#boxer!au

[burrotello]

BOXER AU - OFFICIAL POSTER

They’re all not too sure what reward they’re fighting for, but gosh do they love doing it anyway!

[motomamita]

JUST HAD A THOUGHT !

König as a rising underground boxer, with his cute little nurse that comes with him whenever he goes. He lets no one else look after him and all his bandages have cute symbols on it.

Media is all over him and he just can’t help but brag about his cutie patootie nurse that only cares for him, and no other boxer has eye candy like he does.😵‍💫

boxer!könig × nurse!reader

warnings: +18, smut, sex!

you needed money urgently and you were in your last year of nursing. that's when you met könig, who was a friend of a friend of yours and who needed your services in exchange for good pay.

your first meeting with him was in the basement of a bar far from the city, late at night. könig showed up in the locker room, shirtless and wearing boxer shorts. his face and entire body had bruises and scars that seemed to have healed not very well. that's when you knew you were going to have a very hard job there.

in his following fights, könig managed to win and take first place in the standings. After each fight, both received a good amount of money that you shared equally. you spent hours with him in the locker room, cleaning his bloody face and placing bandages on his bruised knuckles. sometimes you got so late that könig invited you to his small apartment, where you took care of him until you inevitably fell asleep in his bed. könig took advantage and pulled you towards him, letting you sleep on his chest.

soon König gained recognition and was invited to fight in the best competitions in the city. both became a team and had to show yourselves as such. now you were wearing a matching shirt and skirt with the inscription "property of könig" on the back, so everyone would know that you were HIS nurse. könig dressed to match you, choosing the same colors of shorts that you choose for your little skirts.

the media began to take an interest in both, calling you "the little nurse" and praising the good chemistry you both had. noticing how your face became worried every time könig received a hit or how you jumped with excitement every time he won, without caring that your panties were visible under your skirt.

you also caught the attention of the other boxers who did not miss the opportunity to look up your skirt or try to talk to you. unfortunately for them, könig was always next to you, hugging you around the waist and growling almost like a dog when any of those sons of bitches tried to get close to you.

everyone understood that it was in vain to try to separate you, you were both there for each other. könig wore a chain around his neck along with a sign with your name on it that he always kissed before entering the ring because, according to him, it gave him luck. and every time he won, he would run up to you to hug and kiss you, not caring that he was dripping with blood and sweat.

dor your part, you massaged his muscles before each fight and even sucked his cock to make him more "relaxed." könig just let you do whatever you want with him just by feeling your skin on his and not going too far away.

today könig had fought the final against another guy, for a lot, a lot of money. in a fight straight out of a movie, könig had managed to establish himself as the supreme winner. the photos of you two hugging and kissing didn't take long, as did the glasses of champagne to celebrate. once the celebrations had calmed down, you took könig to the locker room, you had to clean his bleeding nose and a large open scar on his right cheekbone. but, he had other plans.

"that's it, keep it up.. c'mon.."

könig moaned, lying on a bench, while you rode his thick, sweaty cock. in your hand you still had the gauze with which you were trying to clean his wounds but it was difficult for you to stop in the face of so much pleasure.

at your waist you wore the könig winner's belt and several bills clutched in your short skirt. you couldn't stop releasing on him, feeling how your moisture fell down the length of his cock and wet his sweaty balls. the tip of his cock kissed your cervix with each thrust while your clits slapped against his happy trail.

"keep jumping, fuck you, fuck... my little nurse, always taking care of me, huh?"

könig brought his big hands to your breasts, breaking the buttons on your shirt and moving your bra, leaving your breasts in the air. you moaned at the change in temperature and your warm walls squeezed könig's throbbing cock. the breaths and moans of both of you echoed in the locker room as did the sound of your skin colliding.

"come on, make me cum, i know you can..."

he asked, now bringing his hands to your hips, helping you continue bouncing his cock. könig couldn't resist and raised his hips, fucking you hard and finishing inside you.

that night you returned home with the prize and with even more energy to fuck until the next morning.

[lunasblunt]

boxer!logan who showers with you after every fight

boxer!logan who lets you watch him train. you sit in the empty bleachers just kicking your feet as sweat trails down his temples

boxer!logan who invites you to afterparties and wanders with his arm around your shoulders, bringing you everywhere he goes

boxer!logan who kisses you senseless in the middle of the ring after every win

boxer!logan who’s cocky to the press. either refuses to talk or pushes their buttons, never giving them straightforward answers. keeps them on their toes.

bonus boxer!logan x model!reader bc helloooooo

[cute-sucker]

note: this is an unofficial part 2 of this boxer!rafe and his sweetheart <3

˚❀༉‧₊˚.˚❀༉‧₊˚.˚❀༉‧₊˚.˚❀༉‧₊˚.˚❀༉‧₊˚.˚❀༉‧₊˚.˚❀༉‧₊˚.˚❀༉‧₊˚.˚❀༉‧₊˚.˚❀༉‧₊˚.˚❀༉‧₊˚.˚❀༉‧₊˚.˚❀༉‧₊˚.

boxer!rafe can't stop thinking about you pregnant, and some would say he got more protective when you did get pregnant.

you weren't showing yet, but he was always keeping a watchful eye on you, protective hand wandering to your midsection.

after the scare you gave him at the games, he watched you all the time, willfully bringing home more food than was needed, feeling willing to come back home when he heard your whines through the phone, and buying you the most beautiful sundresses ever.

sometimes the two of you would spend more time together, looking out the balcony as he smoked a cigarette, and you looked outside with a dazed expression, hand stroking your stomach. he watched the way your nose wrinkled when a trendil of smoke reached your nose.

you made a screwed face, and then looked back at rafe with a pointed look, "i don't like that."

the next day all the cigarettes in your house were gone, and he went back to boxing. it was sweet the way your small proclamation could command him to do anything. sometimes you couldn't help but test it. test how much he loved you, and how willing he was go to. you knew it was bad the way you were acting, but you ached for the attention.

so it was all to plan when you woke up craving a burger.

not just any burger. it needed to be homemade, or even one of the burgers that rafe had made you during your first date. you remember it so clearly, the way his hand scimmed past your back as he helped you chop the cucumbers, a soft hand twirling a tendril of your hair.

it was all in your head, and suddenly you needed the burger with your life. you were pawing at his chest, soft whines leaving your mouth. he woke suddenly, taking a deep inhale of air.

"what's wrong?" he muttered, words slurred with sleep. you couldn't feel but feel bad as you pouted at him. you were wearing a pretty nightgown with a bow at the top. you watched him scan your swollen body.

you were pulling all the routes as you lowered your voice, "i need a burger."

he looked at you incredulously, eyebrows raised putting his rough hand on your shoulder, "right now?"

you frowned, before rubbing your stomach, "yes."

he groaned, falling back to head head first. you bit your tongue to stop giggles from spilling out of your mouth. he was so soft with you now, and you knew that months ago he would never act like this. but you couldn't help but tug at his arm as a grunt fell from his mouth.

"do you really need it, mama?"

now you couldn't stop your smile. you loved it when he called you 'mama,' and you loved the gentle tilt of his mouth when he called you that. and you rested your head back, nodding. finally, he gave an annoyed sigh before getting out of bed.

"goddamn it," he groaned, pulling a cleaner shirt up his head. you rested at his feet watching him put on his clothes. there was something so domestic about the whole scenario. tanyhilll was full of pictures of the two of you, small pieces of the two of you.

finally, as if he realised you were watching him, he scowled looking at you. still in your nightgown with a frenzied look on your face, he seemed to sigh again.

"ah, don't you think you should change?" he murmured, hands skimming over your top. you melted at his touch, practically hopping into his lap with eagerness. he let out a laugh before gently pushing you away, "listen. you gotta change out of that. can't have you looking like that."

you gave him a cheeky smile as if it was the middle of the day instead of three in the morning. somehow you found increasing amounts of energy and rafe was always confused about how you did it all.

"look like what?"

he shook his head, eyes flashing with slight annoyance, "nah. 'm not doing that today. get up bun, 'n go change."

although he sounded demanding you couldn't help but feel your heart drum harder at his words, biting your lip as you pulled on one of his old sweatshirts.

that night you got your burger, and he got you.

please let me know if you'd like to added to the boxer!rafe taglist!!

[darksturnz]

── ⋮ ⌗ “PLEASE HELP ME FORGET”. . . ⟢ BOXER.ᐟMATT ᵎᵎ

this is specifically for @y3sterdaysproblem , iloveyouiloveyou. + song is a must when reading! contents: unprotected p in v, oral (m! receiving), just some desperate sex and hand holding tbh!

you wake up to the pounding. at first, it feels like it’s just part of the dream, distant and hollow, like something knocking around in the back of your head. but then it happens again. and again. and your body jerks awake with a sharp inhale, disoriented, the dark pressing in from all sides.

your heart is still heavy with sleep as you push yourself up, rubbing at your face, trying to blink yourself into awareness. the pounding comes again, loud, insistent. it rattles the doorframe.

you frown, stomach twisting. it’s still dark out.. you reach for your phone on the nightstand—3:42 am.

the pounding starts again, and this time, there’s a voice. slurred, low, muffled against the wood.

you shove off the blankets, feet hitting the cool floor as you stumble toward the door, still half-asleep, your body moving on instinct. you hesitate, looking through the peephole, but it’s covered.

no one sane would be showing up at your door this late.

then the voice comes again, clearer this time. your name, groggy, rough around the edges.

matt.

you fumble with the locks, yanking the door open, and he stumbles forward, like he was leaning against it.

the hallway light catches on him, and your breath stutters out of your chest.

he looks fucking terrible.

his face is swollen, a fresh cut splitting his bottom lip. dark bruises are already forming along his cheekbone, his jaw, the bridge of his nose. blood stains his knuckles, the collar of his hoodie, the white wrap around his fingers. his breathing is heavy, labored, like he’s been running.

his eyes meet yours, dark and glossy, and he exhales, shoulders sagging. relief.

”shit,” he rasps. “sorry. didn’t mean to wake you.”

“matt—” you grab his arm, tugging him inside, slamming the door shut. “what the fuck happened?”

he doesn’t answer. just blinks at you, swaying slightly. up close, you can see how out of it he is, adrenaline still pumping through his veins.

your hands hover over him, unsure where to start. your chest is tight, your throat even tighter. “jesus, you’re—come on.” you pull him toward the bathroom, flicking the light on.

he winces at the brightness, squeezing his eyes shut for a second before opening them again. you make him sit on the closed toilet lid, kneeling between his legs as you grab the first aid kit from under the sink.

“you should be at a hospital,” you murmur, shaking a bottle of peroxide.

“ ‘m fine.”

“you’re not.”

he gives you a tired laugh, but it doesn’t reach his eyes. “you should see the other guy, really”

you press a soaked cotton pad to his knuckles, and he hisses, jerking slightly. you shoot him a look, and he grins, like this is some kind of game.

“you think this is funny ?” you whisper.

“…not really.”

your throat clenches. “then why keep doing it?”

his smile fades. his gaze flickers over your face—your messy hair, your sleepy eyes, the oversized t-shirt slipping off your shoulder. something shifts in him.

“don’t,” you warn. you can feel it, the shift in his focus.

his fingers brush your jaw, tilting your face up slightly. his touch is warm, rough. “just—please help me forget,” he murmurs.

his lips brush yours, soft at first, but then he moves in closer, more desperate. you can feel the way he winces against your mouth, feel the tremble in his fingers when they trail down your arms.

“matt—”

“please.” it’s barely a whisper, almost broken.

you go to argue that he’s hurting but the pure look of desperation on his face stops you and you nod with a soft sigh.

his hands find your waist, fingers digging in, grounding himself in you. you climb onto his lap, careful, straddling him as your lips move together, slow but hungry. his grip tightens, his breathing gets heavier, like he’s drowning and you’re the only thing keeping him afloat.

you tug at his hoodie, easing it off his bruised shoulders. he winces, and you freeze, but he shakes his head. “keep goin’ s’okay.”

your fingers trace the bruises littering his ribs, so light and his skin twitches under your touch, but he doesn’t stop you.

he lets out a shaky exhale when your lips find his neck, pressing light kisses against the sore skin.

“bed,” you whisper.

he lets you pull him up, wincing again slightly, but he doesn’t let go of you, hands gripping your waist, keeping you close as you guide him down the hall.

the second your back hits the mattress, he’s on you. kissing you like he needs you, like he won’t survive without this, without you. his hands roam, slow but possessive, memorizing your curves like he hasn’t done it plenty of time before. 

you let him take what he needs. but you take too. your fingers tangle in his hair, nails scraping against his scalp, and he groans into your mouth, pressing harder against you.

when you pull back, he chases your lips, breathing ragged.

“let me take care of you,” you murmur, running your hands down his chest, over his stomach.

you feel the way his stomach tenses under your palms, muscles shifting as his breath shudders out of him. your fingers trace the bruises forming along his ribs, careful but curious, watching the way he twitches beneath you.

his eyes are dark, heavy-lidded, locked on you like you’re the only thing in the world keeping him sane, and deep down that makes you feel good.

“yeah?” his voice is rough, barely above a whisper.

you nod. “yeah.”

his fingers trail up your arms, skimming your collarbone before curling around your throat—not tight, just there. his thumb brushes over your jaw, tracing the shape of your lips.

“fuuuuck,” he breathes, like he can’t believe you’re real. “are you sure?”

you tilt your head, pressing a soft kiss to his wrist. “shut up and let me.”

he exhales, leaning back against the pillows, watching as you slide down his body.

his hoodie is already off, but you work at the rest of his clothes, peeling him out of them like you’ve got all the time in the world. he lets you, his breath hitching when your fingers brush over the dips and lines of his stomach.

when you finally tug his boxers down, his cock is rock hard, flushed against his stomach. you glance up at him, taking in the way his chest rises and falls, his bruised knuckles gripping the sheets.

you press a kiss to his hipbone, then another, teasing.

his jaw clenches. “please don’t fuck with me.”

you smile, wrapping your fingers around him, stroking slow, savoring the way he twitches in your grip.

“god,” he hisses, head falling back against the pillow.

you take your time with him. slow, deep, letting your tongue trace every inch, learning what makes him gasp, what makes him groan, what makes him fist your hair and curse under his breath.

when you sink down fully, hollowing your cheeks, his hand flies to the back of your head, his grip tightening, like he needs something more to hold onto other than your sheets. 

“baby—” his voice is strained, wrecked.

you hum around him, feeling him throb against your tongue.

his breath shudders out of him, his body tensing, and when you glance up, his eyes are locked on you, dark and desperate.

“ jus’ like that,” he murmurs. “so good. always so good to me.”

your thighs press together at the praise, heat curling low in your stomach.

his hips twitch, like he wants to thrust but doesn’t want to push too hard. but you let him guide you, let him use you the way he needs, let him fuck the thoughts right out of his head.

when you pull back, dragging your tongue along the underside before popping off with a soft mmh, he groans, hands gripping your wrists, pulling you up.

“c’mere.”

you let him bring you back up, pressing you into the mattress. his lips find yours, tasting himself on your tongue, kissing you slow but deep, like he wants to crawl inside your skin.

“wanna feel you,” he breathes against your mouth. “need to.”

you hum, letting him strip you down, his hands firm but careful, tracing every inch of you like he’s memorizing you all over again.

he pushes your legs apart, dragging his fingers through the slick between your thighs. he groans, pressing his forehead to yours.

“ look at that, already so wet for me.”

you whimper, hips rolling into his touch.

he pushes in with two fingers, slow, letting you stretch around him. his thumb brushes your clit, circling in lazy strokes.

“so perfect,” he murmurs, watching the way your body reacts, the way you arch into him, your breath stuttering.

you grip his wrist, eyes fluttering shut. “matt—”

he kisses you again, swallowing your moans, taking what he needs.

when he finally pushes inside you, it’s slow, a perfect stretch that has both of you gasping. 

his forehead presses against yours, his breath uneven.

“you okay?”

you nod, fingers threading through his hair, tugging lightly.

he groans, rocking into you, setting a deep rhythm, dragging every inch of him against your soft walls.

his hand finds yours, fingers intertwining, grounding both of you.

“you’re everything,” he murmurs, voice wrecked. “don’t even fucking deserve you.”

your heart clenches. you squeeze his hand, pressing soft kisses along his jaw, over his bruised cheek, anywhere you can reach.

“just take it, baby,” you whisper. “let me make you feel good.”

he listens. he lets you take care of him, lets you pull him deeper, lets you whisper soft praises against his skin, lets you love him in the only way he knows how to accept right now.

the slow drag of his cock, the heat between your bodies, the way he’s gripping you like you’re his last lifeline—it’s everything.

he fucks you like he’s desperate for something he can’t name. deep, slow, intentional. like he’s trying to carve himself into you, like he’s trying to make this last forever.

when you come, it’s with his name on your lips, his arms wrapped tight around you. he follows soon after, groaning into your neck, hips stuttering as he twitches inside you.

he collapses on top of you, chest heaving, face buried against your collarbone.

your fingers run through his hair, pressing soft kisses to his temple, his jaw, the bruise on his cheek.

his hold tightens.

"you're the only other thing that clears my head," he murmurs, voice rough with exhaustion.

your chest aches.

you kiss his knuckles, still stained with blood, and whisper, "i know."

he doesn’t move, just lets you touch him, lets you trace soft patterns along his back, lets you press lazy kisses into his hair.

when you glance out the window, the sky is starting to lighten, the first hints of sunrise creeping in.

matt’s fast asleep, his body slack, breath slow and steady.

you press a soft kiss to his temple, heart aching again at the bruises littering his skin, at how peaceful he looks for once tonight. 

your fingers trail through his hair, over the curve of his shoulders, memorizing him like this.

like somehow it’ll prevent him from looking this way again.

but it won’t. no matter how many times you’ve begged him to stop fighting, tried to convince him the money wasn’t worth it, you both knew the fighting was more than just about the money for matt. 

the thought settles heavy in your chest, curling around your ribs like something sharp, something you can’t shake. because no matter how many times he shows up at your door, no matter how desperately he clings to you in the dead of night, he will go back there.

just like he always does.

authors note: empty. . .

👥: @jetaimevous @sturnsblunt @riasturns @ifwdominicfike @chrissturns-wife @colorthecosmos444 @chrisbratt333

 @pip4444chris @ribread03 @ariestrxsh @angelic-sturniolos111 @pvssychicken 

@mattslolita @stvrnzcherries @dottieboo @lovergirl4gracieabrams @bluestriips

 @sturniolo-fann @chrisslut04 @owensbabygirl  @sturnslutz @sturniqlo

 @sofieeeeex @jadasmp4 @ncm9696 @courta13 @vanteguccir

 @whore4mattsturniolo @ellbowmacaroni @meerkatzthings @sturnsrecord @wildfluer 

@delilahsturns @cherrypickedchris @chrepsi @strnilolover @swagfacepeanut @cayleeuhithinknott

@sagesturns @sophsturns @leaningoutthewindow

click here to be added to taglist

[laurenashleysparks]

I just think @burrotello's design for Boxer AU Jax is neat!

[riddlesrizzler]

𝙏𝙝𝙚 𝙎𝙬𝙖𝙣 𝙖𝙣𝙙 𝙏𝙝𝙚 𝙁𝙞𝙜𝙝𝙩𝙚𝙧

summary: On her big night, a dancer’s performance shines brighter with the love and support of her boxer boyfriend

characters: boxer! mattheo. ballet! reader

warnings: mentions of bruising and scars.

word count: 1.2k

⊹₊ ˚‧︵‿₊୨୧₊‿︵‧ ˚ ₊⊹⊹₊ ˚‧︵‿₊୨୧₊‿︵‧ ˚ ₊⊹

The stage lights burned hot against your skin, casting an ethereal glow over your tutu as you stood in position, heart thrumming like the wings of a swan you were about to become. The air hummed with anticipation, the quiet murmur of the audience beyond the curtain almost drowned out by the pounding of your pulse.

This was it. Opening night.

You had spent months preparing for this moment, every plié, every fouetté, every aching muscle leading up to the role of a lifetime: Odette, the Swan Queen. It had been a dream since childhood, and now it was real. Your name was printed at the top of the program, your silhouette graced posters outside the theater. You had worked for this. You had earned this.

And yet, a flicker of nervous energy danced through you, setting through your fingers as they tremble, clutching the edge of your costume.

What if I fail?

"Breathe," you whisper to yourself, inhaling deeply, just as your ballet mistress had always told you. "You're ready for this."

The soft rustle of movement caught your attention, and when you turned, your breath hitched in your throat.

Mattheo.

He stood near the wings, barely inside the backstage area, looking completely out of place amid the sea of dancers and stagehands. He was all hard lines and rough edges, broad shoulders draped in a dark black hoodie that did little to conceal the sheer power beneath. His knuckles were bruised, wrapped in tape from his latest fight, and faint scars traced his jawline like stories of battles he never spoke about. His dark curls were tousled, like he'd run his hands through them a hundred times, and his stormy eyes looked onto yours the second you looked at him.

He held a bouquet of white roses.

Your heart clenched.

"You came," you breathed, stepping towards him.

He scoffed, rolling his eyes like it should have been obvious. "Of course I came. You think I'd miss this?"

Your lips parted, but before you could say anything, he reached for your hand, fingers rough but gentle as they closed around yours. His thumb brushed over your wrist, feeling the quickened pulse there.

"Nervous?" he murmured.

You nodded, exhaling shakily. "A little"

He studied you for a long moment, then, without warning, he lifted your joined hands and pressed a kiss to your knuckles. The sensation was featherlight, a stark contrast to the violence he carried in his fists.

"You're gonna be perfect," he said, his voice low and certain. "You always are."

Warmth spread through you, chasing away the last lingering traces of doubt. You smiled, giving his fingers a squeeze before the call for places rang through the backstage area.

"I have to go," you whispered.

He nodded, stepping back but letting go just yet. "I'll be right out there."

With one last lingering glance, you turned and slipped onto the stage, stepping into the light, into the role you were meant to play.

—

The performance was a blur of motion and music. You became Odette, lost in the grace and tragedy of the Swan Queen's story. The world outside the stage ceased to exist; there was only the dance, the swell of Tchaikovsky’s score, and the aching beauty of the tale you wove with every movement.

And yet- you felt him.

Even in the vast theater, even with the hundreds of eyes watching you, you knew exactly where Mattheo was.

He was in the front row, watching with an intensity that set your skin aflame. He had never been one for the arts, had never understood your world of pirouettes and pliés, but tonight- tonight, he saw you. Not just as a dancer, not just as his delicate girl who patched up his knuckles after every brutal match, but as something untouchable, something breathtaking.

You danced for him.

—

By the time the final notes rang through the theater and the stage faded to black, your chest heaved with exertion, sweat glistening on your skin. The silence hung for a single, suspended moment.

Then- applause.

Thundering, deafening applause erupted from the audience, washing over you like a wave. You blinked, chest tightening as the realization hit you.

You had done it.

The curtain call was a blur of people. Bouquets were handed to you, cheers filled the air, and then before you even had a chance to process it all, you were rushing off the stage, heart hammering against your ribs.

You barely made it past the wings before Mattheo was there, his arms wrapping around you.

You gasped as he lifted you clear off the ground, spinning you effortlessly, crushing you to his chest. His grip was strong, unyielding, he like never wanted to let go.

"You were unbelievable," he muttered against you temple.

You laughed breathlessly, hands fisting in the fabric of his hoodie as he set you back down. "You think so?"

He huffed. "I know so." Then, with a smirk, "Might've broken a guy's nose for talking during your solo."

You stared at him, wide-eyed. "Mattheo-"

"Kidding," he grinned, but you weren't entirely convinced.

Before you could protest, he shoved the bouquet of white roses into your arms, his usual scowl softening. "These are for you. Thought they fit."

Your fingers tightened around the stems as emotion welled in your throat. White roses. The symbol of new beginnings, of purity and admiration.

You met his gaze, seeing something raw and unspoken in the depths of his dark eyes.

"Thank you," you murmured, voice trembling.

He shrugged, looking almost shy, which was rare for him. Then, before you could think, before you could dwell on it- you kissed him.

It was quick, just a soft press of your lips against his, but it sent electricity racing through your veins. When you pulled back, you saw the way his eyes darkened, the way his fingers twitched to pull you closer.

"You're mine, Swan," he muttered, voice rough as his forehead rests on yours.

You smiled, warmth blooming in your chest. "And you're mine, Fighter."

Mattheo smirked, brushing a thumb over your cheek before tilting his head toward the exit. "Come on, I'm taking you to dinner. You deserve the world after that."

You laughed, allowing him to lace his fingers through yours as he led you away from the stage, away from the cheers and the lights. because no matter how much you loved the ballet, no matter how much you belonged in that world-

You would always find your way back to him.

[outerbanksgirl616]

working out w/ sarah 💭

[0pooleart]

Ok I'm not gonna do this for everyone but I viscerally needed to draw @burrotello's Boxer Gangle so

See my Twitter post for a thread of all their original tweets/artists: https://x.com/robert00poole/status/1789004068095922549

[lvrxly]

thinking about boxer!simon who likes to tease his little trainer...

while simon was typically a silent man, only grunting in approval or irritation as you coached him through different exercises and stretches. Something was different about him today...you didn't fail to notice that glint in his eyes every time you grazed his arms to correct his form. Or the lingering touches against your hands as you spotted for him.

and you knew something was up when he asked you to stay a little later with him at the gym. when he bent you forward and told you to breathe. his large calloused hands engulfing your sides, his thick fingers digging into the fat of your hips through those too tight leggings you wore everyday.

"breathe lovie, youre hitching your breath," he practically whispers in your ear all too sensually.

"I am breathing," you protest, though you were all too focused on not accidentally brushing your ass against his cock, the close proximity of you two making that all too difficult.

"just trust me mama," he growls, his hands wandering from your hips up under your shirt, his fingers rough against the soft skin of your stomach.

he continues up, brushing those already perky nipples through your thin sports bra, causing tiny mewls and whimpers to escape your lips. with a groan from the boxer he buries his nose in the crook of your neck, breathing in the scent of your sweat and lotion.

with one hand cupping your breast, his other snakes down and into your leggings, rubbing you through your...oh?

"no panties? dirty baby..."

—

AHH I NEED THIS AS A FIC (might have to write it...)

[burrotello]

BADABING BADABOOM

BOXER AU MASTERPOST

INFO CARDS + LINEUP

AI Manager Cards + Bubble

Official Works:

Official poster

Character Card Template

Little Blips:

(Boxer Pomni) First design

BOUNDARIES + Q/A

“Can I draw fanart/OCs in this AU?”

Of course you can!! I’d love to see any and everything you do! There’s complete creative liberty when it comes to that, as long as it’s fun!! Though, please don’t send any OCs in my ask box, they can easily get eaten! Please just tag me in a post so I can see!

“Is it allowed to write fanfics?”

YES! I’d love to see what you all come up with!! Please please send any fan work to me!

“Can I create NSFW for this AU?”

I don’t mind, but please keep in mind that I’m a minor! If you do anything, please keep it to yourself or privately! I should not be able to see it at all, so do not send it to me or post it publicly. Please regulate your space properly!

“Can we make ships for your AU?”

Absolutely!! Go crazy!!

[chaousagi]

boxer pomni 🥊

au by @burrotello

[lunasblunt]

wait imagine boxer!logan having your name embroidered into his shorts.

perhaps the way model!reader x boxer!logan finally hard launch is your name sewn into his shorts…….

just a small little dainty font where the end of his shorts meet his thigh, right on the cuff

[cute-sucker]

. ˚｡⋆୨୧˚GENTLE AND QUIET NIGHTS WITH BOXER!RAFE WERE ALL YOU EVER NEEDED. ever since he told you not to come visit him down at the ring, you would wait patiently by the bed staring at the clock. you knew exactly when he was going to come, and when he did you were going to patch him up, you were going to give him small kisses in his lap and then after that, you were going to bed. it was your ritual. in your little nightie, kicking your feet on the bed you waited patiently. but you couldn't help if sometimes you got a little tired, and closed an eye for a few minutes.

until you heard a small creak. it was enough to stir you awake, and you jumped to your feet. swaying just a little (you were so tired), you saw rafe. he was a little bloodied as he closed the door. you watched him and observed the way he jammed the door shut, quietly swearing when it didn't close properly. it was here that he noticed you were watching. suddenly, your giant turned softer, treading closer to you.

"hey baby. you didn't need to stay awake," rafe muttered, and you leaned into his warmth as his rough hand caressed your face, "awh, look at ya."

you drowsily smiled at him, motioning him to sit down on the bed. then he laughed at how sleepy you looked, but listened to your demands.

here you pulled him close, as you climbed into his lap. your voice was a scratchy whisper as if you were letting him into a secret, "i stayed up because i wanted to," then you turned a bit shy tilting away from him, "for you i'll stay awake every night."

"oh damn. way too sweet for me," rafe mumbled into your shoulder and you giggled, pursing your lips.

now this was your favorite part; you would patch him up, gently touching his scrapes and asking if he's okay. rafe would always tell you the other guy looked worse and you'd laugh. then with you, warm and supple in his arms he would tell you how it went. by the end of the night, you'd be pressed tightly in his arms, hearing his heartbeat. and always by the end of the night, rafe would tuck you into bed, swearing that you needed more sleep. and always by the end of the night, two of you would be entwined together, almost as if the two of you were melded together.

as if the two of you were made for each other.

taglist: @vogueprincess , @maybankslover , @spookyscaryspoon , @drewsephrry , @h-------n

ask to be added to the taglist! psst; theres a longer drabble coming out soon

[darksturnz]

──── ⋮ ⌗ INTRODUCING . . . ⟢ BOXER.ᐟMATT ᵎᵎ

best paired with: kitty!reader

ᯤ Change (In the House of Flies)・Deftones ᯤ

✰˚｡⋆ introvert. 24. bleu de chanel. zippo lighters. bruised knuckles. silver rings. blood-stained hand wraps. underground fights. city nightlife. vhs fight tapes. record players. tattoos. whiskey neat. classic rock. scars. adrenaline junkie. ice baths. marlboros. dog tags. penthouse views. leather jackets. rainy days. heavy bags. black hoodies. fast cars. custom mouth guards. neon lights. clenched jaw.

✰ BOXER!MATT who . . . learned to fight before he learned long division, fists up before words out. sleeps with a switchblade under his pillow, a habit from growing up in a place where you always had to watch your back, where trust was a currency no one could afford. doesn’t fight for the money—never did, never will. the cash is just a byproduct, a bonus for the damage he was always built to take. doesn’t believe in luck, only in discipline.

✰ BOXER!MATT who . . . doesn’t trust easily, but when he does, he trusts completely. loyalty is everything, and betrayal is unforgivable. the kind of person who doesn’t say much, but when he does, it means something. his word is final. his silence is lethal.

✰ BOXER!MATT who . . . has scars that map out his past, some faded, some fresh. cracked knuckles that never fully heal, a jaw that’s been broken and set more times than he can count. ice baths after fights, the sting a reminder that he’s still here. bruises like battle trophies, proof that he gave as much as he took.

✰ BOXER!MATT who . . . watches old fight tapes on a vhs player, studying every movement like a religion. doesn't care for streaming, doesn't care for technology-just him, the dim glow of the screen, and the echoes of past champions reminding him there's always someone bigger, stronger, better.

✰ BOXER!MATT who . . . only owns silver jewelry— rings on every finger, a chain he never takes off, and dog tags tucked under his shirt. the weight of them grounds him, reminds him of where he came from, of every fight he clawed his way through.

authors note: this au is HEAVILY inspired by southpaw BY THE WAY oh my god my fav movie. i needed to post his moodboard, @sturnswiftie is the first person i can find that has done this au :3 check that outtt!

👥: @jetaimevous @sturnsblunt @riasturns @ifwdominicfike @chrissturns-wife @colorthecosmos444 @y3sterdaysproblem

@pip4444chris @ribread03 @ariestrxsh @angelic-sturniolos111 @pvssychicken

@mattslolita @stvrnzcherries @dottieboo @lovergirl4gracieabrams @bluestriips

@sturniolo-fann @chrisslut04 @owensbabygirl @sturnslutz @sturniqlo

@sofieeeeex @jadasmp4 @ncm9696 @courta13 @vanteguccir

@whore4mattsturniolo @ellbowmacaroni @meerkatzthings @sturnsrecord @wildfluer

@delilahsturns @cherrypickedchris @chrepsi @strnilolover @swagfacepeanut @cayleeuhithinknott @sagesturns @sophsturns @leaningoutthewindow

[vanillacrumb]

Trying not to fall into complete apathy