balboa♡aura

[balboaura]

I AM BEGGING PLZ DO A PART TWO UR WRITING IS ABSOLUTELY IMMACULATE

ITS COMING DONT WORRY💝💝💝

[balboaura]

Post by @balboaura · 3 images

💬 1  🔁 0  ❤️ 3 · Your shield · Husband! Rocky Balboa x Reader Warnings: Rocky being protective ?! Pregnant reader a/n: I guess this is Par

HERE YOU GO MY ANGELS

[balboaura]

Your shield

Husband! Rocky Balboa x Reader

Warnings: Rocky being protective ?! Pregnant reader

a/n: I guess this is Part 2 to The Protector!! I cannot believe all the love I got from my first Rocky fic, thank you all so much and sorry it’s been so long!! I’ll keep them coming if I hear anyone wants more!🤍

The ballroom buzzed with anticipation. Microphones lined the long table, camera flashes punctuating the room like staccato lightning. Rocky sat beside you, one hand on your thigh under the table, grounding you and protecting you amid the press frenzy.

This was the first time you'd ever sat beside Rocky during a press conference for one of his biggest fights. Even without the microphone that you kindly denied, you still felt every pair of eyes in the room drifting your way, leaving you hopelessly flustered and careful not to touch your belly. Usually, you were tucked safely into the front row with the other reporters, just another face in the crowd. But this time was different. Rocky had insisted you stay by his side, worried the packed room and the jostling reporters would be too much for you or for the tiny secret growing inside your belly. The secret the two of you were desperately trying to keep hidden wasn't something he was willing to take chances with.

The questions began with the fight, the tension in the room almost tangible. But as always, the reporters couldn’t resist drifting toward you.

One reporter, eyes narrowing and notebook poised, leaned forward with a smug grin.

"Mrs. Balboa..." he drawled. "Are you hiding something? That's a pretty big coat. Maybe a little Balboa on the way?"

Careful not to shift your face to show your panic, your heart felt like it lurched out of your body. For a split second, you couldn't move. Beneath the oversized coat Rocky had insisted you wear, the gentle curve of your four-month belly suddenly felt impossible to hide. You looked to your husband whose demeanor shifted.

The muscles in Rocky's jaw flexed so hard they twitched. Without taking his eyes off the reporter, his hand left your thigh and found yours that were clutching his wrist for dear life beneath the table, giving it a firm squeeze. It was enough to steady your racing heart. Every trace of warmth vanished from his expression as he leaned toward the microphone.

"That's my coat," he stated flatly

The reporter shifted awkwardly, but Rocky wasn't finished.

The room fell silent.

"You got questions about me?" Rocky continued, his voice dropping lower, somehow making it even more threatening. "Ask 'em. That's why we're here." His jaw clenched again. "But you leave my wife outta it. She didn't even want a damn microphone. She's here because she supports me. Leave her out of it. You don't get to stand there pickin' apart what she's wearin', and you sure as hell don't get to start rumors about her."

No one spoke.

Rocky's gaze swept slowly across the room, lingering just long enough on each reporter to make them think twice about asking another question. The silence stretched, heavy and suffocating. Even the photographers seemed to hesitate, lowering their cameras beneath the weight of his stare.

Satisfied that the message had landed, Rocky reached up and slid his aviators back over his eyes with practiced ease.

"Next question," he muttered flatly.

Beneath the table, his hand expanded back around your thigh, giving you firm strokes with his thumb. The contrast made your chest flutter, his touch impossibly tender despite the storm brewing behind his eyes.

It was all the reassurance you needed, his silent way of letting you know he handled it. He'd take every question, every headline, every ounce of scrutiny himself before he'd let any of it reach you.

Heat rushed to your cheeks. You couldn't bring yourself to look at the reporters anymore, so your eyes drifted back to Rocky instead.

His jaw was still tight, but beneath the table his thumb continued to trace slow circles against your thigh.

You slipped your hand over his again, giving it a gentle squeeze.

"Thank you," you whispered, so softly only he could hear.

He didn't look at you. "Always”

[yawnzshit]

hot priest.

[balboaura]

could you please write more for rocky? loveddd your fic! x

I have so much saved yet never put out I AM SO SORRY BUT SO HAPPY MY AUDIENCE FOUND ME, I will deliver I promise!!

[luvdeuce]

𝑦ou shall not make 𝑖dols

✦ pairing: father jud duplenticy x f!reader ✦ synopsis: chimney rock was never kind to newcomers. unluckily for father jud, you were. tender, caring, warm, always willing to give a smile where the others gave a sneer, devout like no one else— not because your faith was the strongest, but rather because it lay where it was supposed to. you were so like jud and yet so different all at once, and soon, he was struggling to forgive himself for what you provoked in him. ✦ notes: heavy religious themes. catholic guilt DUH. angst for a bit then fluff. also perhaps slightly ooc jud cuz i only watched the movie once a while ago. reader has a bit of a backstory too. forgive the religious inaccuracies my catholic upbringing is too far away now

𐔌՞. .՞𐦯 thank you for reading!

a batch of cookies.

that's where it all started. a batch of warm, freshly baked cookies in your hands, sweet eyes twinkling up at him as you welcomed him to town, and to our lady of perpetual fortitude.

you'd insisted on bringing them over yourself, you'd told jud, quickly losing yourself in your train of thought— priests often had that effect on you. you told him through a pitiful, resigned smile that you didn't want martha to... accidentally forget to leave them in his rooms, or for monsignor wicks to accidentally throw them out because he didn't believe in the pleasures of sugar.

you wanted to be sure the chocolate chip delicacies reached their destination, father jud's unworthy hands, much too used to hostility coming through these doors instead of kindness like yours. they trembled just so as he took the platter from you, and when his finger brushed yours for a fraction of a second, he knew he'd just encountered his biggest obstacle yet.

a test, you had to be. with your soft features he could always look to when he took over wicks in the middle of mass, the beads of your rosary that you played with when you approached him, without fail, while everyone else swarmed the monsignor.

you were the only one who came to jud first now, even after just a month of knowing him. every time, your heels would click on the floor of the church as you approached him, radiating something unidentifiable that he couldn't help but be attracted to. god help him, he could talk to you for hours if you let him. and you did. soon, jud learned you weren't just devout and pious because you'd been raised to, like so many others, but you had chosen this, just like him. you'd grown up around violence, around disregard for others and oneself and life, god's most precious gift. thankfully, you'd found him when you were still young and able to learn from your elders' mistakes and to pray for their salvation, albeit far, far from their destructive claws. jud had listened until the sky grew dark, his eyes wide and attentive and his hands itching to reach for you so he could cradle you against his chest and promise to keep you safe forever. but you didn't need that, and he wasn't sure he could even give it, so he stuck to his priestly duties, and smiled with a deeper understanding than anyone had ever shown you.

you, in turn, found yourself growing close and attached to father jud as well. he was comforting, human, so unlike wicks' dramatic self you'd never had a taste for. and, he was able to prove himself deserving of that trust to you countless times, too. martha had started to give you loaded, unpleasant stares when you stayed for hours after mass was over, pouring your heart out to father jud between the pews, your voice so quiet it didn't even echo. just for him.

a line was crossed the night you lingered until you couldn't even pretend the time you spent with father jud was of no importance. he had mumbled a shaky phrase of understanding that was a bit too heavy for you not to try to dig deeper. his eyes went big and watery when you asked, and the words tumbled out of his lips without any sort of control, into your waiting, loving hands. his past, the life he'd taken, the hatred that had eaten up his heart until he couldn't sleep at night, his awakening, his struggles with the church, everything. then, how he'd found him. minutes melted together into an indiscernible stretch of time as you watched his face light up with everything that kept him here, in this church, in the faith, despite it all. you were entranced.

martha gave up trying to shame you into leaving after that night. quietly, your lengthy discussions with father jud had moved to the rectory. the heating, he'd cited as an excuse. he just wanted to make you comfortable, in hopes that you would stick around for longer. he'd started to offer dinner, and you'd started to bring over full-blown meals to share. "i have to cook anyways," you'd smiled, "what's two servings instead of one?"

friendly chats, he told himself. that was why he felt like this whenever you were around, warm swirls of something in his chest, through his veins to his whole body. friendship, love thy neighbor, that was it. not your beautiful, understanding eyes, not your fascinating mind, not your sweet, loving, selfless heart.

he sometimes wondered why god chose to torture him so. making him go through the painful motions of spending your days together, in companionship, knowing he would never, ever have you. not in the earthly way he wished late into the night, at least.

god knew he resisted it every time, the urge to rest his hand on your leg, to kiss your head, to stand closer to you in front of everyone else, with an arm around your waist to show that you were his, and he was yours. he found himself wishing he could shed his ministry if that meant that he could love you fully, like a man. teary-eyed, ashamed, he'd mutter ten our father's after indulging in that fantasy.

✦

the warmth of your body seeped into his some november night as you curled closer and closer to him on the plush, worn couch. hot mugs in each of your hands, matching tea bags seeping some relaxing herb concoction into the water. silence fell over the both of you like a blanket, after having talked for close to an hour about his faith, his conversion. then, he dared speak.

"but priesthood comes with its own set of sacrifices, too," he began, unsure, scanning every shift of your expression. "i mean, i don't want to sound ungrateful, i— i love what i do, i really do, you know that."

"i know, father, we all do," you murmured in reassurance, the title piercing through him like a knife. he knew he had no right to expect anything different from you, but he couldn't hide his selfish desires, not from himself, and certainly not from god above. he could try to hide them from you, though. so, he swallowed.

"thank you," he smiled, hesitant, tentative. "i just wish i could have some things i used to have before i took my vows. things you don't realize are privileges until they're taken from you."

"what do you mean?"

"love," he said instantly, the word impossibly thick in his mouth. "i mean love."

"love," you echoed, confused, and nothing had ever sounded so beautiful before.

he smiled again, this time wistful, pained. his chest felt constricted and his eyes fell to the mug on his lap as he adjusted his clothes, anything not to gaze upon your face when he said this, lest you figure him out by the way in which his eyes shone with adoration when he looked into your own.

"i wish i were still allowed to love the way i was," you shifted on your seat, nervous, the cushions having grown uncomfortable under you long ago, yet you had refused to leave, and you still did. "when i vowed to remain chaste and unmarried, i don't think i knew what i was truly giving up."

you stayed quiet, puzzled, unsure of how to comfort your darling father jud, when he spoke again.

"god moves in mysterious ways," came his murmur. "i cannot understand yet why he would make me come face to face with true, undeniable, all-consuming love, when i vowed myself away from it forever."

his eyes were watery once again when he gathered the courage to look at you. he didn't need to say another word, because, god, you understood. instantly, just like he knew you would. you froze, blinked at him in slow motion as heat bloomed on your face and your heart threatened to pound through your ribs.

"if you wish to leave the parish, i will not blame you," he was quick to say, the curl of his lips too sad to be called a smile. "i don't ever want you to be uncomfortable in god's home—"

"jud," you interrupted, gentle as ever, leaving your mug on the table and reaching for his hands where he'd managed to tear his sleeve, threads cruelly ripped from one another.

not father, just jud.

your fingers squeezed around his, making him look up from where his face had fallen in shame. he found you smiling.

how in god's green earth were you smiling?

because he, your priest, the man you'd trusted your deepest secrets and fears to, had just breached that sacred bond with his stupid, selfish heart. you should have bolted out, yet, you were smiling.

"yes?" he murmured, dumbstruck, still painfully agitated if the ragged way the word had left his mouth was anything to go off of.

"love, it— i believe it takes many different shapes, i believe," you began to ramble. "and, well, maybe, there are certain kinds of love that you are allowed to experience, and if i— if i can bring you closer to them, i would be so, so happy to."

oh.

his cheeks flamed red, his mouth opening and closing like a startled fish.

hope.

that was it. you radiated hope.

you weren't a test. not even close. you were a gift.

jud couldn't help reaching out for you like he'd never allowed himself to do, never knowing whether you'd happily take his affection or tense up in his loving hold. luckily, you did the former. nuzzling his roman collar with your nose, you made yourself right at home there with him, at risk of anyone walking by and catching you in your priest's arms. you'd quickly become a tale of the second coming of the harlot whore if that happened, something monsignor wicks would holler about in his next homily. jud would kill the man before he had the chance, though. no, no, of course he wouldn't.

[astralbondpro]

Rocky II (1979) // Dir. Sylvester Stallone

[balboaura]

I AM BEGGING PLZ DO A PART TWO UR WRITING IS ABSOLUTELY IMMACULATE

ITS COMING DONT WORRY💝💝💝

[balboaura]

The Protector

Husband! Rocky Balboa x Reader

Warnings: Paulie being your a**hole older brother just like the movie (poor Adrian!!), Discussion of Pregnancy, Husband! Rocky being protective

a/n-my first Rocky piece (and hopefully, the first of many!) I absolutely adore Stallone and this character to bits. I really hope this finds its way to the right people who are searching for the same thing I am. Seriously, this man was too hot, and their love story was too cute not to be swooned over hello?!?

p.s. if the Italian translations aren’t accurate IM SO SORRY

however, please enjoy pure domesticity fluff✨💞

Set between Rocky III and IV

A damn ingrate, you thought bitterly.

Rocky had given you both everything. Safety, love, a home far beyond the streets of South Philly where you grew up. And yet, Paulie still found a way to make you feel small. His room was far away, in the guesthouse, thank God, but that didn’t stop his bitterness from spilling into every corner of the mansion like smoke.

You were the quiet one, the suffer-in-silence type. Paulie thrived on venting his insecurities onto anyone nearby.

Rocky never interfered,

until now.

Downstairs, Paulie’s voice carried, thick with self-pity and anger as Rocky walked through the front door, dropping his gym bag to the corner.


“Your wife’s actin’ up again, Rock! She won’t come outta your room. I’m sick of her cryin’ all the damn time.”

Rocky’s jaw clenched. Freshly bandaged hands tightening. His eyes lifted, dark and steady, a look that could freeze a man in the ring.

“You know why you ain’t married, Paulie?”

Paulie froze halfway up the stairs.

“Why, Rock?”

“’Cause you’re an ass who don’t respect women, Paul.”

Before Paulie could answer, Rocky sprinted up the stairs, not without shoulder checking him, broad shoulders brushing the walls, heart pounding to reach you.

You heard the key, the special one only he carried turning in the lock. He’d made those locks himself after the attempted break-in last year, told you to always keep the door locked when you were alone.

“Baby?” His voice was soft but urgent.

You didn’t answer yet, still trembling under the covers, but the sight of him at the door filled you with relief.

Rocky entered, bruised from training, a cut red under his eye, fresh soap from the gym shower and leather scent of his jacket mixing in the room. His gaze softened when it found you.

“Come here, sweetheart.”

You ran into his arms, burying your face in his chest. His solid body was warm, his arms wrapping around you with protective strength. After a moment, he tilted your chin up with calloused bandaged fingers.


“You okay? Tell me what happened. You want me to kick him out, you just say the word and I will ya know .”

You sniffled, half-laughing. “You’re always protecting me.”

He smiled faintly, wiping your tears. “Someone’s gotta.”

You giggled, and he returned it with that crooked, lopsided grin.

“I’m okay now, baby. I promise.”

He searched your eyes, always needing the truth.
“I don’t like him makin’ my girl cry,” he murmured, voice breaking slightly.

You reached for his hands. “You make it better, honey. You always do.”

He kissed you then, slow, deep, steady. You felt the world tilt as he pressed you back toward the bed, tracing your jaw, your throat, your shoulders. The man who threw punches for a living touched you like you were sacred.

Buttons came undone, breath by breath, the sound of fabric sliding away mixing with the low hum of his voice.

But even in that rush, your heart was still heavy.

“Wait baby.. can we talk?”

Instantly, Rocky froze, worry flooding his face.

“Did I hurt you, sweetheart?”

“No,” you whispered, cupping his cheek. “I just… I’ve got something to tell you. And I really don’t know if it’s good or bad.”

He held your hands, eyes searching.


“Alright. I’m listenin’ baby.”

You swallowed hard.

“I think I’m pregnant.”

Time stopped. Rocky blinked once, twice. Then his breath hitched, a low, startled sound that became a laugh.

“Really? You sure?”

You nodded. “Follow me.”

You led him into the bathroom, where the tests sat on the counter. He picked one up carefully, as if it might break.


“Plus means positive, right?”

“Yeah, baby.”

He stared at it, trembling.

“Rocky?” you whispered. “Baby say something… you’re scarin’ me.”

He finally looked up, tears in his eyes. “Why you scared, sweetheart? This… this is the best thing I ever heard in my whole damn life!”

You squealed, laughing through your tears as he lifted you, spinning you around in the massive bathroom. You clung to him, both of you crying and laughing all at once.

“I love you so much,” he said, voice thick with emotion. He set you down gently. “You thought I’d be mad? Why?”

“Because we never talked about it,” you said softly. “Not since before your career took off. I didn’t wanna hold you back.”

He shook his head, eyes fierce yet tender.

“Boxing’s what I do. But you, y/n m/n … you’re who I am. Everything I got, every fight, every win, it’s because of you.”

You kissed him again, foreheads pressed together, breathing each other’s air.

And as his thumbs stroked your cheeks, your mind drifted to the day it all began.

Flashback — St. Rita’s Church, South Philly

The air smelled of lilies and candle wax. Sunlight filtered through beautiful stained glass, painting the wooden pews in blues and golds.

Rocky stood at the altar, nervous, tugging at his only suit. Mickey sat in the pews, pretending not to cry. Paulie looked stiff, pale.

The doors opened.

You walked down the aisle, veil trembling, white dress and lace sleeves clinging to your frame, rosary beads clutched in hand.

Rocky’s heart nearly stopped. He hadn’t been this nervous since he asked you to be his girlfriend.

When you reached him, he took your hands, voice low, trembling.


“y/n… tu sei la mia forza, la mia vita. Vuoi passare ogni giorno con me, promettendo di stare al mio fianco?”
(y/n… you are my strength, my life. Will you spend every day with me, promising to stay by my side?)

Tears shone in your eyes.

“Rocky… tu sei il mio destino, il mio cuore. Prometto di amarti per sempre, di camminare con te, qualsiasi cosa succeda.”
(Rocky… you are my destiny, my heart. I promise to love you forever, to walk with you, no matter what happens.)

He held your manicured hands tighter, glossy eyes never breaking contact with yours.

“Io ti proteggerò sempre, y/n. E sarò il tuo rifugio, anche quando il mondo sarà contro di noi.”
(I will always protect you, y/n. I will be your shelter, even when the world is against us.)

You smiled, breathless, tears streaming down your face now from under your thin veil

“E io sarò la tua forza, Rocky. Con te, sono completa.”
(And I will be your strength, Rocky. With you, I am complete.)

Rings were exchanged. The priest spoke softly, the congregation quiet. When Rocky carefully lifted your veil and kissed you, it was a promise, a bond sealed in love, sweat, and heart. The bells of St. Rita’s rang over the streets of Philadelphia, echoing into the future.

Rocky rested his forehead against yours in the present, tears glinting. “You remember the church bells?” he whispered.

“They never stopped ringing, Rocky,” you smiled. “Not for me.”

He kissed you, deep, full of devotion, protective and worshipful.

“Then let’s give ’em somethin’ to ring about again.”

And in that kiss, in the mix of exhaustion, joy, and love, you knew: whatever came next, fights, fame, fears, you and Rocky would face it together.

Because this wasn’t just a victory.
It was the beginning of a new round.

———————————————————————

Part 2?!? Suggestions also welcome in my inbox!

[issdisgrace]

Can’t express enough how in love I am with 80s/90s Sylvester Stallone

[whereifindsanity]

instagram.com

Andrea Costantini

Sylvester Stallone had a dog named Butkus. When he was having a hard time making ends meet, he sold him for 40 dollars. After the screenplay for Rocky sold, he bought him back for 15 thousand. Butkus appeared in the first two Rocky movies before passing away in 1981.

[lovesthe1980s]

Rocky III (1982). Mr. T. and Sylvester Stallone.

[in-love-with-movies]

Rocky (1976)

[in-love-with-movies]

Rocky IV (1985)

[balboaura]

Seeing this for the first time (in theatres‼️) was ethereal

[nojillnolife]

[balboaura]

'balboaura'

:D

*checks inside*

*it's just two Stallone reblogs and a big ass wall of fic reblogs from fandoms i have no knowledge of*

:(

... are you currently in the middle of changing your aesthetic?

LOL YES!! I was formally Knoxvilleaura. I’m a changed woman! I’m about to post my writing here soon. This is also where I reblog all my fav fics to have them saved !

[balboaura]

Day 1 of shaming everyone on Tumblr for not writing Rocky fanfics on here, look at the MATERIAL.

[modestlyabsurd]

FOR FUCK SAKE people. Look at the fucking MATERIAL

[gayzing-away]

Sylvester Stallone in ‘Stop! Or My Mom Will Shoot’ (1992)