we (8 billion people) are begging for dom fem reader and coryo dynamic. Why she always gotta be sub like my dom ass would slap the shit out of him ong
ʙᴇɢɢɪɴ’ ᴏɴ ʜᴇʀ ᴋɴᴇᴇꜱ ᴛᴏ ʙᴇ ᴘᴏᴘᴜʟᴀʀ !
Synopsis: Coriolanus will do anything to get to the top, right?
Content warning . power dynamics, loss of virginity, face riding, multiple orgasms, marking, sub!pussydrunk! Coryo, dom! Reader that’s a lil fucked up
notes: me when coryo has hair real . This kinda sucks I’m sorry
When you see Coriolanus Snow, you see a desperate man.
A boy, actually. You see a boy. A desperate, handsome, power hungry boy. You can see it in the way he towers over his peers in a sort of fake dominance, the fauxness behind his sugary sweet words directed to anything or anyone in a higher position— some even directed towards you, when that blush isn’t flushing his cheeks with a feral intensity.
As the daughter of Dr. Gaul, it’s quite easy for you to advance some of your friends in their studies. You are not only her daughter, but in a position of power yourself. You know people— and Coriolanus knows that. You aren’t dumb. You can tell by his eyes, the empty, icy blue orbs not quite telling the truth.
Coriolanus, in a way, is just like you.
Maybe that’s what intrigues you so much about him. Besides that pretty smile, or those golden curls or those muscles that make you drool, you admire his determination. You know about his poorness (not all know, but some do, as Dean Casca Highbottom once quoted to him), and you know one will go far to satiate their own greed.
It’s just a matter of how far.
—
Coriolanus walks into your lab crying, one day.
Not obviously. It’s subtle, as you demand he sit down and take off his shirt so you can stitch up his wounds. Your hands graze it softly, and he winces.
“Does it hurt?” You ask him, even though you already know the answer.
He lets out a shaky breath, his hands clenching at the seat.
“Yes.”
An honest answer. He must trust you.
You hum, beginning to work on his wound with taught precision. Looking at him now, his jaw is clenching tightly and the boy is shaking so much you fear he might break.
“I killed someone.”
He states it in a remorseful tone, the tone of someone weak and pathetic.
“Someone in the games, if I’m correct?”
He turns to look at you in surprise, as if you didn’t have access to your mother’s decision of allowing him to walk in there and save his friend Sejanus. He says nothing, then. He sniffles, and cries silently.
“You know,” you state, beginning to stitch him. “I’ve killed someone too. Someone I needed to kill.” You smile, remembering the one time a student who was threatening to take your place mysteriously fell into the pit of snakes. “It was necessary.”
Coriolanus tries to stay nonchalant, but you can see the way his shoulders tense. He doesn’t say a word, so you continue.
“Was it necessary to kill the person you killed?”
He looks down at his hands. Caked with blood, knuckles drawn taught. You want to bite them.
“No,” Coriolanus answers slowly. “No, it wasn’t.”
Maybe there’s more darkness to the boy than you originally thought.
You speak to him in a much lower tone now.
“Maybe it was. You just don’t know it.” And then, “There are a lot of things certain people can do to get to the top, Coriolanus.”
Your insinuation doesn’t go unnoticed. He moves his head to look at you.
“And what would that be?”
Typical. Someone so power hungry that his head turns at the mere mention of an opportunity. You’ve got him right where you want him.
You finish up his stitches. You move around to his front, your short red skirt all of a sudden incredibly suffocating as he looks up at you with something utterly pathetic in his gaze.
“How far are you willing to go, Coriolanus?”
And that’s when, a few moments later, you get your wish: that skirt, oh so suffocating, is strewn on the floor, Coriolanus’ big hands massaging the skin of your thighs as you straddle him. Your lips press against his in a hot and heavy kiss, your tongue massaging his lips with fervor. He may be doing this for advancement, but the blonde wants you nonetheless. You can see in the way his hips grind up, the way he lets out desperate whines as you lick up his tears with your tongue. Pulling away from him, your cunt clenches when he tries to push your body down onto his crotch.
“No, Coryo,” you demand, though your voice is desperate. “I want you on the floor, okay? You’re going to taste me first.”
He hesitates, his eyes darting to your lacey panties and then to the colorful tiles.
“… the floor?”
He seems nervous, jittery. It’s not as if he’s afraid of getting dirty, or something.
No, this is something else. In the way he nervously twiddles his fingers, the way his bottom lip catches in between his teeth. It’s not as if he wants to stop— it’s more so that he’s inexperienced.
And then it hits you.
Coriolanus snow is a virgin. This big handsome boy, beautiful and delicious, has never done had sex before. He’s never felt the touch of a woman, never eaten pussy or got his dick sucked.
And for some reason, that makes you want him more.
“Oh,” you coo to him, soft. “Coryo, you’ve never done this before, have you?”
His face turns dusty pink, but he tries to deny, deny, deny.
“What? No! Of course I’m not. I’m just..” he looks at the floor, his lie clear on his face. “The tiles are cold. Dirty.”
“You’re caked with blood and sweat, sweet boy. I’m sure the tiles will be fine.”
He looks away from you, his lips drawn up into a pout.
“I’m not a virgin.” He states, merely to himself. You raise a brow, an amused smile playing on your lips as you move farther away from him.
“Then why don’t you come and eat my pussy, baby?”
His cock strains against his zipper, and you swear you can see it twitch from where you’re standing. He gulps, and with a submission you would’ve never expected, the boy drops to his knees on the tile and makes his way towards you. His shirt, unbuttoned, shows the pretty lines of his chest and his rippling back muscles, and when he gets to you, he stops at the front of your still standing knees. Satisfaction wades through you when his hands move up to the waistband of your underwear and yanks them down with shaking hands. Your smell hits his nose, makes his head tilt back as he lets out a throaty sound in the back of his throat. His tongue laves over the skin of your inner thigh, his hands going around the back of one of your knees to pull you close. You spread your legs to allow him access, your pussy lips drenched with arousal as his breath laves over you.
“Go on, Coryo,” you urge. “You want me to put a good word to my colleagues, yeah? So you better do a good job.”
He moans, his tongue finally slipping in between your folds as he tastes you. He’s messy, sloppy, and it’s good but it’s not good enough.
“God. I thought you were experienced? Huh, Coryo? Don’t you wanna make me feel good? Are you even fucking trying?”
He pulls away from you, shame in his eyes as you scold him. He pleads, his lip wobbling, his arms holding onto your legs.
“Please, I’m sorry. ‘M so sorry. Teach me, please…”
He tries to press a kiss to your cunt, but you kick him away with your foot. He falls to the ground, helpless.
“Lay down—I don’t care if it hurts your back. Don’t make me tell you twice.”
He does as he’s told, all sweet and sweaty and bloody. His back hits the tile, injured but he ignores it when he watches you tower over him. You move down, pressing your knees on either side of his head. He grabs your thighs to place his mouth back on you, but you grab his golden curls in your hands and yank him back. He groans in pain, his feet kicking in a sort of pleasured resistance.
“You use your mouth when I tell you to, coryo,” you scold, watching the way his eyes flutter and only focus on your dripping pussy. “You do what I say. If I guide your head, or press myself down at a certain spot, you go along with it. Do you understand me?”
He nods, desperate to get his mouth on you, his cock thrusting into the open air.
“Good. Now, go slower. Stick out your tongue.. wider… therrre you go, baby.” His eyes focus on that one spot, his tongue hovering right over your clit. He must have read up on this a time or two. You press him closer, shoving his face into your heat as his tongue hits the swollen bud. “You see that? That’s my clit. Yeahh, stick your tongue right there…”
He groans, the taste of your sweet slick making his eyes roll back. His palms splay across your ass, digging crescent moons into the skin. You move your hips in a circular motion, giving Coryo the impression to move his tongue that way. He’s a smart boy, so he knows exactly what you’re communicating to him. His tongue moves in slow, languid circles, your slick already dripping down his chin. You can’t help but give into the pleasure he’s giving you for a moment, riding his face like your life depends on it before slowing down and stopping.
“Good, coryo. You’re being such a good boy. But you need to move your tongue down. You don’t want to play with my clit too much, because I’ll cum quick if you do.”
He makes a noise of understanding, moving his tongue down to your hole. It’s much funner this way, he thinks. The tip of his tongue can gather up the awaiting slick that’s spilling out of you, it makes your taste all the more prominent. You give him some room to experiment now, letting him move his tongue in between your clit and your hole. He catches on, and if you didn’t know any better you’d think he was experienced now— he’s a natural learner. Your hips grind down into him, and when he tongues your hole you use his strong nose to grind lazily against. Coryo can only breathe in your slick, his brain becoming fuzzy from his lack of air. But it’s okay. It’s okay because he’s doing good.
You can feel yourself getting close, the languid strokes of his tongue making your legs shake. You hump against his mouth, your head thrown back.
“Gonna cum,” you say to him. “Gonna cum on this slut mouth.”
He groans, his jaw working even harder now. He focuses on your clit more, save for the few times that he slurps up the slick from your hole. Your orgasm is fast approaching, your body drawing up tight.
And finally, you’re cumming on his mouth, moans spilling from your lips and Coryo’s. He’s desperate to catch all of your cum onto his awaiting tongue, his legs still moving around as he consumes you like a man starved. Your eyes roll back and you grind your hips against him as you come down from your high. Coryo pulls away once he’s satiated, looking up at you with his chin coated in slick.
You sigh, pulling your hips back to give him some air. You move your body off of him, going to your knees to watch his pussy drunk face still follow your cunt as you move. You want to return the favor, now. It’s only fair.
But looking down, you notice a wet spot soaking through Coryo’s pants.
He lifts himself up on his elbows, looking from his crotch to you. He flushes, apologies spewing from his wet lips, shaking his head.
“I tried not to. I really, really did. ‘M so sorry.”
He tries to reach out to touch you, but you just move away and down to his crotch. You unbutton his jeans, and he lets you. You look down at his red briefs, watching the white stain peeking through.
“Oh, baby. You just couldn’t help, it could you?”
You mock him, your hand palming his shaft. He lets out a whimper, his head falling back against the tile. He knows it’s too much, but he isn’t stopping you. You pull his briefs down, and boy is he big. Thick and long, all pretty and red with cum dripping down to his balls. Your mouth waters, but you figure that can wait another day. His seed can be used for other things.
You flutter your lashes at him, your hand wrapping around his shaft, jerking him to hardness again. He’s got this look, contorted and pained and pleasured at the same time. You straddle his meaty thighs, your cunt lips brushing over his cockhead, and he gasps.
“W-Wait—“ he starts, choked. “It’s.. ‘S too much—“
“Then why are you hard again?” You tilt your head at him, your movements paused because he didnt give you full permission. “Don’t you want my warm, tight pussy? Don’t you want to make it to the top?”
And that gets him going, his arousal for you and power and riches. He nods, eyes rolling back as you sink down on him. The cum from his last orgasm coats your walls and makes it easier to fill yourself up, warm white streaks dripping down his cock again.
“Oh.. oh my god,” his mouth drops open, and you’ve never heard a boy so vocal. “Please… I want it, I want it!”
You know what he’s asking for. Your stilled hips are non moving, letting him stretch you and sit heavy inside your cunt. You smile, moving your hips just a bit, letting him feel your gummy walls sucking him in. His mouth is in the shape of an o, his hair messy and disoriented. He tries to grab your tits, your hips, and with a surprising force your palm strikes his cheek haughtily. He cries out, his thighs shaking, his hips thrusting up.
“No touching,” you demand. “You don’t get to do that. Give me your hands.”
He lets you take them, and you push them far over his head as you begin to work your hips harder, faster. His balls make plop plop plop-ing noises as they hit your ass, quivering and begging for you to let them empty inside you. You move down to his neck, leaving purpleish bruises over his skin, marking him as yours. You let go of his hands so you can rest your hands on his torso, and his hands move up. Not necessarily to touch, but to hover over your tits bouncing through your tight fitted shirt. You give him permission, just a moment, to squeeze the soft skin in his hands, give them a teasing, bold little slap. You breathe shakily, his cock filling you up in ways no other has. You watch as Coryo’s head tilts back, and you know he’s close.
“Gonna cum?” You taunt, your nails scraping against his chest. He groans, nodding. “Gonna fill up my tight little pussy? Cmon, give it to me, I know you want to.”
And when he spills into you, rope after rope of warm, hot cum filling you to the brim, you let out a cry. His fingers find your clit— he’s thought this through, hasn’t he? He rubs you until you’re seeing stars and clenching around his overstimulated cock with a loud sob. He moves up to kiss you hot on the mouth.
“Did I do good?” He asks.
You smile, your hand threading your hands through his hair as you both relax against each other.
“You did very good, Coryo. I’m so proud of you.”
He breathes out a chuckle, shoving his face into your neck. You wrap your arms around his shoulders and he winces. His wound has been withstanding a lot of pressure.
“You probably want to put some ice on that.” You suggest to him. He shrugs.
“The tile was cold enough.”
