Rambo X Reader (Headcanons)

Part I

Headcanon Prompt:

Reader and John Rambo have been sent to track down a suspected arms trafficking ring located in rural Thailand. When things don't go as planned, they discover not only the secrets hiding within the very organisations for which they work, but also a duty to one another that ventures beyond the pre-established borders of propriety their swore to always uphold.

*note: I initially had these as like an ongoing series of dot points (tumblr style) that expanded on your initial attractions to one another but it didn't format properly so now I must apologise for how it reads more like a disjointed story*

Considering you met while on a classified mission to retrieve intel surrounding stolen arms, the two of you where primarily concerned with business rather than pleasure.

The ways in which his calm, collected yet methodical approach differed from your rather spontaneous, erratic and logistical one allowed a rather foolproof solution to be agreed upon in times of doubt. 

Sometimes, when trekking from one place to the next, you'd find yourself rather taken with the man beside you. Though you'd never admit it, you found not only his muscle bound form but brooding, contemplative nature to be incredibly attractive. Even more so considering the two of you shared a rather similar distaste for the institutions that kept you prisoner to their own plans and desires.

Thankfully, you weren't forced to spend the entirety of the mission making camp wherever necessary. Instead, you took refuge in local villages where there had been activity linked to the selling and distribution of stolen arms.

After a 48 hour trek through the steepest parts of the valley you'd encountered so far, you finally arrived at your next checkpoint. Despite this you where greeted with finding the town partially abandoned with little to no accomodation.

With the majority of arms traffickers alongside their business counterparts gone, there was no longer a mass of people of all races, ethnicities, classes or genders that you could simultaneously blend into. You where unmarried foreigners who happened to be travelling together to a destination known to deal primarily in the recruitment, transportation, transfer, harbouring and possession of persons and arms. 

Though it would be easier to just set up camp nearby, it would also be just as easy, yet awkward, to pretend to be hopelessly lost honeymooners in need of rest, food and accomodation.

Not sure what to say but desperately wanting nothing more than a night of respite from the days worth of mud that'd become entwined within every fibre of your clothing,  you presented the idea to Rambo.

At first he did nothing but stare at you quizzically, the quintessential hunting knife he always carried relaxing within his grip as his shoulders slumped in exasperation. 

Out of nowhere he started chuckling, picking up with ease the backpack that was resting on the ledge beneath him and swinging it over his shoulder in a triumphant swoop. You jumped slightly when he casually wrapped his arm around your shoulder and gave it a squeeze, "At least one of us has brains, I thought we'd be stuck out here like rotting corpses for days."

Just like that it was decided, hiking side by side you both laughed at each other's ideas for what your combined cover would be when arriving at the inn. Mr and Mrs Rambo, a couple who'd recently run away and eloped, only to find themselves hopelessly lost after misplacing their compass somewhere down the track was, naturally, the original idea. 

Despite this, you both realised using John's name was too risky incase foreign intelligent agents where lurking nearby and ran checks to make sure no one intervened with their business, however illegitimate it may be. 

With this in mind you decided instead to settle on what John unenthusiastically described as a 'good ol American' name like Johnson. 

You couldn't help but laugh upon realising for the sake of cover, you had quite literally become Mr and Mrs John Johnson. In times like this, what could be more patriotic and downright obnoxiously American than having a name that quite literally translated to 'The Gift of God'.  

Through fits of laughter you tried to vocalise this realisation but soon lost it again. It seemed as if either the irony of it, or lack of sleep deprivation had entirely warped your perception of humour.

After finally being able to poorly explain what you deemed to be 'a joke' and exhausted from your bouts of laughter, you perched yourself next to John. 

Not at all to your surprise, he merely quirked his eyebrow, face contorting into a look of complete and utter bemusement as you tried hopelessly to elaborate but soon gave up. 

Though to you his reaction bordered on annoyance, he was taken aback by something that had slowly but surely started to eat away all sense of propriety and discipline he'd sworn by his entire life. For the first time in forever, something deep within him was fighting a new war.  A war he'd lost before that constantly hung like a noose round his neck.