the night. . .ā§Ėź°š©øź±ą¼ā§
what was once is no more and in it's place is only hunger pairing: Vampire!Hannibal Lecter x Vampire!reader genre: vampire!au ā¢ angst comfort ā¢ hunger notes: Hannibal is a vampire, and so are you. While Hannibal has already lived this style of life for centuries, you were just turned to the night and now have to deal with the overwhelming changes... which Hannibal notices with ease based on this ask! warnings: blood MINORS DNI!! masterlist join my taglist āāā ź° š„ ź± āāā
stubborn hunger
You adjusted your glasses, pushing them up the bridge of your nose as your gaze settled on the body.Ā
Mangled. Bloodied.Ā
Too much.Ā
You had only been turnedā¦ weeks ago, maybe.Ā
Time had lost its shape, stretching and folding into something unfamiliar since that night.Ā
Everything still felt wrong.Ā
And you were alone in it, completely.Ā
No one to explain, no one to guide you.Ā
Just the constant, gnawing awareness of what you had become, wearing you down day by day.
You clutched your papers and pen close to your chest, grounding yourself in routine as you forced your focus onto the task.Ā
āGood morning, Dr. Lecter,ā you said as he approached.
Hannibalās head tilted slightly, his gaze sweeping over you.Ā
He has been noticing the change for a while now. The pallor of your skin, the stiffness in your posture.
You looked tired, which was expected, though it still made him wonder just how well you were managing.Ā
āAgent L/N,ā he replied smoothly, your name slipping easily from his tongue before his expression shifted, ever so slightly. āYou seem exhausted.ā
You didnāt know that he already knew, that he could smell it on you as clearly as the blood in the air.Ā
Your senses were still a mess, overwhelming and unreliable, nothing you could trust.Ā
āRough nightā¦ā you mumbled, a yawn slipping out as you pulled your jacket tighter around yourself.Ā
Your shoes padded softly against the ground as you stepped closer to the corpse, though the moment you did, the smell hit you harder.
Thick, metallic, suffocating.Ā
Your vision blurred, your thoughts stalling as you stared for a moment too long before forcing yourself to move, lifting your camera and snapping a picture.
Hannibal watched you in silence, noting the way the blood affected you, how your reactions shifted just slightly.
A vampire, still adjusting, still struggling.Ā
He stood there, his attention remained fixed on you, one brow lifting just a fraction as he observed your efforts to stay composed.
āPerhaps you should have gotten more sleep,ā he commented, his tone light, bordering on gentle teasing.
You shot him an unimpressed look, though there was a hint of amusement beneath it.Ā
āYou wouldnāt believe it, doctor, but that was my plan,ā you replied dryly, letting out a small breath. āIāve just beenā¦ unable to sleep much lately.āĀ
You brushed it off as if it were nothing, turning back to your work as you snapped another photo, then another.Ā
Your hand drifted up, pulling your scarf higher over your mouth in an attempt to block the scent.
A faint smirk touched the corner of his lips as he watched you struggle, taking in the effort, the denial, the way something as simple as blood threatened to unravel you completely.Ā
It was fascinating, in its own way, and just a little bit amusing.
āAh, so insomnia,ā Hannibal remarked lightly, folding his arms as he watched you with quiet interest.Ā
āOr perhaps something else is keeping you awake,ā he added.
You exhaled softly, stepping back from the corpse as if the distance might help clear your head. āNo time this morning, Doctor Lecterā¦ā you sighed, your gaze lingering on the blood-soaked body. āThis is the second victim this weekā¦ā
You could see it, what this really was. The pattern was too clear, too familiar in a way that made something like recognition settle deep in your chest.Ā
But you couldnāt say it. Not out loud. Not here. It would sound insane.
āThey all follow the sameā¦ pattern.ā
Hannibalās eyes narrowed slightly at that, his attention sharpening as he followed your gaze to the body before returning it to your face.Ā
There was something almost pleased in the way he looked at you now, as if confirming a suspicion.
āA pattern, you say,ā he repeated thoughtfully, glancing over the corpse once more. āAnd what kind of pattern is that?ā
His eyes settled on you again.
The smell hit you again.
It curled into your senses, thick and metallic, seeping into your thoughts until they began to blur at the edges. Your stomach twisted, something unfamiliar and unsettling rising within you as your focus slipped.
āA patternā¦ā you mumbled, the words faltering as your mind blanked, as if something had reached in and pulled the thread of your thoughts loose.
You swallowed hard.
āUhā¦ā
Your gaze drifted back to the body without meaning to, your pupils widening as the scent dragged at something deep inside you.
Hannibal stepped closer, his gaze fixed on you as he watched the subtle unraveling, the loss of focus, the shift in your breathing, the way your body seemed caught between restraint and instinct.Ā
He could almost feel the tension in you.
āAgent L/N. Focus.ā
His voice was firm through the haze.
You blinked, forcing yourself back, dragging your attention up to him as you swallowed again. āIā¦ Iām sorry,ā you said quickly. āI just have a headacheā¦āĀ
Another excuse. Always another excuse.
You blinked a few more times, forcing your vision to settle, your pupils shrinking back to something resembling normal.
āThe victims are left with a significant lack of blood,ā you continued, āAlmost like someone is draining it from themā¦ as well asā¦ fatal injuries that likely killed them beforehand.ā
Hannibalās eyes darkened slightly at your explanation, something like intrigue flickering beneath the surface.
āDrainedā¦?ā he repeated, stepping closer to the body. He crouched slightly, lifting a gloved hand to examine the small punctures near the neck with careful attention. āCurious. Most efficient killers wouldnāt bother with such theatrics after the kill.ā
He straightened slowly, turning his gaze back to you, his head tilting just a fraction.
āYouāre quite perceptive, L/N,ā he said, your name softer this time, edged with something almost approving. āEven through that headache.ā
āBut tell meā¦ā he hummed, his voice lowering as he held your gaze, āwhat do you think left those marks?ā
And the way he looked at you when he said it,,,
It didnāt feel like a question.
It felt like he was waiting to see if you would dare to answer truthfully.
Your stomach turned, sharp and hollow, the sensation twisting deeper the longer you stood there.Ā
You hadnāt had blood since youād been turned, which, you were beginning to realize, was a very real problem.
āIā¦ I donāt know,ā you said, your voice quieter than intended, forcing a shrug. āIt could be various thingsā¦ Iāll probably have to wait for the autopsy results.āĀ
An excuse. A deflection. Anything to shut the conversation down before it drifted somewhere you couldnāt follow.
You cleared your throat and slipped your camera back into your bag, the motion quick, almost abrupt.Ā
Your gaze flickered across the scene again, searching for something solid, something human to cling to. You gestured toward the head wound, forcing yourself to focus.
āI assume he wasā¦ bludgeoned to death,ā you continued, grasping for reason, for logic. āHead trauma, and thenā¦ drained for his blood with needles. Black market, maybe? Something like that.ā
Anything but the truth circling relentlessly in your mind.
āFascinating theory,ā Hannibal mused.
He crouched beside the body, gloved fingers hovering near the wound, not quite touching, but close enough to study. āNotice the symmetry,ā he murmured. āThe insertion follows a controlled trajectory. This spot must have been carefully selected and chosen.ā
He rose slowly, turning back to you, and only then did you realize how tightly you were clutching your bag, like it was the only thing keeping you upright.
āYouāre avoiding something,ā he said softly.
Your throat tightened.
āAutopsy reports wonāt tell you what your instincts already do,ā he continued, his voice lowering, smoothing into something quieter. āSomething about this scene feels familiarā¦ doesnāt it?ā
You stayed silent..
āā¦Like hunger recognizing its reflection.ā
The words landed somewhere deep, somewhere you didnāt want to look.
You exhaled slowly, though it did nothing to steady you, your mind racing, calculating, restraining, denying.
Your gaze flicked back to him, your brows lifting just slightly as you forced something like confusion into your expression.
āI donāt think I quite understand,ā you said, though your grip tightened around your coat, betraying you.
He watched you, and it felt like being peeled apart layer by layer, bare under his gaze.
āDonāt you?ā he echoed quietly. āOr are you afraid I might be right?ā
He stepped closer.
Once.
Twice.
The space between you shrank until it felt suffocating.
āIā¦ā You swallowed thickly, the word catching as your instincts surged again, sharp and overwhelming.Ā
You took a step back, turning away before you could betray yourself further.Ā
āI think I have everything I need.ā
Stepping over the tape, you nodded briefly to one of the officers nearby. āWeāre done here,ā you said, your voice steadier now.
But the smellā¦
It followed you.
Clung to you.
Sweet in a way that made your stomach twist harder, your throat tighten, your entire body react in ways you couldnāt control.
It was unbearable.
Hannibal watched you go, his gaze fixed on your retreating figure, something flickering briefly across his expression, gone as quickly as it came, replaced by something far more composed.
He could smell it.
Your hunger.
Raw. Unfed. Growing.
By the time you reached your car, it felt like you were barely holding yourself together.
You slipped into the seat and shut the door quickly, the enclosed space doing nothing to help as you leaned back, your head falling against the rest. A shaky breath left you, your stomach twisting sharply.
Hungry.
God, you were hungry.
You squeezed your eyes shut, your hand pressing to your head, trying to steady the pounding ache splitting through your skull, as if you could physically hold yourself together.
It didnāt help.Ā
Nothing did.Ā
Every sensation felt too loud, too sharp, your body turning against you in ways you didnāt understand.
From a distance, Hannibal watched.
He had a perfect view of the battle unfolding inside you, and he found himself caught between intrigue and amusement at your pathetic attempts of composure.
He could hear it.
The low, insistent rumble of your stomach, even from here.Ā
He could see the way you slumped in the driverās seat, your posture collapsing inward as though you were trying to make yourself smaller, contain something that refused to be contained.
It was almost pitiful.
Inside the car, your stomach twisted violently, rebelling. The human food you had forced down that morning sat wrong inside you, doing nothing to quiet the gnawing emptiness that clawed at your insides. If anything, it made it worse.
You tried to breathe through it.
But it surged too fast.
The door flew open before you could stop yourself, and you stumbled out, barely making it a step away from the car before you doubled over, the nausea overtaking you as you retched onto the pavement.
It burned.
It hurt.
And it did nothing to help.
Because it wasnāt what your body wanted.
Vampires could eat, yes, but it was hollow. A performance. Something your body tolerated, not something it needed.
A soft sigh slipped from Hannibal as he finally moved towards you, unhurried.
He reached into his coat, retrieving a handkerchief, and offered it to you without a word as he appeared beside you.
āPersistent hunger,ā he said, his voice smooth, almost soothing in contrast to the violence of your condition. āYou canāt starve yourself forever.ā
He paused, the continued, āThe body always wins.ā
You leaned heavily against the car, one hand braced against it as you tried to steady yourself. When you looked up at him, your vision swam, the world blurring at the edges until he was the only thing that felt remotely in focus.
āWhatā¦?ā you whispered, your voice barely there, your hand drifting back to your head.
You looked awful.
His gaze flicked briefly to the mess on the ground, then back to you.
āYou donāt need bread,ā he continued softly, tilting his head just slightly. āYou need red wine.ā
A faint smile touched his lips.
āCome for dinner.ā he said quietly.
You forced yourself upright, wiping your mouth with the handkerchief, clinging to the small act of normalcy even as your body betrayed you.Ā
āIām fine, Dr. Lecterā¦ā you breathed, though nothing about you supported the claim.
Your pupils flickered, widening, narrowing, your control slipping in and out, human and something other fighting for dominance.
āIām justā¦ sick,ā you added weakly, your hand pressing against your stomach as if you could suppress the hunger twisting inside you.
Hannibalās eyes narrowed slightly as he watched you.
Your stubbornness wasā¦ admirable.
And utterly futile.
His patience, while vast, was not without its limits.
āYouāre not sick,ā Hannibal stated bluntly. āYouāre hungry.ā
He leaned closer, and the shift in proximity was immediate, overwhelming. The scent of him wrapped around you, disturbingly familiar, sharpening every sense you had yet to learn how to control.
āStarving yourself with human sustenance wonāt alleviate the cravings,ā he continued, his voice low, measured. āIt will only worsen your condition.ā
You bit down on your lip, hard enough that it should have hurt more than it did, forcing yourself into silence.Ā
You hated this. Hated the loss of control, the way your body no longer felt like your own.Ā
And the smellā¦
God, the smellā¦
It lingered in the air, thick and sweet, the blood from the corpse still clinging.
But now, with him this closeā¦
There was something else.
Your gaze flicked up to him, your breath catching in your throat as realization struck.
He smelledā¦ different.
Not human.
Not like the others.
But like you.
āWhoā¦ā your voice faltered, barely more than a breath. āWho are youā¦?ā
A faint, knowing smirk touched his lips, subtle but unmistakable. He didnāt step away.
If anything, he moved closer, closing what little space remained between you until there were only inches left, his presence impossible to ignore.
āI believe,ā he hummed, āthe question you meant to askā¦ is āwhat am Iā.ā
āYouāreā¦ like me,ā you whispered, your eyes never leaving his.
A quiet hum of approval answered you, low and almost pleased.
Slowly, as if drawn by something inevitable, he lifted a gloved hand. His knuckles brushed lightly along your jaw, the touch deceptively gentle as it traced downward, following the line of your neck.
āThatās right.ā
You straightened slightly under his touch, your posture tightening.
āPlease, Dr. Lecterā¦ā your voice softened, almost breaking despite your effort to hold it together. āIā¦ I need this hunger to stop. I canāt sleep. I canāt think anymoreā¦ā
āThen stop fighting it,ā he replied, his tone softer now, almost gentle.
Only then did he step back, just enough to fully meet your gaze again, giving you space without truly letting you go.
āThere is no shame in feeding.ā he continued, āNot all hungers must be suffered.ā
āI crave things I have never craved beforeā¦ā you admitted, your voice unsteady, your thoughts spilling before you could stop them. āI find myself staring at the pulse of others like itās my saviour andāā
You cut yourself off abruptly, swallowing hard as you shook your head.
āNoā¦ I canātāā
The words fell apart as you turned, reaching for your car door, yanking it open.
āAnd yet you will,ā Hannibal said smoothly behind you, utterly unfazed. āNot because you want toā¦ but because you must.ā
His hand came down against the door, stopping it with ease.
āDenial is a luxury for the living,ā he continued, his gaze steady on yours. āYouāre not dead. But you are no longer quite alive either.ā
āCome to my home tonight,ā he said. āDinner at eight.ā
A faint smile curved his lips.
āIāll make sure the wine is exquisite.ā
And then, he let the car door go, and stepped back, turning away as though the decision was already made, as though he had simply placed the offer in your hands and was content to wait.
Because he was.
You lingered there for a moment longer, your grip tight on the door, your thoughts spinning. Then, you slammed the door shut.
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a/n: kind of loving all the vampire au stuff recently! thanks for the ask!
