudge on your foot, he turns back towards the window.

“Yeah, stay here with me, would you?”

“I'm the first bloke ‘ere, love.”

“It's never just a ‘yes’ or ‘no’ answer with you, hm?” You tease, nudging him back as you manage to pull a small smile from him.

“Where's the fun in that?” He raises a brow, eyes twinkling.

Chuckling, you turn back towards the window as you hug yourself to shield from the cold.

For what could've been hours, the two of you stay there in silence. Just savouring each other's presence, watching the grey clouds dance around the sky as the lightning illuminates it.

“You know what this weather reminds me of?” You ask, hoping he'd answer.

“What does it remind you of?”

You close your eyes for a moment. “That one time you helped me with that merman near the docks. It rained just like this.”

“We both smelled like bloody fish for days.” Scoffing, the corner of his lips tug into a gentle smile.

“Yeah, I had to scrub until my skin was raw.” Turning towards him, you nudge him again with your foot as he takes his attention to you. “But you did help me from turning into fish food.”

“The only time my earplugs helped outside of concerts.” His heart swells at the memory of you thanking and hugging him with relief for the very first time. “I still don't understand why a merman with an ugly mug could enchant you, lovie.” A lightning illuminates the side of his handsome face.

“Please, he was, to quote you, ‘bloody fit for a fishman.’” You scoff, rolling your eyes, fists unfurling as the tension you felt before dissipates.

He scoffs back, legs unfolding, eyes turning lighter as he gazes at you tenderly. “Please, ‘m more—”

“But you're more fit though.” You interrupt, smiling at the growing smile on his face.

His fangs peek in between his lips, chin laying on his clavicle for a second before turning back to you and opening his arms. “That's the only right answer. C’mere.”

“I've won the grand prize then.” Your victorious giddyness is prevalent as you slot yourself between his legs, back laying on his chest as he wraps his arms around you. Nuzzling your face on his skin, you sigh, chin pressed on his chest.

“Love?”

“Hm?”

“D’you think ‘m cold?”

“No, I feel very warm right here actually.” You say with your whole heart as you close your eyes, letting the sounds of rain lull you.

“That's not what I meant—”

You abruptly lean away to face him, palm cupping his cheek. “I know what you meant. And my answer is the same. You're warm, Hobie. Despite the cold bloodedness, you're the warmest person I've ever met. Warmer, kinder than anyone. I've never shivered in your presence.”

“It's never jus’ a ‘yes’ or ‘no’ answer to you, hm?” You nod, pecking the tip of his nose. His crimson eyes threaten to spill over. Hands grasping onto your hips, he slumps over you, head resting right on your chest. “Thank you, love.” Whispering, he gently presses a kiss upon your clavicle.

“Anytime,” you say, muffled against the top of his head. “Can you tell me who said that to you? Y’know, just for research. I've got a new set of arrows I want to try out.”

Chuckling lowly, he lifts his head up from your chest, palms cradling your face. “It doesn't matter now. I've got you ‘ere with me, that's all that matters.”

A loud thunder rattles the whole house, almost making you jump in your skin. Hobie's touch was enough to calm you. Your heart swells at his words, and you're sure that he can hear it beat louder than the thunder.

“This also reminds me of that one time I called you to pick me up from the bus stop.”

He leans away, eyes narrowing suspiciously at you. “Love, no—”

“Love, yes.” You giggle enthusiastically, squeezing his cheeks. “What do you say, Hobart Brown, dance with me in the rain once again?”

“I was drunk and—” the sparkle in your eyes makes him back out on his words. “I'd be chuffed to dance with you in the rain.” You grin already standing up and tugging him by the hand. “But don't blame me if you get sick.”

“No promises!” Giggling, you lead him to the front door, opening it excitedly as you continue down the wet steps.

The rain seeps into your robe and sleep clothes immediately, drenching you from head to toe as you jump around the wet grass. Hobie watches your plucky dancing with a grin, chortling when you almost slip if not for his hand.

Pulling and pushing his arms in a little dance, he thinks you look marvellous in the rain, the grey clouds acting as your backdrop and the sounds of the raindrops falling on the roof as your music.

After a minute of being entranced by you, Hobie joins you in the dancing, stomping around, arms holding you in a sort of punk version of a waltz that has you dizzy and giggly even more.

Pulling you closer as you wrap your arms behind his neck, you sway each other in the breeze. He's as drenched as you, water dripping on his jaw, curls sticking to his forehead. With lightning striking behind him, lighting his form and enveloping him in light, you feel warm despite the cold rain seeping into your clothes.

“Did this help you? Even just a little bit?” You say above the rain as you gaze at him sweetly.

“The rain or you?”

“The rain, I suppose making you feel much better will come after when I— we have to bathe together to save water, don't you think?” His crimson eyes glow underneath the darkness, hands squeezing your waist, fang poking his bottom lip in anticipation.

“You're right, love. There's a nationwide drought. But why do we have to wait until the rain stops?”

You already know what he's up to before he could even lift you off your feet and carry you back into the house.

“He's been standing there since he woke up.” You whisper to the crew, “it's the most entertaining thing that has happened here since I moved in six months ago. The drunken incident doesn't count.”

The camera lowers towards the dark cardigan around your body, earning you a disgruntled scoff. “I was cold, it was the nearest thing next to me.”

Hobie inhales sharply, staying still. You purse your lips together at his heavy sigh.

“That's…concerning.” The producer gives you a questioning look. “I'm not concerned about the man eating vampire, okay. I'm worried that he might be hungry again and look who's the nearest blood bag there is, me, bitch. And you too I guess.” You gesture wildly at the crew.

Jared the cameraman side eyes you. “That was a one time thing, Jeff.” You say his name like he's the bane of your existence, knowing that you called him a different name just to annoy him. “‘sides, I'm not his familiar. He can feed himself—”

Hobie releases a gutteral sound from the belly, growling in place.

“Oh, Jesus Christ.” you say under your breath. “I think I should tell him to eat. Be right back.” Walking briskly, the cameras follow you closely. You make it to his side, tapping him on the shoulder with slight apprehension.

His scowl is replaced with a smile when he sees you. Fangs and all. “Darling, you're awake.” He flicks his eyes down to his cardigan, raising a brow at the sight. His grin grows wider, no sign of hunger on sight. Maybe a different kind of hunger that is. “You need anythin'? Me perhaps?” He says unabashedly before he glares at the people trailing behind you. They back away, almost tripping amongst themselves.

“Just wanted to see if you're hungry. You were standing here growling like a fucking hell hound.” You push him away with one finger on his chest. He backs away, but his smile and fond stare remains.

“That's a compliment, love. And I wasn't growlin’.”

“You were.”

“Really? How? Can you show me? I wanna hear it.” He says with a teasing smirk, you almost fall for it.

“You know what? It's too cold for this.” You try to walk away but he yanks you back, twisting you around to look at the window, your back braced atop his chest. “What—? Come on, Hobie!”

“Shush.” He says as he holds you against him.

“Don't shush me!” You wiggle out of his hold. He lets you go but you stay in place after seeing him scowl again.

“There are old people outside. Watching us.” He whispers.

“What? Don't be rude.”

“No, look.” Hobie takes your face in his cold hands, careful not to pierce your cheeks with his sharp nails, sending goosebumps down your arms. He points your face towards the accused. “There, see? Fuckin' Peepers.”

With a roll of your eyes, you peek at the small gap in the curtains. “Huh?” You see a group of old people huddled together on the sidewalk, whispering amongst themselves. “What the fuck? Have they been there long?”

“Maybe, I only noticed after feedin'. Do you think they know?” His hands are still atop your cheeks.

You look up, stuck in place. “They're probably just gossiping. You know how old people are, you're a part of the demographic.”

He lets you go, leaning on the wall casually, arms crossed on his chest. “Basically your type, yeah?”

“Augh,” you resist his awful charms again. “I'm gonna talk to them. Get them out before you decide to eat them.”

“I don't ravage old people!” He yells after you, “I let time do that!” Laughing, he sees the crew staring at him with flat expressions. “What? It's funny.” Waving them off, he goes down the patio to meet with you.

—

You go outside, with Hobie and the documentary crew trailing right behind you, their shoes shuffling quickly to meet up with you.

“Hey!” Waving at the older group, you open the gothic gates, the metal squeaking against its hinges. You take a mental note to get that oiled or it'll irk you. “Do you guys need anything or are you just gonna stand there and block our driveway?” Despite your cheery smile and the lilt in your voice, your words sounded like a threat.

The group looks at the camera crew behind you with puzzled looks before shrugging in understanding. You guess the crew have their permission.

“So sorry, but we're not here to block anything.” An older woman with platinum hair scrunches her wrinkled nose. “We're HOA, and we were actually trying to find your doorbell. Do you even have a doorbell? It's mandatory to have one.” She smiles kindly, but her eyes say otherwise. She reminds you of an entitled Karen you always seem to run into.

“We don't have one. It ruins our aesthetic. Why are you here exactly?” You narrow your gaze at the group who are all staring behind you with wide eyes. Sighing, you place your hand on Hobie's chest to tell him to calm down. You sometimes wish you're the one with telepathy.

“Uh,” the older woman fixes her hair, tucking it behind her ear. Your scowl deepens. “We're here to congratulate you two on your wedding.”

You blink away the glare. “W–Wedding?”

Hobie's breath hitches in his throat, feeling his surprise under your hand. The shock disappears a second later, replaced by a smug grin on his face. “Thank you, love. The ceremony was beautiful.” His arm snakes its way around your waist. You resist the urge to roll your eyes.

“Oh, I bet! You seem to have good taste, Mr. Brown. Your father and your father's father did!”

Turning your head to look at him, he winks at you, voice wiggling its way into your mind. “She’s talkin' about me don't worry, I just go on vacation for a few years and come back tellin’ people my father died only to ‘replace’ him. People are idiots, lovie.”

You tamp down a laugh by biting your lip, craning your attention back to the group, you smile sweetly at them. “It's too bad that my in-laws didn't get to see us marry.” Hobie gives you a sly high five behind your back. “Well, thank you for the congratulations, but we gotta—”

“Are you two planning on having kids?” Another old woman with a pink sweater asks excitedly. “It would be nice to have kids running around the neighborhood again. Now it's all tiktok and something about toilets.”

Hobie can't help the chuckle that leaves his lips. Your cheeks are aflame from the simple question. But your hunter training blocks the thought, bringing you back to your studies, eyes narrowing at the prospect of half vampire children.

The scene shifts to you back inside the house, sitting on the dining table with you looking awfully serious at the camera.

“Half vampire children.” You say like you're a host of a true crime show, tone serious. You flip the weighty tome in your hand to face the camera. A medieval painting of a baby with fangs is drawn on the page, adorable but deadly. “Some live happy and long lives but for some they don't even make it through birth. I know very sad but it's worse if they turn out like this—”

Turning the page, a macabre drawing of a baby with a half goat body with bat wings for arms and eyes like a cat jumps at the camera. “Sorry, not exactly PG-13.” you say in your normal cadence.

Closing the large book, you decide to spare them the next gory pages. Going back to your narrator voice, you continue. “They say that when a half vampire is born, god tosses a coin. Whichever—”

“Ain't that from Game of Thrones?” Hobie appears from the doorway, smirk on his lips, eyes glinting with mischief.

“What–? No, Shut up! I'm educating the masses!”

He saunters over to the chair, wine red eyes staring at you softly. He sits on the arm of the chair, which you reluctantly scoot over to give him space.

“Educatin’ huh? Have you told them that one branch of the family where your great aunt canoodled with a vampire?” He glances at the cameras.

You look at him with wide eyes. “I'm sorry w-what?”

It's Hobie's turn to look surprised. “Shit– You didn't know?” His voice wavers, “I shouldn't have said that.”

You stare off at the camera, eyes glossy, mouth slightly parted, looking like you're having a crisis.

“I guess that's why they're disowned–”

You suddenly grip his collar, pulling down towards you. “Did you fuck my great aunt, Hobie?!”

“Fuckin' hell!” He yelps, hands curling around your wrists. “No! It wasn't me!”

You glare at him. The stare sends shivers down his spine, and in between his legs.

“Did. You. Fuck. My. Great. Aunt?” You say through gritted teeth,

“No.” Hobie says with his chest. “I haven't sired any children, darling. She’s not even my type!” He tries to lean away but your hold is too strong. Worried that he might accidentally break your wrists. He leans closer to you, forehead placed on top of yours, he felt your fists loosen. Just a tiny bit. “I'm not that vampire, yeah?”

Hissing, cheeks burning, and palms sweaty, you push him away. “I think I need to take a look at the family tree.” You practically jump away from your seat, avoiding his eyes and the cameras.

Hobie sighs, sitting down where you sat. The crew is stunned to see him smile like usual, red eyes brighter than before. “She's jealous.” He laughs, sounding more like a giggle.

With a smooth transition, the scene goes back to the previous conversation with the HOA.

“So sorry for the late intrusion.” The woman says without an ounce of genuine apology. Eyeing her friend after asking that loaded question. The rest of her lackeys nod simultaneously, reminding you of a group of bobbleheads, “but do you have a cat?”

“A cat?” Hobie's hand squeezes your side, urging you to make up a lie on the spot.

Your mind goes back to the blob mess of a cat that keeps wandering in and out of the house. You feed him occasionally, and he seems to like you despite his terrifying look with his milky white eyes and fur that is akin to a slime more than fluff. You've accepted anything is possible in this world, hence why you're not completely puzzled by the alien-like being, who seems to like you most. You suppose that you've seen weirder things in this world.

“No.” You blatantly lie. “We would know, trust me. I mean…” Pointing at the cameras, you shrug. “Impossible to hide a whole cat.”

“Oh, alrighty then. There have been complaints about cat droppings in the area.” They don't seem too convinced. Hobie's ready to hypnotize them despite his own promise to not use it unless in an emergency. But if it involves you, and that you might be in danger of getting kicked out by a bunch of old ladies, then he's ready to put them under. “We're also here to ask how many people—” she chuckles, “or pets are living inside so that we can properly bill you the homeowner fee.”

Hobie makes a face. “The what?”

“It's just that— oh I hate to be the bearer of bad news but, you're late with your dues.” She eyes you up and down as if you're the bad influence.

“Um,” you feel like you're being scolded by the elders in your family again. The camera moves to zoom in on your clenched fists, shaking as you grip onto the cardigan. “H–How,” you clear your throat but the lump still stays. “I—”

“We’ve never been late in payin’” Hobie answers for you, hand sliding up to your shoulder to massage the tensed muscles. He lies through his fangs just to get them away from you. In truth, he has never paid for anything except for the occasional electricity, water, and internet fee. Other than that, the house is his, and he has never heard of the so called HOA fee until now.

“The city hall has informed us—”

Hobie steps forward, hand still upon your shoulder protectively. “Then we'll go there and see it for ourselves. Have a pleasant night.” He says the last sentence through gritted teeth as he shuts the gates close, then leads you back into the house without another word. The group could only stare at the closed doors as they're left behind outside in the cold.

With the doors locking on its own, no doubt from Hobie's telekinesis, he cups your cheeks, feeling the warmth of your skin against the cold of his undead flesh.

“You alright?” He asks in a soft tone, thumb brushing along your jaw while the crew films the whole interaction with bated breath. “They're not here, Y/N. You're with me, and you're home.”

“Married?” He cracks a smile at the word. You take his wrists, trying to level your breathing. “Are you hypnotizing me?” You ask in a small voice.

“No, love. I'll never do that to you. If I ever do that one day, feel free to put a stake through my heart, yeah?” His wine red eyes look at you softly, as if it's just you and him in the room. “Can't even do that, remember? The curse and all.”

You chuckle, nodding as you take his hands off of your cheeks. Heart beating quickly, Hobie can hear it clearly in his ears. A song that he has dreams of every night. “Thank you, Hobie.” Glancing at the camera crew hunched together in the corner, you back away from Hobie. “I— I need to go to work. Maybe there's some stupid vampire out there who's begging to be staked.”

“I'll pay for the fee, you don't have to worry ‘bout it.” He calls you back.

“No, I don't even pay rent here so I might as well pay for that.” You exhale shakily, fingers still numb from your anxiety building up and bubbling to the surface just a minute ago. “I don't want to be a freeloader.” Hobie frowns at your words.

“But you do pay the rent?” Hobie scratches the back of his neck, wondering where the monthly checks have been coming from.

“I don't?” You turn away from him and towards your room, signalling the end of the conversation.

—

The whole documentary crew pants as they try to keep up with you lest they get burned by a large lava monster out to get you.

“Shit!” You look over your shoulder, hand still holding onto the broken hose, whilst the groaning blob of molten rock runs after you. “Get away from here!” You yell at the crew, “go! I'll be fine!”

Just as when they were about to leave you behind, a loud crash from behind can be heard. You stop in place, panting as you stare at the burn marks left on the pavement, but no creature.

“What? W–Where?” With another crashing sound, you run towards the source, it leads you towards an alleyway. The camera follows right behind you, ready to run away if need be. Taking a glass of holy water from your utility belt, (the only thing you have right now to fight a fire being) you ready to throw it at the beast.

Feet skidding across the pavement, you make it towards the dark alleyway, finding the walls scorched but still no lava monster in sight. Grabbing your flashlight from your belt, you flick it on, watching as the light illuminates the way.

“Stay close to me.” You tell the crew. As you walk towards the alleyway, a silhouette appears, all balled up in the corner with the burning trash. “Hey, you alive over there?” Moving your light, you see a lone man with his clothes singed and fear locked in his eyes. “Cursed, huh?”

He nods, trembling in place. “D–Did I hurt you?”

You stare at the hem of your coat that's singed, other than that, you're perfectly well. “You made me run a couple of blocks. I'm fine, don't worry.” You place your weapon away, taking off your coat and toss it over to him. The stranger immediately drapes it over himself, lips wobbling from the stress of transforming back. “Do you have someplace to stay? Someone waiting for you?” Your mind flicks back to Hobie waiting at home. You shake your head to get rid of the vision.

“Y–Yeah, my wife. I–I think she's waiting for me.”

You stand up, giving him a helping hand. “I'll take you home.”

“You're not gonna kill me and take my heart like the others wanted?” He reaches for you, but retracts his hand back from how cold your palm was.

“No, you were dealt with an awful fate. I'm not gonna take your heart because of it. I just never thought there'd be a human under all the lava.” Hands wringing together, you try to warm yourself up so he could hold onto you for support. “Just a bit of advice from a supernatural expert. Keep your head cool next time. Or at least bring a pack of ice with you and put it on your chest whenever you feel like you're about to turn.”

“Will that work?”

“It's good prevention. At least you won't burn down a whole parking lot next time.” You hold out your hand again, this time he takes it. “Do you know any breathing exercises?”

As you lift him up, you help him waddle back towards your car. “No, do you?”

“God, no.” You chuckle, heaving his heavy form up. “I was hoping you did, I hate for my new car to burst into flames.”

The man smiles, laughing along with you as you help him into your kia. The documentary crew stays back to get into their own car, but Jared the cameraman sees something glinting above a building. He aims his camera at the silhouette, within a second the familiar figure is gone in a snap.

—

Your neck and ankles ache from the hunt, entering Hobie's house empty handed. It was a bust obviously. All you got from it were a bunch of thank yous and a bushel of celeries that the guy's wife gave you straight from her garden. To your surprise, even with the sun peeking from the horizon, you see Hobie in the living room, nursing a burn while he tries and fails to wrap it in gauze.

“Rough night?” You ask from the doorway, shrugging off your coat and leaving it on the coat hanger.

Hobie's eyes flicks down at the celeries in your hand. “For me, wifey? You shouldn't have.”

You scoff with a smile, heading towards him on the couch. The documentary crew is forgotten in the hallway the second you see him bleeding. “You know what they say, happy husband, happy life.” Sitting next to him, you snatch the gauze away from him, helping wrap it around his sizzling arm. It'll heal quickly, but the pain is still there. You want to help in alleviating it, even for a moment.

“It's not just for a moment, y’know.” He whispers to you, but the boom mic still picks it up. You glare tiredly at him. “Sorry, you were thinkin’ too loud.”

You sigh, “it's fine, I was thinking too loud.” wrapping the gauze tightly, you finish him up with an affectionate pat to the back of his hand. “You're done.”

Before you could stand up, he grabs onto your wrist, sliding his hand downwards to grasp at your hand instead. You look down at your interlocked hands, eyes shining in the warm light of his home. You guess it's your home now too.

“Ask.” He softly says.

You chuckle softly, knowing what he meant. Squeezing his hand, you look down at him through fond eyes. “Can I stay in your coffin tonight?”

His crimson eyes sparkle with mischief. “Like yesterday? And the day before that, and the day—”

“Alright, if you're gonna be smug about it—!” He's suddenly carrying you in his lean arms. “Hobie!” You smack his chest weakly. “Don't drop me.”

He leans closer, if his heart still beats, it would beat like a drum right now. “Never, love.”

The lens zeroes in on Hobie's soft gaze on you and at how you're gripping onto him like a lover would. With a puff of dust from the carpet, you and Hobie have run off towards his room. The audio guy hears the sound of shuffling and giggling before the mics get tossed right outside the window with a piercing thump that has the poor guy clutching at his ears.

—

You sit on your desk, fingers kneading at your temples as you glare at your opened laptop that has an absurd interview question. Eyes flicking at the crossbow hanging above the desk, you thump your head against the keyboard, leaving a bunch of Hs in its wake while the camera watches you collapse further into your desk.

The scene shifts back to you, now on the same ancient couch where Hobie once helped you on. There's a steaming cup of tea left untouched on the table with a note in Hobie's scribbled handwriting together with a doodle of you smiling while driving a stake through his heart. That seemed to cheer you up as you smiled slowly, and taking the cup from the coffee table.

“He went out to hunt.” You blow at the warm drink, addressing the camera. Sighing, you already know what Jared the cameran is about to ask you before he could open his mouth. “It's hard to find a decent job when everything in your resume says you kill and hunt the supernatural for a living. A degree in chemistry doesn't help much these days. It doesn't even pay that well— hunting the supernatural, I mean. I think, wait, how did my family get rich from this gig?” Your frown gets deeper, eyes glimmering as you leave the barely touched drink on the table to walk towards your room alone.

You're left to ponder amongst yourself, meanwhile on the second team of the filming crew, they're chasing Hobie while he's on his nightly hunts. He's in a dark alleyway, if it weren't for the camera's night vision, the crew wouldn't be able to see Hobie feasting on a suit clad man with shiny leather shoes.

He lifts up his head from the neck of his latest meal, chin dripping in blood, fangs fully out and eyes bloodshot whilst staring directly at the camera. His eyes glow in the night vision, a proper sight for the start of a horror movie.

“What?” His voice is akin to a growl. He slowly tilts his head towards the camera, claws gripping onto the limp man.

The crew doesn't back away anymore, they're used to Hobie's post feeding haze. But the fear is still there, Hobie can hear their heartbeats thudding against their chests. Just begging to be ripped out. The producer utters your name softly, barely heard by the boom mic.

“Is she still sad?” His fangs retract back slowly, sound squelching as he tosses the body on his shoulder. The camera nods, and Hobie lets out a face. “Nod normally, Jared.” With a whoosh, he's gone, presumably back home. Back to comfort you.

—

You open the front door and are immediately startled by the bright flashing light of the camera. Besides the shock, it’s a beautiful night out, with the stars twinkling in the early hours of night, and the full moon showing itself to you. Giving Jared the cameraman a nasty glare, you button on your coat properly, fixing your hair to hide the warmth on your cheek.

“You guys are late today.” You clear your throat.

Hobie appears from behind the door, yawning and still in his pajamas. He’s wearing your old college sweatshirt, pajama pants hanging low on his hips, and with very fluffy slippers on his feet. He opens the door wider for the crew, keys in hand with a bat keychain hanging alongside it. “Don't forget your keys, love.” The camera pans over to you then back to Hobie. He shrugs, lips shining in the same shade of your lip balm.

The keys jingle as you take them from Hobie, glaring at the camera. “Don't follow me to work.” You point at the lens, making sure to smudge it with your fingerprints, taunting them.

Whilst the crew cleans the glass, moonlight filters inside the house; bathing the now brightly lit home in silver light, blending in well with the warm yellow tone of the light bulbs. Sighing, you glance at Hobie before waving goodbye. He opens his mouth to say something but with the camera following his every move, he shuts his mouth.

“Come home safe, yeah?”

You walk backwards to face him but still heading towards your kia. “It's a grocery store, Hobie. The only danger I'm in is getting stuck in the freezer.” You pause mid-step. “Actually— that's really scary.”

“Well, jus’ don't get inside the freezers then.” He waves back, stepping forward, as if he wants to join you.

You shrug with a smile. “Okay, dad—!”

As the words leave your lips, something or someone flies overhead at unimaginable speed. The air around you almost blows you away, the breeze whistling out a high pitched tone. You shield your head with your arms while the crew braces themselves. Hobie rushes over to you, holding onto you the second he spots a pink blur in the sky.

“Is that a bloody witch?!”

You peak over his bicep while he holds onto you. “I think that's my godmother!” A sultry laugh echoes in the night, and Hobie grimaces at the hazy memory of that sound. He can't quite pinpoint who laughs exactly like that though.

With a whizz of yellow and orange, a crashing sound can be heard inside the house. Glass smashes inside, wood creaking and falling based on the chaos heard. The rushing wind subsides, and you're left with your godmother's words of wisdom in the night.

“Take care of him for me!” Her cackling makes you groan in Hobie's arms.

“Damn it! Not again!” You march inside the house, leaving Hobie's side and pushing away the confused film crew. Kicking the front door open, you enter the house, already noticing the cold air getting inside.

Hobie follows right behind you, your shriek coming from the inside has him immediately appearing right next to you.

“That's my fucking room!” You hold your head in your hands with a frantic look on your face. The camera and Hobie follow your gaze, finding the ceiling now has a person-shaped hole on it.

Hobie had to tamp down a guffaw at how perfectly shaped it is. The hole goes through from the roof to your room then down to the living room ceiling.

“Found the source of the draft you were complainin’ ‘bout last night.” He pokes your side to lighten the mood. “Now you really have an excuse to stay in mine.”

You stomp your foot down, annoyed by it all. “I swear Felicia does this everytime I get my shit together!”

Hobie blinks, then his expression morphs into shock. “That Felicia's your godmother?! The same witch that cursed your whole family?!”

Your eyes widen briefly, head slowly turning towards Hobie. “...no, what I meant was—” The pile of wood and cotton candy insulation moves and groans, the perfect distraction for you. “Oh shit! Someone's under there!” You fail to act worried as you help the person underneath all the rubble.

With a helping hand, a teenager emerges from the splinters. He still holds onto his broom, cloak covered in dust and pink fluffy insulation, yet his hair is still perfect in every way. You're quite jealous.

“You okay?” You flick your eyes towards Hobie who seems concerned about the poor kid who plummeted down through his house.

“Sorry about the damage, lady.”

His deep brown eyes stare into your soul. Maybe he can, your godmother's apprentice always has some gift, that's why she trains them and once they've unlocked their potential, she dumps them on either you or your family members. You still have no idea why she does it though.

The said apprentice notices the cameras following you, and his frown turns into a bright smile. You swear you'll need sunglasses around this kid.

“Oh, cameras! Hello!” He waves back at them all friendly like.

“Did you hit your head that hard?” Hobie gently tilts the kid's head to the side to check for an injury, finding none. He locks eyes with you, answering your question wordlessly, and you sigh in relief.

“Uh, don't think so.” The apprentice knocks on his head and you immediately take his hand to avoid further damage.

“Okay, we're gonna sit down now.” You carefully lead him towards the couch, stepping over debris and a shattered guitar that Hobie doesn't seem to mind being broken.

“A shitty rocker gave that to me, don't worry about it.” He tells the camera and you.

The plush seat helps the kid relax. You take a pen light from your coat, checking signs of a concussion. Thankfully you find none. “You seem good. Can you tell me your name?”

“Pavitr Prabhakar. But you can call me Pav if you like.” He smiles at you, giving you his hand to shake.

“Y/N, and this vampire here is Hobie.” You shake his hand briefly before letting him go and glancing at Hobie, having a wordless conversation.

“Nice to meet you. Sorry about the roof.” He frowns, concerned about the giant hole that is now in the living room.

“Don’t worry, I'll send your mentor the bill.” You stand up, pocketing the pen light. “Felicia does this every time she's bored of her apprentice.” Hobie raises a brow at you, jaw tightening at the name uttered. You ignore it for now. “You seem fine. So come on, where do you live, kid? I'll drive you.” You gently tap him, jiggling your carabiner of keys.

“Mumbai.”

“Damn it.” You hiss.

Hobie finally lets out a loud guffaw that rattles the house, making a plank of wood fall from the ruined ceiling.

“We'll figure this out later.” Checking your watch, you head out. “I'm so late.”

Hobie protests immediately, fluffy slippers squeaking on the floor as he follows you outside. “What about the kid?”

“Just keep him entertained or give him some juice!” You open your car with a beep, entering the driver's seat. “Open tiktok or something!”

“A what?!”

You poke your head out of the rolled down window. “Just don't eat the kid, dude.”

“Dude?!” He animatedly gestures around him like you've scorned him. “That’s not what you called me last night, darling!”

You beam at him playfully. “Dude! There's a kid inside! Don't start!” You're already backing away from the driveway.

He huffs on the porch, hand placed on his hips. “Jus’ don't forget about tonight!”

“Yeah, yeah! Bye!” The car screeches as you drive away wildly as if you're in Tokyo drift.

Hobie exhales deeply, turning around to meet with Pavitr’s polite smile. “D’you like ice cream?” He nods happily. “C’mon, let's get you a bowl. And make sure you grab the one with her name on it, yeah?”

—

The mundane grocery store has you breaking down your defenses that are always on high alert because of your upbringing. So when the camera crew appears right behind you, followed by a familiar black smoke forming into a silhouette, you almost jump in place.

“Nice melons.” Hobie’s face materializes next to you, he glances at the two melons you have in each of your hands with a raised mischievous brow. You roll your eyes, gently placing the fruit back down on the crate.

He leans on the apples right next to you while you were stacking the melons properly after someone took one from the bottom. His brow is raised, eyes flicking towards Jared the cameraman for approval. The said man seems to bite his lip to prevent a laugh from escaping, especially after seeing your deadly glare.

You yank the fruit from under Hobie's arm, making him stumble a bit. “Don't lay on the apples, Hobie.” Your tired voice echoes around the near empty grocery store. This is why you took the night shift, it's more quiet. That and the night deferential salary. “What are you even doing here? Please don't tell me you couldn't keep the kid alive for more than six hours.

His face flickers into concern briefly before smiling softly at you. “Our son misses you.” Gesturing behind him, you peek behind him to see Pavitr browsing the shampoo aisle. “‘Sides, we're here to pick you up for our appointment.” He suddenly groans and rolls his eyes. “I hate that fuckin' word, ‘appointment.’” He shivers in place.

“Pick me up? I'm the one with the car, Hobie.” His grin widens. “No, you're not literally picking me up and flying us towards the city hall.” He pouts, fangs peeking from his lips. “No, remember what happened last time I let you?”

“C’mon, love, it'll be a bloody crackin’ entrance. Strike fear into the hearts of government employees.”

“No, could you guys wait twenty minutes until I finish up my shift?” A thud rings out around the quiet store, you and Hobie look at the source only to find Pav trying to pick up a fallen bottle of shampoo with its strawberry scented contents now oozing on the floor. “You okay?”

“I'm sorry.” Pav's shoulders are slumped, face contorted into fear.

You sigh, heading towards him to help clean it up. “It's alright, don't step into it, you might slip.”

Pavitr looks at you apologetically, “I can pay for it—”

“No need, bruv.” With a wave of Hobie's hand, the oozing shampoo returns back into its bottle on its own. As if being replayed backwards on tape until it flips back on the shelf. Pav stares at him with wide shining eyes. Hobie shrugs at him, patting the top of Pav's head. “See, ‘s fine now.”

“Woah you're really powerful.” Pavitr says with wondernment. “Now I know why my mentor left me with you guys!”

Hobie glances at you only to be met with an empty space. “Oi!” His long legs immediately catch up to you towards the meat aisle. Pavitr follows right behind Hobie, trying not to get distracted by the scented candle aisle they passed through. “Darling, we gotta talk.”

“Uh oh!” You sarcastically say, trying to act busy while you stack up packaged chicken nuggets in the freezer. “We don't, Hobie.”

“What's up with you and Felicia, hm?”

“What's up with you and Felicia?” You throw his words back.

“That was bloody centuries ago, love.” You click your tongue, annoyed at him. Hobie pinches his brows together, instructing Pav to busy himself somewhere while mom and dad talk.

The younger witch makes a face before leaving towards the candle aisle. He was hoping that the crew would do the same but all they did was hide behind a cookie standee to film the interaction subtly. If subtle was an elephant stomping through the aisles.

“Are you fuckin' jealous?” The corner of his lips tick upwards into a smirk. “Thought you didn't fancy me very much, huh?”

You pause, elbow deep in the freezer. “I still don't fancy you.” Emphasizing the word, his smirk turns into a hurt expression. “Don't forget that I tried to kill you, Hobie.”

But he recovers quickly. “That's not what you say every night in my coffin—”

“Felicia is my godmother, there, happy?” You huff, shutting the freezer door loudly. Inhaling, you think of a lie.

You can't exactly please everyone in this situation. If you tell Hobie the truth that your family has broken the curse and is now able to kill him? That could enrage him so much that he could kill you and your entire family in one fell swoop. Sometimes the soft embraces and gentle words make you forget that he was once worshiped as a god. You really don't believe he'll do that but your years of studies hinders you to think otherwise. Or you lie, you keep your family happy and safe, and Hobie stays in the dark. Win/win. If only it were that easy when he's staring at you like that. As if you were the exact person he fell for centuries ago. As if he loved you for who you are and not your ancestor’s face you wear. It's not your fault that you look like her. And yet, it's entirely your fault for falling for him. The one you were supposed to kill three years ago.

“How did that happen?” His voice wakes you up from your internal turmoil.

“They…” you stare deeply into his wine red eyes. Hoping that something will make you fall out of love. But you find none, you find yourself drowning in those crimson pools. Your godmother was right, you're bad with choosing partners. “...They made a deal before I was born. Way before I was born.”

Hobie waits for more but you stay silent, your nails digging into your palms while you lie. “And? What was the deal?”

“I don't know, Hobie. No one told me, it's a family secret— a house secret. The elders only know about it.” You feel awful, like you're spitting venom right at his face.

For a second, you thought that he's able to see through your well concealed lie. But with his nod, he trusts your words wholeheartedly. He trusts you. Maybe he shouldn't.

“Right.” He glances at the cameras still rolling before reaching for your hand atop the freezer to unfurl your fists gently. “We'll wait for you outside—”

The sound of glass shattering smashes the tense atmosphere, followed by Pavitr's muffled apologies. “Gotta help our kid before he breaks anythin' else.”

“Please, before I get fired.” You urge him to go, but his touch lingers on you. Before he could leave, he brings your hands towards his cold lips, pressing softly along the knuckles while he keeps his eyes on you and you only. “Hobie…” Your guilt eats at you.

Watching his back retreat from you has your heart clenching at the sight. You're used to lying, lying to your family about a monster kill when in truth you let them go out of pity. Lying to lovers about your profession; lying comes natural to you. But with Hobie, it's like swallowing a flaming bullet.

“Men, right?” The sudden voice startles you, staring at the source, you find the grocery store owner behind the butcher's counter, with a large knife in her hand.

“It's not nice to eavesdrop, Janet.”

“So is slacking. Get back to work.” With a roll of your eyes and a smile, you head back towards the front of the store.

You stare directly at the camera, “cut this part out.”

—

“Stop touching shit, Hobie.” You drive recklessly in your kia with Hobie in the passenger's seat, Pavitr in the backseat, and Jared the cameraman holding onto dear life right next to him.

“Can't help it, it's my first time in your car.” He smiles as he checks himself out in the rearview mirror. Smiling, he leans on the center console, teasing you with a simple look. “Your air freshener smells oddly like fresh linen and sandalwood, love. I wonder why.” His grin gets bigger with every word. You've been got.

“I like it!” Pav unintentionally saves you the embarrassment. “Reminds me of an ikea.”

You snort, dodging a car on the road like you're Vin Diesel in fast and furious. “It does smell like it, right?” Glancing beside you, you see Hobie frown and sit up right on his seat with a slight huff.

Hobie side eyes you, eyes glinting with playfulness. “Oi, Pav, fancy a snack?”

“No, thank you—”

“Right! The kid's hungry, love. ‘m sure you've got your stash in ‘ere.” Before you could stop him, he reached towards the glove box, opening it swiftly and releasing a stuffed worn out rabbit to tumble out of it.

“Shit,” you curse under your breath. “Don't, Hobie.”

He picks it up by its patchwork ears. “What's this then?”

“Uh, a rabbit. Is this a test?” Pavitr peeks from behind you to stare intently at the plushie. “Yep, a stuffed rabbit.” He confirms.

Your annoyance grows. “Just let it go.” Trying to snatch it, Hobie holds it further away from you. “It's just a toy!” You almost swivel on the road, but you manage to drive straight, eyes keeping up front.

Jared feels like he's about to piss himself.

“I know what it is, the question is, why hide it from me?” He mocks a pensive look, oddly sniffing at the toy. “Pav, mate, any chance that you're a medium?”

“Dude.” You warn. “I swear I will hit the breaks so fast you'll go through the windshield.” Jared hopes you don't.

Pavitr smiles widely, but Hobie stops him. “And don't say that you're a small, bruv. I invented that joke.”

Pav pouts lightly, “...no.”

He shrugs, “damn, the secrets this thing could tell me.”

“I use it as pixie bait, Hobie!” You finally make it to the city hall, thankfully finding it still open even though it's close to two am. You guess that it's a new policy to remain open 24/7? You have no idea, the whole city is weird enough to have goblins and vampires roaming around with no one the wiser.

“Sure…” He flips the bunny upside down, releasing a quiet squeak when he does. Grinning from ear to ear, you already know what he saw whilst you were too busy parking the car. “Then why does it have your name scribbled on it, hm?” To add salt to your wound, he shows the camera your child-like handwriting on the bottom of its fluffy foot. The lens zooms in, making sure that it gets all the details. “Why do you still need a stuffed toy when you have me, love—?” You're already outside, door closed as you leave them behind in the car. Hobie's muffled guffaw can be heard from where you are.

“I think it's cute that she kept a childhood keepsake.” Pav chimes in, opening his door to exit. He leaves Hobie to think about it further.

As you walk towards the entrance, you feel a rush of wind behind you, then a not so subtle arm snaking over your shoulders. Sighing, you stare at Hobie, finding that he has pocketed your bunny inside his coat pocket.

“What? Just keepin’ him safe, don't worry.”

“You better not lose Mr. Prince.” Shoving him off, you leave them behind as you head inside the building.

Hobie looks over at the camera, smirking while patting the rabbit's head.

—

As you enter the glass double doors to collections, you have a group of mismatched people following right behind you, making you seem like you're someone incredibly important. Good thing there's only a handful of people waiting inside. Or else you'd be embarrassed about appearing with a dozen people right next to you. Add the cameras, lights and boom mics, people might ask for Hobie's autograph seeing that he looks like a punk star in his usual red velvet and leather getup. He's in his usual spiked jacket, complete with the numerous pins and patches that you will never confess to anyone that you helped stitch some of it.

And Hobie will never confess to having your initials embossed on the inside, lest you take a peek inside. Which has happened before, if he wasn't fast enough back then, you would've noticed how it's placed right above his heart. The red velvet pants he has on looks comfortable, you know it is from how you borrowed it before when you thought it was pajama pants. His ringed fingers glint in the light, shining as if it's hypnotizing you. The small scattered group of people seem to think so too when they can't get their eyes off of the certain punk. And yet, his eyes don't wander, they're only looking at you as you take a number and sit patiently under the harsh fluorescent light of the government building. Pavitr takes notice of this, so does the whole camera crew. But they don't say anything, just letting him unabashedly stare at you with fondness in those crimson eyes.

Looking up at the screen that says what number they're serving now, you find that you're only two people away from being called on. So you sit tight, pretending that you don't feel his affectionate eyes on you. You try not to glance at him, lest you lean against him and cuddle on his side. You know it's bound to happen when he looks at you like you're the living embodiment of a blood bag. You're not his blood bag, not yet anyway.

The room feels stiff with its drab grey walls, boring PSA posters, and even more boring royalty free music playing softly in the speakers. You feel sorry for the employees right now for hearing that kind of music on loop for eight hours. The air around the place is just incredibly mind bogglingly boring. The room doesn't even smell anything, as if the room itself sucked all the good things and farted it out in the parking lot.

You can hear the whirring of the camera lens while they take establishing shots of the entire place. You're used to the sound nowadays, what you're still not used to is the questioning stares from people around you. Sighing, you feel Hobie's arm snake around your shoulder subtly. While Pav sits on your left, and trying to ignore the blatant PDA, Hobie lounges on the cold metal bench as if he owns the place. You can hear him scoffing and murmuring a “bureaucrat” under his breath after waiting for exactly six minutes.

“Be patient, Hobie, we just got here.” You pat his hand laying on your clavicle, index playing with the frayed edges of your shirt.

The camera hones in on the close proximity, and Pav stares at the camera with a blank stare. One day in and he's already tired of it.

“‘m gettin' hungry, darling.” Hobie replies with a playful lilt.

“You fed after you woke up.” You unconsciously touch the side of your neck where the two pinpricks of scars lay. The lenses whirr again, and you don't have to wonder what they're currently shooting at. Leaning closer to him, a smirk immediately appears on his lips when he gets a whiff of your familiar perfume. “Don't be greedy.” Your whispered words are no use when the mics pick it up clearly.

“Still, ‘m hungry now.” His honeyed wine eyes glance at the bathroom in the far corner of the room. You take notice.

“No.” You enunciate for clarity. He pouts, feigning disappointment. “Keep those fangs in, Hobie.”

“Until we get home?” He whispers against the shell of your ear as you see your number glaring on the screen.

“In your dreams.” You say, standing up to go to the nearest available counter. Hobie's quiet footfalls follow you immediately together with Pavitr's louder footsteps. The camera crew stay a few ways away from you, save for Jared the cameraman who sidles up with you on the counter.

“I love seein’ you in my dreams, lovie.” He calls after you. And you ignore him with a roll of your eyes.

“What are we doing here again?” Pav scratches the back of his head, talking in between yawns. “Are we getting your marriage certificate?”

“What?” You almost yell in shock. “No, we're here to pay our dues.”

Hobie chuckles, “Where'd you get that idea, bruv?”

“Marrying your familiar isn't unheard of—”

“She's not my bloody familiar.” Hobie says, a bit offended.

Pavitr gives an apologetic look, hands raised in surrender.

“I'm not his fucking familiar.” You simultaneously say with Hobie, but the second you let out the sentence, the person behind the counter appears. “Shit– sorry, hi. We're here to check our balance?”

“Uh,” the brown eyed boy wearing an oversized hoodie glances at the camera next to you, then his eyes widens at the sight of you and Hobie. Recognition flits across his face for a second before clearing his throat. “HOA fees right?” he's already typing, weirdly enough, he doesn't ask for your name or Hobie's, he didn't even ask what the camera crew is about. Hell, he didn't even ask what's up with the bunny inside Hobie's pocket.

You flick your eyes towards his nametag, reading his name and position internally. ‘Miles Morales, intern.’

“Thanks, mate.” Hobie rests his chin atop your shoulder, while Pav tries to take a peek at what the guy behind the counter is typing. You resist the urge to cup the back of Hobie's neck.

“Hey, aren't you my age?” Pavitr suddenly asks, face pressed against the glass.

“Uh, don't do that. The glass is nasty.” Miles answers while still typing. Pavitr immediately moves away from the glass pane. “Yeah, I guess.” He taps his badge, “got the short end of the stick.” Pav nods, now leaning on the glass all nonchalant, copying Hobie.

“Let me guess,” Hobie chimes in, hand slyly pressed on the small of your back, giving you enough space to move away. But you remain still, even leaning against him. The producer and Jared the camera man take note of this. “Your old man gave you community service for spray paintin’ hm?”

Miles pauses from typing, eyebrows pinched together in confusion. “I didn't give you permission to read my mind.”

Now it's your turn to be confused. “You know that he's a vampire?” Pointing at Hobie's chin, you can feel him smile on your shoulder.

“Bro has red eyes, and has been glancing at your neck.” he shrugs, “What else could he be?”

You and Hobie chuckle nervously, getting called out is embarrassing enough, but getting called out by a teenager is much more mortifying.

Hobie looks impressed. “I didn't read your mind, mate. I saw your phone wallpaper and it has your old man wearing a copper’s uniform. Then I saw the paint on your hands, I put two and two together. I don't do that invasive shit, come of it.”

You crane your neck to see him looking back at you smugly, proud of his own perceptiveness.

Miles smacks his lips together, continuing to type, keyboard clicking loudly around the room. For a half second, Miles' eyes turn white, as fast as it came, it's gone. If you blinked right there and then, you would've missed it. Pavitr seems to notice too, he moves next to your side, hand cupping your elbow. He's probably freaked out about it but didn't want to say anything. Hobie noticed it, based on how he squeezes your hip lightly. Jared looks like he saw a ghost, his hands trembling as he holds the camera.

“Right, Brown residence on—? Watch out for the mail cart!” Just as he says it, the sound of rolling wheels and metallic clanging can be heard right behind you. The presumably mail guy runs after it frantically, trying to catch up.

Grabbing Pav out of the way, Hobie in turn moves the two of you away from harm as the cart smashes against the counter. Envelopes and packages fly off, the sound of metal bending has you gnashing your teeth together. If not for Hobie, you would've been pancaked by the cart. Good thing Jared the camera man had enough time to jump back. You can't exactly pay for the damages if he got run over by the homicidal mail cart.

“Shit, sorry about that!” The man running after it quickly picks up the packages with yours and Pav's help. In a minute or so, he's already wheeling the damaged cart away.

“Knobhead should've been more careful.” He pats the space between your shoulder blades, wordlessly asking if you're alright. With a nod, he returns his attention towards the mysterious Miles.

“You okay, Pav?” You nudge him, smiling kindly at him.

“Yeah,” he pats himself all over, checking for injuries. “You saved my life.” He gasps at you, eyes shining.

You chuckle, “don't worry about it.” Turning towards Miles, you tilt your head curiously at him as he presses gently at his temple. “Headache bothering you?” Hobie glances at you with a soft smile, while the other two stare at you with wide eyes. “One of my cousins was clairvoyant, I know about the skull splitting headaches after a vision.” Grabbing a piece of paper from Miles’ table, you take your pen light, scribbling down a recipe. “She brews these everyday. Helps with her migraines.” You give it to Miles without another word.

He takes it gingerly, skimming through it. “Thanks. It's getting worse these days.” Clearing his throat, he shows you his computer screen. “Turns out you're fully paid for everything. I guess the system got it wrong the first time. It happens a lot.”

Hobie grins at him. “Thanks, bruv.”

“Did you think I rigged the system?” Miles glances at the three of you. “It wasn't me, even if I could do that. You're actually just fully paid. It was probably an error.” He shrugs, “we're good here.”

“Wait, are you sure?” You try to confirm. Flicking your eyes towards the vampire, he just shrugs, more than ready to go home as he tugs you away.

“We need to go before I start eating everyone in ‘ere.” Hobie whispers, pulling you and Pav away from the counter.

“It was nice meeting you, Miles!” Pav waves a goodbye, now getting hauled away by Hobie. The entire crew exits with the three of you, finding the whole encounter boring except for the fact that they just filmed an actual clairvoyant in action.

“You too, Pavitr.” He tiredly answers back.

“He knows my name?” Pav wonders as Hobie opens the double doors with his mind. With a gust of black smoke, he teleports the three of you outside, leaving the crew in the dust.

—

“That was anticlimactic.” You say as you unlock your car, which Hobie quickly sits on the passenger seat before Pav could call shotgun. “Did you know about that?” You ask, leaning against the doorway, head peeking in.

Hobie buckles himself, still holding Mr. Prince hostage. “You better get inside or the rabbit gets it.”

“I'm with Hobie on this one, Y/N, I'm really tired.” Pav yawns, head leaning against Jared's shoulder, all weary.

You sigh, “fine, we still need to get you settled in one of the rooms.”

“Don't worry,” he fights a yawn while you start the engine and put on your seatbelt. “It's only temporary until Felicia takes me back home.” His eyes close gently, lashes fluttering as he relaxes in his seat.

You feel sorry for him, knowing that your godmother dumped him over to you after unlocking his powers. Now he's all by himself after being practically raised by her. Hobie seems to think of the same thing, red eyes turning into a softer hue as he looks at Pav in the rearview mirror. Turning towards you, he knows what you're thinking.

“The blue room. I'll clear it for him.” Without thinking, you reach over the center console to kiss his cheek. His eyes close briefly, breath staggered in his throat.

“Thank you.” Leaning away, you pat his cheek Without looking at the direction of the camera. Good thing that Pavitr's already asleep. “I'll help clean it up.” Hobie seems to be stuck in the moment, leaning against your palm, eyes cast on you.

A loud metal thud ruins the saccharine moment. Screaming in shock, you see Miles huffing in front of the car, fists knocking on the hood. Pavitr snorts in his sleep, none the wiser at what transpired.

“What the hell, man! I just bought this!”

Hobie's eyes glare dangerously at Miles for ruining the moment and for punching the hood of your kia.

“I—I need help!” He heaves, panting like he ran after you three. “It's my friend! She's in trouble!”

Hobie's demeanour changes. You're already unlocking the door for Miles. “Get in!”

—

“There!” Miles points at the city's cemetery.

Fog rolls in, blanketing the grassy knoll and grey gravestones. Curved trees loom overhead, moonlight beaming down, painting the leaves in its silver light. You slow down the car into a stop, eyes trying to decipher what's hiding in the mist. Before you could stop Miles, he's already running further into the cemetery.

“Fuck! Don't run off!” You yell after him, releasing your seatbelt as you quickly grab a dagger under your seat. Opening the door, Hobie grabs your wrist, clawed hand wrapping gently around you. “What? I gotta help the kid!”

His red pupils shake, lips pursed into concern. For a moment you thought that he'd protest, or even teleport you back home. “I'll come with.” Instead, he releases you, exiting the car in a blur of smoke as you stare at the trail he leaves behind.

You turn towards the backseat, finding Pavitr still sleeping off the day's fatigue. Then you glance at the camera and the van parked right behind your kia. The filming crew could be in terrible danger if they come with you, but with Jared's curt nod, you exhale sharply.

“Stay far from the action and don't do anything reckless. You got that?” You don't wait for his reply as you're already getting out of the car. Speed walking towards the trunk, you open it quickly, yanking the false bottom away to reveal your array of weapons towards the film crew. “Shit, should've asked what we're killing.”

So you chose the quickest thing you have and the most universal thing that could kill an entity, silver tipped arrows and crossbow. Grabbing the quiver, and your utility belt filled with toys for hunting down the supernatural, you head towards the direction Miles went while you frantically equip yourself.

“Hobie!” The cold pinches your cheeks, lashes fluttering in the cold autumn air. Yours and the documentary crew's footsteps crush fallen leaves whilst you dodge gravestones on your way. The fog parts for you, and now you see what you're up against. “Oh good, at least it's not a gang of pixies.”

The ten foot werewolf howls, blond fur matted with dried blood, claws drenched in the same ichor. Your worst fears come to mind, but the second you see Hobie hauling away Miles on his shoulders, you sigh in relief.

The crew listens to you after seeing the behemoth, choosing to get out of your way instead of getting the shot that might win them a golden globe. Instead, they'd rather stay alive in the sidelines even if the footage will be grainy and far away.

Loading the crossbow, you step on the cocking stirrup, anchoring it on the ground as you load the arrow in its crosshairs. Knocking it back with some force, and putting it in place. The sharp string cuts your palm open but you ignore it while your blood drips on the grass below.

“Damn it.”

The camera pans from you over to the werewolf, its teeth are bared, maw opening and closing as it whines, as if it's in pain. Its blue eyes glint in the moonlight as it sniffs the air, head moving until it stops in your direction.

Heart stuck in your throat, you raise the crossbow. The wailing werewolf bounds over to you, paws as big as your head digging into the soil below.

“No, don't shoot!” Miles manages to wiggle out of Hobie's hold, now running towards you, desperately trying to reach you.

“Miles!” With one lightning quick move, Hobie yanks Miles away, and in turn snatching you off your feet, making you miss your shot.

The arrow pierces the tree right next to Jared's head, you swear you can see him collapse on his knees from where you are.

The werewolf slashes at thin air, howling and huffing from the missed mark.

“Why'd you do that?!” You ask Hobie, bracing yourself on a gravestone as you try to keep your dinner down from the sudden jerky movement.

“She's my friend!” Miles answers for Hobie. “Don't kill her please.” He grabs you by the shoulders, and you now notice how he limps. “She's already hurt.”

You glance at Hobie, who nods at you. Looking at Miles’ friend, you find her clawing at her head, still crying out in pain. Tilting your head, you notice that her ears are bleeding, claws digging in her ears. Like she's trying to quiet down the noises. But you're at a cemetery, the quietest place you can be at night.

Miles yells your name, shaking you awake. “Can you help her?!”

“I think I can.” You stand up straight despite your nerves inching its way into your chest. “Go wake up Pav, tell him he needs to do a trapping spell, one that is strong enough for her.”

“W–What?” Miles is panicking, hands shaking and body trembling from fear.

“I know we just met but you trusted us enough for you to ask for help.” You clasp his shoulder. “Please do what I tell you so we can help your friend properly, okay? Nod if you understand.” He nods, still trembling. “Good, wake up Pav, tell him to cast a trapping spell, one that would last for at least ten to fifteen minutes. Before he does that, go to my trunk,” you hand him your keys. “There's a leather pouch in there filled with vials. Take the whole pouch and then my mortar and pestle. As much as possible, avoid her. She won't be able to recognize you in this state. Hobie and I will keep her occupied.”

“Mate, do you understand?” Hobie takes a look at the werewolf then over to Miles. “You can do it, weave through the trees, avoid her eyes, easy, thread the bloody needle.”

“O–Okay.” He takes a deep breath. And you encourage him with a smile. “Her name's Gwen, please don't hurt her.” With those words, he enters the thicket, running even with his sprained ankle.

Gwen doesn't seem to notice him just yet, she's still wincing and groaning on the ground. Paws still clutching at her bleeding ears.

“What do you think, lovie? Should we call your uncle the Jersey devil?” Hobie sidles up to you, nudging you with his shoulder.

You chuckle despite the dire situation, hands feeling for the things in your utility belt, making mental notes of what you currently have. “Don't call him that just because he has a birthmark in the shape of Jersey.”

“I think he's the only family member you have that I like.” He says while slipping off his leather jacket and draping it over a tombstone.

“I'll tell him that.” Dropping the crossbow, you opt for a more defensive strategy. Hobie walks in front of you, subconsciously protecting you. With trepidation in your veins, you hold him back with your hand clasped around his wrist. “Don't die. I'm the only one who's allowed to kill you.”

He looks over his shoulder, smiling softly. “‘m immortal, remember?”

“Immortal, not invincible.” His red eyes soften into a pinkish hue.

“Fuck it.” Hobie grins before cupping your cheeks and leaving a chaste kiss on your lips. Leaving you breathless. It was so fast that you barely felt it. Like a breeze fluttering by, but you savour it nonetheless. He runs his thumb across the scar he left on your neck lovingly. “Twilight fans will cream themselves when they see this fight.”

“You ruined the moment.” You whisper, leaning closer to peck the corner of his lips. In your peripheral, you see Pavitr is now awake, with Miles rummaging through your trunk. But the most concerning thing is Gwen is now noticing the two boys behind her. “Go fulfill some fanfic, vamp.”

He winks all suave, then a puff of smoke envelopes you, hugging your form before a large bat appears through it. Hobat flies towards Gwen with a determined screech.

Hobie distracts Gwen, his bat form circling around her wildly as he dodges her clawed swipes. She continues to yelp and huff at him, blue eyes darkening with annoyance at the shrieking bat that is the size of a grown man. You've seen this bat form of him a few times before, but it always astonishes how flawless he flies overhead. Even though you've seen him drunk in this form before.

Whistling out loudly, you take Gwen's attention briefly before she could side swipe at one of Hobie's wings. His claws dig into her matted fur, tugging and pulling at it like a playground bully.

You step into the fray to help him. You can't help but worry with every second that ticks by. Taking a smoke canister from your utility belt, the can is filled with bright pink smoke, you throw it in the direction of the frantic werewolf, obscuring her vision and staggering her backwards from the hissing sound the cans emanated. You circle around her, throwing more and more of the canister. Her yowling echoes in the cemetery, sending shivers down your spine. The pink smoke is dyeing her blond fur, mixing in with the darker crimson hue.

Miles suddenly calls for you, inadvertently getting Gwen's attention from Hobat. “Ah shit!” Gwen turns towards him, ready to pounce at her friend. “Gwen, it's me—!”

Gwen raises a large clawed paw, and you don't even think before you lunge at Miles to push him away from harm. Your bag clatters in the ground. With a thump and the sound of cloth tearing, you land with Miles on the soft soil, dry grass clinging to the both of you.

“You okay?” You huff, giving him a once over to check for injuries. He nods his head, eyes wide with panic, and staring above you. Looking over your shoulder, you see her going in for the kill. “Hobie.” You whisper into the wind, he hears it, frozen heart clenching at the scene as he tries to get Gwen's attention.

It's futile.

Within a half second, Hobie turns into his regular form above Gwen, fist raised, ready to strike. He meets with your fearful eyes, your own body shielding Miles. Dread fills him as Gwen's knife-like claws get closer and closer to your head— he can't see you die again.

A sudden blast of light blinds him. Instead of landing a hit on Gwen's furry face, he slams unceremoniously on a glass like dome, face smashing against it harshly. He groans, body sliding down the dome slowly. As he hits the ground, he immediately runs towards you at unimaginable speed.

Yelling your name, he finds you sitting on the grass with Miles, still heaving from the close call. “Love!” He makes it to you, hands immediately cradling your face. “Fuck, I thought I lost you.”

Taking his wrists, you close your eyes, leveling your breathing as you inhale his perfume to ground you back to reality. “I'm o–okay.” There's a sudden ache on your leg that you ignore for now. “We need to put her to sleep.”

Miles stares up at Gwen, claws piercing through the spell but still holding her in place. “That won't hurt, right?”

“No, it won't. Just think about it like a sleeping pill.” You try to stand up, but you feel something wet just under you. Placing your hand under your thigh, it's warm and wet. Lifting your palm, you see red. “Oh.”

Hobie smells the familiar scent, alarms ringing in his head just as when you lift your hand up. “No,” he immediately rips a piece of fabric from his shirt to quickly wrap it around your wound. “You'll be okay.” His hands are drenched with your blood, and not in a good way.

Pavitr makes it to your side, hands glowing with the same yellow light from the spell. His eyes widen at your bleeding leg. “Is she gonna be okay?”

Miles' terrified stare has you rethinking your injury. Gwen mumbles incoherently inside the bubble, snout sniffing at your spilled blood. “It was an accident.” He whispers, you don't know if he's saying it to you or to his friend.

“I'll be okay, just a flesh wound.” You tug at Hobie's arm, feeling the tingling sensation from the loss of blood. You have to do it quickly. “Hobie.” Tying the cloth around you tightly, he's too panicked to hear you, blood rushing in his ears, fangs out as he tries to tamp down his hunger. “Hobie.” Cupping his cheek, he finally looks at you. “I'll be okay, we have blood bags at home, and we can stitch this later. For now, someone go get my kit, Pav can't hold her back forever.”

“I can wait—” Pav's glowing hands are starting to shake.

“No, you can't.” You say as you take the leather bag from Miles' trembling fingers. “I can survive this, don't worry.” You can tell that he's feeling guilty. “I won't turn into a werewolf if you're worried about that. I need to get bitten to turn.” Hobie gives you space to work, your leg aches but you carry on.

“I think you dyin’ from blood loss is our main concern, love.” Hobie stares at you fondly while you expertly pick your herbs and flowers into the mixture inside the mortar. Using your teeth to open the vials, pouring just the right amount as if you're not actively bleeding.

“Nobody's dying today, Hobie.” You glance at him, smiling softly before you return to crushing the ingredients together until it turns into a metallic purple shade. “Needs more wolfsbane.” You add a bit more into the concoction, crushing it into the mortar.

“Y/N?” Pav's shaking voice has you pausing in place. “I'm g–getting tired, I'm sorry.” Sweat dribbles off his forehead, straining from the spell.

“Just a few more seconds, Pav, you're doing great.” You have no time to finesse the crushing, so with a few more strikes to the bright purple powder, you immediately take a handful of it. “Help me up.” Hobie quickly grabs hold of you, arms enveloping around you as you anchor yourself against him. “Can you open it a bit?”

“What?” Pavitr swallowed thickly.

“Just enough for the powder to get inside.” You see the apprehension in his eyes. “You can do it.”

He nods slowly, still unsure. His left hand balls into a fist, unclenching it slowly. Lips muttering a spell softly. You watch while a hole emerges from the side, Gwen roars at you, an ear piercing sound that has the birds waking up from their nests.

“It's okay.” You slowly approach the opening, fist unfurling in front of it. Without wasting another second for Pav's sake, you gently blow at the powder, sending it fluttering inside the dome that encapsulates her. The opening closes, keeping the substance inside. “C’mon, go to sleep.” Hobie feels you weaken in his hold, he brings you back down on the grass, letting you lean against his body. “Thanks, guys. You all did well.” Voice wavering, you look up at Hobie as you hear Gwen's soft yawning. “Thank you, Hobie.”

“Oi,” his tone cracks, “don't die on me.”

“Not a chance. I think I inhaled a bit of it.” You chuckle, craning your neck just in time to see Gwen slump on the grass, snoring softly. “She was hearing voices, wasn't she?” Eyes flicking over to Miles, he nods, relief evident in his shoulders.

“Yeah, she— she's a medium.”

You nod, understanding fully. “She has no pack because of her ability.”

“Yeah,” Miles sniffles, and Pav releases the spell, opening the dome fully. Light fades away, replaced by the bitter blue of dawn. “She only has me.”

“A medium werewolf, there's a joke in there somewhere.” Hobie quips, admiring you in the glow of the early morning sky. He has never seen you in this light, and this is the closest he has gotten to sunlight in a thousand years. But warmth? He feels it everytime you walk into the room. Hand reaching for the stuffed bunny, he places it on your arm for comfort. “Let's get you some blood, yeah?”

“Oh how the turn tables.” You chuckle, hugging Mr. Prince as Hobie lifts you up and carries you. “Hold on,” you look at your childhood companion in its button eyes. “I think Gwen needs him more than I do.” You hand it to Miles so that he could place it on the crook of her arm. Gwen immediately feels the fluffiness, curling around the plushie and hugging it in her werewolf form.

The sun peeks from the horizon, now it's your turn to panic. “Do you want to be toasted, Hobie? Because if we stay for a minute longer you'll be a pile of ash. And that doesn't look good on T.V.”

The filming crew walks towards the group now that it has calmed down. They're still shaking from what happened, but they're alright. The sun slowly inches its way over to you and the group, flooding the way behind you in its golden rays.

Hobie's skin is starting to sizzle, and yet he still smiles with endearment at you and the little rag tag group he's lucky enough to run into. You stare longingly at him while the glow of the sunrise bathes his face. You can't help but imagine a life where he could walk in the light again. One day, he'll be able to once he reaches a certain age, but for now, you're well alright with walking the shadows with him.

Hobie’s tempted to kiss you right then and there if not for the threat of him becoming cement. “Take large werewolf and that's so raven ‘ere and meet us back home, Pav.” Your car keys leap off from the ground and into Pavitr's hand. “Don't forget my jacket.” Before the sun fully blankets the cemetery, you and Hobie disappear into a puff of blackened smoke.

Pav sniffs, “But I don't know how to drive.”

—

“Well, I'm alive!” You gesture at yourself on the couch while Hobie lounges right next to you. His arm is perched right on your shoulders, fingers brushing along the pin prick scar on your neck. “It's been a long recovery.” You sigh, “too fucking long.”

“But we made it.” Hobie pats your stomach lovingly. “Two months and we've got her runnin’ circles around us.”

You scrunch your face into a scowl, flinging his hand away from your tummy. “Don't do that, they might think I'm knocked up.” Shrugging, he instead pats your face with his palm covering your entire face. “This isn't any better, Hobie.”

A blond girl with pink highlights walks behind you, leaning against the couch with a smirk. “Congratulations on the little abomination.” She flicks her blue eyes towards the camera, pointing at herself. “Gwen, the werewolf who almost killed her.”

Hobie finally releases your face. Revealing your glare, which he covers up again with his hand. “Right, I guess she lives here now too.”

Gwen rolls her eyes, jumping over the couch to sit next to you and yank off Hobie's hand away from your face. “You guess? You're the one who invited me here, Vampire.” She leans over you, eyeing him up and down. “You of all people should know the value of an invitation.” Sticking her tongue out, she places her head on your shoulder, arms wrapped around your arm.

“Get off my darling, mutt.”

“Nope, bloodsucker.”

You stare at the camera with a flat expression. “Just do the montage for context.”

—

The scene shifts with you while on bed rest, flipping off the camera that the crew has sneakily managed to peek through the crack in the doorway. Gwen, now in her human form, has taken the mantle of taking care of you. Even though you've told her numerous times that it's not her fault and shouldn't feel guilty about it. She always answers with her puppy dog eyes, and you always surrender.

She's covered in bandages herself, still healing from what you've been told— from a werewolf pack that decided to pick on her during the full moon. With some help from your books, you found a way to tamp down the ghosts that haunt her. And in turn, shutting up the lifeless voices she hears. There's nothing you can do about the transformations though.

Gwen pauses from her reading to you, sniffing at the air. “I smell death.” You roll your eyes at the comment.

“Not again, Gwen—”

With smoke slithering inside, Hobie appears in the room, carrying bags filled with take out. Gwen makes a face at Hobie, nose scrunched up. “Oh, just him.”

Hobie smirks at her, but his eyes glare at her before turning soft when he sees that she was reading to you. “I guess you don't want your spring roll then?”

Gwen gasps, offended. “No, I want it!” She pounces over the bed, bodying Hobie. He falls back into the door, shutting it closed, slamming into Jared and making him stumble backwards into the stairs.

The camera falls with him, landing directly next to Pavitr's feet, it catches his shocked expression. His scream almost cracks the lens. He panics around the groaning cameraman, calling for Miles who appears from the doorway, joining Pav’s side.

“Why's Jared on the floor?”

—

The mics pick up the soft hum of the record player, the candle lights gives off a lens flare when the camera moves to fix the angle they're capturing. There you are sitting next to Hobie on the long dining table, laughing with Miles about something, while Pavitr accidentally knocks his glass of orange juice from his bout of laughter.

“It was one time!” Gwen exclaims, giggling along.

“That poor leprechaun, Gwendy.” Hobie shakes his head, acting as if he's disappointed at her. He takes a subtle look at you, smiling with his bloodstained fangs from the goblet of blood that he's having. It makes you laugh harder.

The camera moves downwards, recording what's under the table. Hobie's hand is atop your own, fingers interlocked with yours lovingly.

“I didn't know they don't like lucky charms, okay!”

The house fills with laughter, warmth blanketing around the once cold and barren home.

—

“A bat!” Pavitr shoots a web of light from his hands towards the shrieking fruit bat flying around the ceiling of the living room.

“Don't let it bite me!” Gwen hides under the couch blanket you specifically placed there for movie nights.

“Transform or something, Gwen!” Miles screams when the tiny bat plunges down towards him, chasing him around the living room as Miles knocks down several knick knacks off the shelves. “Catch it!”

“No, fuck off!” Gwen says, still balled under the crocheted blanket.

“Keep it still, Miles!” Pav shoots wildly, almost hitting the camera directly. “Sorry, Jared!”

“It's gonna bite me! Help!” Miles' voice cracks, feet stumbling all over the carpeted floors.

“Y/N! Help!” The trio simultaneously yells for you.

Within a few seconds, you're off the bed and making your way downstairs with your crutch helping you walk.

“What?! Are the goblins back?!” You skid off the floor, side hitting the door frame but otherwise fine. Looking around, you see the mess that was previously the living room. Then you see Hobat flying around in his smaller bat form, playfully teasing them and riling them up by flying close to each of them. ‘Hobie, change back and stop scaring the kids!’ Is what you would've said if not for Hobie's happy screeching. Instead, you join in on the fun. “Pav! Watch out, it's gonna get you!”

Their simultaneous screams have you guffawing in place. Hobie will change back in front of them later for sure, but until then, he's gonna have his fun.

—

The security camera sits stationary in the living room, pointed directly at the rubble filled floor where Pavitr fell in. The footage is grainy and in black and white, but clear enough to see everything that's happening.

“Keep it still, Pav!” Hobie's muffled voice can be heard from upstairs, followed by some rustling.

“I'm trying! Miles, help me!” Pav answers back, tone muffled from the security camera.

“It's slipping!”

With a yelp, Hobie falls into the hole, plunging down on the living room with a harsh thud.

He groans, Gwen rushing towards the crash. When she sees him lying on the rubble, her loud laughter sends the camera's mic into a scratchy audio that would rock your hearing.

—

Miles leans against the kitchen island, head placed on his palm while you and Hobie help each other with the dishes. If someone told you that you have to actually read a proper cookbook, and shop for ingredients that aren't instant ramen or coffee, you would've told them to get back inside their alternate dimension. But here you are, washing the dishes with a thousand year old vampire you were supposed to kill years ago. Together with a teenage werewolf who can see dead people, a former witch apprentice, and a clairvoyant who probably knows when you'll die but remains quiet about it. He's nice like that.

“So still a no on me being your familiar then?” Miles asks again, and you're sure that he's only doing this to annoy Hobie now.

“No!” He says, towel flipped on his shoulder, and hands placed on his hips.

Miles smiles, getting the reaction he wanted. “Okay, dad.” A chorus of laughter floats around Hobie as he looks down at his very dad-like posture.

If you're not honed in on his micro expressions, you'd think he's proper annoyed or embarrassed, but with the slight tick on the corner of his lips, you know that he's amused and endeared by it all.

“Does that make Y/N our mom?” Pavitr chimes from the dining table, helping Gwen wipe down the oak.

You feel their stares right on your back. Turning around, you face a very smiley Hobie, and a trio of teasing grins. “Get back to cleaning or you're all grounded.”

—

“I heard my name!” Pav saunters inside the living room, flour still sticking to his cheek.

“We were telling the crew how bad of a driver you were.” Gwen teases as Pav sits next to Hobie with a pout.

“We made it didn't we? You didn't even wake up from the bumping!” He argues over you and Hobie, Miles hears the whole thing, following right after Pav.

“It was because of Mr. Prince.” Miles says, falling on the couch with a groan. He sits next to Gwen, pointing at the bunny plushie’s head that's peeking from her back pocket. He makes sure that the cameras zoom in on it.

“Shut up, Miles.” Gwen says through gritted teeth, hiding the bunny with her cardigan.

Pav and Miles snickers in their seat, while you and Hobie look at eachother affectionately. The producer behind the camera tries to ask you a question above the arguing from the three.

Hobie chuckles before shaking his head, he tells you his plan in your mind. He sniffs at the air, fingers snapping together. “Oi, what's that burnin’ smell?”

“Wait, the sourdough!” You play along, acting as if the loaf you made with them is burning inside the oven.

“No!” The trio jumps off the couch, scrambling towards the kitchen and leaving you and Hobie once again.

With a grin, Hobie scooches closer to you, arms pushing you closer to him. You've given up on hiding the affection from the cameras, hell they even captured the kiss, no matter how grainy it was, there was obvious lip locking happening in the cemetery.

You lean your head on his shoulder, that's the line you're willing to cross in front of them. Lest they have to change the content rating on the documentary.

“What happened with the HOA?” The producer asks clearly now.

“I honestly forgot about them.” You glance at Hobie, finding that he's already beaming at you. “They never came back to the house. I guess your payments went through this time.”

Hobie furrows his brows, side eyeing you. “I didn't pay for jack shit, lovie.”

You blink, thinking. “I pay for the electricity and the groceries just like we talked about.”

“Yeah, and I pay for the other shit like the internet and the water—” he points at the camera, “which should be free by the way.” Then he returns his attention to you. “I'm not payin’ for some membership so that the old coots would judge our bloody lawn.”

“That's true, they always complain about the lumpy soil and the wildflowers.”

“Where else would I bury the bodies? The thames? It's already nasty enough.”

“Wait,” you place your hand over his mouth, which based on his eyes, he's fond of it. “Who's been paying for our shit?” You two look at eachother with confusion.

—

“Why did I leave my apprentice with my favourite goddaughter?” Felicia is being interviewed right in front of Hobie's house. Platinum hair blowing in the wind, still in her witch attire, and hand holding onto a broom. “He's too happy for me, literally, his mood is changing my aesthetic.” She grabs a handful of her bright pink cloak. “This used to be black.”

Support banner by @/cafekitsune

You glance at the camera with your wide desperate eyes, mouth agape and hand pointing at the situation. “Put. Him. Down!” Yelling, you jump up, trying to grab hold of the stranger's trainers. “You've had enough blood!”

The scene shifts to you looking disheveled, hair messed up with your cheek having an unmistakable claw scratch while you hoarsely talk to the camera crew.

“Motherfucker drunk from an incredibly inebriated CEO of a shady tech company.” You explain bluntly.

The lens zooms out of your exasperated face, camera showing you hugging the large shrieking bat in your arms with your jean jacket wrapped around his flailing form whilst he tries and fails to bite and scratch you. “I tried to warn him that the fucker had every drug and cocktail flowing in his veins. But noooo, no one ever fucking listens to me!” You shake him in your arms, making the annoyed and adrenaline filled bat yell in his high pitched shriek.

Hobie's face escapes his denim prison, long ears fluttering in the breeze and fangs in full display as he tries to take a chunk out of you. You manage to dodge his attacks, face turning as far away as you could.

With a crunch of leaves underfoot, the cameraman backs away when you accidentally shove your face in the lens. Panting, the man behind the camera makes sure to keep his distance away from you and the angry bat as it zeroes in on the bleeding corpse right behind you. The body's foot twitches, and the producer takes that as a sign to anonymously call an ambulance.

“Fuck!” You stomp your foot down, and the thousand year old vampire stops his twisting and turning to look up at you with his big red button eyes. Hobie makes a sound akin to a chirp, fangs sticking out from his lip. “We're going home, Hobie.”

He trills in your arms, fuzzy head nudging your chest. You can feel how incredibly warm he is under the denim jacket, a sure fire way to tell that he is still under the influence of…everything.

“Don't flash those pretty eyes at me, you little shit.” You start to walk towards his street, hugging him tight against your chest like a chihuahua gone wild. He sneers, and you realize that he's taking a peek into your head and he did not like that thought one bit. “Get out of your head!” You squeeze him in your arms.

Smirking, you flash an image into your mind of him wearing a fancy three piece suit with a look of sheer egotistical pleasure while counting wads of dirty money. He shouts gutturally, now regretting the little peep inside your mind. The sound makes a few passers by look at you weirdly. The entire camera crew following you around doesn't help. “It's a toy, mind your fucking business.” You say to one of them, making them walk faster away from you.

Sighing, you finally see the dark gothic house around the corner. Its spires just screams ‘there’s a vampire living here!’ and its stained glass windows, circular topiaries, and wrap around porch says that the person living inside wasn't born in the same century as anyone else living in the same street. You still have no idea how no one has noticed their thousand year old neighbor. You love the place though, it's home and you wouldn't have it any other way. Even though the pipes need to be replaced with ones that don't give you some type of rusted water related disease whenever you take a drink from the faucet.

Your trainers stomp on the porch, juggling in between carrying Hobat and getting your keys from your pockets. He tries to escape your hold, head wiggling out of the denim burrito you wrapped him in. You can feel his toes wiggling on your stomach. “Don't you dare, Hobart.” With a stern tone, he falls limp, chirping, sounding like a whine. “Don't be cute with me,” you struggle to find the right key in your carabiner. “we're almost there.” You say much softer this time when the door unlocks.

The second you open the door, Hobie wiggles out and then flies off into the house. He zigzags, making questionable turns as he flies under the influence with his large wings flapping about and accidentally swatting away hundred year old vases and furniture.

“I'll let him empty his energy before I try to sober him up.” You pinch the bridge of your nose, arms crossed as you watch him fly around with endearment. He looks and sounds adorable just squeaking and flying about.

Closing the door, the crew stands just behind you, capturing the perfect moment when Hobie, again, a thousand year old vampire with abilities beyond human comprehension and years of forgotten knowledge from fallen civilizations inside his mind, flies into the far end of the hall. Crashing into the mauve wallpaper, leaving a Hobat shaped mark of dried blood from his unfortunate victims.

His claws try to keep him on the wall but his bat body has run out of steam. He slides down the wall, claw marks dragging down and scratching the wallpaper.

You briskly walk towards him, concerned, you walk a bit slower to feign nonchalance in front of the camera. Once you make it to him, you bend at the waist to look down at his stretched out form. His wings are unfurled, belly up, and ears perked as he sees you in his vision.

“You done now, Hobie?”

With a puff of black smoke, he returns to his form. His legs are sticking up and folded against the wall, arms stretched out next to him with his lopsided grin thrown at you.

“‘ello, lovie.” He chuckles, or giggles more like, as he makes grabby hands up at you. “What am I doin' on the floor? We havin’ our fun time on the floor now?”

The camera crew looks at each other with furrowed brows and questions swirling in their heads. You spare them a look of embarrassment that quickly morphs into fake ignorance.

“Not today,” you say gently, his red eyes sparkling in the yellow light of the hallway. You always wonder why he chose yellow bulbs in some parts of the house including his room. You have a feeling it's because it reminds him of the unobtainable warmth of the sun. “You need your coffin.”

“Will you join me?” He asks, fingers flexing about as he beckons you over. You indulge him, leaning down to let him grasp at your jaw. Surprisingly, he holds you carefully like you're the most valuable thing in the house instead of all the artifacts he gathered throughout the centuries just laying about the home.

“You need to sober up, and you can't do that when I'm hogging all the space in the coffin.”

“That's why I keep tellin' you that we should get a bigger coffin that can fit the both of us together.” He brushes his thumb across your cold bitten lips. Gasping like he got a brilliant idea, he pats each of your cheek, squishing it in his hands, careful not to scratch you with his sharp nails. “We should buy one tomorrow!”

You chuckle, hands reaching up to bracelet your fingers around his wrists, grabbing them to make him unlatch himself off of you. “Okay, sleep first then we'll go out to look for one.”

A wide grin spreads across his face. “Really?”

You subtly (or think that it's subtle enough) kiss his pulse point where you would feel his heartbeat if his heart still beats against his chest. “Really, we'll get a red velvet lined one.”

“How about a coffin with a telly in it so you could watch your shows?”

You smile, “I'd like that. For now, shower first because you smell like the floor of a pub.”

“Still fit though, hm?” Hobie winks, but with his drunkenness, he looks like he's spasming. It earns a guffaw from you, finding it adorable.

“Very handsome, my—” you glance sideways at the camera still recording, you've forgotten about them for a second. Clearing your throat, you help him up on his feet. “Let's go before I puke.” Playing it cool, you still look like your pants fell down to your feet.

Even drunk off his mind, Hobie sees through it, arms snaking along your middle, putting a show in front of the camera by shoving his face into the crook of your neck. Not biting, just smiling against your flushed skin. You can feel his fangs poking and prodding at you playfully.

You curse silently, holding him properly and hiding your flustered expression from the camera as you turn your back from the crew.

—

Locking the bathroom door, you made sure that the camera crew had enough tea and biscuits in the dining room before walking upstairs to check on Hobie. The crews’ chatter echoing from the vents prove that they're well occupied and distracted. Turning around, you face Hobie with a soft smile as he lounges in the bubbly bathtub that smells like Halloween incarnate.

“How's the water?” You ask, closing the distance and sitting down on the closed lid of the toilet to look at him fondly.

Hobie places his cheek on top of the edge of the black bathtub, cheek squished on the porcelain. “Just right, love.” He smiles as steam rises from the water, condensation rising up to the forest coloured tiles, “and the children?”

“Occupied with my expensive biscuits from my godmother.” You place your chin on your palm, eyes flicking from his wet face down to his shimmering torso. “You seem to be having fun with my bath bomb.”

He chuckles, fangs peeking out from his lips. A sign that he's extremely happy, you know it well. “It's red!” With a handful of bath water, he pours it from above to show you its crimson hue. “You're such a big fan of me aren't you? Mimickin’ a fraction of my power.”

“You bathe in a tub full of blood? I don't remember you ever doing that, Hobart.” With a roll of your eyes, you stand up only to sit back down next to the tub. Sitting cross-legged, you place your arms on the cool edge of the porcelain, eyes staring up at Hobie with pure affection while your index finger swirls patterns in the glittery red water. “Sounds like a great bath though.”

“Says the vampire hunter.” He dabs a droplet of water onto the tip of your nose, watching it slowly drip down into the tub. “Stop it with the bloody Hobart, thought we got past that months ago.” He seems completely sober by now, the blood juice box (that may or may not have come from your veins) helped a lot in flushing his system. You always kept them fresh in his freezer next to your orange popsicles.

“Whatever you say, Hobat.” You wink, feeling relaxed with the warmth from the water and the cinnamon pumpkin smell.

Hobie smiles softly instead of scoffing like you thought he would. A single fang peeks out from under his lip, reminding you of an adorable cat. He reaches for your hand closest to him, and then slowly, he puts his head atop your hand, nuzzling close to you. Thumb brushing along your scratch mark on your cheek, he looks apologetic while he heals it with his touch alone. Literally, it's nonexistent now that he poured a fraction of his power atop your warm skin.

Your heart squeezes in your chest. “Just curious, can you turn into a cat?”

“Is that not in any of your tomes?” He raises a brow, red eyes hazy from the hot water and tender affection from you.

You shrug, laying your head down on your arm so that you're facing him adjacently. “I remember reading that it's a rare ability.”

“Yeah?” His eyes soften, leaning ever closer to you. You can feel his cold touch amidst the warmth of the water as his lips gently caress your jaw. From the tip of your jawline down to your chin, he kisses you with so much affection that your breath hitches in your throat and nothing in your mind remains but his lips upon your own. “Tell you what,” he says against your waiting lips. “I'll tell you in exchange for a proper kiss.” He didn't need to open his mouth to say those words to you, you can hear his deep voice in your mind. Whispering those words only for you.

“Deal,” you reply in your mind, and he grins, showing you his fangs that have never scared you. Sharp ends that have always been gentle against your soft skin, fangs that were meant to leave you bone dry, but he never does. Only leaving you woozy on your feet, happy that you've helped him, content in the arms of someone you were meant to kill— taught to kill. You're glad you didn't that day, that day you got close with your wooden stake mere inches away from his heart that you now adore.

He kisses you, and you don't mind the copper taste anymore as the kiss gets sweeter than ambrosia and as saccharine as nectar whilst he pulls you into the tub with him.

Support banner by @/cafekitsune

Hobie practically clung to you the second he woke up from his slumber. His crimson eyes blink slowly, still crusted with sleep as he refuses to let you go inside the shared coffin. But after a thousand kisses placed on every inch of his cold face, he still wouldn't let you go so he proposed the idea that he'll turn into his bat form and hold onto you while you go about your day. To which you accepted wholeheartedly when you really needed to go to the bathroom.

It's one of those days for him you suppose.

Now with a fresh face, stomach filled with breakfast, or dinner for that matter, Hobie in his tiny bat form squeaks inside the pocket of your denim overalls. His claws grasp onto the hem, a small fluffy head peeking over the fabric as you gather your gardening supplies.

His head tilts up, looking at you through big bat eyes as he speaks to you inside his head through the mental connection he established between the two of you to communicate.

“You said you were done with chores.” Huffing, his nostrils flare at you with mild annoyance.

“I forgot about the snapdragons in the greenhouse. It's feeding day, remember?” To placate Hobat, you pat his head simply with your index finger. To which he shuts his eyes close in content. “After this it's your turn to feed.”

His eyes whip open, smiling happily at you. “Really? ‘m sick of bloodbags, lovie, it makes my throat itch.”

Chuckling, you pull open the glass door to the greenhouse, humidity hitting right on your face the second you enter. “You and I both know that it's the same blood from me, Hobie. Just in a different bag. Besides, you can help me with watering the plants so I can finish this faster and therefore you can feed.”

Smiling, his neck is probably hurting by now from the prolonged tilt. “Remind me why you need to do all of this when they're not your plants?”

“The trio may be out at summer camp but that doesn't mean I'm going to let their plants die.” You utter, feeling eyes on the back of your head as you kneel down to fill the watering can with water. As you look at the source, you find nothing but Miles’ snake plant that hisses and calls for you.

Hobie snorts inside your mind. “I bet the camera crew are havin’ a field day with all the supernatural beings at the summer camp.”

You shake the feeling away, “definitely, a selkie friend of mine that went there once said that the place is brimming with different entities.” Standing up, heaving the heavy watering can, you slide it beside the snapping snap dragons as they bare their sharp teeth at you. “Did you go to the summer camp, Hobie?”

Scoffing, he rests comfortably inside your pocket. “It didn't exist yet, love, if it was I wouldn't go.”

Opening a drawer to grab the snapdragons’ meal, you feel eyes on you once again, hand pausing on the drawer. “Why not?”

“I hate schmoozin’ with other vampires, you know that— you alright? You're distracted, I can hear your thoughts, remember?” Lifting off from your pocket and flying into a hanging potted plant, he perches himself on the clay while he gazes around the greenhouse. “You hear that?” His pointed ears twitch.

“I think so.” Dropping everything on the counter, you grab a nearby pair of sharp shears at the ready. “I keep feeling someone staring at me.”

“You sure it's not me or Pav's dozen mandrake plants?”

“No, it's different.” Raising the garden shears, you slowly walk towards what you think is the source of the wandering eyes. As you near the fluffy pink cotton candy bush, you quickly grab it and unfurl the curly leaves open to reveal— nothing. Letting your guard down, you laugh at yourself. “I guess it was really just the mandrakes—!” Something gooey and black encapsulates your vision, making you stagger around like a chicken inside the greenhouse.

“Love!” Hobie swoops in, retaining his bat form but instead of the cute and fluffy kind, he turns into a large bat that's the size of a bike. His wings flap around, claws desperately grabbing at the black blob sticking to your face. “Hold on! Can you breathe?!”

“Mmhm!” You gasp, clawing at the mess on your face.

“Shit!” Without a choice, Hobie bares his fangs, sinking it inside the slimy flesh. Within a half second, the black goo stretches away from your face and onto a nearby table.

You fall to your knees, gasping for breath as Hobie returns to his regular form, cold callused hands grasping at your face with worry.

“Jus’ breathe, love, breathe.” His hands desperately cling to you, eyes etched with concern as he sees your frantic expression. “What the fuck was that?”

Your eyes widens, and Hobie uses his quick senses and raises his arm up behind him, effectively thwarting an attack from behind. There's scratching over his arm, but the vampire doesn't care as he slowly turns towards your would-be assassin with a glare.

“What the fuck are you?” You and Hobie simultaneously say, curiosity replacing fear as the goop that was suffocating you is now a black cat with white eyes and sharp teeth.

“Mreow?” The so-called cat tilts his head adorably. Maybe that's his way of dropping your guard down by using his cuteness.

“Nah, this isn't a bloody cat.” Hobie shakes the black cat in his arm until it lets out mewls.

“Hobie, stop.” A hand wraps around his bicep while you look at the cat's big shiny white eyes that seem to look at you apologetically. “I think he's saying sorry.”

“Say—! Love, it almost suffocated you!” He exclaims, still holding the cat at arm's length away from you. “I had to bite its ass! It tasted like black liquorice for some reason!”

“I know you hate that stuff, but trust me on this one.” You gaze at him softly, palm gently brushing along his jaw. “Please let the void go?”

When he doesn't respond, steely red eyes staring at you flatly, you bring out the big guns. With one final stare at the cat that's now licking cutely at its paw, you pucker up, pressing a sweet kiss at Hobie's cheek. You hear his staggered breathing from the kiss, eyes closing slowly as he savours the sweetness and warmth you provide for him.

Leaning away, you bat your lashes and gaze at him fondly. “Now can you let him go?”

Sighing, Hobie kisses you back right on the tip of your nose briefly before moving away. “One day your bribery won't work on me anymore.”

“We both know that isn't true.” You say with a smirk, knowing that you've won.

Rolling his eyes, he gently nuzzles your cheek for a moment with a longing sigh. “I know, love.” Gently placing the cat down on solid ground, it mewls for attention immediately. Yours specifically as he walks elegantly on his paws. “‘m keepin’ an eye on him.”

“Alright,” you shrug, approaching the cat with your palm up as you let it sniff your hand. You've found weirder things inside the ancient house, whether that's a book written in an unknown language or a dodo bird casually roaming around the basement, this one takes the cake. But you're not at all surprised by it, you'll look up what exactly this cat is in your tomes, but for now, you'll make sure that he's fed. Judging from his skinny goopy body, he needs some food in his system. “I think I just startled him earlier.” Just as you said it, the cat licks at your finger daintily after giving it a good sniff.

Hobie leans back, watching the interaction closely. “Sure— oi, where are you goin'?”

You abruptly stand up, gesturing for the cat to follow you. “I'm going to see what he eats so I can feed him.”

Standing up and following suit, Hobie scrunches his nose. “What? For all we know he eats brains! Don't let him inside the house!”

“You drink blood, Hobie, and we let you inside the house.” You say teasingly with an eyebrow raised.

“It's my bloody house?” He scoffs out, hands on his hips as the various metals on his belt jingles. “What happened to feedin’ me first?”

You meet with the cat's milky eyes before the two of you turn towards Hobie. “Finish watering the plants and we can.” Smiling at the slimy mess at your feet, you wave at him again to follow you. “Come on blobbie, let's find you something to eat.”

“You named him already?!” Hobie stands in the middle of the greenhouse all alone while the plants snap at him for food. “Lovie!”

Hobie clicks the flashlight off, giving you a narrowed look as his hand grasps his chest like he's offended by your words. Billie blows a raspberry, milk bubbles popping and making herself giggle. “How could you accuse me of somethin' like that?”

Ramona looks at you, arms stretched in front of her. She looks adorable in her cat onesie. While Billie grasps at her velvet blanky that's draped over her rose printed onesie. They're a carbon copy of Hobie, all except for his vampire qualities.

You raise a brow, walking over to them on the playpen. “They just turned one, Hobie, they can't talk and most of all, can't ask you to play dentist.”

“You could never know, they're dhampirs. I heard their development is quicker.”

You fake a loud gasp, earning a happy shriek from both girls. “They are?! I didn't know!”

Hobie rolls his crimson eyes, tugging at the hem of your pants to sit you down next to him. “‘m jus’ sayin’, look at Bella's kid! Rose somethin'. She was an adult within a week.” You shudder at the thought of your girls suddenly waking up as teenagers.

You swat his hand away and sit down, he tries to hide a victorious grin but fails when Billie nuzzles her chubby face on his chest. Taking Mona from his lap, you cradle the back of her as you gently carry her in your arms. You're basically an expert at carrying babies now, you figured that it's no different than juggling a dozen wooden stakes in your arms. The only difference is that your babies are much more adorable.

“First of all, Bella isn't real, and second, that's not even her daughter's name!”

Hobie pulls you closer to him with a hand on your waist, smirking from ear to ear. “I knew you liked that shi—” he peeks at his girls, and then over to you, whose eyes are warning him. “—shiz.” He sighs in relief at the save.

You roll your eyes. You worry that your girls would get that trait from you and Hobie, then you two would really have your hands full. “I don't, I'm just an attentive watcher.”

“Right, what's the kid's name?”

“...Renesmee.”

“Exactly.” He pokes your chest playfully, then makes a face at the name.

“Fine, then why are you even looking for their invisible fangs?” You wave off the accusation. “If it's not appearing now, then it'll never come out.”

“Your tomes told you that?”

“Actually, yes.”

Hobie quiets down, sighing as he rests his head on the couch behind him. “I was jus’ checkin’.”

Your eyes soften, cheek placed on his shoulder while Mona slowly falls asleep in your arms. You hold out a finger for Billie to hold, and she immediately grips at it, trying to take a bite. You don't mind it since she's just teething, and her baby teeth aren't fully out yet.

“Do you want them to have fangs?”

Hobie gazes at you, palm kneading at your thigh. “Jus' maybe the powers that come with it. They're gonna need it, y’know?”

“I know, Hobs.” Kissing his shoulder, you help ease him out of his mind. “It won't be easy for us, for them. But we'll be right there for them at every step of the way. They have a hunter for a mom and a thousand year old vampire as their dad. They'll be fine.”

“And a werewolf aunt, a clairvoyant uncle and a powerful warlock uncle on their side.” He says with a smile, staring fondly at his twin daughters. “They'll be alright.”

“We’ll be prepared for the shit that's coming. If someone's brave enough to cross us.” Billie continues to nibble at your finger, gums biting desperately.

Hobie lifts his palm and cups your cheek, pressing a brief yet sweet kiss on the corner of your lips. “So I can't say it but you can?” He asks with a teasing glint in his wine red eyes.

“I whispered it so it doesn't count— ow!” You yank your hand away as the piercing pain ebbs on your finger. Billie giggles loudly, happy while your blood trickles down her lips, and a peek of a tiny fang pokes through her smile.

“Shit.” You and Hobie simultaneously say.

“What happened?” He asks, red eyes glancing at the smattering of drying blood on your cheek.

You struggle to find your words, voice left in the same place where you screamed in terror and grief. You sniff, sleeve wiping at your shell shocked expression, accidentally spreading blood all over your chin and nose.

“S–Shit, I think I need a shower.” You walk past him, not meeting his eyes. Your footsteps are heavy, laden with fatigue and sorrow.

Hobie doesn't think twice in grabbing your arm, gentle yet firm. “Are you hurt?” He asks, ducking his eyes to meet with your downturned ones.

You shake your head, “don't think so, Hobie.” Your eyes gravitate to his hand, lithe fingers wrapped around your elbow, veins popped up as he reins in his own emotion of seeing you like this.

“Love, do you want to talk about it?”

“I don't think so.” You repeat your own words, as if saying something else would have you crumble down to your feet. Taking your arm away, his fingers brush along your blood soaked sleeve as he lets you go.

Hobie follows behind you, silent and giving you space with a concerned pair of eyes. He stares at your stiff shoulders, where your back is the only pristine place that he hasn't seen a drop of blood on you. His mind whirs with every step, worried about you. Sharp nails dig into his palms as he hears your shuddered breath, not a pained one, no, but a quiet sob.

You enter your room, all filled with your hunter family memorabilia. Wooden stakes, silver daggers and dried herbs tacked on the ceiling.

You pause by the doorway, shoulders moving up and down, an indication that you're still breathing. “Where are the others?” You ask, still turned away from him as you subconsciously pick at the blood underneath your nails.

“They went to the shops, said somethin’ ‘bout buyin’ snacks.” Hobie matches your tone, brow furrowed, knowing that the reason you asked about their whereabouts is because of your own anxieties. “Can I help you— please let me help you, darling.”

“What would you know about this?” You chuckle but with none of the humour he's used to.

“You'll be surprised at how much ‘m familiar with it.” Filled with trepidation, he reaches for your hand, fingers grazing along your own, waiting for you to reciprocate.

“He's dead.” You say, not flinching away nor leaning against his touch. “Just like that.” Your tone is small, not what he's used to. And none of your confidence and bravado.

“Who is?” With one step closer, he can sense your restrained sobs through his chest.

“A cousin. A hunter like me.” You inhale, hot tears streaming down your face that you refuse to let Hobie see.

“‘m sorry.” He tries to hold you fully but you move away and quickly enter the bathroom with a slam of the door. A frown is etched on his face, he should leave you alone, let you be. But he has done that before, not to you, but a thousand years of love and loss— he won't make that decision ever again. Especially to you.

With a deep exhale, he enters your room, and knocks at the bathroom door. With Hobie's strength, he could always rip the door from its hinges or kick it open. But instead, he sits down in front of it, legs crossed on the shaggy carpet, and eyes staring and unblinking at the barrier.

After ten minutes of your muffled sobs that you tried to hide with the running faucet, you close the water and inhale deeply.

“Why are you s–still out there, Hobie?” You ask through the door.

“Do you want me to go?” He asks, voice just as gentle as before.

The door flings open, revealing your red eyes and tear stained cheeks. “No, I don't want you to go.” You run towards him as he receives you with open arms.

Hobie cradles you in his arms as he maneuvers you towards his lap. You hide your face on the crook of his neck as your fists bunch around his shirt. His hand is shielding the back of your head whilst his lips rests upon your temple, whispering reassurances.

“I couldn't save h–him.” Your sobs wrack your whole body, prompting Hobie to hold onto you tighter, blanketing around you. “He was just a boy, younger than Pav and they let him hunt without any help.” You cry against his skin, broken words reverberating through his whole being. “Why would they do that, Hobie?”

“I don't know, love, I don't know.” His heart cries for you, fingers gripping into the back of your shirt as he cradles you.

He could tell you that your hunter family have always been like that, pricks. Hell, that's how he met you, on your first hunt, scared shitless in front of a banshee. But shit talking your own flesh and blood wouldn't bring back the dead nor will it help you. Instead, he keeps telling you that it's not your fault, that you did everything you could have possibly done.

“He called me, I was too late.” You place your head on top of his shoulder, eyes staring at the thousand year old pin prick scars on his neck. “I held him when he was just a baby.” Leaning away to look at him, you gasp at the bloodied tears rolling down his cheek. “Why are you crying? You didn't know him…” you gently wipe his tears with your thumb. “... he's human, and you're— you.”

“My heart might not beat anymore, but it still feels.” Hobie grasps at your hand, laying it atop his jaw and leaning against your touch. “Dying doesn't mean I lost my humanity, love.”

You put on a brave face, eyes brimming with unshed tears and lips wobbling. “I'm glad you're not like them. You're more human than they could ever be.”

Hobie softly smiles, moving down to place a heavy kiss on the corner of your eyes and down to your wet cheeks. “You're too good for them, promise me somethin',” you gaze at him with the same tenderness. “Don't turn up like them, yeah?”

You nod, reaching around the back of his head to push him further down towards you and letting his head rest on the space on your neck.

“I promise.”