inspired by that one tumblr post that asks 'but what if a vampire drank the blood of someone who was anemic like would they be seriously grossed out'. crack!fic obviously.
Remus has never regretted his life's decisions more than he does right now.
He likes to think he's a good person. Sure, he's a little too sarcastic to be healthy and he would literally shoot his best friend if it means the continued existence of chocolate is assured (sorry, Pete, but this world is literally awful enough as it is and he needs something to convince himself he's been put here for a reason), but he's nice. He lets all the old ladies board the bus before him, says please and thank you without a second's thought and he never makes fun of Pete when he's trying to grow a 'stache. He even tutors struggling kids in Maths and always works hard at school.
Alas it is this last nugget of his personality, his drive to excel at academia and do his parents proud, that has landed him in the mess he's in right now.
The mess that has him cornered in an alleyway past midnight while the most beautiful and most terrifying boy he's ever seen stares him down as he advances with soundless footsteps.
"Sorry about this," the boy murmurs, a pink tongue tracing his lips in anticipation. His back arches, so predatorial that he doesn't even look human,and he adds, "I wouldn't be doing this if I wasn't desperate."
"Look," Remus says panickedly. He clutches the strap of his backpack with frantic fingers, cursing himself for deciding to hang back in the library and study. Who the fuck studies until midnight on a Thursday anyway? Remus fucking Lupin apparently. And now he's going to end up dead because some creepily good-looking guy is eyeing him like he's a piece of meat. "I don't have any money or anything, I'm a student, alright, which means I'm poor as fuck – I can't even remember the last time I had something other than a Pot Noodle which is really pathetic when I think about it. Just – let me go and I won't tell anyone – "
"I don't want your money," the boy cuts across impatiently. "I want food."
Remus blinks. "But. I've already ate my Snickers. And that's all I had on me."
"Oh for fuck's sake."
With an exasperated huff, the other boy pushes Remus against the wall behind him, pinning him down. Considering that he's managed to basically teleport from halfway down the alley within a heartbeat, the movement nearly makes Remus scream. Or it would if his voice doesn't choose that moment to die in his throat. Just like how the rest of him is going to die soon because some stranger has him plastered against a wall with nothing more than the press of his forearm.
"Sorry about this," the boy repeats and flashes a small, sardonic smile that Remus really shouldn't be attracted to but is, "but this is going to hurt."
Oh sweet Jesus, he's going to get stabbed –
Before he can even muster up a whimper, the boy's face contorts, transforming from, well, hot as fuck, into something that's horrifyingly feral, lips pulling back to reveal glistening fangs. His mind spins, trying to comprehend how the hell he managed to hide them before this moment, how the hell the bloke even hasthem and how he's very much about to die, there's no question about it –
His head is tilted firmly to the side to bare his neck and his body erupts with pain as the boy sinks into his skin.
And then reels back, spluttering, "Ew, ew, ew what the FUCK is wrong with your blood?" He stumbles back, furiously wiping at his mouth. "Ugh. That's – that's not normal. Do you have a disease or something? Oh my God, how do I get it out – ugh, I'm going to throw up."
"Er." Remus can only stare. Half of him is preoccupied with the pain throbbing at the side of his bitten neck and the other half is actually quite fucking offended. What's that supposed to mean? "No?"
"Well, it fucking tastes like it!" the boy retorts. He gags, wiping his tongue on the back of his hand in disgust. "Oh dear lord, I have never tasted anything so awful in my life."
"Well, I'm sorry I didn't prepare for this moment," Remus says indignantly. The offence has won out over the fear, even as he clamps a hand over his injury. Drawing himself up with as much pride as he can muster, he adds, "I bet you have shit taste anyways."
"I do not. You just taste like a gallon of horse piss."
"Speaking from experience, are you? Is that what they did back when you were alive?"
"Putting aside the fact that I'm not even that old," the boy says with a vicious glare that somehow doesn't make Remus want to lose control of every bodily function he has. Probably because he's seen him react to his blood like a three year old with boiled sprouts. "It's still not normal what you have. I suggest going to the doctor's. Like. Today if you can."
He can only stare.
"I…"
Honestly, if someone told him this morning that he's going to be attacked by a vampire on his way back from the library, rejected half a second later because apparently he's not delicious enough for the guy's liking, and then have said vampire concerned about his health – well, he'd tell them to check out the local GP when they next have the chance.
Surely this isn't normal?
"Um," he says with a slow blink. "I really don't think it's that important."
"It is," he insists earnestly. "Honestly, you taste disgusting."
Wow. If Remus receives any more compliments, he might give that kid Lockhart from the Drama course a run for his money. "Thanks," he deadpans. And then, with the air of someone suddenly recalling something important, continues, "But I think it's just because I'm anaemic that I taste differently so. Mystery solved, I guess."
"Anaemia? You mean, that condition when you don't have enough iron in your body or something?"
He nods. "Yep."
"What the fuck," the boy says incredulously. He folds his arms, smearing the sleeves of his leather jacket with Remus' blood. Now there's a pleasant thought. "Aren't you supposed to be prescribed supplements for that sort of thing?"
"I am."
His disbelief morphs into irritation. Eyebrows joining together in another glare, he accuses, "Aren't you supposed to take the supplements then, dickhead?"
"Um, why, so creeps like you can prey on me when I'm supposed to be in bed?" he shoots back. Part of him itches to mimic the boy's pose, just to piss him off, but he's concerned that if he moves his hand from his neck, he might just bleed out. He's paying nine thousand pounds a year for his degree, death can fucking wait. "I think the fuck not."
"Wow. Wow. You show some concern like a nice person and suddenly you're judged for your past actions."
"You bit my neck!"
"And no one," the boy says with a pained expression, "regrets it more than me. Honestly, you need to start taking your supplements, you've been given them for a reason."
Remus sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose with his free hand. "You know what, I'm actually so done with this conversation. As fascinating as it's been to discuss the quality of my blood with you – everyday conversation, really, something I discuss with my mates all the time – I need to get home. Before someone else attacks me down an alleyway."
"It was an emergency," the boy says defensively. "My supplier's decided to go on holiday and I'm running low."
"I literally don't care," Remus says flatly. Fishing his phone out from his back pocket, he grimaces at the time. He has a ten am start tomorrow. Seriously, why did he think this library business was a good idea again? "Bye."
With bravery he's never realised he's capable of, he pushes past the vampire towards the mouth of the alleyway, back to the real world where students drunkenly stumble about and takeaways radiating grease straddle every corner. A brief glance back tells him the boy isn't following him, but he meets Remus' eyes readily, dark eyes glinting in the darkness.
"I'll see you around," the boy calls.
Remus grimaces. "I hope not."
Jesus Christ, he needs some sleep.
One week later sees Remus in a coffee shop on campus, a shitty overpriced cappuccino by his right elbow, fingers flying over the keyboard of his laptop. The deadline for one of his assignments looms on the horizon like a shadowy beast so he figures he might as well get the bulk of it out of the way while he waits for Peter to be let out in an hour. Pausing to read over his last paragraph, he leans back in his seat and absently sips on the cappuccino.
It really is shit.
"Have you been taking your supplements?" says a sudden voice.
Remus looks up and screams.
Sitting opposite him under a direct ray of sunshine is the boy. Or Vampire Creep as Remus has dubbed him in his head. There's a completely serious expression on his face like he honestly thinks he has every right to turn up at Remus' university, sit down at his table and ask about his health like they're old friends. When really the bloke just took a bite out of him.
"Why are you screaming?" he asks when Remus finally slaps a hand over his own mouth. He looks around at the half-empty café apologetically, grimacing against his palm when he receives a particularly stony glare from the barista. "It's a valid question."
"You – you're – "
When it's clear he can't get the words out, Vampire Creep sighs tiredly. "Words would be nice, mate. This isn't Twilight, I can't read minds."
"Oh my God, why the fuck are you here?" he finally splutters, louder than he intends. His hand instinctively rises to the marks on his neck. "How did you even find me?"
"Your scent." He looks at Remus like he's stupid. "Duh."
"You… tracked me. With my scent."
"Well, it's not like you gave me a name and address – "
Exasperated, he snaps, "Well, that was sort of the point, you creep. You bit me. Tried to drain me of my fucking blood. It's not like I want to hold hands and sing Kumbaya My Lord with you after that little act, is it?"
"Um, wow." Vampire Creep actually looks offended. "First of all, there's no need for nasty names. Second of all, I wasn't going to drain you of blood, what the fuck. I literally needed, like, a thirty second feed. You could've replenished that easily."
"I don't care if I could. You didn't even ask permission."
The only answer he receives is a pout. It transforms Vampire Creep from looking rather handsome – he has eyes, alright, he can acknowledge a good-looking bloke he would 10/10 shag under any other circumstances like the raging homosexual his grandmother wishes he isn't – into looking fifteen years old. Seriously, it comes with puppy dog eyes and everything.
Luckily for Remus, he's a cold-hearted son of a bitch so he's not fazed in the slightest.
"How are you even here?" he asks instead, gesturing wildly to the lack of smoke and blistered skin. "It's, like, seventeen degrees outside. It's practically the middle of summer. Shouldn't you be a pile of ash now?"
"Probably," Vampire Creep says with an easy shrug. "But I know some people."
"That… doesn't explain anything."
"Look, that's not even the point." He waves away the question dismissively. "I just need to know if you're taking your supplements."
He's not.
"Sure," he replies, hoping it'll chase the bloke away. He takes another sip of his cappuccino. "Of course I am."
Vampire Creep narrows his eyes. "You do know I can hear your heartbeat, right?" Well, shit. There goes that plan, then.
Grimacing into his cup, he mutters under his breath, "Fuck me," and tries to come up with an excuse to chase the guy away. But there's no time to think of that because Vampire Creep chooses to drape himself across the table with a tantalising smile that really shouldn't be so fucking attractive, eyes hooded.
"Well," he practically purrs, "it's a tempting demand, I must admit, but I haven't even gotten your name yet."
What. The. Fuck.
Against his better instincts, Remus blushes. The sight is met with fascination and a pleased grin that has his stomach knotting uncomfortably. Trying not to seem too thrown off by it, Remus clears his throat hastily and pulls away, unconsciously burrowing into the comfort of his oversized hoodie. He has never been more grateful for the hood over his head than at this moment.
"Piss off," he mumbles.
Vampire Creep's grin only widens. "Mine is Sirius," he offers, reaching out with one pale hand to play with the drawstrings of his hood. "If you're wondering."
"Remus," he says before he can think otherwise. And then, with more force than necessary, he replies, "And I'm not. Wondering that is."
Vampire Creep – or Sirius, whatever his name is – hums contemplatively. Still idly fiddling with the drawstrings, he peeks up at Remus from underneath a dark fringe of lashes. "You're cute when you're nervous."
His hand automatically knocks the other's away. "Fuck off," he snaps, furious to find his cheeks have darkened even more. "I'm busy."
"With?"
"Work."
Playful smile quirking up his lips, Sirius asks teasingly, "Are you always so forthcoming or is it just with me? The level of detail to your answers is just incomparable."
Not for the first time during their conversation, Remus asks himself just who he brutally massacred in a past life to have earned himself the company of this parasite (both figuratively and, well, literally). Did he once roam the earth as Vlad the Impaler perhaps? Indulge in bloodlust before his breakfast each morning? What terrible thing did he do that the higher powers saw fit to torture him so? No matter how shortly he speaks, Vampire Creep just isn't going away.
With a heavy sigh, he elaborates, "It's an essay on the effect of the Prohibition Era on organised crime."
"The prohibition era!" Sirius exclaims. "I remember that! Good times."
Remus looks at him blankly. "Of course, you do. How old are you anyway? Three hundred years? Five?"
"One. Well, nearly. I was actually turned during the Prohibition Era. Fun fact: my uncle shot me and I was bitten as I was bleeding out in the middle of the road. It was very dramatic if I say so myself. Would make a great movie."
"Oh my God," Remus says because you can't just drop that on someone like it's nothing and because of course, Vampire Creep would be so nonchalant about his own uncle shooting him. He doesn't know why he's surprised anymore. Two meetings with this guy and he's already adjusted to this entire mess.
"Things have worked out well, though," Sirius assures him. "I'm as right as rain now."
"And feeding on innocent boys in alleyways when they're on their way back from the library."
"Hey!" he protests. "I told you, it was an emergency. Dearborn decided to holiday in Morocco and forgot to leave me enough blood to tide me over. I was starving. Do you really want me to starve?"
"Yes."
Sirius pouts once more. "You," he decides, "are a very mean person."
Somewhere in the back of his mind, Remus supposes he should be more alarmed by how quickly he gets used to the (unwanted) company of a vampire.
He knows that Peter would probably have fainted no less than three times if he was in the same position and, seeing as how he's a superstitious bloke who believes literally everything he reads on the internet, would promptly grab every last crucifix necklace he can find, gulp down holy water and arm himself with pocketfuls of pencils. He can already picture him now: 5'2, so many chains around his neck he looks like a Lil Wayne fanboy and garlic bread secured between his teeth.
But Remus is apparently a lot less wary than his best mate because he only gives Sirius an exasperated look every time the other boy turns up outside one of his lectures and wordlessly accepts the coffee he brings along.
"Where to next, compadre?" the vampire will say, slinging an arm over his shoulders and pulling him in close. One hand will stretch towards the ceiling. "The stars?"
"The toilet. I need a piss."
"Sounds wonderful. Let's go."
The thing is that it's really fucking hard to be scared of a vampire who is so… Sirius. Maybe if the bloke lurked around like some twenty first century version of Nosferatu, wide-eyed and pointy-eared, he might be inclined to crap his pants in fear, but Sirius happens to be a rather attractive, rather overdramatic little shit.
It's kind of hard to fear someone who launches into a seven-minute spiel about how he would die for Mike Wheeler when he catches Remus catching up on Stranger Things in the campus coffeeshop. Or someone who can fit a fifth of a cake in his mouth in one bite. Or someone who, though he usually walks with an unsettling amount of grace, literally tripped over his feet to land arse-first in a puddle one November morning and didn't move for a solid minute from the shock.
(Remus laughed so hard he nearly cried.)
Sometimes, he even forgets about the boy's dietary requirements – that is, until the next offhand comment about Woodstock or seeing the Queen's coronation when it occurred.
"You never did answer me, you know," he says one day when they're out in the quad, nestled in the embrace of a large tree. His head rests against the trunk as he watches Sirius weave a braid using stalks of grass. His hand is pale under the sunlight, but unscarred, no blisters forming from the heat. "About how you can walk around in the sun."
In response, Sirius wiggles the fingers on his right hand. On the fourth digit sits a gaudy ring, one Remus has never taken much notice of, gold with a dark blue stone. "This bad boy right here."
A frown mars his forehead. "Because… of a ring?" he says sceptically.
"Yup. Got a witch to cast a protection spell for me so I don't burn to death when I'm up and about. That sort of thing puts a bit of a damper on the mood, you know?"
"True," Remus says and then blinks rapidly. "Wait, what? Witches exist?"
For that, he earns a withering glance which wow, okay, it's not like he knows any witches. Or at least he doesn't think he does. This entire supernatural world is still relatively new to him, alright? He might've adjusted well to the existence of Sirius, but that doesn't mean he's given much thought to the fact that other species might exist.
"Most things do," Sirius says as if that doesn't sound particularly terrifying. "Anyways, have you been taking your supplements recently?"
"No," Remus shrugs, earning a glare for it. "Why are you even so concerned about it? Want to have another bite at my neck?" He's teasing obviously, but the blatant disgust Sirius shows still offends him. "What's that face supposed to mean?"
"Your blood was the single most disgusting thing I have ever had the misfortune to taste," he says bluntly. Throat flexing as he gags at the memory, he continues, "Oh dear lord, just thinking about it takes me back to a dark time – ugh, I'm going to throw up. Don't talk about it anymore."
"Don't ask me about my pills anymore," he shoots back.
"I'm being nice."
"You're being creepy," Remus retorts. "You literally ask about the state of my blood every time you see me."
"I care about your health," Sirius argues. "I'm a nice friend."
"Who says we're friends?" he says, but there's a smile on his face that belies the remark. He's friends with a vampire. Now there's a story for the papers. "I don't even like you."
Sirius rolls his eyes. "You love me."
With nimble fingers, he reaches forward to loosely grasp Remus' wrist. His skin is cool, prompting Remus' pulse to jump and stutter embarrassingly, something the vampire is sure to have noticed but doesn't comment on. He chooses to focus on the braid of grass in his fingers, the way he wraps it around Remus' wrist and painstakingly knots the ends together so it slides against the junction between his arm and hand like a bracelet.
"I have made you a friendship bracelet," he announces proudly. He leans back on his hands, sunlight kissing his features like this is its only purpose. "Now we have to be friends."
Unbelievably fond, Remus can only laugh.
About half a year passes before Remus realises he's fucked.
Not literally although he wouldn't really complain if that was the case. Exam stress is awful and wow he really hates having to slave over his textbooks for hours on end because history is beautiful to learn about but not so beautiful to explain in a well-written essay. A nice shag wouldn't be refused around about now.
The problem is… well, the problem is that he has a very specific shag in mind and that shag happens to be a hundred year old vampire in ripped jeans.
So yeah. He's fucked.
It's not necessarily his fault though. It's not his fault that the boy's so good-looking. Lean with absolutely gorgeous dark locks of hair that frame his face so effortlessly, lazy waves falling onto his forehead, and dark eyes that are far too expressive of his emotions for his own good. His shoulders are broad, the kind of broad that Remus aches to map with his hands, and the cut of his features are graceful like they've been chiselled into being by Raphael.
He wears ridiculously flattering clothes as well. Leather jackets that hang loose on his frame with these massive, chunky boots that could step on Remus any time. Or loose t-shirts that are straight off the racks in Afflecks with bedraggled jeans that have seen far better days. Once, he even turned up after Remus' Archaic Greek History lecture, his usual cappuccino in hand, in a loose yellow crop top that caused more heart palpitations than it should've.
He is, he's discovered, very weak for soft tummies.
"You're distracted," says the owner of the soft tummy in question when he realises Remus isn't paying attention to his longwinded rant on how his best friend-slash-sire, James, is still in Baltimore even though it's been three years and he misses him goddamn it. "Why are you distracted?"
Because he fucking fancies the pants off him and has been fantasising about that very thing, that's why. It probably doesn't help that he's in Remus' bed.
"You're boring," is what he says instead.
Sirius scoffs, rolling onto his stomach with an unimpressed look. "I am the most interesting thing to ever happen to you," he says grandly which honestly happens to be the truth. Before being accosted by a vampire at midnight, the spiciest thing to happen in Remus' life was when his grandmother choked on ramen upon finding out he's very much gay back in the tail end of Year Eleven.
Good times.
"The most annoying, you mean," he corrects. Pushing his feet off the ground, he leisurely spins around in his wheelie chair. "Like eighty percent of our friendship is you asking me if I've taken any supplements today."
"Yeah because you're a dickhead," Sirius says. "You barely ever have them. They're prescribed for a reason, you know. That reason being your health."
"Admirable."
"I know, I'm an angel," he says modestly.
Well, he sure looks like one when he's lying on Remus' bed like that. Today he's opted for a white dress shirt and slacks because he has literally no grasp on matching his attire to an event – he once appeared at uni in a mesh top and leather pants at, like, two pm on a Tuesday like he was about to hit the club any second then – and his hair falls into his eyes, making him look more gentle than usual. There's just something so inexplicably soft about him right now and Remus just wants to hold him close and oh God, he's so fucking gone, it's actually nauseating.
"You're staring at me," Sirius states after a while.
Remus jolts in his seat, only just realising he's stopped spinning to stare at him wordlessly for at least a solid minute. Briefly, he considers lying or brushing it off with one of his classic sarcastic comments – he really is rather proud of them – but discards both ideas. There's no use in beating around the bush. What's the worst that can happen?
"Yeah," he admits. "I am."
Sirius cocks his head to the side, considering him. "You like me, don't you?" he says. It's phrased like a question, but they both know the truth.
Still, Remus manages a careless nod; his heart quickens, making the gesture obsolete. "Yeah," he says quietly. "I do."
"Good," he says and within milliseconds, he's standing in front of Remus.
He flinches, more out of surprise than fear. It's been a long time since he's been scared of the other boy – honestly, he was scared of him for a total of two minutes before indignance and then irritation took control of his senses – but Sirius is careful not to use his superhuman strength and reflexes around him. Though he's pretty open about the supernatural sides to his life, he behaves like a human for all intents and purposes.
"I'm going to kiss you now," he declares, staring him down with a determination that's honestly a little exhilarating.
The right corner of his mouth quirks up. "I'm going to kiss you back."
As if the words are a trigger, Sirius quickly deposits himself on his lap, legs on either side of his hips, feet planted on the ground. As Remus' hands automatically shoot out to steady him, he buries one in the back of his hair and uses the other to cup his face. A cool thumb brushes against the curve of cheek.
Studying him intently, Sirius murmurs, "You're so pretty," and then presses his mouth against his.
It's pretty fucking great to be honest.
It starts off soft, almost curious as the two get a feel for each other's lips. Small inquisitive pecks, coming one after the other with barely a pause in between – a tilt of Sirius' head here, an adjustment of his grip there. The next time their mouths come together, Remus quickly captures Sirius' bottom lip between his teeth, nibbling gently as the other boy hums in appreciation. Then, he's licking into his mouth and oh God, he really should've done this sooner, why did he delay this for so long –
He's not sure how long they sit there and kiss, but when they finally part, his hair looks like it's been electrocuted and he's gasping embarrassingly heavily. On top of him, Sirius is in a similar state of dishevel, down to the ragged breathing and all. His lips are slick and swollen, red like a ripe cherry.
Remus manages a frown. "How are you out of breath? You don't even need oxygen."
"Wow. Rude." Sirius blinks and flicks his forehead in a playful reprimand. "Just because I'm technically undead doesn't mean I can't go through the motions of breathing, dickhead."
"It was a valid question," he protests, retaliating with a playful squeeze of Sirius' hips. "I still don't know everything about this whole vampire business. Or the supernatural world in general. You have a lot to teach me, you know."
Sirius flashes him a smirk. "Luckily for you, we have a lot of time to do it in. For now though, I have something better to do." With that, he wraps his arms around Remus' neck and pulls him in once again.
(The time on his phone reads 01:17 when Sirius hooks his chin onto his shoulder, murmuring his name in his ear. That's another he's learnt today, by the way, the fact that vampires can and do sleep, it's just that most of them choose to do it during the day when they're physically at their weakest. Over the years, Sirius has apparently trained himself to follow a normal human's body clock so he has a better shot of blending in.
"Remus?" he repeats when he doesn't reply. "Babe?"
A grunt. "What." Later, in the morning, the nickname will summon blood to diffuse through his cheeks and squeeze his heart, but right now when he's on the brink of sleep, he's too knackered to do the same.
There's a small silence. Just when Remus actually starts to worry, Sirius exhales a breath and asks, "Did you take your supplements today?"
Oh, for the love of God.
"Sirius, I swear on my grandmother's future grave, if you don't shut up and go to sleep – "
"Okay, okay, fine! I get it. I'm not allowed to be a concerned boyfriend and care about you."
Remus sighs, flips onto his side to face his boyfriend and pulls him into his arms. Tucking Sirius' head under his chin, he lets his eyes fall shut again. "Shut up," he says and presses a fond kiss to his hair.)
notes to consider:
- though it's not mentioned in the fic (like it's a crack!fic so i didn't go into detail obvs) but sirius was turned at about 20 years old and is mentally at that age
- i wrote this in the middle of the night instead of studying or sleeping
- the blacks are criminals in this story and basically all of my stories will they ever not be lol
- the ring + being able to walk in the sun comes from the vampire diaries where witches cast a spell on a lapiz lazuli for vampires to be able to do so
- the title comes from 'a supplementary story: you never walk alone', a song by bts. i was trying to come up with a pun based on anaemia/iron supplements and that's the best i could think of
- pls don't take this seriously or look at it too closely it will fall apart i promise you
xo