Rambosgirl - Muscular Men :0 - Tumblr Blog

Incomingggg

Got some Logan Howlett headcanons coming Friday :)

Went to a forest today🔥🔥🔥🔥

Wanted to take it home but the horns were eaten off already😔😔😔

0-0 that's cool! What animal is that?

I can’t stop thinking about that one month this year when my class was required to go to a course to a diffrent school so we lived in a boarding school and let me say this was the UNHEALTHIEST month of my life😭😭 this was our first time living alone on a longer term so we were in charge of buying our food….i remember there were days when me and my friends would exclusively only eat sweets💀 i also exclusively only ate carrots for two days and wondered why am i feeling so weak lately😍😍😍

that sounds like my life rn at college. I at least try to make healthy meals, but it doesn't always work

and I do the same thing with water, something SO accessible but I literally forget I need it to survive -_- (or I only want flavored water bc water on its own is boring flavored)

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.

I welcome thou rambosgirl i come with a serious question…….which of the henry eight wifes is your favourite🤫 mines anne of cleves….. also you can answer based on looks if youre not into lore

if any of them ended up unaliving him for his atrocities, that would be my fave, but UNFORTUNATELY none of them did :(

so I'd have to say maybe Anne of Cleves, bc she got a good settlement from their divorce (and based on looks) or Katherine Parr bc she was the last one, seeing Henry in his final days (and it's my personal hc that she somehow killed him for revenge teehee)

Albino mole😭😭😭😭😭😭😭

I'm convinced that every variation of moles are inherently ugly

And naked mole rats are at the top of the ugly mole charts

This is where I write a lot of my fanfics 💅

These are the jobs of the reader in my Logan fic ideas

I was literally thinking about this last night - it's so real though

okay girls I believe I have a type. Logan Howlett = John Rambo. vientam (and more) war veteran = vietnam war veteran. his old team all dead = his old team all dead. the boss of his old team turned evil = the boss of his old team turned 'evil' animalistic mindset = animalistic mindset (specially first movie). agressive and violent as a trauma response = agressive and violent as a trauma response.

Yes, I do definetely have a type.

Busy throwing hints that he keeps missing

Don't have to think about it

I wanna kiss and

Everything around it

But he's too distant

I wanna feel his body

I can't resist it

I know my hidden looks can be deceiving

But how obvious should a girl be?

I was taken by the early conversation piece

And I really like the way that he respects me

I've been waiting patiently for him to come and get it

I wonder if he knows that he can say it and I'm with it

I knew I had my mind made up from the very beginning

Catch this opportunity so you and me could feel it 'cause

If you're ready for me, boy

You'd better push the button and let me know

Before I get the wrong idea and go

You're gonna miss the freak that I control

I'm busy showing him what he's been missing

I'm kind of showing off for his full attention

My sexy ass has got him in a new dimension

I'm ready to do something to relieve this mission

After waiting patiently for him to come and get it

He came on through and asked me if I wanted to get with him

I knew I had my mind made up from the very beginning

Won't miss this opportunity so you and me could feel it 'cause

If you're ready for me, boy

You'd better push the button and let me know

Before I get the wrong idea and go

You're gonna miss the freak that I control

If you're ready for me, boy

You'd better push the button and let me know

Before I get the wrong idea and go

You're gonna miss the freak that I control

I've been dropping so many hints (push-push the button)

(Push-push)

You're still not getting it (push-push the button)

Now that you've heard everything I have to say (push the button and let-)

(Push-push the button)

Where we gonna go from here? (Push-push the button and let-)

(Push the button)

After waiting patiently for him to come and get it (push the button)

He came over and asked me if I wanted to get with him (push the button)

I knew I had my mind made up from the very beginning (push the button)

Won't miss this opportunity so you and me could feel it 'cause (push-push the button)

If you're ready for me, boy (for me, boy)

You'd better push the button and let me know (let me know)

Before I get the wrong idea and go

You're gonna miss the freak that I control

If you're ready for me, boy (push the button, baby)

You'd better push the button and let me know (push the button, baby)

Before I get the wrong idea and go (push the button, baby)

You're gonna miss the freak that I control (baby)

(I control)

If you're ready for me, boy (ooh)

You'd better push the button and let me know (ooh)

Before I get the wrong idea and go (ooh)

You're gonna miss the freak that I control

What just happened

Y'all I want to write but Tumblr is not working on desktop and it's super frustrating

I promise I see the requests and I have ideas but writing on mobile is not it for me 😭

Have you ever been assaulted by geese or a rooster 🤔 they're so scary...... i'm a rooster attack survivor..... when i was little one would chase me and it was so traumatic 😢 i was running and crying at the same time and i remember i lost one of my shoes.... I survived but i was never the same 😔 actually my great great grandmother had varicose veins on her legs and rooster fawking bit her and she had a crazy bleeding session 😭 and she was terrified of roosters until she died i understand her those are some satanic animals.... gladly my grandfather started taming them to behave so we are now *MODERATELY* safe……i think

I never have but that doesn't sound fun :(

BUT I literally love chickens, we raised them a lot growing up, I would legit cuddle them all the time (still do when I visit home) Roosters are a bit different, some can have very calm temperaments, and some are more like the ones that traumatized you :0

I haven't had problems with roosters tho. I've always had a knack for getting animals to do what I want, which is probably why I'm studying animal science and psychology to be a horse trainer ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

Girlie you executed this idea perfectly, thank you so much!! I think I'll melt into the floor now 🫠

Burdened — L. Howlett

Pairing: Logan Howlett x Fem!Reader

Summary: Based on this request!!!!

CW/Tags: not proofread bc I literally finished this at 5am 😭, Logan is an ASS, a lot lot of feelings, lowk heavy angst I THINK, no use of Y/N, don't like don't read.

A/N: @rambosgirl Ily girlie I really enjoyed writing this :33 I AM SO INSANELY SORRY THIS TOOK SO LONG !!!!!!! Also while writing the ending of this my Spotify Smart Shuffle fucking played First Love/Late Spring by Mitski and I swear it knows how fitting it is bro wtaf ok LAST statement but like this is my first 1K+ word fic are you guys proud of me :33 I'm starting this at like 3am so don't bully me if the ending doesnt' make sense ok byeeeeeeeee

WC: 1.6K (get comfy guys) / Navigation

It was unnecessarily irritating. And frankly really, really fucked up.

Anytime you turned your back from a seemingly butterfly-inducing interaction with Logan, you found him all over Jean as if he wasn’t just chatting you up four minutes ago.

Jean Grey was—from what you’ve surveyed over your time at the mansion—not really phased, despite her somewhat established relationship with Scott. She was intelligent and good-natured, flashing you sickeningly sweet smiles in the corridors and occasionally complimenting your outfits as if hers weren’t twice as stunning.

But every time you spotted Logan gazing down at her with the look you thought he’d reserved for your eyes only, the image of perfection the redheaded telepath had materialised in front of you dissipated like a glass of ice left to liquefy under the scorching sun.

Because she never pushed him away, and she was so clearly inevitably attracted, whether she displayed it or not. It was virtually written all across her sharp features, and you knew the same was scripted all over your own when speaking to Logan.

That dip your heart made every time you saw the two’s chemistry from afar; it wasn't just blatant jealousy. 

It was deeper.

It was nastier.

It clung to your insides like a weight you couldn't possibly shake off. The constant sense that you were just a swift distraction, a momentary diversion from the real object of his desire. 

It ate you up from the inside out and exhausted you to no end.

When Storm or Rogue cautiously approached you and tried to console you, you shrugged it off as if it was some uncomplicated highschool sweetheart drama. They knew damn well it wasn’t. Your conflicting feelings for Logan were gradually making you lose yourself— your well-built dignity. You were slowly but surely morphing into someone you didn’t even recognise. Someone who accepted being second best without any contemplation.

All for a man who was immortal. All for someone who presumably considered you a fleeting paragraph in his primitive life while he was an entire novel in yours.

You wanted— needed to locate yourself in the vast body of water which was your feelings. You needed your sense of self-worth to reappear by a miracle, nevertheless, you knew it would take immense time and exertion to track it back down.

But in a wretched attempt to do so, you settled on a fairly elaborate plan and started disregarding each one of Logan’s advances. Suddenly, you conveniently had somewhere else to be every time he approached, you pulled back and overlooked his easy smiles along with the playful banter you practically used to feed off of.

At first, it felt as if you were reclaiming some of your power, spotting his perplexed looks in your peripheral vision as you wandered off to God knows where. But of course, everything you did came back to bite you in the ass. If anything, it only made the truth clearer. He barely even noticed, and if he did, he didn’t give a single shit.

And Jean? She remained unbothered, untouchable— flawless, even. You were the mastermind of this whole game, yet you were the only one losing.

After a particularly humiliating stretch of witnessing Logan and Jean’s shared giggles and stolen looks from across the table, you ultimately found your resolve. Alcohol really was liquid courage, because after a few drinks and several stabs of food, you closed in on them lounging on the couch post-meal. 

Logan’s bare arm was extended across the back of the grimy cushions behind Jean like some kind of cheesy rom-com, cowlicks a prominent silhouette against the weak flickering of the television. But no matter how much you resented them— her, you would never even come by the opportunity to be in the redhead’s position.

“Howlett,” you enunciated, voice sharp enough to slice through the ambient noise like a shard of glass.

Howlett. No other soul could call him that without repercussions. Aside from you. That was why you felt so unique, so distinct from the others, that was the crumb of specialty you were desperately clinging on to.

He shifts to glance over his shoulder, a spark of recognition igniting within him at the sound of your voice—not missing the shred of urgency concealed beneath it. “Hm? What's up?”

You hesitate with your next words, intently but subtly taking in his scruffy features in the dimmed lighting for what felt like it could be the final time. Because after this, you knew for a fact neither one of you could view each other in the same way. You were the one who let him under your skin, you were the one who had to tear him out, and it unfortunately was an agonisingly slow process.

“We need to talk.”

Four words. Yet, it still gave you the sensation of several weights placed upon your back; the unavoidable impending argument, manipulation spat right into your face, and the most dreaded of all, how circumstances would be after tonight.

His expression stiffened mildly as he reluctantly got up from the couch, aged leather groaning beneath his weight. The sensation of Jean abruptly invading the back of your mind was extremely unsettling and even though she appeared unphased, she, without a question, detected your abnormal uneasiness and was gingerly flicking through your thoughts.

Which was apprehensive, to say the least.

Logan fell into step with you as you departed from one of the many doddering living rooms, proceeding to a more secluded space nearing the obnoxious stairs in front of the grand entryway, mansion almost bizarrely silent with all the kids asleep. Jean wasn’t in your head anymore, but she undoubtedly already knew your objectives to the script.

You halted and so did Logan, weight finding its position set upon the auburn wood of the stairs. 

He eyed you with undivided attention. Your stomach threatened to do a fucking flip despite the conditions, the look nearly making you scrap all of this and go right back to being his side piece regardless of the anguish it put your mind through. But you dug your heels in, the clearing of your throat echoing sharply off the vacant walls.

You square your shoulders and tilt your chin up boldly, aiming to stand your ground. “What the hell am I to you? Because from what I see and a whole lot of other people do, I’m just an afterthought. Filler for the gaps Jean left open. Care to elaborate on that, Howlett?” 

He sighed, glancing at the wall behind you as if he was already fed up. “It’s not like that, bub. You’re makin’ it bigger than it is.”

Your blood scorched at the casual dismissal. Your voice inevitably rose but doesn’t go over a whisper, “Don’t patronise me, Logan,” you scoff. “I’m not some stupid kid with a stupid crush, so don’t let your ego get out of hand. I’ve watched you get all up on her, and then come to me when she’s got a class. Do you even fucking hear yourself?” 

His jaw stiffened, his own frustration growing. “You really think it’s that easy? I never asked you to get involved. You know how it is with me and her. You don’t get how fucked my life is, it’s your own fuckin’ fault things got messy.”

“Yeah, yeah. Go sulk somewhere else, I don’t give a shit how crappy your life is. It doesn’t take much to be a decent fucking human!— mutant, whatever. I’m not gonna let you come crying to me when things don’t work out with Jean. I’m worth more than that. You can’t see that, it’s your damn problem, not mine.”

He was visibly trying to find his footing, and you took it as an opportunity to carry on, “It’s not my fault this got sloppy. You can’t just invite a woman for a nice drive and end up throwing her out the door a moment later. You knew damn well what you were doing to m—” 

“You don’t know what I gotta deal with every day. It’s difficult. I never wanted it to get like this. You were the one overthinkin’ it.”

You shook your head forcefully, exasperation boiling over. “I don’t give a fuck, Logan— stop hiding behind that, you don’t even remember half of your damn life! It’s not messy, it’s cruel. I’ve had my own trouble, but I don’t use it as an excuse to hurt people who care about me. Don’t put all of it on my back.”

He opens his mouth to retort, but you cut him off. “Don’t. Don’t say anything. I’ve dealt with you for half my time here. I’ve had enough of your bullshit.” A flash of remorse graced his eyes but it didn’t do a thing. 

“I’m not your backup plan. I’m not waiting for you to look at me the way you look at Jean. I deserve someone who doesn’t just act like they give a shit. I’ve made my choice and you’ve made yours. I’m done. Goodnight, Howlett.”

With a harsh turn of your heel, you walked away with a heavy heart. But your head was clear for the first time in months, your shoulders were lighter, and the clarity you felt nearly blew your veins out. It would be painstakingly tough to face him tomorrow morning, but you knew you would get over it eventually.

Also i just realised in the morning Washing Machine Heart works WAYYy better but it's whatever I guess 😮‍💨

Its dangerous out there take one

thanks i needed this

this is literally what I looked like after reading this MASTERPIECE like I was ugly crying during and after, I could barely read through the tears 100000/10 very much recommend

I saw your requests were open, so I have to ask for… pain 😔

Can I request a Logan x afab!reader HCs or full fic about how reader is getting older and he kinda isn’t yk? Like going from when they first met, to readers deathbed, and how he has to live without them for the rest of his life 🫶🫶

Also take care of yourself DRINK WATER 🥰

Oh yeah, it’s angst time.

It's sooner than later that you'll be alone Synopsis: You live a long life, but not as long as Logan's. Warnings: 3.2k words of gut-wrenching angst, mentions of blood, grieving someone after they're gone Author's note: Hope you're happy anon, I cried five times writing this <3

He had first met you in your twenties—twenty-three, to be exact.

Young, bright eyed, naive. You were kind, where he was not. You were hopeful, where he was jaded and angry at the world. He loved your innocence, how you always saw the best in others—suppose that’s what made you such a good counselor to the children. You listened—really, truly listened—made anyone that walked through your office doors feel welcomed.

Maybe that’s why he found his way to you. When the nightmares wouldn’t let him sleep and the voices wouldn’t let him think, he shuffled to your bedroom door without a goal in sight, bare feet padding against the polished floors. His knuckles meet your door, seconds passing by before he asks himself why the hell he’s even here in the first place.

Before he could walk away he heard your feet shuffling, followed by the click of your doorknob.

He felt guilty for waking you up, eyes red and face puffy, but you didn’t even question why he was at your door, just rubbed your eyes and opened the door wider for him to walk in.

It was silent at first. You offered him some water, passed him a blanket, and just sat there. You never pressured him to speak, and he didn’t feel compelled to. Maybe five minutes later he said something and you just nodded in his direction, encouraging him to continue.

For the first time in a long time, he talked. And you listened.

It became a ritual between the two of you, staying up late at night just to chat. It wasn’t always about his past, sometimes he just needed to let it all out, and you were the perfect outlet. He felt like you didn’t judge him, and that’s all he ever needed.

Eventually he wanted to hear you too—he preferred it that way. Talking about lesson plans and movies, little things that seem mundane but made him feel less like a patient and more like a friend. You were a welcome distraction, and an added bonus was that you were really cute when you were talking.

He was the one who made the first move. He remembers every detail, from your pajama shorts to the over-worn tank top sliding off your shoulder, your eyes bright as you went on about a new baking recipe you wanted to try. Sat on your bed, looking so relaxed he couldn’t help but stare and marvel at your beauty.

“Logan?” You ask, waving your hand in his face. “Hello? Earth to Wolverine?”

The moment you called out his name he was already making his way to your bed. The mattress sinks beneath his weight, and you let out a soft noise of surprise before he plants his lips against yours.

Yours are soft compared to him—everything about you screams softness, innocence and purity, and he’s not sure if a man like him even has the right to be next to you, much less kiss you. He’s certain his soul is filthy, tainted—a layer of black that’s sure to muck up your own if he keeps this up. He knows this deep in his heart, but greedy man that he is, he keeps his lips locked to yours.

Once, and then never again. He can’t be with a girl like you, and he knows it.

You hold him by the neck and pull him back when he tries to leave your embrace. Maybe it’s pity, he thinks, the way your hands tug him by the shirt and cling onto the fabric. Maybe you’re only entertaining him, stringing him along just to laugh in his face, mock him into ever thinking he had a chance. If you are, he doesn't care, because at least now he’s got a taste of what he could never have.

The two of you finally separate, a silk-thread of spit connecting the both of you, looking at each other with a mixture of shock and confusion. What happens after this? How does he return to what you had before—how can he, when he now knows your chapstick tastes like cherries?

He makes a move to leave, but against all odds your hand is still clinging onto his shirt. In that moment he knew he was the luckiest man alive because you begged him to stay in that cute voice of yours, begged him not to leave when his hands made their way up the front of your shirt—begged him for more when his lips wandered lower.

By your thirties you already had a shiny ring on your finger, one that he can say he proudly put on your finger. A gold band adorned by diamonds, it shines in the orange light of the sun, staring at you from its red-velvet housing. 

It’s the first time the X-Men see him cry, tears running down his face when you run into his arms screaming yes, yes, over and over as he holds you in his arms, sunset illuminating your features. He always thinks of you as beauty personified, but watching you admire the diamond-studded band with awe—the one thing that signifies you as his—he can’t help but look at you like icarus does to the sun.

The wedding was small—neither of you minded. Hank was the ringbearer, and Charles walked you down the aisle, and when your vows were said and done the priest could barely finish the ceremony before Logan lunged forward and kissed you, dipping you at the altar accompanied with a cheer from the people you consider your family.

Scott has the video saved on his phone. He pretends it pisses him off, but he had Jean send him a copy later. Sometimes he watches it when he thinks you’re asleep, but little does he know you are very much awake.

In your fourties’ you have a house together, somewhere upstate where no one can bother you. A cozy wooden home where it’s just you and him, relaxing by the fireplace and watching tv every day. When he’s not helping the X-Men he works at a local lumber yard, the highlight of his day being when he comes to work, grabbing his equipment from the truck. 

His co-workers jeer at him every time, call him whipped like butter, but they wouldn’t understand what he feels. He certainly doesn’t seem to care, especially when it’s your kiss pressed to his cheek.

He can safely say his life is perfect. It’s domestic, it’s everything Logan ever dreamed of, everything he thought he could never have—and it’s all thanks to you. He wakes up every morning grateful to you for giving him the greatest gift he could ever receive: serenity. 

Between the fairytale ending and his rose-colored glasses, he doesn’t notice it, not until you’re in your fifties and he’s—he’s not.

You’re aging, and he’s staying the same.

You still love each other and he’d never, ever, think about leaving you, but the realization sticks with him. He thinks about it late at night while you sleep next to him, pressed against his side. Your scent, your touch, he memorizes it all because he doesn’t know when he won’t be able to feel it again.

In your heart you know it too, but you don’t say anything—you don’t want to scare him away. He’s only just begun to get used to normalcy, and you don’t want to take that away from him. You don’t want to watch him fall into the honeyed trap of isolation again, return to that shell of a man you only just helped him shed.

So when you’re watching tv together, he makes sure to cradle you to his chest extra tight. When you’re sitting by the fireplace, heat radiating off your skin, he makes sure to memorize the way the fire illuminates your face. When you’re whispering his name after a night of love-making he etches the sound deep into his synapses, memorizing each syllable.

No matter what, he’ll remember you.

By your sixties you’re faced with an awful truth, one neither of you want to admit but your smile lines and crows feet stand contrast to his barely aging face. You get stares when you mention he’s your husband, some curious, some judging. You were called a cougar once by a shopper, finger pointed accusatory while Logan told her in no uncertain terms to go fuck herself.

He was there to reassure you then, but he can’t be there all the time. You don’t tell him that this wasn’t the first time you were accused of being a predator, and you don’t plan on doing so. 

Maybe this counts as acceptance, faced with the truth in the worst kind of way, but at least the both of you can say it out loud now—

You’re going to die, and he’s going to outlive you. It’s just a fact, but it still makes the both of you terrified.

Your seventies are rocky—you want to enjoy the time you have left, but Logan wants to make sure you’re safe. In his eyes you know he has only love for you, but you can see the fear in them too, how he coddles you every day. Your bones are starting to ache, you’re getting slower. Where you used to go on hikes with him you now choose to stay home, your stamina not like what it used to be. He thinks you don’t notice how he watches you carefully around the house, how he’s so eager to help you. You’re flattered, but also annoyed—it’s a short-lived train of thought when you look at him.

He still looks at you like he did when you first kissed. 

He still loves you, and you still love him. For now, that’s all you need.

He finds you on the floor in your eighties—eighty-three, to be exact.

The moment he sees your resting form behind the counter he sprints into the kitchen. There’s broken glass, a trail of blood running from your temple, and you’re completely out of it, eyes closed shut. He calls your name, shakes you, but nothing. He knows you’re still alive, he can hear your heart beating but he can feel how weak it is under his clammy hands, the soft thump nowhere near as strong as it should be.

He doesn’t know what to do—he’s long since been familiar with blood but this time it’s you, and he’s panicking. He doesn’t know what to do.

The ambulance arrives, longer than usual because you live far away from the city. Maybe if they’d gotten there faster they would have been able to do an infusion. Maybe if the phone wasn’t so far you’d be able to call 9-1-1 before you passed out. Maybe if he was at home he would’ve been able to see the early signs—

“Sir? Are you alright?”

He looks at the clock on the bedside wall: 7:38 pm. 

It’s well into the night, five hours have passed since you were admitted, and an hour since you died.

He’s been staring at your body for who knows how long. The doctor pronounced you dead, said you had a heart attack and hit your head on the way down. An accident.

A fucking accident.

“Sir, was she related to you?” The young nurse asks, contemplating whether or not she should even speak. Wordlessly, he nods.

“I understand you’re grieving,” she continues, standing at his side. Her words are full of empathy, none of which he needs but lets her speak anyway. “I saw on your hospital logs you share the same name, I can’t imagine how it must feel to lose a loved one.”

He nods again.

“If you don’t mind me asking, how old was she?”

“…eighty-three.” He answers. “Her birthday was in a month.”

She shakes her head. “That’s a shame.”

“It sure is,” He says, reaching out to touch her hand. It’s cold to the touch, a cruel reminder. “It sure is.”

You would’ve been eighty-four now.

He still lives in the same house but it’s not the same without you. It’s lifeless, empty—all the love you poured into the decor now just an awful reminder of what he lost. He thinks about tearing it all down sometimes but he knows you’d probably kick his ass if he so much as touched your crystal vases.

Your side of the bedroom is untouched, he moved all his stuff to the separate one the week after you died. It hurts to sleep there knowing you’re gone, but sometimes he’ll sit by the nightstand, a drink in hand and stare at the empty spot where you would be. Sometimes if he stares hard enough, he can see you through tear-rimmed eyes, hear your laughter through the dull buzz of the alcohol.

He misses you. He’s not sure if he’ll ever stop.

He doesn’t know what possesses him, but he opens your closet. It’s an indulgence, a moment of weakness—he promised he wouldn’t touch your stuff and here he is, rummaging about. 

Coats, dresses, shirts, all memories flooding back to him as he moves past them. The black dress you wore on your first date, the sundress you wore for your anniversary—

When his fingers brush against the lace, his heart lurches. He doesn’t need to see it to know, but he tugs anyway, revealing your wedding dress hidden deep inside. The most beautiful thing you’ve ever worn.

He takes the gown between reverent hands, as if the fabric would fall apart, disintegrate if he was anything but cautious with it. It still smells like you.

He finds the box labeled “wedding” next to it, and without hesitation pulls it from its corner. Wedding invites, flowers, old videos, everything that you could have taken as a memory, you had it. You even kept the cake toppers.

What surprises him though, is a notebook. It’s tiny, leather bound and slightly worn, every page a new entry. He flips to the first page and his heart nearly stops.

Dear Logan,

If you’re reading this, I’m probably dead.

His eyes widened. When did you write this? The small book suddenly feels like lead in his hands, it’s a struggle to pull his eyes back to the ink-stained pages, but he does so anyway.

I hope I managed to give this to you before I pass. I wish I could explain to you how much I love you, and how much I worry about you. You’re a stubborn asshole, could never see the good in yourself but I did—I still do. I’ve known you for thirty years now so I’m willing to bet you’re probably reading this drunk, blaming yourself for my death.

He doesn’t know when he started crying but your words make him laugh through the pain, wiping the palm of his hand against his cheek. He used to say you were secretly a telepath, always able to read his mind. Seems it’s a talent that extends beyond the grave.

Anyway, rambling aside, I wanted to give you something to remember me by. You’re going to live longer than I am, we both know that: but maybe my memory can live along with you.

His hands are shaking, fingers stumbling through the next page with bated breath.

Entry one, not sure how I should start…I’ll figure it out later. Your beard grew out a little so I offered to help you shave…

I think I did a shit job but you didn’t seem to mind, or maybe you were trying to save my feelings? I don't know which one. In any case remember to take care of yourself, I might be gone but like hell if I’m gonna let you let yourself go!

Attached with a paperclip is a photo of the two of you in the bathroom, you smushing his face while he stares at the camera annoyed, or at least it seems. There’s a hint of a smile on his face.

He remembers that day. You were cuddling him and complained his beard was scratchy. He let you sit on his lap while you gave him a trim, you said your lines were crooked but he didn’t give a shit—he had you all to himself, and that’s all he needed.

A small huff of laughter escapes him, even in the afterlife you’re still bossing him around. He flips to the next page—

Entry two, don’t isolate yourself! I know you Logan, that lone wolf shit doesn’t work and you know it too! When’s the last time you talked to the other X-Men, huh?

Your words rattle in his head, feelings of guilt blooming. They call occasionally, but he never picks up. Charles is the only one he ever gave the time of day and even then the mention of your passing is a sore subject. One time Scott showed up at his house, helped him clean up a bit before leaving; he never said thank you.

His eyes flick to the phone on his nightstand before continuing to read. 

Entry three, don’t starve yourself! I left a couple of my recipes in the last pages, just in case you missed my cooking…

Entry four, I have a secret album of us on my phone. The password is…

Entry five, stop being so hard on yourself…

Entry after entry, all stories with advice for when you’re gone. Clean up after himself, don’t try to find peace at the bottom of a bottle, remember to find a hobby…every single page, accompanied by a description of what you did that day. Went hiking, went on a dinner date, stayed at home and watched tv—almost an entire year's worth of reminiscing in the form of a tiny brown journal.

By the time he got to the last one the sun had begun to rise. His eyes burned with exhaustion, but the thought of stopping never crossed his mind.

The big three-six-five, happy anniversary! It’s been a year since I started this project and I think I should end it here, so I’ll end it with the best advice I can give you.

Logan, you need to move on.

I know it hurts, but I’m gone, and you can’t spend your life chasing after a woman who isn’t here anymore. You deserve more in life than to grieve. I love you more than anything in the world, which is why I’m telling you it’s okay to move on.

I’ll always be with you, so don’t think that you need to feel guilty. I know you love me, and I love you.

I’m giving you permission to forgive yourself, and let me go.

He re-reads your words. Once, twice, even three times before they really sink in. I’m giving you permission to forgive yourself, and let me go.

At that moment it all comes crashing down on him. Your death, the funeral, the pain and longing, the grief—all of it. Everything he’d ever tried to push aside by drinking, culminating into this single release of emotion.

He cries. A full-bodied, pathetic display, he sobbed while holding your last memory to his chest until he was red in the face, until his lungs burned. He sobbed until he had no more tears to give, then sobbed some more.

Even in death, you were still listening.

Hello it is 1am……. Did you know hedgehogs see exclusively in black and white 🤔 i have been feeding the little ones in my garden lately…… i saw some tutorial on my puter how to make little houses for them for winter….

That's adorable 🥰

Sounds like hedgehogs have retinas that are mostly rods (no cones for the silly guys)

I devoured a whole advent calendar today

Girlie

I mean I'm not gonna pretend I haven't done that

Here's some more chocolate for you 🍫🍫🍫

But don't forget ur fruits and veggies 🍎🍊🥕🥦🍇🍍🍉🥗

And carbohydrates too (gotta get that glucose) 🍞🥯🥔🍝🫘

And ofc we need protein 🍳🥚🧀🍗🥩🥛🧈

Happy munching!

Hoo eart thou doing rambosgirl beloved of mine on this beautiful sunday night….

I'm pretty good, I want a child but other than that I feel normal

How you doin bae?

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

UGH I LOVE THIS!! It's so sweet and we always love domestic Rambo <333

𝐅𝐨𝐫𝐠𝐞𝐭 || 𝐑𝐚𝐦𝐛𝐨 𝐱 𝐆𝐍! 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫 𝐃𝐫𝐚𝐛𝐛𝐥𝐞

Summary: you’re always there to pull him from his thoughts

Word Count:

Warnings: mentions of war and fighting also NOT BETA READ (someone please be my beta reader lol)

A/N: Jojo stop posting fics from obscure/dead fandoms challenge impossible edition also idk why I’ve been posting so many x readers lately but Ty all for eating them up!! Mwah!! Xoxo

John stared at the wall of your shared living room. He sat eerily still on your couch, slumped slightly as his gaze bore a hole into your shag carpet. Hell you’re pretty sure you haven’t seen him blink for the past five minutes.

You’d seen this look with John before. He was stuck in his own head, reliving moments from years ago. Mind lost in the jungles of Vietnam, hiding, killing, and surviving on what little he had while his body remained unmoving in front of your entertainment console.

“John…” you hummed quietly to make your presence known. Gently- as to not spook him like some wild animal- you wrapped your arms loosely around his neck and pressed your face against the crook where johns neck met his collarbone.

He flinched involuntarily, mind snapping back to reality as he registered your body against his.

In an instant, John relaxed, melting into your touch. He leaned back every so slightly to get more of your bare skin pressed against his, savouring the touch.

“What are you thinking about?” You murmured into his ear, already knowing the answer as you pressed a gentle kiss to his stubble covered jaw, one of your free hands coming up to gently trace his cheekbone, attempting to calm and reassure him.

John let out a slow exhale, his chest rising and falling with the deep breath. He took a moment to appreciate your touch, a brief piece of tranquility that came to him rarely in civilian life.

“…’Nam…” answered John, his voice a low rumble that resonated in his chest.

Johns words pulled at your heart, a frown threatening to form on your lips as you turned around to fully face him, intent on getting him out of his own head.

“How about we think about something else hm?” You asked quietly. “Like how much I care for you?”

John let out a small amused huff. There was a slight twitch at the corner of his mouth like he was trying to suppress a smile.

“You’re always tryin’ to distract me.” He noted, leaning closer to you.

“Is it working?”

Johns eyes flickered down to where you sat in front of him.

“You know it is.” He grumbled, tone begrudging but not unkind. He shifted slightly where he sat, attempting to pull you into his lap as he wrapped his arms around your waist.

“Good.” You smiled, pressing a gentle kiss to his cheek and curling up in his embrace, enjoying your partners close proximity.

‘Mission: successful.’ You hummed to yourself, content to stay where you were forever.

Hello rambosgirl my beloved may i gift you this gorgeous piece of radium?

My favorite!! How did you knowwww??

I made my own pierogi do you wanna munch🤤

idk what it is but it looks really yummy so YES

aAahH thank youuu this means so much to me!! I'm so glad you liked it! 🩵

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."

😳🤭