Hi I'm Bunny! I've been writing for years but just got the courage to publish things! I'm on a COD kick right now but may be swayed for other things! All my writing is mature and not safe for minors! Trigger Warnings are attached to each post along with a system down below. I hope you enjoy my things!
MINORS DO NOT ENTER! AGELESS BLOGS WILL BE BLOCKED!
Call of Duty Masterlist
Marvel Masterlist
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Rules and Boundaries:
1) I refuse to write in€est or anything related or implied
2) Age-gaps are fine, but do not write for underage characters.
3) I write because I want to. I appreciate people asking for more but do not demand it.
4) Don’t like it? Keep scrolling. Hate comments will be blocked and ignored.
5) Be kind. A lot of what I write stems from personal experience. I’ve gone through most of what Sarah went through, take away the military aspect.
yeah man I'm good, I just feel like some spark inside of me has dulled and will never come back. yeah, no it's a persistent ache that I can't ignore but also feel powerless to address. no it's fine I'm just exhausted all the time by the crushing weight of emptiness that's settled over my soul, I'm sure that given time it will pass but right now it is so all encompassing that I am paralyzed by the fear I will never be myself again. Anyway, what's new with you?
i think if your account has existed on this site for a certain number of years you should be grandfathered into ad free browsing. a decade seems reasonable like if you signed up in 2012 or prior you have tenure
You dreamed of Kyle. Of his warmth, his body pressed tightly to yours, the way his arms squeezed around you and the way the sun would light up his brown eyes to reveal specks of gold hidden underneath. His laugh. The way he would tip his head back and let the sound ripple out from his chest, hand placed over his heart, and the way the children would look over at their father with such intrigue. You could smell his cologne. The scent of his shampoo lingering on your pillows, and you felt like a freak, but you sunk your nose into the satin case and let your imagination run.
It was a difficult night.
You couldn't leave your babies in their room anymore. There was a risk of mother grabbing them, tending to them as you slept, and you couldn't have that. Even the mere thought of her changing them—burping them, feeding them a bottle—incited a rage beyond your control. An uncontrollable fire igniting and threatening to spill out and catch everything ablaze.
So, you'd sleep when you could. Dream of Kyle. Dream of Johnny and his hands and haunting eyes. Wake with the children, settle them down until they closed their eyes, and you could rest again. Kyle. His apologies whispered into your flesh. His tongue caressing your skin and hands holding your heart that had ripped clean from your chest. Simon, your big brute. He'd tell you his faults, his worries, his shames of invading. His misdeeds would pour from his lips, and he'd beg you to understand. You'd wake. Change the kids. Cry against their heads as you begged them to rest. You'd tell them how you missed their fathers, and you knew that they missed them as well. Beg them to rest, and eventually, they would. You'd sleep. You'd see Kyle. Tired. Eyes dark, skin sunken in, clothes in disarray. He was terrified you were being harassed. He was scared you weren't confiding in them all. So many things he wanted to say, how he worried someone bad was looking at taking you away.
How close he was without knowing at all.
John. His failure. His horror. How he let this all happen without a word to you. A regret he couldn't take back, and he would spend a lifetime trying to make up.
You'd wake for the last time. Babies were still asleep. House was quiet and dark. Nothing felt right.
You took the baby monitor in your hands as you traveled downstairs. Clothes were flung about, more dirty dishes littered the sink, your eyes stung from the burnt food that was laying haphazardly in the trash.
Taking a deep breath in and counting to four, you let it escape, making a plan of your day.
It was still your house. This was still your home. This was your life.
"You didn't even give me a fucking blanket. Had to search high and low for one. Great fucking job." Your mother snapped, arms wrapped around her chest, teeth on display as she made her way ready for war. You let your rage simmer quietly. Holding it back, keeping it still.
"You could have gone elsewhere if it offended you that much." You shrugged before turning your back. Cleaning the kitchen was a priority. Breakfast for you. Then, kicking her out.
"Oh, yeah. Where the fuck where would I have gone? Don't be such an asshole." She pushed her way past you, going to your coffee maker and turning it on. "Making coffee, by the way. If you want any." You sighed. Rinse and repeat. Anger, and then a short olive branch extended.
"Thank you, mother." Bait, and you took it. You do every time. Keep the peace, control the chaos, smooth things over, and don't bring up the bad. Rinse and repeat.
It's silent as you work. Filling the sink with hot water, preparing to clean the dishes, and listening intently for little cries. She stands by the coffee, steaming cup in her hand as she looks off far away.
"George isn't doing too well, baby."
Ah, the big guns. You were wondering if she would ever pull those out. It reeked of desperation, of despair. She must be out of options, tracking you down like this, extending the olive branch and using a nickname.
Must be serious.
"Hmm." The water burns. If you closed your eyes, it could almost be cold against your skin. Almost like holding an ice cube before dropping, giggling at the sensation. You weren't laughing now. Just held onto each piece of ceramic, letting it scorch your skin as your fingers furiously worked over the burnt pieces of food until it sparkled.
Your guys would be so upset. They'd scold you for letting it get so hot and immediately plunging your hands beneath the surface. Maybe they'd kiss each fingertip, slap your ass and tell you to go lay back down with the babies.
Your mother places a steaming cup where you can see it.
Oh, she's really buttering you up.
"George and I have been helping each other the best we could. It's hard being homeless and shit. Especially when it's winter. Kinda like when we had to stay in a tent for a few months, remember that?"
Of course you remember. You were in kindergarten. You prayed to Santa for a new place, someplace warm and cozy. You were so mad at him for all the gifts he'd gotten everyone else. The Barbies. The clothes, the shoes, the monster trucks. Nothing for you, not even a piece of coal.
It was hard for you to throw anything away after that. Even harder for mother.
"I…can't." It was a whisper. You were a coward. Not looking in her eyes. Not telling her with dignity or honor. You stayed washing each dish, letting the silence grow and her anger flame hotter.
"I have cancer."
The babies cried, and you took your monitor and left her as you went back up the stairs.
You weren't gone too long. Long enough to change their clothes, pump them breakfast and bring them down so you could set their bouncers and still continue cleaning.
You expected a lot when you got back down. Things thrown around. A bigger mess being made. Your mother waiting with a frying pan, ready to force you into allowing her to do what she wanted.
But what you saw was worse.
Your mother at your table, standing over a man, a complete stranger, as he nursed the coffee that she had tried to give you.
Your anger swelled to an unspeakable mound. Watching her rub the strangers back, cooing over him, encouraging him to drink and to get warm. You could hear shower and clean clothes and you couldn't fucking stand it.
You got the babies in the bouncers, keeping them in the living room and away from the two strangers residing in your kitchen, you made sure, then double made sure they were secure, before storming your way in.
He looked like he could use some help, a warm meal and clean clothes, and a shower, but you knew you couldn't do that. Did it make you a bad person? Sure. Would you regret it? Absolutely.
But you had babies. This was their home. You didn't want them growing up with strangers coming in and out of the house—
God. You needed to talk to your men.
"I said 'no'". You ignored how the man—George—continued to drink your coffee, and remain seated, and focused on your mother glaring daggers at you.
You threw them right back.
"Are you really so selfish you can't spare a fuckin' room? Look at this fuckin' house! You basically live in a goddamn mansion!" She stood toe to toe with you, chest against your chest, and even as you stood over her, you knew she was not one to be underestimated.
But, neither were you.
"I don't care. If I didn't have children, it'd be one thing. But I do. I can't let them have people in and out—"
"I'm not even askin' for that! Haven't even been listenin' to me. I've been asking for one thing, for this one person to be here with me. That's all!"
You chuckled. Rolling your eyes back and searching for patience within the back of your skull.
There was none to be found.
"Now you're asking for you to stay, too? Seems like you're already asking for more than one thing." Her hand raised, palm up, ready to slap you, and you stayed still. Adrenaline raced through you, and your heart could hardly keep up.
You wanted her to slap you. You wanted her to start something. Prove that she was still the same person she had always been.
You'd call the cops. You'd call your men—
Who were out fighting rougher battles than you could imagine. They couldn't save you. Nobody could save you nor your babies.
So, it was down to you.
"Don't you make me slap you." It was a whisper, but there was nothing silent about her threat.
"Nobody can make you do anything, momma. You've made sure of that, and I've always known it. You're threatening me, and you need to leave."
The circus in your head was going crazy. The trapeze crew flew high and swung far, everyone screaming at your words, at your glare, at your strength.
You felt like you had nothing left. You felt like you would break and shatter into a million pieces below.
You'd thought about how you needed to wash Miss Eleanor's hair today. See what you could braid for her and make sure she couldn't wrap her little fingers around the strands and yank. You needed to go through little Thomas's clothes and move him up a size. Growing so big and fast on you, it was time to get his bigger clothes into rotation.
You thought about how well they're doing during tummy time. How they fight and cry a little bit, but put them in front of each other, and they love it. How they try and talk to each other, maybe they're complaining about you and how you're torturing them. Maybe you had too much caffeine in your coffee before changing it to decaf. How much they love their daddies—
"If you're not out of here in five minutes, I'm calling the police."
"What's your emergency?"
"I'm at—shh, shh, it's alright—and my mother is here with a stranger, and they're refusing to leave."
You could hear movement on the other end but you couldn't focus on it. Both kids were crying as your mother pounded on your bathroom door, demanding you open it up and "face her instead of running like some—"
Well. You get the picture.
"Is everyone safe?" The woman's voice was calming, trying to talk to you and retrieve as much information as she could. More movement, but you could hear typing, and that sounded promising.
"Yes, it's just me and my twins. Everyone is safe. I've locked us in the downstairs bathroom. She's trying to get it." The bashing sounded worse, almost desperate to get in. For you or the children, you didn't know. Didn't care.
It frightened you either way.
"Please, I'm scared she'll get in." The door moved with every hit, the lock trying its hardest to stay put, but you could tell it was barely hanging on.
"Just a few more moments—get to you soon." The call faded in and out, and you could feel your world falling through your stomach and onto the tile floor. You could hear your mother cussing, demanding something, and before you could exhale, an even bigger thud hit the door, and you realized instantly that she was getting help from George.
From the other end of your phone and the other end of the door. The only thing you could focus on was Eleanor and Thomas crying. You expected to hear…something. Footsteps. Dogs. Voices. A knock.
There was nothing.
You looked at your phone and realized your call dropped, but everything felt so calm.
Taking a deep breath, you unlocked the door and slowly opened it.
Standing in front of you was a single woman wearing a green vest over a creme shirt, black pants, and holding a gun facing the floor. You looked down to see your mother, and George slumped over…dead—
"Just a tranquilizer." She said quickly, raising her gun to show you the darts inside. You could almost breathe fully, rocking your babies who had started to settle after the noise ceased.
"Are-are you the police? Is it just you?" She smiled, putting her gun away and walking towards you with a hand held out so she could help you leave the bathroom, moving the two bodies knocked out.
"Not exactly. My name is Kate. Kate Laswell. I work with the men who've made a home here. I think we deserve to chat."
Guys….why am I freaking the f*** out right now???? Do you love this??? I love this!!! Ahhhh!!!!!!
again.... blame @miss-vanta-likes-to-write for the idea.
Fight or Flight? What do you choose?
There’s a roaring noise in Simon’s ears. Loud and obnoxious. His jaw is clenched so hard he’s sure his teeth are gonna crack. The man is still speaking, his mouth moving. He can’t hear him. No, the noise is too loud. The thoughts too much. This is the first time in forever he’s felt weak. Useless. A failure. For years he’d made himself more. The Ghost. Something to make grown men piss themselves. Now he’s the same Simon. Hiding in the corner as his father beats his mother. Nothing but a bystander in his own life. Movement catches his eye, Johnny stumbling back. A look of horror on his face. His blue eyes are dark for once.
“What?!” Kyle’s on his knees with his head in his hands and shoulders shaking. Simon clasps Johnny on the shoulder to keep him on his feet. Pulls him closer and to his shoulder. The Scot pulls at his bloody vest. Simon looks to his captain. John is staring blankly, mouth agape. His hands lax as he stares ahead. To Simon’s surprise John stumbles back and leaves them. He rounds the corner and Simon has never hated him more.
This is heaven, or that’s what Reyes decided. Warm sun on her face, honey butter on a bagel and listening to Johnny tell countless stories. John is rolling his eyes and muttering about muppets. Kyle choked on his beer. Simon actually snorted. Causing everyone to cackle.
“You’re insane, Soap. Clinically.” She says between bites and giggles. She hopes and prays that this will be what her heaven is like. Warm rays on her skin, pure happiness in her chest and sweetness on her tongue. She could die right now and be content with her life.
John is crouched in the corner of the stairwell when Simon finally finds him. His hat is discarded and he’s hyperventilating. Tears pour down his cheeks as he chokes on his own sobs
“You left.” It was hoarse. Muffled by the damp mask still on his face. Part of the white is red stained now, blending in with the smaller smudge. John’s eyes looked up at him.
“I-I- can’t.” Simon scoffs. Anger flares in his chest and he clenches his fists. Gloves creaking around swollen knuckles.
“And you think we can?!” He can’t help but shout. So many emotions roared back to life inside him. So many things he’d shoved away. So many things he now regrets.
“Simon-“
“No! You are our captain! We need you. Soap and Gaz are falling apart!” His voice cracks. “I’m falling apart.” He slides down the wall behind him and rips the mask off his face. Blonde hair sticks up, a cleft palate scar shines and lips tremble.
“I don’t know what to do.” John whimpers. His chest feels hollow. Lungs gone and replaced with a vacuum. He feels sick.
“I should’ve told her I loved her.” Simon’s staring past John and at some spot on the wall. Brown eyes seeing into the past. “Wanted so many times. But I was too much of a damn coward.”
“General Shepherd signed her transfer papers.” The air cracks between them. The news settled in their bones. A wish granted too late.
“This is stupid.” The sun is setting. Reyes is pressed between two bodies as they watch Simon dance around a recruit. “We all know he’s going to win.” Huffing to finish her sentence. Johnny only smirks.
“I’m bettin’ on it, lassie.” Kissing her cheek he faced the sparring mats again. “Kick ‘is ass!” He shouted as the people around them cheered. Kyle scooted closer, pressing her into Johnny.
“That’s the fun part, Reese.” Kyle chuckled afterwards. Reyes flinched as Simon threw a punch and the recruit landed on his ass. Her chest clenched as her friend towered over the man before yanking him up by his throat and putting him in a headlock. Heat pooled in her gut. She had been attracted to every one of her boys the second she’d met them. But she’d hid it the best she could. Even when she figured out she needed them as much as they needed her.
“Okay there, love?” Kyle whispered into her hair as he pushed a strand behind her ear. Her cheek turned hot as she nodded.
Later, in their rec room she cleaned the few cuts that littered Simon’s face. He’d let a couple of them get a punch in just to fake them out. Simon's hand traced lazy circles on her hip. The tanktop rose a little to show a sliver of olive skin.
“Did the fights bother you?” He watched her closely.
“No. I know you’ll always come out on top, it’s just… nevermind. It’s stupid.” Grabbing her chin he pulled her face back.
“Nothin’ you ever say is stupid, darlin’” His brown eyes seemed to darken while looking at her. “Tell me. Please.”
“I don’t want to see any of you hurt. You all mean so much to me and I’m always afraid you won’t come home to me.” Simon smiled.
“You worry about us?” She nodded.
“Of course I do. I- I love you. All of you.”
The pews are hard against their backs. Dress blues pristine and crisp. Simon’s wearing a simple black surgical mask. Reyes always said he had the prettiest lashes. Two pews ahead sat an older couple. Beside them was a younger woman holding a child with a black braid. A priest stood before the pulpit spewing some bible passage but the boys weren’t listening. Their gazes were locked on the blown up picture of their girl. A toothy smile and brown eyes stared back. Purple and yellow flowers decorating the edges. Behind it sat a casket. Sleek and shiny but simple. Inside held the only good left in their world. The human part of them. Left was the darkness. The feral animals they truly were. And animals always got revenge.
Once again Bunny has done it. I absolutely love how this was wrapped up and Bun I know I say this all the time but you're really good at what you do and it's a joy to read your work
again.... blame @miss-vanta-likes-to-write for the idea.
Fight or Flight? What do you choose?
There’s a roaring noise in Simon’s ears. Loud and obnoxious. His jaw is clenched so hard he’s sure his teeth are gonna crack. The man is still speaking, his mouth moving. He can’t hear him. No, the noise is too loud. The thoughts too much. This is the first time in forever he’s felt weak. Useless. A failure. For years he’d made himself more. The Ghost. Something to make grown men piss themselves. Now he’s the same Simon. Hiding in the corner as his father beats his mother. Nothing but a bystander in his own life. Movement catches his eye, Johnny stumbling back. A look of horror on his face. His blue eyes are dark for once.
“What?!” Kyle’s on his knees with his head in his hands and shoulders shaking. Simon clasps Johnny on the shoulder to keep him on his feet. Pulls him closer and to his shoulder. The Scot pulls at his bloody vest. Simon looks to his captain. John is staring blankly, mouth agape. His hands lax as he stares ahead. To Simon’s surprise John stumbles back and leaves them. He rounds the corner and Simon has never hated him more.
This is heaven, or that’s what Reyes decided. Warm sun on her face, honey butter on a bagel and listening to Johnny tell countless stories. John is rolling his eyes and muttering about muppets. Kyle choked on his beer. Simon actually snorted. Causing everyone to cackle.
“You’re insane, Soap. Clinically.” She says between bites and giggles. She hopes and prays that this will be what her heaven is like. Warm rays on her skin, pure happiness in her chest and sweetness on her tongue. She could die right now and be content with her life.
John is crouched in the corner of the stairwell when Simon finally finds him. His hat is discarded and he’s hyperventilating. Tears pour down his cheeks as he chokes on his own sobs
“You left.” It was hoarse. Muffled by the damp mask still on his face. Part of the white is red stained now, blending in with the smaller smudge. John’s eyes looked up at him.
“I-I- can’t.” Simon scoffs. Anger flares in his chest and he clenches his fists. Gloves creaking around swollen knuckles.
“And you think we can?!” He can’t help but shout. So many emotions roared back to life inside him. So many things he’d shoved away. So many things he now regrets.
“Simon-“
“No! You are our captain! We need you. Soap and Gaz are falling apart!” His voice cracks. “I’m falling apart.” He slides down the wall behind him and rips the mask off his face. Blonde hair sticks up, a cleft palate scar shines and lips tremble.
“I don’t know what to do.” John whimpers. His chest feels hollow. Lungs gone and replaced with a vacuum. He feels sick.
“I should’ve told her I loved her.” Simon’s staring past John and at some spot on the wall. Brown eyes seeing into the past. “Wanted so many times. But I was too much of a damn coward.”
“General Shepherd signed her transfer papers.” The air cracks between them. The news settled in their bones. A wish granted too late.
“This is stupid.” The sun is setting. Reyes is pressed between two bodies as they watch Simon dance around a recruit. “We all know he’s going to win.” Huffing to finish her sentence. Johnny only smirks.
“I’m bettin’ on it, lassie.” Kissing her cheek he faced the sparring mats again. “Kick ‘is ass!” He shouted as the people around them cheered. Kyle scooted closer, pressing her into Johnny.
“That’s the fun part, Reese.” Kyle chuckled afterwards. Reyes flinched as Simon threw a punch and the recruit landed on his ass. Her chest clenched as her friend towered over the man before yanking him up by his throat and putting him in a headlock. Heat pooled in her gut. She had been attracted to every one of her boys the second she’d met them. But she’d hid it the best she could. Even when she figured out she needed them as much as they needed her.
“Okay there, love?” Kyle whispered into her hair as he pushed a strand behind her ear. Her cheek turned hot as she nodded.
Later, in their rec room she cleaned the few cuts that littered Simon’s face. He’d let a couple of them get a punch in just to fake them out. Simon's hand traced lazy circles on her hip. The tanktop rose a little to show a sliver of olive skin.
“Did the fights bother you?” He watched her closely.
“No. I know you’ll always come out on top, it’s just… nevermind. It’s stupid.” Grabbing her chin he pulled her face back.
“Nothin’ you ever say is stupid, darlin’” His brown eyes seemed to darken while looking at her. “Tell me. Please.”
“I don’t want to see any of you hurt. You all mean so much to me and I’m always afraid you won’t come home to me.” Simon smiled.
“You worry about us?” She nodded.
“Of course I do. I- I love you. All of you.”
The pews are hard against their backs. Dress blues pristine and crisp. Simon’s wearing a simple black surgical mask. Reyes always said he had the prettiest lashes. Two pews ahead sat an older couple. Beside them was a younger woman holding a child with a black braid. A priest stood before the pulpit spewing some bible passage but the boys weren’t listening. Their gazes were locked on the blown up picture of their girl. A toothy smile and brown eyes stared back. Purple and yellow flowers decorating the edges. Behind it sat a casket. Sleek and shiny but simple. Inside held the only good left in their world. The human part of them. Left was the darkness. The feral animals they truly were. And animals always got revenge.
“ Ex U.S. Ranger turned gun for hire. Joined Jackals cutting his teeth in the slums of Soweto, South Africa. Marked with traditional scars to honor his heritage. Has earned a reputation for being a vicious operator ” - Mace
And suddenly I Mrs Vanta Garrick has a man on the side.
Fun fact on, i practice polyandry here on this blog, and Mace and I will be getting married, and Kyle will have a brother husband. Thank you for putting him in my sight.
I'm having nothing but a bunch of chocolate babies. Because where else is he gonna nut? Outside of me? And waste it? I don't think so.
Low-key Mace looks like he puts his woman in a headlock the second she wiggles too much while getting back shots.
Look at those arms!!!!! And the crocodile kill counts on him? Like I know they are ritualistic and cultural, but I know for a fact in this context those are his kill counts.
I can feel his arm crushing my throat now. Like putting you in such an arch that you have back pain for days. Your cervix is history after a night with him.
“ Ex U.S. Ranger turned gun for hire. Joined Jackals cutting his teeth in the slums of Soweto, South Africa. Marked with traditional scars to honor his heritage. Has earned a reputation for being a vicious operator ” - Mace
And suddenly I Mrs Vanta Garrick has a man on the side.
Fun fact on, i practice polyandry here on this blog, and Mace and I will be getting married, and Kyle will have a brother husband. Thank you for putting him in my sight.
I'm having nothing but a bunch of chocolate babies. Because where else is he gonna nut? Outside of me? And waste it? I don't think so.
