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.
