#virgin!remmick

[lunareclipse-writes]

Saw the virgin remmick fic and now I need a corruption version

Reader edging him and overstimulating him until he's sobbing and begging, he's completely and utterly ruined and yours

Title: “Mine to Ruin”

Virgin!Remmick x GN!Reader

Word Count: ~810

---

Warnings: NSFW, edging, overstimulation, loss of virginity (Remmick) , begging, sobbing, emotional corruption, possessiveness, praise + degradation, aftercare implied.

---

He was trembling beneath you—centuries-old and trembling. A vampire, yes. A killer, a survivor, a ghost of a man who’d lived far too long without warmth, without want.

But now he wanted. He ached.

And you were the one who gave him that hunger. The one who promised him pleasure and then denied it, again and again, until it was all he knew.

Remmick’s thighs were shaking, slick with sweat despite the unnatural cool of his skin. His lips were swollen from kissing, from whimpering your name, and from biting down to try and stay quiet.

He failed at that last part, gloriously.

“Please—please,” he choked out, hips twitching helplessly under your grip. His cock was flushed a furious red, leaking, twitching. His fangs were out. His eyes were glassy, red-rimmed, and brimming with tears.

You grinned down at him, a hand dragging up his chest, slowly circling his nipple until he gasped, arching up into your palm like he needed it to live.

“You’ve waited over a thousand years for this,” you whispered against his neck, tongue teasing the curve of his jaw. “You can wait a little longer, can't you?”

He shook his head. “No—no, I can’t, please, please, I need it—I need you—”

“You’ve had me all night, Remmick,” you cooed sweetly, kissing the corner of his wet eye. “You’re the one who hasn’t earned a thing yet.”

He sobbed. Literally sobbed—his whole chest hitching with the force of it. It made your stomach clench, molten heat crawling through your gut.

You had him. Really had him.

He was ruined. Yours.

You let your fingers slide down again, teasing his cock with just the tips. He whimpered, legs twitching, hips jerking up involuntarily—and then you pulled away again, letting him hump at the air with a broken little cry.

“Fuck!” he snarled, nails scratching at the sheets. “I—I can’t take it—I c-can’t—”

You grabbed his chin, forcing him to look at you. “You will.”

His lip quivered. His pupils were blown wide.

“You’ll take everything I give you and thank me for it,” you continued, voice low and firm. “Because you want to be ruined, don’t you? You want to be good for me. Filthy and broken and sweet. Just mine.”

His fangs gleamed when his mouth fell open, panting. He nodded quickly, eyes wild. “Yes. Yes—I want that. I want you—I want to be yours, please, I’m yours, I swear—”

“Prove it,” you whispered, lowering yourself again, your tongue dragging along the underside of his cock so slowly it made him scream.

He didn’t even notice his hips bucking off the bed—didn’t notice the tears spilling over. You held his thighs down, kissed the flushed tip of his cock like it was a holy thing, and smiled when he sobbed again.

“Gonna come,” he warned, voice hoarse and high and utterly broken. “I—I can’t hold it, I swear, I’m gonna—please—”

And once again, you stopped. Let go. Moved your mouth away and waited while his body crumpled with the grief of it, his hips stuttering in desperation.

He screamed into the sheets.

You laughed softly.

“Oh, baby,” you purred, stroking his hair gently. “You poor thing.”

“Don’t—don’t laugh,” he sobbed. “I—I need you, please, I’m begging you, I’ve never felt anything like this—”

“I know you haven’t,” you whispered, kissing his cheek tenderly. “That’s why it’s so fun.”

He looked up at you, wrecked. There were tears and sweat and blood from where he’d bitten his lip. His chest heaved with every shaky breath.

“I’d do anything,” he said, voice raw. “Anything. Just—please let me come. I don’t care what you do, I just—I need—”

You crawled over him again, straddling his hips, your weight pinning him. You leaned down, mouths almost touching.

“I want you sobbing when you come,” you whispered. “I want it to break you.”

He groaned—almost growled—and you knew he was so close to unraveling that the line between pain and pleasure had disappeared completely.

You wrapped a hand around him again and didn’t stop this time.

No teasing. No edging.

Just a firm, steady stroke, slick and tight and unrelenting.

His mouth fell open, a strangled moan spilling out.

You kissed him while he came—kissed him through his cries, through the shudders of his body, through the tears on his cheeks as he sobbed your name over and over like a prayer.

He came hard—hot and messy between your bodies, hips bucking, eyes fluttering shut, completely and utterly destroyed.

And he didn’t stop crying. Not for a long time.

You didn’t make him. You just cradled him, held him tight, whispered in his ear:

“There’s my pretty boy… ruined just right.”

---

Masterlist

[feralforfangs]

Remmick crying from having sex with Reader because it feels so good, snd leaning his face eagerly to Reader’s tongue as she starts licking his tears.

🩸 “Crying ‘cause it feels too good?”

☾ “He’s not sobbing in pain. No. He’s crying because it’s so good he can’t fucking stand it.”

He’s inside you, hips stuttering like he’s losing control of his own body, and there’s this wet sound — not from between your legs (though, God, that’s obscene too) — but from his face.

Remmick’s crying.

Eyes red. Mouth open. Tears streaming down his flushed cheeks as he gasps for air, chasing his orgasm like it’s the only thing keeping his body stitched together.

“F-fuck—fuck—I can’t—I c-can’t stop—oh, God—feels so good, you feel so—”

He sobs. Literally sobs.

Tears track through the grime and blood on his face, and you don’t even blink before you lick one right off.

Your tongue is warm, cruel, loving. He gasps like you stabbed him with pleasure.

And then he leans into it.

Chases your mouth. Tries to offer his tears like something holy, like he’s proud of being ruined.

“You like that?” he pants, voice shaking. “You like makin’ me cry like a little bitch?”

You hum against his cheek.

Your hips roll slower, deeper. His cock twitches inside you.

“You’re beautiful when you break,” you murmur. “Now cry for me, sweetheart.”

He does.

So good. So desperate. So yours.

[lunareclipse-writes]

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

---

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.”

—

Masterlist

[feralforfangs]

Remmick getting stabbed by Reader, and he hugs her closer, making the knife go deeper. Growling and moaning in her ear to go all the way through, begging for more and for her to be closer to him as his blood pools between them.

🩸 “Stab me softer, sweetheart.”

☾ “He shudders when it sinks in. Not from pain—but from how close it makes you.”

The blade goes in, and he groans like you kissed him.

His body arches into yours, not away. Arms tightening around your waist as his chest heaves, trembling, bleeding—but smiling. That grin is carved wicked across his face, fangs peeking, lips trembling with lust and laughter and something near religious.

“Deeper,” he pants, voice raw in your ear. “Don’t stop now, love. Give me everything.”

You try to pull back, but he yanks you closer—pressing forward, driving the knife in further with the force of his own sick want. His blood spills hot between your bodies, soaking into your clothes, smearing between your stomachs as he moans again—low and broken.

“You feel that?”

“That’s me in you, darling. All the way in.”

He kisses your neck like a man being saved instead of slain. Gasping against your pulse. Growling against your skin. Every heartbeat is faster now—yours from rage, his from something even darker.

“Kill me,” he murmurs sweetly. “Please. Just don’t stop touching me.”

And you realize—he’s never felt more alive.

[feralforfangs]

Remmick all tied up and displayed as Reader takes her sweet time running her hands along his skin. Remmick begs and pleads for her to do more. But she just keeps her pace, sometimes going slower or taking a break from touching him. He whimpers and whines pathetically like a needy animal.

🩸 "Look at Him Now"

☾ “He’s shaking. Not from fear — from need. From the shame of how bad he wants it.”

He’s naked. Tied up. Laid out like a feast you’ve barely tasted.

Wrists bound above his head with silver-threaded rope that makes him twitch every time he pulls against it. Ankles parted and trembling.

And you?

You’re just… touching.

Slowly. Lazily. Like you’ve got all the time in the world to explore every inch of him.

Fingers skim his ribs. His hips. His inner thigh.

You pause just short of where he needs it, palm hovering over his leaking cock — then pull away.

He makes the most pathetic sound.

A choked whimper. A needy, high-pitched sob of a man who hasn’t been denied anything in years and is now losing his fucking mind from the lack of your mercy.

“Please,” he gasps. “Please, sweetheart, I—I need you, I’ll be good, I’ll do anything—”

You shush him softly, running a fingertip over the curve of his jaw.

“You’re already being good, baby. Just lay there and beg a little more.”

He whines. Actually whines.

Rolls his hips up like a desperate animal in heat, cock flushed and twitching, aching for even the barest friction. But all he gets is your breath over his skin.

Your lips on his chest. Your nails dragging slowly down his sides, leaving him shaking like he’s about to fall apart.

You kiss his stomach.

He jerks. Moans. Sobs.

“You’re driving me crazy,” he pants. “Fuck—please—don’t tease—just—fuck—please touch me—”

But you don’t. Not yet.

You smile against his thigh, and whisper:

“I am touching you. Just not where you want.”

“Not until you forget how to speak. Not until you’re crying for it.”

[feralforfangs]

teasing a virgin!remmick out in public. first embarrassed by how hard hes whimpering n panting, then humiliated by having to hide the big wet stain from the mess he made in his pants. face buried in your chest crying, as if he wont be getting off to what happened later when we're home.

[feralforfangs]

Remmick gets a footjob from Reader, her toes in red nail polish. Afterwards, he guides her ankle to press her cum-soaked foot to his face. He nuzzles, kisses, and licks it as his own cum smears on his face and tongue. He licks around the red nail polish, sucking on her toes.

🩸 Red polish, redder face

☾ “He finishes fast—too fast—and presses his mess back to his own lips like it’s worship.”

You didn’t even have to use your hands.

Just your feet. Red polish glinting in the low light. Slow strokes, the arch of your sole working him up until his head tipped back and he whimpered — full-body shudders, mouth open like he forgot how to breathe.

“Oh, f-fuck—fuck—don’t stop—”

He came with his thighs trembling and his voice breaking. Hot, desperate, feral.

Then he took your ankle in his palm like it was made of gold, reverent and shaky, and brought your cum-soaked foot right to his face. Pressed his nose to the skin. Inhaled.

And then?

He kissed it.

Smearing the mess. Mouth wet and needy. Tongue trailing along your skin, circling the red polish like it was candy. He moaned into it—moaned—while sucking your toes, eyes heavy-lidded, cum-slick cheek flushed like a sinner at the altar.

“You’re unreal,” he muttered. “You’re gonna kill me someday. Let me thank you first.”

[feralforfangs]

🩸 "Break Him In Bloody"

Remmick's a virgin. Not for long.

☾ “You’re gonna take it, pretty boy. All of it. Even if you cry.”

He acts like he’s in control.

The cigarette. The stare. The sharp tongue that talks back even when he’s trembling under you.

But when he admits it—voice low, like a confession—“Never done it. Never been touched.”

It’s over for him.

You ruin him on your cock. First with your fingers, spit-soaked and shaking in his tight, untouched hole while he squirms and moans like a whore. Then your hand wraps around his throat — not enough to stop him, just enough to make him feel helpless when you growl “Breathe through it, sweetheart.”

He’s crying before you even push all the way in.

Clawing at your arms, drooling on your chest, babbling things like “f-fuck—too much—hurts—feels s’good—don’t stop—”

So you don’t.

You fuck him through his first orgasm. Deny the second. Spank him raw. Slap his face and make him say “Thank you.”

Make him beg for your cum like it's mercy.

🩸 He chokes when you spit in his mouth.

🩸 His thighs shake when you slap his cock and say “Not yet.”

🩸 He screams when you fill him and don’t stop.

You press your mouth to his ear and whisper every filthy thing he needs to hear:

“You were made to be used.”

“Look at this hole—clenching like it doesn’t want to let go.”

“God, you’re perfect. Fucking perfect.”

And when he’s drooling, crying, wrecked, bleeding and twitching from overstimulation, you drag your cum-soaked fingers to his lips and say:

“Lick it. Be a good boy.”