Knig Cod X Reader - Tumblr Posts

ok hear me out...boxer!könig and wwe champ!reader

könig thinks the wwe is beyond stupid. it's fake, performative, and he could beat half of them in a singular punch. BUT wwe!reader comes to one of his matches, fresh out of her own. she sits in the front row with her sparkly makeup, colored hair, and skimpy outfit and könig can't help but show out just for her. and to his suprise she meets him outside his dressing room (after he won obviously) and she gives him a...reward for winning :3 also if you have anons i'd like to be 💌 anon <33

i love this idea, but i changed it slightly so reader was teaching him a lesson rather than rewarding him 🫨🫨 and yes of course !! 💌 :3

(reader is appearance neutral, header is for aesthetic 😖)

dom!reader, hate-fucking, mutual hateful pining, rough sex, cowgirl, degradation. MDNI 18+

könig didn’t notice you until a few rounds in. he’d just knocked his opponent to the canvas when he did, eyes landing on you. he’d seen you on tv, heard about you on the news, seen some of your interviews. you’re humble enough, and inarguably deserving of your triumphs. but, come on. wwe? it’s not real — just a bunch of show ponies and stuntmen throwing each other around. it’s all about the camera angles and over-eccentric dressage that makes it seem as dangerous as it does. put you in a ring with him? you’re mice meat.

he even watched one of your fights. granted he was mostly watching the way your hips and arse looked in those leather booty shorts and fishnet stockings, but it didn’t waver his opinion of the sport. it’s all an act for the audience. he’d sooner compare it to that of pageants and spectacles of the violent kind.

but fuck, you looked good.

black lipstick matched the swooping wings of your eyeliner and adhesive lashes, paired with a cooler shade of eyeshadow to harmonise the accessories and extensions in your styled hair. a smear of blood had rubbed from your nose to your chin, smudging some of the inky paint from your mouth. you must’ve come straight from your own contest. and you were sporting a provocative smirk, staring right at him.

and he went all out just for you, winning by ko not even halfway through the match. if you wanted to watch real fighting, he was gonna show you. the semi-stiffness of his cock the entire time was besides the point.

what he wasn’t expecting, was to open his dressing room door to your presence — sultry and seductive. nothing to do with the fact you were wearing next to nothing. you carried a strong essence; radiating your prestige like an odor.

“you call yourself ‘king’.” you’d remarked, pushing past him through the door. he was still in costume, wearing the hooded mask with cut-out eyes he always did to maintain anonymity and ambiguity. you always found it odd how he hated everything you stood for, but looked the part.

“you think you’re a champion.” he snapped back, glaring lasers into the back of your head.

“i am.” you retorted, mocking his manner as you wandered around the room, sniffing the numerous floral bouquets and inspecting his various trophies. of course he had a rocky poster on the wall. “within my own right.”

“you are not a real fighter.” he belittled, scowling as you invited yourself to look through his things. he was trying his best not to stare at your backside, or the way your cleavage spilled over your corset.

you snorted, liking how the thickening tension tipped the scales in your favour, given your reasoning for stopping by. “i’m not exactly a ballerina either, your majesty.”

“könig.” he corrected.

“exactly.”

then you found yourself pinned atop his dresser, nylon tights torn and leather shorts promptly ripped clean from your curves whilst he fucked you against the mirror. but it didn’t last long. just as he was about to bottom out, you’d wrestled free from his grip and tackled him to the floor — cock still wedged inside of you.

he grunted, not just from the unexpected switch, but the way your cunt swallowed him whole when you sank onto his cock. his hands instinctively flew to your hips, but you snatched them off, stapling them either side of his head. “könig: the masked fighter.” you sneered down at him, bouncing roughly up and down on his fat meat. “all those punches to the face finally took their toll?”

his eyes — the only part of him you could see — darkened at your hateful comment. “are you calling me ugly?” he growled through groans and raspy breaths. you smirked the same way you had back in the crowd, biting your bottom lip with the way your clit kept bumping his hairy base. “no, i’m implying it.”

his fingers tightened around yours, cock throbbing within your tight walls. you knew he could overpower you quite easily, he just didn’t want to. you felt too good. “i’ve always wanted to have you like this.” you confessed, riding him harder. “ever since you patronised me at that press conference.”

his eyes narrowed up at you, pupils dilating to the point that his irises drowned in them.

“but look at you now.” you chuckled, grimly.

YESSSSAS SWEETIE YOU ATEEEE

hi i’ve been reading your stoner!könig series and *chefs kiss* 🤌. it’s amazing

what if: reader smokes because they have IED (anger management disorder) and her and she is ashamed of it so hides it from könig (not knowing he smokes too). König catches her and they talk ending in some smut 😉😏😏

RAAH THANK YOU ILY 🤧🌷 you sent me this ages ago im so sorry :(( i don’t know much about ied (i did some brief research) so i played it safe and went with rough and angry (and stoned) hate-fucking 🤭

MDNI. cannabis, choking, rough sex, multiple orgasms, overstimulation, mentions of anal sex, implications of vaginal tearing, abuse of power.

you’d blown up mid-debrief; spewing threats and assaulting furniture. your colonel wondered if you weren’t impressed with his plan but after asking around, he later learned that you suffer from explosive rage and a complete lack of control over it. mostly because you can’t exactly help it. your squad mates informed him it wasn't personal and that you just can't help it if the most insignificant or irrelevant factor triggers your turmoil.

he was then told by a certain closer comrade of yours that you self-medicate. during particular infuriated episodes you’ll take to your quarters where you lay low until you’re needed; a fat blunt of hand-rolled ‘medicinal herbs’ between your fingers. könig couldn’t believe it; he does the very same.

and when you answered your door with a face like thunder, a half-smoked blunt jutting from the crack of two bruised knuckles, you were greeted by the 6’10” hooded austrian — his own eyes reddened with the affects off pot.

he walked you backwards, kicking your door shut.

“please, come on in.” you’d quipped, sharp and snappy.

“‘please come on in, sir.’” he’d corrected you, large hand forcing you to look at him by the death grip on your messy hair. then you noticed his eyes — a mirror image of yours. he was completely out of it.

now he’s got you pinned to the headboard by your throat, the only thing stopping you from feeling like you’re hanging to your death being the support of his fat cock as it props you up; fucking you in short and shallow thrusts.

in his other hand sits a blunt, the second of the night. he’d smoked the first one with a perfect view of your arse, his girthy prick stuffing it full. but now he’s got the dazzling sight of your face — tears streaming from your bloodshot eyes as you garble and choke on struggled moans, forcing them through the weight around your throat.

call it fucking some work ethic and etiquette into you, or fucking the anger out of you. to be honest he’s been waiting for an excuse to have you like this, better yet with the two of you so far gone that you’ve both lost count of how many times you’ve creamed on, in or around each other; you’re both just lathered in hot milky cum.

you’ve still not apologised for your behaviour, granted you’ve quite literally lost the power of speech as his prick nudges your cervix with every grind of his hips against yours. smoke pours from his flared nostrils, drifting towards your gaping mouth. you pathetically inhale the fumes with the little strength your lungs have, feet cramping with the curl of your toes.

you’re dizzy, cunt clamping around him when he loosens his grip around your neck, causing you to sink further toward the base of dick until your arse is almost flush with his thighs. the stretch of your cunny is painful, and thanks to the width of him it feels like you might as well be losing your virginity all over again. the man is feral; ripping you apart.

everything will hurt tomorrow. you might not be able to work; maybe that was the point :((