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colorfultyrantearthquake · 13 days

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Hold me close (Rocky Balboa x Fem!reader)

Part I

Description: Suffering loss; Rocky lacks motivation, his trust in himself and his belief in his power. Will he comeback like he always does? Will you have a role in it?

Warnings: Self conflict, self doubt, self criticism, depression, panick attack, anxiety, mentions of physical pain, overthinking, frustration.

Words: 1k+

Setting: not precise, it best suits the 3rd/5th parts if you want to build certain tragic circumstances to justify his depressed state, but no kid or wife.

Note: Hi everyone! I've been searching for some Rocky fics for a while now but haven't found much tbh, so I thought I could write one hehe.

{If anyone reads this or finds it interesting, I'd be delighted to have a feedback. Have fun and thanks in advance!}

Rocky's eyes fluttered open.

Feeling heavy all over, he stares at the ceiling for a good amount of time. Rolling over to his side, eyes shut with face buried into the pillow, he felt his brain go instantly into overdrive.

Rocky felt like throwing up, he was so beaten, not physically, but emotionally, he felt the world's weight on his chest: "If it was on my shoulders I would've carried it better than that." He muttered into the pillow, covering his face with his arm, he felt like crying, wanted to rip this feeling off his chest and become the free strong-willed stallion he's always been.

But this time was different.

After everything he's done, everything he's been through, Rocky always finds himself hitting rock bottom, over and over and over; he lost count. Returning to his first apartment made him sick like he's never been. After all this time and hard work? He only wanted to prove himself to himself, to the world, to everybody, that he deserves to live as much as he fought.

Groaning, he lift himself off the bed, sitting on it's side.

"Yo, get your ass up, you're not gonna be a bum now will ya!" He heard a thought.

" I CAN'T THINK, I CAN'T LIVE, I'M TIRED, I'M BROKE, I DON'T WANT TO FIGHT NO MORE. LET. ME. BE."

Rocky felt his brain splitting in half, wincing at the very loud angry voices sparring in him. He went to the fridge, frame hunched and shoulders slouch, opening it only to find a can of beer, two eggs and a cupcake. Slamming it shut, he went to the mirror, looking at his reflection, his stomach twisted in pain.

Face pale white, once brown eyes became cold and dark, little bags with small red cuts adorned his eyes, hair untamed and almost losing it's shine. Rocky felt afraid, he can't reach the fighter within him, he can't find a cause no more.

No more going to the gymnasium or walking around the city, his doubts of having all these matches being set-ups and the feeling that he wasn't as good as he thought he was turned him into someone he doesn't know, he also went bankrupt already, he never minded losing money, but now it feels like a punch in his guts.

All gone. After all this effort.

Rocky couldn't control his fear anymore, couldn't face it either, he didn't know how to deal with it, all this depression thing was new to him, and it was taking its toll visibly, he always felt frustrated, like there was some angry power buried in his arms.

Every feeling hit him sharply, precisely, like a punch that's been practiced for years, only for him.

Rocky felt waves and jabs of pain everywhere: his heart, abdomen, ribs, lungs, back, face. Falling to his knees, his chest heaved, fighting to take his breath, he felt his vision blur slightly at the beginning.

"I... I can't do this anymore." He whispered, weakness taking over him, worn out, he felt everything all at once, he wasn't used to feeling weak or scared. He didn't want to be broken.

"I. CAN'T. DO. THIS. ANYMORE."

Punching the floor while shouting, every word followed by a punch. Rocky felt hot tears stream down his face, his hands shaking with his body, muscles trembling from the effort and anxiety, feeling his vision swirl and breath slowing; he collapsed on the floor consumed by the void.

"I. CAN'T. DO. THIS. ANYMORE." you heard a loud, masculine shout fill the silence around you, accompanied with various strong punches and a thud as you took the chocolate cake out of the oven. Your cat looked at you in shared curiousity.

You knew there weren't many neighbours in the building, almost none. And the one directly above you was the one and only: Rocky Balboa.

You never really talked much, you knew he had turtles and loved them deeply, you have always been fond of his childlike demeanor, his angelic baby-face, yet you were infatuated with the fighter he became when in action.

Having only talked once or twice, you never got the guts to knock on his door or invite him for beer or coffee, you could barely wave at him when you see him running out of your window, you always felt something at the pit of your stomach when you saw him, you never hang around him long enough to figure out what it was. You weren't the only one who loved Rocky, everybody did, he was everybody's hope, everybody's hero, yet you always felt safe knowing you were in the same space.

You've seen him play countless times, you knew he always had a good and cheerful spirit through ups and downs, no matter how hard his downs were, no matter how frequent they were, you knew how strong he was capable of holding his ground.

So to say you were surprised was an understatement.

You waited for a while, letting the cake cool off, you stumbled closer to where your ceiling was hit, you didn't see much damage only microcracks.

"No way." You stood on your tiptoes to check again, pushing your glasses up your nose for better sight.

Nothing. Absolutely no damage done.

Now you felt concerned.

For a shy, introverted, extremely calm girl, that was a very intense situation. Loud was never your language, you understood it, could handle it, but never use it. You hesitated, pacing back and forth, weighing the possibilities.

"He could be hurt," you paced, "or he could be completely fine." You thought, biting your nails.

"He could be training, it doesn't have to be something serious, right?" You asked your cat who looked at you, confused, as you kept rubbing your hands together stressfully.

Ten more minutes passed without any sign of life coming from upstairs.

Feeling the cold December air seep through the small cracks in your apartment, you were left with no choice.

Grabbing your scarf you put it tight around your neck with your coat, you put slices of the fresh cake you made in a plate -you didn't want to check on him empty handed-, took your keys and went out closing the door way too fast before your cat bolts out.

Taking a deep breath, you took the stairs step by step until you reached his door.

"1818" you whispered as your eyes lingered on the numbers atop of the door, a small barely noticed sign hung beside the door.

"Robert "Rocky" Balboa" you read his name quietly, your thoughts halted as you started worrying.

"Should I call him Robert? Or just Rocky?" You thought as your palms started sweating. "Should I say Mr. Balboa instead?" You scoffed at your silly thoughts.

"Just knock... He could be dead."

Swallowing after your last thought, your nerves getting the best of you, you gather the strength, inhale, and finally, knock on his door three times.

"Uhh, Mr. Robert?"

Rocky's ears twitched, his head and body heavy as if he was hit by a bus, just like the morning after a fight. He felt like an open wound that won't stop bleeding.

"I wanna make sure you're...okay?" The voice was muffled, yet he could hear it close, the statement coming out more as a question.

Rocky groaned as he came to his surroundings. He fought to open his eyes and lift himself off the ground, feeling his hand ache along with his body, his whole being throbbing with pulse.

Rocky got up, swayed a little before leaning on the wall until his vision cleared. He didn't know how to save himself, he felt drowning.

Taking deep breaths, trying to remember what happened to him and how did he end up with bruised hands, a sweaty body and a slightly cracked floor, when the voice spoke again.

"I'm sorry if I'm causing any disturbance. I heard a heavy thud and just wanted to know if I could help with-"

The door flew open suddenly, catching you off guard mid-sentence.

Looking up, you saw Rocky standing, hair messed up, face white as a ghost and full of sweat, dark and cold irises greeted you, unlike the warm chocolate brown you remember.

Eyes swollen with his lids slightly down, baby cuts with bags around them, your eyes traveled to his hands, they were both red, no scratches, no blood, just red, one hand had slightly bruised knuckles, one cheek was a shade darker than his hands.

You guessed that this is the one he fell on.

"Anything I could do for you?" You heard his voice, deep and gravely, heavy with his Italian accent adorned with heavy breaths, it wasn't friendly, but if you weren't home you would've thought he was only training. You didn't know if he recognized you in whatever state he was in.

The plate of cake shaking the slightest bit in your hands, he was taller than you -most definitely-, clad in a white tank top that did nothing to hide his physique, tall firm legs hugged by grey sweats which weren't tight, but completely fair.

You didn't know what to say, you only stared for a lifetime and felt like a complete idiot.

"I-, I didn't mean to- uh, bother you!" You stuttered and exclaimed quickly, being met with unfased eyes, you were extremely uncomfortable, why was he doing this? You weren't sure if he was really hurt or if he was just letting off steam.

Suddenly feeling like it was absolutely none of your business, you couldn't explain how worried you were.

"I'm sorry I thought you needed something... or help....or someone........ This is a really bad idea." Shifting your weight from one foot to another, gazing into the plate like a black hole, squirming under his gaze, you felt your hands sweat as anxiety bubbled in your stomach.

"I don't know what to say I'm- I'm sorry I'm sure it's a misunderstanding...." You breathed heavily.

"I'm gonna leave this here I hope you like it thankyousomuch!"

Giving him no chance to respond, you shut your eyes tightly, pushing the plate straight into his hands, running hurriedly down to your apartment....

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I guess that's the first part! I'm not sure what this will turn into but I hope it goes smooth, it won't be long however, three parts max.

Hope you enjoyed this one, feedback is always appreciated <3

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douwatahima · 4 months

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thinking about episode one of our flag means death ending with "high on a rocky ledge"; a song about taking a leap of faith, dying and being reborn, in order to make a new life with the person you love

thinking about ed, crying in a blanket fort, clinging to a life that's been ripped away from him, thinking he'll die if he doesn't, being asked by a friend, "what if it's not a death? what if life just begins again?"

thinking about stede, spending all of season one stuck between the life society told him he should want and the new life he's created for himself, devising a plan to kill his old self completely so he can go find the man he now knows that he loves

thinking about ed drowning in the gravy basket, fighting against the rock he himself tied around his own waist, getting saved by the sound of stede's voice and the vision of stede that comes to meet him where he is, that stays with him until he's ready to open his eyes

thinking about anne and mary, stuck in a cycle of sadistic games, not communicating how they really feel, finally showing real love to each other when anne burns down the life that's suffocating them and sets them free

thinking about buttons, telling ed "to love the sea as she should be loved requires change", performing seemingly impossible acts of magic to achieve his goal and turning into a seagull before flying off towards the sea

thinking about lucius, stuck in a cycle of reliving his suffering, being told he never talks about how he lived, being told "not moving on is worse", choosing to change and marking that change by asking pete to spend the rest of his life with him

thinking about ed trying to constantly reject parts of himself, to cut out the pieces that keep him up at night, hearing the echoes of stede's screams in his own mind and choosing to embrace his darkness for love this time, rising from the depths of the sea (edward teach reborn on a beach) and immediately coming across a letter from stede echoing back that he is loved he is loved he is loved

thinking about ed and stede waving goodbye to a ship as it sails away and choosing again to change, to try for a life of their own making but this time together as one, starting from the bottom, unsure where to begin, but smiling anyway; "it's got good bones"

thinking about that constant cycle (death and rebirth, death and rebirth), about how it's never too late to become who you are, about how change can seem scary, near impossible at times, but knowing on the other side there is the potential for freedom, for happiness, for love

"dying to be with her wasn't any sacrifice" indeed

#tv: our flag means death #ofmd #wrote this at one in the morning and made myself cry #anyway the point i'm trying to make is ''high on a rocky ledge'' should play in the series finale thank you for coming to my ted talk

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