Literally just this
That's it, bestie
@pixieofthesun
Title: “Starved”
Pairing: Virgin!Remmick x GN!Reader
Word Count: ~1,158
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Content Warnings: Loss of virginity (Remmick), reader-receiving oral, fingering, soft dom/sub undertones, overstimulation, praise, desperation, crying during sex (Remmick), intense edging/teasing, aftercare, slightly rough/delirious moments, emotional vulnerability
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You’d never seen Remmick look like this.
He sat on the edge of the bed, legs spread like he didn’t know what to do with them, hands shaking on his knees. He looked too big for the world, let alone this room—built from wood and silence, lit only by the moody glow of the lamp beside the bed. The same lamp that now flickered against the deep red of his irises, blown wide, caught somewhere between bloodlust and something… far deeper.
Need.
“Are you sure?” you asked softly, standing between his knees.
Remmick didn’t speak right away. His mouth opened, shut again, and then he nodded, brow furrowing like the weight of this admission was heavier than all his years.
“I don’t think I’ve ever…” He swallowed, sharp Adam’s apple bobbing. “Wanted anything so much. I can’t— I don’t know what I’m doing. I’ve never… I never had the time.”
You reached out and touched his cheek. He leaned into it like a man dying of thirst.
"Never?"
He shook his head, red curls falling over one eye. “Not once. Not in thirteen hundred years. Always runnin’. Hiding. Killin’. Bleedin’. Had to learn how to survive—didn’t know how to be touched.”
Your thumb stroked the rough stubble on his jaw.
“You’ll let me touch you now?”
His breath caught.
“Please.” The word was hoarse. He gripped your waist like you were the last thing keeping him from unraveling.
You climbed into his lap slowly, letting your knees frame his hips, your hands curling around his shoulders.
His fingers twitched. “I can smell you,” he whispered, voice strained like he was in pain. “I’ve been smellin’ you for weeks. Every time you walked past, every time you sat beside me on the porch. I can’t get the scent of your skin off my tongue.”
“Do you want me to stop?” you asked, breath warm on his lips.
He groaned—begged. “Don’t you dare.”
You kissed him then—soft at first, letting him feel it, letting him melt into it. He whined when your lips pulled away.
“You’re shaking,” you whispered.
“I ache.” His hips rocked without permission, grinding up into you with nothing but denim and thin fabric in between. “I don’t know how to do this gentle.”
“You don’t have to be gentle,” you told him, threading your fingers through his wild hair. “You just have to feel it.”
He shivered like you’d struck a nerve.
And when your hands moved down his chest—fingertips ghosting over his shirt, tugging it up—he leaned back to help you strip it. You kissed along the soft trail of dark hair that led down his abdomen, earning a trembling sigh, his hands gripping the sheets so hard the seams popped.
You kissed lower. His hips jolted.
“F-fuck,” he choked. “Don’t tease. I’ll— I can’t take that.”
You opened his pants slowly, watched the outline of him twitch under the fabric—thick, heavy, leaking already.
His head fell back against the wall when you freed him.
“Oh my God—” he gasped. “You can’t just—”
But you did. Your lips wrapped around the head of his cock and he screamed. Not loud. Not angry. Just wrecked.
He sobbed your name, hips jerking up once, then twice, then freezing as he gripped the base of his cock, trying to keep from coming.
“I can’t,” he whimpered. “I’ll come. I’ll fucking explode if you keep doin’ that.”
“Good.” You smiled up at him, your lips wet and swollen. “Let yourself. Just feel it.”
You stroked him with your hand, watching his face twist with every pass.
“W-wait—fuck, please—no—”
He came.
It hit him like lightning. His whole body jerked, eyes wide, chest heaving. He moaned your name like a prayer, hips stuttering as thick spurts painted your hand and his stomach, his body wrung out after so many years of denial.
He didn’t stop shaking.
You kissed his neck, soft and slow, grounding him. “Still with me?”
Remmick whimpered, chest rising and falling like he couldn’t catch his breath. “It won’t stop,” he whispered. “I still need it. Still want you.”
“Then have me.”
You kissed him again and this time, he took—tongue desperate in your mouth, hands fumbling with your clothes like he was afraid they’d vanish. He mouthed at your neck, at your collarbone, biting softly, sucking marks into your skin like he needed to claim every inch.
He slid you back on the bed, kneeling between your legs, licking his lips as his hands spread your thighs. His voice was low, trembling.
“Can I taste you? Please?”
You nodded, and he moved so fast it startled you—face buried between your legs, mouth clumsy but so devoted. He moaned into you, sloppily lapping, whimpering each time you gasped.
He loved this—loved the way you squirmed, the way you cried out for him. He held you down by the hips, tongue relentless, and you realized he was rutting against the sheets like he couldn’t stop.
“Remmick—!”
You came, and he moaned like he felt it, drinking it in like wine.
When he rose, his lips were glossy, chin wet, eyes blown out with adoration and need.
You guided his fingers to your entrance, and he swallowed hard.
“I’ve never done this. I—”
“You’re doing perfect. Just go slow.”
He did. He watched your face the entire time, listened to every sound you made, adjusted with each whimper and gasp.
When you were open enough, you nodded.
“Now. I want you.”
His hands shook as he lined himself up, forehead pressed to yours, hips trembling.
The first push made his eyes roll back.
“Oh, holy fuckin’ shit, baby—”
He whimpered your name over and over, hips slowly grinding in deeper, muttering nonsense in that old Irish lilt that made you shiver.
“I’ve waited centuries. Centuries. And you—you—you feel like fuckin’ heaven.”
He bottomed out, chest pressed to yours, breath shaking.
And when he started to move, it was with growing desperation. Each thrust got needier, rougher, more feral. He kissed you through it, kissed your neck, your jaw, your lips, until he was crying—real tears dripping down his cheeks.
“I can’t stop—I can’t stop—I don’t want this to end—”
You held him, wrapped your legs around him and kissed the tears from his cheeks.
“Let it happen,” you whispered. “Come for me again.”
He did. Buried deep, biting your shoulder, gasping your name like it was a spell.
---
Aftercare was long.
You pulled him into your chest and let him come down. He clung to you, still shaking.
“I feel…” he breathed.
“Like you were made for it?” you teased.
He laughed, breathless. “No. I feel like I’m yours.”
You kissed his forehead.
“You always were.”
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