Rambo X Reader - Tumblr Posts
First blood rambo, as a husband, where he and the reader helping each other with mental health issues? much love ♥
UUUGGH I love this idea! Thanks for the request <33 I spent so much time on the backstory oopsie
Warnings: mentions of Rambo's PTSD, depiction of depression, loss of parents for reader
We may not be perfect but we're perfect together
Hope was a small town nestled among towering pine trees and rugged mountains. Everyone knew each other in town, and the arrival of strangers was always a topic of conversation for the people. You had always lived there, your parents raising you in the quiet, predictable suburbs in the close-knit community.
All that changed the day he came into town. John Rambo.
You first spotted him walking along the main street in town, his military jacket and sad eyes marking him as someone who had seen too much in his lifetime. The townspeople buzzed with whispers about him, the drifter, especially after Sheriff Teasle confronted and escorted him out of town.
The way the sheriff dealt with drifters wasn't new, but the way you felt about this one was. You sensed there was more to him than met the eye, and you felt genuinely bad for him when the sheriff took him away.
The tranquility of Hope shattered and chaos erupted when news spread about Rambo's arrest and then escape. The manhunt that came next turned the town into a war zone. You returned to your home earlier than expected, as per the sheriff's request. Everyone had. You kept the news on, anxious about the updates it would give. You wanted your home to go back to its peaceful ways, but you also rooted for Rambo, who seemed to be fighting a war within himself. You just hoped he would be okay and that your town would be okay.
The news showed that he eventually turned himself in with the help of his old colonel. You didn't hear much about what happened to him after that, but even months later, you found yourself thinking about him often.
Many months later, through the usual conversation and gossip in the town you learned that Rambo's colonel, named Troutman, convinced the judge to shorten Rambo's sentence. The news was met with mixed reactions in Hope. Some feared he would return, others were indifferent, and some were angry. Angry about the wreck he left behind when he was arrested, and just angry about the war in general. You however, found yourself hoping he would find a fresh start.
Almost a year after the incident, you spotted Rambo again. He had returned to Hope, or rather the outskirts of it. He chose to live in a remote cabin nestled deep within the woods near where he had once escaped and hid.
The townspeople gossiped about his return and Sheriff Teasle made it clear he wasn't happy about it, but he had learned his lesson last time and steered clear of the veteran.
You decided to do the opposite of the sheriff and reach out to him. You didn't really know the reason why you felt the need to know him, but you at least wanted to offer him kindness he probably needed. One afternoon, you gathered your courage and explored into the woods intending to find his cabin, carrying a basket of homemade bread and jam.
His cabin was difficult to find, and you ended up seeing him before you found his home. He was in a clearing, carving something on a piece of wood with his knife. He spotted you when you were a ways away, and you approached him carefully. As you got closer, his eyes scanned you for any sign of threat. But your genuine smile and the simple gesture of bringing food softened his stance.
He accepted the food, a slight nod of appreciation the only sign that he welcomed the gesture. You stood for a moment unsure of what to say.
"I don't usually venture into the woods," you admitted, glancing around at the dense trees that seemed to close in from all sides. "But I thought I thought maybe you could use some company or at least some food," you said, holding your basket up.
His eyes met yours for a brief moment, his expression unreadable, but he didn't seem annoyed by your presence. He didn't say much, just a quiet "Thank you," before returning to the piece of wood in his hands. It was clear he wasn't used to having visitors, and you weren't sure if you were intruding or accompanying.
Feeling awkward, you added "If you ever need anything, I'm usually in town." With that, you turn to leave, the path back feeling longer than the way there.
During your walk, you couldn't shake the feeling that something important had started, even if you didn't fully understand it yet.
Over the next few weeks, you made it a habit to stop by his cabin. Sometimes you brought fresh bread, other times small supplies you thought he might need, like candles or a new set of gloves for the winter. Each time he accepted your offerings with the same quiet acknowledgment and each time the silence between you grew more comfortable.
During this time, the silence started to fade away and turn into small talks with each other. You and John started having short conversations about simple things like the weather, the recipe used for your bread, and your hobbies.
One summer afternoon during your visit, you lingered a bit longer than normal, the conversations flowing in short simple exchanges. You told him about the town, how things had settled back into routine since he returned. He listened, his responses brief but thoughtful.
Then, one week you didn't come. You weren't feeling well, stuck in an endless cycle you knew well. You all but abandoned your personal hygiene, opting to stay in bed or aimlessly wandering your home. You wanted to visit John, but you didn't have the energy to leave your house.
John noticed your absence, but there was nothing he could do about it. He made a mental note to mention it the next time you came. He was surprised just how much he missed having you a part of his routine.
When you came back the next week, John's eyes reflected a flicker of concern as you approached your meeting spot. You were quieter, less cheerful than usual, your smile faint and more tired. He noticed the subtle changes - how your steps lacked their usual lightness and your hair messy as if you just got out of bed.
"Everything okay?" he asked, his voice as low and steady as always, but with an undertone of genuine concern.
You hesitated, not wanting to burden John with your depression and the thoughts that came with it. But then you remembered all he'd gone through, so you thought, maybe he was the one person who wouldn't judge you, but would understand your pain.
I've just hit a tough patch," you admitted, your eyes glued to the ground. "Sometimes it's like this. It's hard to get out of bed to do anything, really. That's why I didn't come last week."
John nodded, looking in the distance like he was deep in thought. For a long moment neither of you spoke, the silence filled with the sounds of the forest around you.
After what felt like an eternity, he spoke again, his voice almost a whisper.
"I get it," he said, his words simple but heavy with meaning. "Sometimes it gets difficult for me too."
You looked up at him, surprised by the admission. You knew that he had been through so much during the war and after, but it was the first time he opened up to you about anything personal and you realize how much trust he was placing in you by sharing even that small piece of himself.
From that day on, your visits felt different - more significant, more connected. You continued to confide in him about your struggle with depression, and told him about the dark days when getting out of felt impossible and the constant battle to find joy and meaning in life.
John opened up more about his past - his time in the war, the friends he had lost, and the nightmares that still plagued him.
Soon, the relationship between the two of you started to change for the better. You started to visit him more, and he even started coming into town to visit you. Before long, the two of you were inseparable.
Many of the townspeople began to accept his presence, now seeing him as less of a threat and more as one of them. Mitch, the young redhead deputy, reached out to John, and soon another friendship blossomed.
During this time, your and John's relationship started to become romantic. He would take you on casual dates at different cafes in town, the library, and John's personal favorite - hiking. It didn't take long for the both of you to know that you wanted to be together forever.
One evening, under the stars near his cabin, John asked you to marry him. He didn't have a ring or a rehearsed speech. Just a simple heartfelt question. You said yes without hesitation, knowing that despite your imperfections you were perfect for each other.
When it came time for your wedding day, everything was perfect. You were in a simple but beautiful dress, and John was in a freshly pressed suit. You both picked a beautiful clearing in the woods, and you invited a few close friends to witness. Mitch was the best man, a few of your close friends were bridesmaids, and John's closest friend, Trautman came all the way out to marry the two.
The ceremony took place at sunset, the golden light filtering through the trees as you exchanged rings and vows. John's voice was steady as he looked into your eyes.
"We may not be perfect," he said, "but together, we're stronger and better."
As the night went on, you did typical wedding things, like cutting the little cake made by your mom's old bakery, and tossing your bouquet to your group of friends.
Trautman offered his hand to you after the bouquet toss. You looked at him, confused.
"For a father-daughter dance," he said, taking your hand. "You're family now."
You teared up as you danced. You hoped that your parents would make it to your wedding, but they passed away a few years ago.
As the dance ended, you thanked Trautman, feeling a warmth in your heart you haven't felt in a long time. The loss of your parents had left a void, but today, surrounded by friends and the man you loved, you felt pure joy.
As the evening continued, your friends slowly began to go home, leaving you and John in the last light of the setting sun. The clearing was quiet now, the soft home of the forest filling the air.
"Would you dance with me?" You asked in a hushed tone. You knew John wasn't one for grand gestures, but he looked at you, his expression softening before he nodded and gently took your hand in his.
There was no music for you to dance to, just the sounds of the wildlife in the forest. You laid your head against his chest as the stars started peeking out in the sky. You listen to his heartbeat while his arms wrapped around you, and for a moment, it felt like nothing else existed but the two of you dancing in the woods.
"I never thought I'd have this," he murmured his voice low and filled with emotion. "A home, a family...you."
You looked up at him, your eyes meeting his. "You deserve it, John. We deserve it."
He smiled a rare, genuine smile and leaned down to press his lips against your forehead.
"Let's go home," he said softly.
He led you to the cabin you knew so well and started a fire in the fireplace. You sat by each other in the familiar comfortable silence you often shared.
As you sat together, you thought about the best day of your life that you just lived, about the vows you just made.
"We may not be perfect, but together we're stronger and better."
Those words echoed in your mind, I promise not just for today, but for every day that followed.
Married life was peaceful and happy with John, but the both of you still had your hard days. With each other, you were able to cope a little better and heal more with time.
The woods surrounding the cabin were quiet, the moon' glow filtering through the curtains and casting patterns of light onto the wood walls.
John suddenly woke up drenched in sweat and disoriented. He sat up carefully, trying to catch his breath while keeping you undisturbed. He looked over at your sleeping figure, your face relaxed and serene, framed by the moon's glow. The rise and fall of your chest was steady, a soothing rhythm that starkly contrasted with his erratic, fear-driven breathing.
He didn't want to wake you, he knew you had your own internal battles and needed to rest. He reached for a glass of water sitting on the nightstand, his movements deliberate and quiet, hoping that it might calm his nerves.
But the effort to keep still was in vain. You stirred sensing the disturbance in your sleep. Your eyes flooded open, and you noticed John sitting up and the haunted looking his eyes.
"John?" you whispered, "are you okay?"
"It's nothing," he reassured. "Just a bad dream."
You sat up, your hand reaching out to touch his arm. "You don't have to go through this alone," you said gently. "Let me help."
The weight of your words sat on his mind for a moment. He'd been fighting his trauma on his own and building walls for so long, he was still getting used to letting you in.
He leaned his head on your shoulder as you spoke again. "Was this a nightmare or a memory?"
"Memory."
An involuntary tear slipped down his cheek.
"It's over now, you're safe here," you whispered to him
John felt himself begin to relax, your words overcoming the fear his mind fed him. He pulled you into a hug and laid back down.
"What would I do without you?" John whispered.
"You'll never have to find out."
The Sheriff's Daughter
Your day started out simple enough. You stood in the kitchen, preparing a basket of food, medicine, and some small blankets. Your skirt flowed against your legs as you whisked around the kitchen, gathering more supplies.
You were going to take it to a nearby rural area for the people there who needed help, help you were able and willing to provide. You weren't rich by any means, but when your dad's the sheriff of the town, well, you have more than others.
It was still dark out, but you were determined to get an early start since you had a while to walk. You quickly scribbled a note to your parents telling them where you were going before grabbing your coat and heading out the door.
The air was brisk and cold, coming as a shock to you. You started walking faster, hoping to create some sort of warmth. The full basket heavy in your hands, you were determined to get there as quick as you could. From past experience, you knew it would take you about 30 minutes to walk. Besides the ache already forming in your arms though, you really didn't mind. Helping these people you had already gotten to know was worth the effort. Many in that smaller village were affected by the Vietnam War, and that made your heart tug in several directions.
Before long, you saw the sun starting to peek above the horizon. You knew you were almost there, and making good time, too.
You arrived at the village as people were starting to come out of their homes, starting their work for the day. Children's laughs and playful shrieks filled the rural town as they ran around playing with each other. You made your way to the first few houses, distributing food and supplies at each. You liked to make sure that took time to talk with the people, getting to know and love them.
You soon came upon the house you knew the most, belonging to a widow named Mrs. Barry and her children. You could see her hanging the laundry to dry, but that wasn't the only thing you saw. There was a man you didn't recognize, slowly moving away from her before coming back to give her what looked like a slip of paper. He made eye contact with you as he started walking away again. You averted your eyes and continued down the path toward Mrs. Barry, greeting her as you got closer.
"Mrs. Barry," you called, "I'm back with more medicine!" You got closer and set your basket down. "How have you been?"
You talked with her next to the laundry, even helping her put the last of it up to dry before she invited you inside. Once through the front door, you headed to the table and set out the remainder of your basket.
"Thank you," Mrs. Barry said, "We are so grateful for your visits. God bless you, my dear."
"It's my pleasure, Mrs. Barry. Is there anything else I can do for you? Anything I can bring?"
"We're okay here, you've already done so much for us," she replied.
You chuckled before responding. "I'll be back in a few weeks then."
She was amused by your answer, helping you to the door. "I suppose I'll see you then," she said.
You stepped outside, saying your goodbyes before heading back down the path you came, empty basket in hand.
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Since he had seen her coming down the path toward Delmar's old place, he was determined to know more about this mystery girl. Rambo had stuck around, sitting under a tree, just observing the town around him, but keeping an eye on her, talking with the widow of his friend.
Soon they both moved inside the house, staying there for a while. He let his mind wander. How did she know Delmar's wife? She definitely didn't look like she belonged here, so why was she here? She's probably a friend, visiting from a nearby town.
Which was good for him, he was getting hungry. He could use a nearby town.
He was pulled out of his thoughts when he saw the girl making her way on the path that lead away from the village. Rambo stood up and made his way toward her.
------------
You made your way down the road, preparing yourself for the trek back home. You heard footsteps behind you and turned to face a man who seemed to want to talk with you. The first thing you noticed was his height since you had to look up to see his face. He had dark brown hair, a face with a sharp jawline, and eyes that were hard, but had something in them you couldn't describe. You actually found him quite handsome.
Rambo had some similar thoughts about you, seeing you up closer for the first time. He quickly took in your soft features, your long and light hair, and the dress that seemed to hug your sides perfectly.
"Is there a town nearby?" he asked.
His voice was a surprise to you, deeper than you expected. "Oh, um yes!" you exclaimed, getting over your initial shock at his voice. "I'm heading there now."
"Can I join you?" He asked, stepping a bit closer.
"Yes, of course. Although I should tell you, it's about 30 minutes of walking." You smiled up at him as if inviting a challenge.
"I'll manage," he said, smiling softly back.
____________
Hey people, I hope whatever random corner of the internet that's reading this enjoyed my first piece on my blog. I have another writing blog, but it's Star Wars, so I decided to make a separate one for Rambo since there's not nearly enough content for him out there :(
Anyway, Part 2 is in the works (in my head at least)
Sheriff's Daughter Pt.2
If you haven't read part 1, it's right here
The pair had been walking for some time, eventually making it to the main road that lead into town, talking and learning about each other as they went.
Rambo learned that you lived with your parents in the town they were walking to, called Hope, and you frequently visited the less fortunate where they just were. He thought that was sweet.
You learned that the man beside you wasn't the most talkative person, but he did tell you a bit about himself when you asked. His name was John, John Rambo, a war veteran from Vietnam. He was here to try and meet up with a fellow soldier, Delmar he said, but it turned out he had passed away from cancer.
You had already known that from helping his wife, you just didn't know he was so close to him.
"I'm so sorry to hear that John." Your heart sank for him.
"Thank you, I just don't know where to go next."
"You can stay in Hope, I can help you," you started, "If I told my father about you I'm sure he'd help you too." You spoke enthusiastically, something John thought to be cute, but more realistically, it was probably just wishful thinking.
"Your enthusiasm is...refreshing," he started, "but not everyone is as kind as you are."
The two of you continued walking in silence for a while. It wasn't awkward like one would think. It was actually quite peaceful. You were able to walk in the company of one another while taking in the late autumn beauty that surrounded you, the occasional car passing you by. After more time had passed, you broke the silence.
"Hey John?"
"Yeah," came his reply.
"I have to turn soon to get home, kind of a back way into the neighborhood..." you paused, "I have to take care of my horse, but I'm going into town after, so maybe I'll see you there?" The truth was, you really wanted to see him again, you just didn't want to say it out loud.
John seemed to like that idea, or so you thought. He was a little harder to read to you, so you weren't sure.
The truth for him was, he really did like that idea, and he was about to bring it up. He didn't normally like spending time with others, but you? You made it easy.
"Yeah, I'll probably be getting some food if I can."
You assumed that was his way of inviting you to join him.
"That's a good thing you're hungry, I know the perfect place. I'll try to be quick so you don't get too bored," you said, giving him a bright smile.
"The perfect place, huh?" A small chuckle escaped him. "Yeah, I can do that."
You slowed your pace, eventually stopping so you could make your turn. You pointed ahead of you.
"See the bend in the road? Just beyond that is Hope. Just turn right. I'll meet you in front of the police station on the main road and then we can go eat together."
"Got it," he said, looking over at that bridge. He turned to look at you. "Thank you."
"It's my pleasure." You looked at him a moment longer before continuing. "I'll see you in a bit."
He nodded but kept his eyes on the road for a bit to make sure you were safe starting down your path before continuing on his own.
------------
You got home fairly quick, not wanting John to wait too long without you. As you passed the pasture in your backyard, you saw your buckskin gelding, Bullet, happily munching on the rest of his breakfast alfalfa.
"Did dad feed you this morning?" you asked him. He just kept eating in response.
When you walked into the house, you noticed your father had already left for work. You wanted to do something nice for him for feeding Bullet, so you went outside to your small fruit trees and grabbed the fruit to bring to the police station. You quickly changed into a warmer outfit, since it was getting colder than you thought and you wanted to take Bullet into town.
'If I take Bullet, I can get to the police station faster and meet John,' you thought as you made your way out of the house and headed to your small barn to grab your steed.
You and Bullet made it to the main street, the police station in sight. You tied his lead rope to a post nearby and walked in with the fruit basket, automatically hearing a chorus of greetings from the officers there. You knew all of them from visiting so often for your dad, and often some would flirt with you. You tried to ignore it most of the time since to you, the only genuinely nice officer was Mitch, a younger redhead deputy.
"Hey, where's my dad?" you asked a group of officers.
"He went out in his car a while ago. Should be back soon," Mitch said walking closer to you. You offered him a small smile before opening your mouth to respond.
"Oh alright. I'll just -- "
"What have you got there little lady?" You turned to see Arthur Galt there, trying to see in your basket.
"It's just fruit, Arthur", you started, looking at him sternly. "and it's for my dad."
You were starting to stress out a bit. John was probably out there waiting for you while you were inside. You had to hurry this up.
"Well, Dad could be a while so I'll just leave these here for him. And don't eat all of them before he gets here please?" You asked, looking at Arthur and Mitch before beginning your journey toward the front doors.
It turned out you didn't have to wait for your dad much longer, as you saw him walking up from outside. The only problem was that John was with him. In handcuffs.
----
@akitasblogs @dumbasssimp Here it is! So sorry this took so long for part 2! My motivation is back so hopefully it stays long enough for me to get another part out soon
Requests are open!
I'm open to writing from prompts while I work on my long term writing projects - send in your ideas for Rambo :)
there's not enough content for him on here :(
About Bullet the horse
This is what I think of when I write about Bullet, the character's horse from my Sheriff's Daughter series :)
So yeah, I just see him as a beautiful buckskin gelding, probably dappled, and just overall adorable.
His name is just because I think it's cute as a play on of the phrase 'fast as a bullet' because maybe he can run fast.
As for his breed, I think of him as a more common breed, like maybe Quarter horse, mustang, or a mix of a few. He's not supposed to be a fancy breed for the story, he's just supposed to be functional and a fun animal sidekick to help the main character (aka you but with parts of my personality lol)
I hope this account is just inactive and not dead 🙏🙏 I loved your Sheriff’s daughter fic!! I discovered Rambo when i saw the First blood movie on the tv like a month ago (yes, i’m aware i’m uncultured and late 🧌) and i genuinely enjoyed it so much, it’s true how there’s so few Rambo works on here 😔
Yess I'm still alive I promise! Just been super busy lately 0-0
I'm so glad to hear you enjoyed my work, like that actually makes my day :') And lol I was late to the franchise too but I love the movies, especially the first one. It's truly a shame there aren't more works for him on here :/
Requests are open, and I'm going to start writing for Wolverine even though I haven't seen the new one yet so no spoilers, please <3 Rules are here
Graphics by @saradika-graphics
Moodboard Masterlist - coming soon!
Rambo:
The Sherrif's Daughter: Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 in writing
I just want him to be okay | Part 2
Requests:
Sanctuary in the Storm
We may not be perfect but we're perfect together
Enemies in Arms
Headcanons:
John comforting you on your period (request)
Logan (Wolverine)
Mesmerized (Ballet dancer! reader)- COMING 10/18 Summary: You need to break in your new pointe shoes leading you to the kitchen for a midnight dance session
Bad Habits vs a Pretty Psychologist - in brainstorming Summary: You need to prove a point to your class that operant conditioning really works, so you choose the hardest example you can think of - Logan
Headcanons:
Hypersomniac reader
I just want him to be okay - Rambo x female reader oneshot
Summary: (Takes place during the second movie) You're anxiety-ridden when the marshall abandons Rambo, but Trautman is there to help you.
The mission wasn't supposed to be like this. Murdock abandoned Rambo in a dangerous area, and you and Trautman couldn't do anything about it. You were worried and angry while Rambo fought for his life, doing who knows what. You tried to reason with the Marshall, but he wouldn't listen and eventually had you taken away.
You sat on a bench in an isolated room, trying to calm your racing mind. A knock sounded at the door, and Trautman walked in a second later. He sat next to you, his mere presence calming your anger. But not your anxiety.
"What if he's -"
Tautman held up his hand to stop you before all your fears could come out
"He's not. Whatever you're thinking, he's okay." He looked at you, offering a small smile.
"But how do you know?"
"He's the best I've ever seen," he continued, "and he's too stubborn to die."
"I suppose so," came your quiet reply.
"And he talked to us on the radio," he added.
"What? When?"
"Just now. He's very angry with the marshall."
"Yeah, rightfully so," you scoffed. The two of you sat in silence before you spoke up again, softer this time.
"I just want him to be okay," you broke down, putting your knees to your chest and letting the tears flow
Trautman's heart melted. John is so dear to him, like a son, and he had started to feel close to you as if you were his daughter (in-law, he hoped for the future)
He wrapped his arms around you as best he could sitting next to you, and held you for a while. When you ran out of tears and energy to cry, he spoke up again.
"I know things are bad. You're scared for him," he paused and made sure you were looking at him before continuing, "But Rambo will come back, I know he will. And when he is, he will be so happy to see you. Because he loves you."
You and John had already told each other that you loved each other, but to hear it from his father figure felt different. It felt reassuring.
"Thank you," you replied.
After your talk, you both decided it was best to sleep, so you headed to your respective rooms.
You couldn't sleep.
'Where is he? Is he safe? ... Is he still alive?' Your unrelenting thoughts bombarded you while you lay there in the dark. You kept your eyes closed, hoping that would make you fall asleep.
Despite your crowded mind, you eventually did, determined and ready to face the next day.
Heyy so I have never done a request (so idk if this is how you do it ☠️☠️) but could you write a Rambo x Reader during first blood where he’s running from the cops and he sees a small cabin and the reader opens the door just wearing the cutest pajamas and has them doe eyes just looking like a little Sylvanian family bunny and takes care of him like stiches him up and feeds him… this was so long omg sorry. OFC IF YOU DONT WANT TO NO WORRIES!! Just thought I’d ask xx
ofc I actually really like writing requests, and I love this idea! hope you like it :D The dividers are by @saradika-graphics
ALSO, the suturing probably isn't the most accurate, I did research and used common sense but don't take it as absolute fact, I am not a doctor 0-0 (one true thing is you DO want to start in the middle of the wound when suturing, and she gives him interrupted sutures, which is one of the most durable)
Sanctuary in the Storm -
The situation John found himself in was escalating. He was injured from the quarry/helicopter/jumping off a cliff into a tree incident from earlier that day. The cops had to back off for now, but John knew they would come again to hunt him down.
He needed a place to hide.
He was used to hiding in the Vietnamese jungle from his training and war, so really anywhere would do where he could stitch himself up. He wandered the forest for some time, the air getting colder and harsher against his skin with every passing minute.
There seemed to be no solid places to cover him. This forest wasn't as thick as the jungles he was used to. Just as he was about to settle for a small group of trees, he looked to the side and saw smoke.
He debated whether it was safe to follow it or not, eventually deciding it was better than nothing. If he really needed to, he could defend himself just fine, he thought as he started in the direction of the smoke.
Upon getting closer to his destination, he discovered the smoke was not from a fire, but from a chimney of a small cabin. It was a nice, peaceful area, less dense and more flat forest area with a small creek babbling through the land. If his situation were different, John thought, it would be nice to live in a place like this.
For now though, he just hoped that whoever this land belonged to was nice enough to let him in.
You stood in your kitchen, dancing to your favorite music. You had the fire in the fireplace and had just put cookies in the oven. You were wearing your pajamas and ready to have a relaxing evening with your book, cozy blankets, and cookies.
Just as you sang the last lyric, you heard a knock sound in the room. You turned off your music and made your way to the front door, opening it hesitantly, revealing a large, disheveled-looking man looking at you with big brown eyes and a large knife at his side.
When the door opened in front of John, the last thing he expected to see was a woman in the doorway looking up at him with bewilderment in her doe eyes. She was in her pajamas, with what he guessed was flour on her sleeves.
In any other circumstance, he would've thought more about her appearance and how peculiar it was, but he was actively bleeding.
He had covered his upper arm with a cloth to clot the blood, but it re-opened as time passed. The scrap of fabric could only do so much.
"Can I come in?"
Her eyes drifted to his covered injury, then back to his eyes before moving to the side to let him in
"Yes, yes of course," you started "What happened to you?"
He stayed silent for a moment, debating what to say.
"I got chased," he murmured. You looked at him, surprised.
"I can help you with that, it looks like it needs some care," you told him. He looked back at you for a moment before deciding to let you help with a subtle nod. Trusting others didn't come easy to him, not that he even trusted you yet, but he didn't see how refusing your help when you gave him a safe place would benefit him in any way. Plus, the blood was starting to drip down his arm.
With that settled, you led him to your sink to clean the wound to the best of your ability. With how far it was on his arm, you had to awkwardly the cup warm, soapy water with your hands to bring it up to it, trying not to spill on the floor. The cut was deeper than you thought. When that was done, you grabbed a clean towel and put pressure on the cleaned wound.
"It looks like it needs stitches," you noted, looking up at him for a response.
"I got a kit, jus' didn't have the time," came his soft reply. You nodded, then led him to your dining table, still holding tight to his injured arm. You sat down as he took said kit out of his pocket. In it was a bunch of survivalist supplies, including a needle and medical thread.
You threaded the needle, then took the towel off, and more blood began to flow. After a quick internal reminder to be brave, you positioned the needle in the center of the wound.
Throughout the whole process, he stayed still like a statue, not even flinching when you started another loop. You repeated the steps in your head: into the skin, to the other side, back again, then knotting it, then repeat again and again until you finished the last one.
You released a breath you didn't know you were holding when you finished knotting the last one.
"Thank you," John spoke in a low tone. He was more than capable of doing all this on his own, but it just felt nice having you do it. Having you care for him in a way very few people were willing to do.
"You're w-" the kitchen timer went off before you could finish your sentiment, startling you.
You walked over to your oven, checking the cookies. Noting they were done, you took them out and put two of them on two napkins. One for you, and one for your guest.
You turned back towards him, still sitting at the table.
"This is what you need to feel better," you remarked as you set them down. "We still need to bandage that," you added, gesturing to his arm.
He nodded, then hesitantly reached for the cookie while you started down the hall to get bandages from your first-aid kit.
You got back with the bandages and antiseptic ointment, immediately getting back to work on his arm, wrapping it not too loose, not too tight. He relaxed a bit but stayed on high alert. Picking up on this, you reassured him "You know, you don't have to be so tense," you said softly, "it's safe here." You tied off the last part of the bandage.
John watched you work, a mixture of gratitude and wariness in his eyes. "Not many places are," he replied quietly
You nodded. You got the feeling trust wasn't something he gave easily. "Well, if you need to rest or eat more, you're welcome to stay for a while."
He looked at you, a hint of something softer breaking through his hardened exterior. "Thanks," he said simply. He flexed his arm, testing the bandage. He thought about staying but quickly pushed the thought out of his mind. If the police found him, he didn't want her to get caught up in that mess. The less she was involved, the less she had the chance to get hurt. "but I should leave."
"Are you sure? I heard there's a storm coming," you said. John confirmed his statement with a nod. You felt a bit dejected, but hopeful to see him again. "Okay."
He grabbed his survival kit from the table and made his way to the door. He turned to you, his eyes soft.
"Thank you," he whispered
"Take care of yourself," you replied softly.
You watched him disappear into the night, the door closing softly behind him. The cabin felt emptier without him, but you were glad to have helped, even for a brief moment. As you returned to your cozy setup by the fireplace, you couldn't help but hope that he found the peace he deserved, wherever his journey took him next.
Guys I made a Rambo community! If you're interested in joining lmk <3
I just want him to be okay part 2: The Dawn of Reunion
Part 1
You woke up groggy the next morning. You felt like you hadn't even slept with how tired you were. From what you could tell, it was very early, probably close to dawn. You weren't sure what woke you up until you heard several shuffling hurried footsteps outside your makeshift room at the base.
You quickly sobered out of your groggy state and rushed out to see Trautman heading toward you, his expression grave but hopeful.
"What's going on?" you asked, heart pounding.
"Rambo's back," he replied, keeping an even voice, but you could see the mixture of relief and concern in his eyes. "He's injured, but alive with six prisoners with him. He should be landing outside soon."
You followed Trautman outside, many other soldiers following suit. The emerging sun blinding your eyes. Murdock's assistant, Ericson, followed you and Trautman closely, as if he wanted to greet Rambo first.
You could hear a helicopter approaching, and your heart rate picked up, knowing that it was John. He seemed so far away just a few hours ago, but now he was almost here. So close. You will be able to see him soon.
It wasn't long after you walked outside that you saw a helicopter descending, smoke trailing behind it. Its blades whipped the air around you, its roar deafening. As it landed, the dust settled, revealing Rambo climbing out, battered and bruised but very much alive, promptly grabbing the M60 from the side of the helicopter.
Your breath caught in your throat as you saw him, relief and overwhelming joy washing over you. You wanted to run to him but Trautman placed a hand on your shoulder, holding you back.
"Give him a moment," he said gently.
You watched as John directed the medics to the prisoners, ensuring they were taken care of, before he approached you. His eyes met yours, and despite the pain etched across his features, his eyes softened looking down at you.
As quickly as they softened, his gaze shifted and his eyes hardened again, looking at Ericson beside you.
"Glad you made it," Ericson shouted above the chaos and the helicopter's noise, a smile on his face. John didn't take too kindly to his statement, however, and promptly kicked him in the stomach. While he was down John elbowed his face.
Trautman seemed fine with the action next to him, but you weren't used to it, your eyes widening with surprise. You knew what he was capable of, but you'd never witnessed it.
He looked at Trautman one last time before turning his focus elsewhere. You followed his eyes to the large hangar doors, getting a sense of what he wanted to do.
"Stay with Trautman," John instructed you, his voice rough but determined, as he started walking away. "Need to handle something."
You watched John march through the hangar doors into the base, then turned your head to look at Trautman, conveying your worry with your expression.
You jumped as rapid gunfire echoed from the base. Both of you and Trautman quickly followed John, Trautman leading the way and making sure to assess the situation before letting you see. He paused in the doorway, realizing John wasn't hurting anyone, rather all the computers and office supplies were the object of John's rage. You looked in just as John pointed his M60 to the ceiling with a loud, frustrated yell. When he had gotten his fill, he threw the gun down angrily and stormed to Murdock's office.
You and Trautman stayed outside, giving John the moment he needed.
While you waited, you observed the chaos around you. The helicopter had caught fire, which was being put out by soldiers. The prisoners of war were getting medical attention and being placed on stretchers, surrounded by many people. You saw Trautman had somehow snuck away from you to go see them himself.
Finally, John emerged from the large doorway, walking out into the chaos. He stopped by you, his expression calmer, but still hardened. You couldn't help yourself any longer, wrapping your arms around his neck and burying your face into him. You were barely tall enough to do so but you found a way.
"John," you whispered, your voice hoarse, tears starting to stream down your face. You couldn't hold them in any longer and found yourself unable to form any other words to say. He looked like he had endured so much in such a short amount of time, you didn’t even want to imagine it.
He wrapped his arms around you, holding you tight. "I'm here," he murmured, knowing what you needed to hear. "I'm not going anywhere." He moved one of his hands to the back of your head, holding it to his chest protectively.
Trautman approached the two of you. "You did good, John. We're proud of you," he spoke loudly above the chaos.
John nodded, his expression softening as he looked down at you. "Couldn't have done it without thinking of you. Kept me going."
He leaned in, pressing a gentle kiss to your forehead.
"I love you," you said
"I love you too," he replied, starting to walk away from the base.
You could tell something was still upsetting him, and by the way Trautman looked at you, he could tell too. You both began trailing John, Trautman breaking the silence as you did so.
“John, where will you go?”
“I don’t know,” came his short reply.
“You’ll earn a second Medal of Honor for this,” Trautman remarked.
John’s attention was drawn to something in the distance, which also caught Trautman’s eye. Following their gaze, you saw one of the prisoners saluting him.
“Give it to them. They deserve it more,” John said quietly.
“You can’t keep running, John. You’re free now. Come back with us. Settle down, maybe start a family,” Trautman stated, gesturing towards you at the last part.
“Back to what? My friends died here. Part of me died here.”
You couldn’t help but feel a pang of sadness when your lover said this. Sad that he had to go through this, but also because you felt like you weren’t enough for him to go back to. To start fresh with.
Your thoughts were interrupted as Trautman spoke again. “The war, everything that happened here may be wrong, but don’t hate your country for it.”
John turned to Trautman, looking him in the eye. “Hey, I’d die for it. I’d die for her.”
Your heart warmed at the sentiment, but you hated the idea of John dying. Trautman’s eyes softened at John’s words, the meaning behind them sinking in.
“Then what is it you want?” Trautman asked.
John took a breath, thinking, then spoke assertively, “I want what they want. And every other guy who came over here, and spilled his guts, and gave everything he had, wants. For our country to love us as much as we love it. That’s what I want.”
The two men looked at each other in understanding for a moment before John began walking away again. You instinctively followed him, wanting to be wherever he was.
“How will you live, John?” Trautman’s voice came from behind the both of you. You turned to see him looking almost concerned for the two of you.
“Day by day,” John huffed in reply.
You gave Trautman one last soft smile as thanks before continuing with John forward, ready to conquer whatever came next. Together.
First blood rambo, as a husband, where he and the reader helping each other with mental health issues? much love ♥
UUUGGH I love this idea! Thanks for the request <33 I spent so much time on the backstory oopsie
Warnings: mentions of Rambo's PTSD, depiction of depression, loss of parents for reader
We may not be perfect but we're perfect together
Hope was a small town nestled among towering pine trees and rugged mountains. Everyone knew each other in town, and the arrival of strangers was always a topic of conversation for the people. You had always lived there, your parents raising you in the quiet, predictable suburbs in the close-knit community.
All that changed the day he came into town. John Rambo.
You first spotted him walking along the main street in town, his military jacket and sad eyes marking him as someone who had seen too much in his lifetime. The townspeople buzzed with whispers about him, the drifter, especially after Sheriff Teasle confronted and escorted him out of town.
The way the sheriff dealt with drifters wasn't new, but the way you felt about this one was. You sensed there was more to him than met the eye, and you felt genuinely bad for him when the sheriff took him away.
The tranquility of Hope shattered and chaos erupted when news spread about Rambo's arrest and then escape. The manhunt that came next turned the town into a war zone. You returned to your home earlier than expected, as per the sheriff's request. Everyone had. You kept the news on, anxious about the updates it would give. You wanted your home to go back to its peaceful ways, but you also rooted for Rambo, who seemed to be fighting a war within himself. You just hoped he would be okay and that your town would be okay.
The news showed that he eventually turned himself in with the help of his old colonel. You didn't hear much about what happened to him after that, but even months later, you found yourself thinking about him often.
Many months later, through the usual conversation and gossip in the town you learned that Rambo's colonel, named Troutman, convinced the judge to shorten Rambo's sentence. The news was met with mixed reactions in Hope. Some feared he would return, others were indifferent, and some were angry. Angry about the wreck he left behind when he was arrested, and just angry about the war in general. You however, found yourself hoping he would find a fresh start.
Almost a year after the incident, you spotted Rambo again. He had returned to Hope, or rather the outskirts of it. He chose to live in a remote cabin nestled deep within the woods near where he had once escaped and hid.
The townspeople gossiped about his return and Sheriff Teasle made it clear he wasn't happy about it, but he had learned his lesson last time and steered clear of the veteran.
You decided to do the opposite of the sheriff and reach out to him. You didn't really know the reason why you felt the need to know him, but you at least wanted to offer him kindness he probably needed. One afternoon, you gathered your courage and explored into the woods intending to find his cabin, carrying a basket of homemade bread and jam.
His cabin was difficult to find, and you ended up seeing him before you found his home. He was in a clearing, carving something on a piece of wood with his knife. He spotted you when you were a ways away, and you approached him carefully. As you got closer, his eyes scanned you for any sign of threat. But your genuine smile and the simple gesture of bringing food softened his stance.
He accepted the food, a slight nod of appreciation the only sign that he welcomed the gesture. You stood for a moment unsure of what to say.
"I don't usually venture into the woods," you admitted, glancing around at the dense trees that seemed to close in from all sides. "But I thought I thought maybe you could use some company or at least some food," you said, holding your basket up.
His eyes met yours for a brief moment, his expression unreadable, but he didn't seem annoyed by your presence. He didn't say much, just a quiet "Thank you," before returning to the piece of wood in his hands. It was clear he wasn't used to having visitors, and you weren't sure if you were intruding or accompanying.
Feeling awkward, you added "If you ever need anything, I'm usually in town." With that, you turn to leave, the path back feeling longer than the way there.
During your walk, you couldn't shake the feeling that something important had started, even if you didn't fully understand it yet.
Over the next few weeks, you made it a habit to stop by his cabin. Sometimes you brought fresh bread, other times small supplies you thought he might need, like candles or a new set of gloves for the winter. Each time he accepted your offerings with the same quiet acknowledgment and each time the silence between you grew more comfortable.
During this time, the silence started to fade away and turn into small talks with each other. You and John started having short conversations about simple things like the weather, the recipe used for your bread, and your hobbies.
One summer afternoon during your visit, you lingered a bit longer than normal, the conversations flowing in short simple exchanges. You told him about the town, how things had settled back into routine since he returned. He listened, his responses brief but thoughtful.
Then, one week you didn't come. You weren't feeling well, stuck in an endless cycle you knew well. You all but abandoned your personal hygiene, opting to stay in bed or aimlessly wandering your home. You wanted to visit John, but you didn't have the energy to leave your house.
John noticed your absence, but there was nothing he could do about it. He made a mental note to mention it the next time you came. He was surprised just how much he missed having you a part of his routine.
When you came back the next week, John's eyes reflected a flicker of concern as you approached your meeting spot. You were quieter, less cheerful than usual, your smile faint and more tired. He noticed the subtle changes - how your steps lacked their usual lightness and your hair messy as if you just got out of bed.
"Everything okay?" he asked, his voice as low and steady as always, but with an undertone of genuine concern.
You hesitated, not wanting to burden John with your depression and the thoughts that came with it. But then you remembered all he'd gone through, so you thought, maybe he was the one person who wouldn't judge you, but would understand your pain.
I've just hit a tough patch," you admitted, your eyes glued to the ground. "Sometimes it's like this. It's hard to get out of bed to do anything, really. That's why I didn't come last week."
John nodded, looking in the distance like he was deep in thought. For a long moment neither of you spoke, the silence filled with the sounds of the forest around you.
After what felt like an eternity, he spoke again, his voice almost a whisper.
"I get it," he said, his words simple but heavy with meaning. "Sometimes it gets difficult for me too."
You looked up at him, surprised by the admission. You knew that he had been through so much during the war and after, but it was the first time he opened up to you about anything personal and you realize how much trust he was placing in you by sharing even that small piece of himself.
From that day on, your visits felt different - more significant, more connected. You continued to confide in him about your struggle with depression, and told him about the dark days when getting out of felt impossible and the constant battle to find joy and meaning in life.
John opened up more about his past - his time in the war, the friends he had lost, and the nightmares that still plagued him.
Soon, the relationship between the two of you started to change for the better. You started to visit him more, and he even started coming into town to visit you. Before long, the two of you were inseparable.
Many of the townspeople began to accept his presence, now seeing him as less of a threat and more as one of them. Mitch, the young redhead deputy, reached out to John, and soon another friendship blossomed.
During this time, your and John's relationship started to become romantic. He would take you on casual dates at different cafes in town, the library, and John's personal favorite - hiking. It didn't take long for the both of you to know that you wanted to be together forever.
One evening, under the stars near his cabin, John asked you to marry him. He didn't have a ring or a rehearsed speech. Just a simple heartfelt question. You said yes without hesitation, knowing that despite your imperfections you were perfect for each other.
When it came time for your wedding day, everything was perfect. You were in a simple but beautiful dress, and John was in a freshly pressed suit. You both picked a beautiful clearing in the woods, and you invited a few close friends to witness. Mitch was the best man, a few of your close friends were bridesmaids, and John's closest friend, Trautman came all the way out to marry the two.
The ceremony took place at sunset, the golden light filtering through the trees as you exchanged rings and vows. John's voice was steady as he looked into your eyes.
"We may not be perfect," he said, "but together, we're stronger and better."
As the night went on, you did typical wedding things, like cutting the little cake made by your mom's old bakery, and tossing your bouquet to your group of friends.
Trautman offered his hand to you after the bouquet toss. You looked at him, confused.
"For a father-daughter dance," he said, taking your hand. "You're family now."
You teared up as you danced. You hoped that your parents would make it to your wedding, but they passed away a few years ago.
As the dance ended, you thanked Trautman, feeling a warmth in your heart you haven't felt in a long time. The loss of your parents had left a void, but today, surrounded by friends and the man you loved, you felt pure joy.
As the evening continued, your friends slowly began to go home, leaving you and John in the last light of the setting sun. The clearing was quiet now, the soft home of the forest filling the air.
"Would you dance with me?" You asked in a hushed tone. You knew John wasn't one for grand gestures, but he looked at you, his expression softening before he nodded and gently took your hand in his.
There was no music for you to dance to, just the sounds of the wildlife in the forest. You laid your head against his chest as the stars started peeking out in the sky. You listen to his heartbeat while his arms wrapped around you, and for a moment, it felt like nothing else existed but the two of you dancing in the woods.
"I never thought I'd have this," he murmured his voice low and filled with emotion. "A home, a family...you."
You looked up at him, your eyes meeting his. "You deserve it, John. We deserve it."
He smiled a rare, genuine smile and leaned down to press his lips against your forehead.
"Let's go home," he said softly.
He led you to the cabin you knew so well and started a fire in the fireplace. You sat by each other in the familiar comfortable silence you often shared.
As you sat together, you thought about the best day of your life that you just lived, about the vows you just made.
"We may not be perfect, but together we're stronger and better."
Those words echoed in your mind, I promise not just for today, but for every day that followed.
Married life was peaceful and happy with John, but the both of you still had your hard days. With each other, you were able to cope a little better and heal more with time.
The woods surrounding the cabin were quiet, the moon' glow filtering through the curtains and casting patterns of light onto the wood walls.
John suddenly woke up drenched in sweat and disoriented. He sat up carefully, trying to catch his breath while keeping you undisturbed. He looked over at your sleeping figure, your face relaxed and serene, framed by the moon's glow. The rise and fall of your chest was steady, a soothing rhythm that starkly contrasted with his erratic, fear-driven breathing.
He didn't want to wake you, he knew you had your own internal battles and needed to rest. He reached for a glass of water sitting on the nightstand, his movements deliberate and quiet, hoping that it might calm his nerves.
But the effort to keep still was in vain. You stirred sensing the disturbance in your sleep. Your eyes flooded open, and you noticed John sitting up and the haunted looking his eyes.
"John?" you whispered, "are you okay?"
"It's nothing," he reassured. "Just a bad dream."
You sat up, your hand reaching out to touch his arm. "You don't have to go through this alone," you said gently. "Let me help."
The weight of your words sat on his mind for a moment. He'd been fighting his trauma on his own and building walls for so long, he was still getting used to letting you in.
He leaned his head on your shoulder as you spoke again. "Was this a nightmare or a memory?"
"Memory."
An involuntary tear slipped down his cheek.
"It's over now, you're safe here," you whispered to him
John felt himself begin to relax, your words overcoming the fear his mind fed him. He pulled you into a hug and laid back down.
"What would I do without you?" John whispered.
"You'll never have to find out."
I love your writing and you portray Rambo so well ty for all the content of him I am starving 💕💕💕🤝
If you want could I get hcs of John comforting reader on her period or how he'd deal with comforting her crying or hurt in general? Thank you sm I hope you have a nice day!! ❤🥺
Yesss I love this request! And thank you so much for the kind words and the support <333
this is just headcanons, if you want a full fic, let me know
John Rambo comforting you on your period HCs:
First off, John hates seeing you hurting, whether you're experiencing cramps or just stubbed your toe
He's seen too many people he cares about in pain, so it really does affect him and he wishes he could take your pain away more than anything
Speaking of pain, he knows it well and probably has a lot of training and experience with coping mechanisms for physical pain. He would probably teach you some when the body aches and cramps get really bad
But if we're being real here, he probably wouldn't know much about it at first, being around mostly men for so long. He knows the basics, but stuff like hormone levels and why you start crying out of nowhere is beyond him
But he's a fast learner if you take the time to tell him about it
He also learns how to comfort you in the way you want pretty quickly
You want snacks?? He's going to the grocery store and getting you your favorites. You want cuddles and a movie? He's a little stiff with cuddles at first but he's trying ok?? Want to use his hand as a heating pad? His answer is YES because he's a walking furnace and he knows it.
he WILL draw you a bath if you want it, he doesn't know what the candles and flower petals do, but it seems to make you happy, so ¯\_(ツ)_/¯
One of his love languages is 100% acts of service - he just loves doing domestic things for you <3
So he's really good about comforting you with the physical aspect of the WORST time of the month but with the emotional side? He just has less practice with that
because why are you crying again?
what do you mean you don't know?
He eventually just goes with it (he secretly finds it cute - not that you're feeling bad, just the way you look up at him when you admit you have no idea why you're sobbing)
Your brain and body works so differently than his, he actually finds it so interesting and beautiful, and he reminds you of this all the time
He definitely holds you when you cry and runs his hands through your hair, which is SUPER relaxing.
He takes your mood swings so well, he knows it's not anyone's fault (probably) it's just the hormones doing their thing
He's so respectful about it too - if you say you want company, he'll stay with you, if you say you want to be left alone, he'll leave you be, but he'll stay close enough so if you need anything from him he can help you
always reminds you that the pain will pass, he loves you, and that you are so so strong and you can make it through
Request from @redviper321: Could you write a Rambo x Reader, where they both are old friends. {But write a bit on how they meet -> They both meet, a bit of enemies to friends; like they both hate each other at first but had to work together in a mission (a random mission) and they both set aside their differences and soon became friends after.} Now into the First Movie (First Blood) you know the scene where Rambo is mistreated when Hope Sheriff Will Teasle brings in Rambo into the station; also put in that a random cop had also found the Reader is like the same way as Rambo. You can continue the rest from here; this is just an idea that came to me because I now start to watch Rambo Movies. I might make more request for the other movies later on. Also sorry if this request is so long.
Don't even worry about it, I love requests! Sorry it took so long!
Warnings: Galt sexually harassing/being creepy toward reader, Teasle being insufferable as per usual (they both pissed me off but I was the one writing their lines oopsie)
Enemies in Arms
Your trouble with John Rambo started when you first crossed paths on a covert operation in hostile territory. You were both highly skilled, him as a soldier, and you as a medic, so naturally, your commanding officers selected you for the mission. You soon found that your assigned partner was unorthodox and often reckless in his methods, while you strictly adhered to protocol. Rambo found that part of you irritating, the fact that you couldn't stray from the rules even when it meant the mission would go better. Your differences quickly led to a mutual disdain for each other, and the mission was almost jeopardized by both of your constant bickering with each other.
The argument swiftly ended when the pair was ambushed by enemy forces. Despite your differences you were forced to fight side by side in a moment of desperation and survival. During the heat of battle, you saw each other's strengths and weaknesses complimented each other like puzzle pieces, making you and him an effective team. Your rigidity for rules often kept you both safe, while his risk taking behavior often led to victory.
By the time the mission ended successfully, your mutual respect for each other blossomed into friendship.
Keeping in touch proved difficult during the war, but after it ended and you both returned to the States, you would send letters sporadically. Rambo never seemed to have a permanent address, but you settled down in a little cabin in Liggett County, Washington, just beyond a small town called Hope.
You avoided going into town because based on your past experiences, the people there weren't too friendly with people like you. You tried to live off the land, but at a point, you couldn't get everything you needed from your garden or hunting.
You were at that point right now.
Your garden had vegetables this morning, but the wild bunnies must have gotten to them first, as you saw a freshly dug hole going under your garden fence line. So after a few moments of grumbling, you got ready to go into town to get food for dinner.
Once there, you went straight to the local grocery store. The sun was already starting to go down, so you had to hurry. You got what you needed, went to the checkout line, and bought your groceries without having to socialize.
You made it out just after the sun dipped behind the buildings, casting long shadows in a reddish glow. It was still light enough to make your way back, just barely.
You started down the sidewalk at a fast pace but didn't make it too far before someone pulled up beside you in a car. Casting a glance at them you saw it wasn't just any car. It was a police car.
'Great,' you thought, 'Just what I need right now.' You rolled your eyes before putting on your most charming smile and turning to the man in the patrol car. He had lighter hair with a matching mustache lining his upturned lips. You were about to ask him if anything was wrong, but as you opened your mouth, he spoke.
"Where are you headed to in such a hurry miss?" He had an accent you couldn't place, but it made your skin crawl.
"Home," you answered short but polite. The last thing you needed was a cop pissed at you.
"Well then, why don't I give you a ride, it is getting late," he said, looking you up and down, his eyes lingering too long for your comfort. You might have said yes to someone else, but this man was giving you a bad feeling.
"It's too late for a pretty little thing like you to be walking home without company."
Nope, he was just plain creepy.
"Thank you for the offer, but I enjoy the walk and can handle myself."
You started walking, but the officer turned his lights and sirens on and pulled forward, keeping up with you. This drew the attention of a few townspeople walking nearby. Your anxiety spiked when he got out in front of you. You knew you could handle yourself if it really came down to a fight, but you wanted to keep your innocent reputation in the town, which meant not picking fights with the police.
He towered over you, a frown deepening on his face. "I really suggest you take my offer," he threatened. You thought about cutting your losses and getting in the car, but you determined your dignity was worth more than whatever he was trying to do.
"And if I don't?" you questioned.
"Well, then I suppose instead of taking you home I'll take you to the station," he said matter-of-factly, a sick smile on his face.
You scoffed at the proposal. "You can't do that, I've done nothing wrong."
"It's my word against yours," he started, "As far as I'm concerned, those groceries in your hands were stolen."
You scoffed at his words. "You can't do this, it's wro-"
"I can do what I want," he hissed, "And now that I'm tired of waiting for you, turn around and put your hands behind your back."
"And if I don't?"
"Well then, I guess I get an excuse to do it forcefully," he said, winking.
You felt sick. You learned that fighting back wouldn't get you anywhere, and you did not want to give him the sick joy of forcing you into his handcuffs, so you reluctantly turned around, sighing as he cuffed you.
Next thing you knew, you were shoved in his backseat on the way to the police station. By the time you reached the station, the sun had dipped below the horizon. Inside, the atmosphere was even darker than the night outside. You were led past the front desk, barely exchanging a word with the officer there, who gave a small nod as they processed you into the system.
They eventually got you into a holding cell to spend the night before your trial in the morning. You sat on the 'bed', feeling overwhelmed, hungry, exhausted, and haunted by the officer's threats. You tried not to show your unease as he was still watching you from across the room, stealing glances as if testing your limits.
You would have called him out for it if you weren't so hungry. Your physical exhaustion took out any fight you had in you. It was now around 10pm, your dinner groceries long forgotten in some evidence bin. You tried to quiet your stomach's growls, but it wasn't working too well. You decided to turn your thoughts to something other than food to save yourself the anguish.
You were deep in thought when a young redhead officer came up to your cell, a plate of food in his hands. You looked up at him as he approached, searching his expression for any ill intent toward you.
"I heard your stomach growling from across the bullpen," he said with a small, awkward smile. He slid the plate through the food slot in the door. "I figured you hadn’t had dinner yet."
You tilted your head looking at him, trying to figure him out.
"I know it's not your groceries, but it's better than what we would normally give to... prisoners," he hesitated on the last word as if to find a more accurate description of you.
"You don't act like the other officers," you stated, moving towards him and the food you so desperately needed.
He shifted his feet, looking down. "If I'm being honest, I don't think Arthur should have brought you here. He is wrong for that," he said, looking back up at you.
Your gaze met his. For the first time tonight, you saw someone who wasn’t trying to intimidate or manipulate you. There was a sincerity in Mitch’s eyes, a sense that he understood the injustice of your situation.
The moment was cut short when Arthur called for Mitch from across the bullpen, eyeing the two of you suspiciously. You turned around in your cell with the food, beginning to eat as you sat back down.
The rest of the night felt slow. The sounds of the busy bullpen quieted down, officers switching shifts and the sound of footsteps few and far between. Sleep eventually caught up with you, your eyes refusing to stay open, clashing with the need to stay alert. The cot in the cell was uncomfortable but better than nothing.
You woke up slowly, light pouring in through a tiny, barred window high up on the wall of your cell. You sat up, your body aching from every movement.
The station was already buzzing with activity, with officers and deputies walking around and filling out paperwork. Your eyes landed on a clock on the other side of the room. From where you were, you could tell it was somewhere around 11: 40. Man, you slept in.
You scanned the room for Mitch, eventually finding him at the front desk, talking to a mom and a kid. You wanted to get his attention to ask how much longer you would be here, but you didn't want to draw unwanted attention from Galt.
Galt. Your eyes zipped over the bullpen to locate your biggest threat, which you found at a desk just past the front receptionist. He had headphones in, distracted by his work.
Good. As long as he wasn't bothering you.
The ambiance stayed the same as more time passed, but you became restless. You hated just sitting here, waiting for someone to say you could go home.
Every now and then, Mitch would glance your way, but his attention would always go back to the mother, who seemed to be distressed.
You elected to close your eyes again, sitting against the wall. The noise of the station became white noise, droning on and eventually zoning out as you felt your drowsiness take over yet again.
Just before sleep reclaimed you, a loud voice broke the threshold that kept the chatter as 'white noise'.
"Buzz us in, will ya?"
You opened your eyes to find the source of your annoyance, seeing a larger officer coming in past the front desk, pushing in a disheveled man.
You sucked in a breath as the pair got closer and you could see the man's face. It was John.
Before you could think, you were already standing, your hands gripping the bars of your cell, desperately trying to get closer to John.
Your movement caught Mitch's attention. He glanced between the two of you, putting the pieces together that you knew each other somehow.
You focused back on John. His hair was longer than you remembered, but you were certain it was him. Your eyes followed him as he was taken across the station and eventually handed off to Mitch, who took him down a staircase that sat behind a heavy, locked door.
Your heart raced as the door closed, cutting you off from seeing your old friend. You didn't know what to do next. John was here. Arrested.
You had to find out why. You had to talk to him.
Mitch eventually came back to the bullpen with dog tags. John's dog tags.
You got his attention while the tags were being processed by a lady sitting at a computer. Mitch walked up to you, asking if you needed anything.
"That man, why is he here?" you asked.
"You know him, don't you?" Mitch half whispered back, his eyes darting around for anyone listening in. You nodded.
"Apparently for vagrancy and resisting arrest, but this isn't the first time Teasle brought in a veteran for that same reason," he replied.
"So his arrest was unjust too?"
"I can't say for sure yet," he replied apologetically before being called back by the lady processing the tags. He started to turn, but you called to him again.
"Mitch."
He turned to face you again, prompting you to continue. "This is going to end badly."
He looked at you solemnly before heading to the processing lady.
You knew what John was capable of, now you just had to wait for the inevitable to happen and hope John notices you when it does.
Okay so I have an expansive collection of quotes from me, my family, friends, and my professors and they're out of context and super wacky, would anyone be interested in me making a post listing all the really good ones and you guys send in requests for them? Either for Wolverine or Rambo (or another character if you see one that really fits, just message me to make sure I know the fandom)
It would be like a dialogue prompt list, but slightly concerning things I've said/witnessed someone else saying.
Just thought it might be a nice writing challenge, maybe it's kinda weird but that's okay. Let me know what you guys want :P
Domestic life with Rambo moodboard
