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remyfire · 1 year

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Her giggles come unbidden, brought about by an idle thought and hastened with the fizz of the seltzer in her singapore sling. She presses the cards to her face, nearly leaves lipstick stands on her full house before resurfacing. "Sorry, sorry, a funny thought just came to me," she explains through her chuckles. "Before we were going steady, Beej let me guess what his name meant and the very first name I tried, you'll never guess." She doesn't give them a chance to, giggles increasing as she leans over and squeezes Hawkeye's hand. "Benjamin John! How funny is it that in the end, I got a Benjamin and a John after all, hey?"

(this did actually happen in our DMs and it's before I had ever once mentioned Trap's or Hawk's birth names to Christina and I have the screencap to prove it and it's extremely funny. Anyway, this is a self-indulgent, plotless character study with fun, fluffy quad building, so THANK YOU)

The laughter, golden as sunshine, makes BJ smile before Peg says a word. In theory, they keep their hands to themselves when they're playing—there's a 50/50 chance that if any of the four around the table reaches for someone, there'll be claims of attempted cheating or fraternizing with the sole purpose of distraction—but he's tipsy enough that he can't stop himself from reaching to lightly cup her forearm, thumb brushing over her wrist.

He's still getting used to how natural it feels, having Hawk's foot resting on his own beneath the table. Hawk's got one of Peggy's silky robes tucked snug around his lean shoulders, one of Trap's tanks on under it. Beej hasn't made it easy on the man across from him since his late arrival to the house, but with just enough bourbon in his blood, he can even admit that the table doesn't feel right without Trapper's money being tossed into the pot.

He studies Trap's face, tracking the faint quirk of his brow as he considers his cards before finally raising the pot, and BJ files it away.

When he starts catching Peg's words again, he rolls his eyes affectionately. "Oh no," Beej murmurs, almost drowned beneath Hawk's sound of delight. It's an old story, but one he hadn't quite put the significance together about until today, and he chuckles as he studies his hand yet again. When Peg's chips join the pot, BJ chucks in his own.

"You're not serious?" Trap asks with a laugh of his own.

"It's not the first time she was a little psychic." BJ finally claims one of her hands and presses a kiss to the back of it. "Maybe one of the more regrettable times in the end, though—"

Trapper leans slightly over the table. "Y'know, Hunnicutt, if I didn't know better, I'd think I wasn't welcome here."

"Only took two months of living here rent-free before you started picking up on my tone," Beej drawls. "Impressive."

It really is a sign of how things are shifting that Trap just smirks, that for one of the first times in recent memory BJ is the one to break the contact instead of holding it in an adrenalizing game of dominance.

"It makes a weird kind of sense, doesn't it?" Hawk points out. He lazily rests his chin on his palm, the game briefly forgotten—now that they no longer have to play just to survive the long and aching hours of imprisonment, there's room for these languid chats. Erin's tucked in bed. They've got hours to kill yet, a whole weekend ahead of them, and only BJ's due in at the hospital late tomorrow night.

"What does?" BJ asks.

Hawk grins at him, eyes sparkling. "That you found her first." He gestures vaguely to him with his cards, glancing over at the other two. "Beej always takes first pot, the lucky bastard,"

The words warm something in his chest. There are nights like this when BJ can't even remember who 15-year-old him was, that kid with an aching hole in his chest, skittish in his family home, keeping his distance from anybody who wasn't on his athletic teams so he wouldn't lose his chance at college by getting distracted.

There's a lot that can be said about how he and Peggy Hayden collided in that high school drama class. He's not sure either of them will ever be able to truly plumb into the depths of how inextricably they tangled their sense of self around each other at such a young age, nor does he know how long it'll take for them to loosen their orbits until the sight of Peg looping her pinkie with Trap's as she leads him down the hallway to his bedroom no longer fills Beej with that primal desire to reclaim her.

But he's also not sure how that anxious, angry kid would've made it out alive if he hadn't had her light illuminating that long, dark path until he was forced to discover how to make his own without her.

Now, he knows he can. He could glow all on his own without her, without Erin, without Hawk.

He simply doesn't want to.

BJ gets lost in Peg's eyes as he rests their joined hands against his cheek to the tune of Hawk's chips joining the pot. "Maybe I took first. But we've all got a pretty equal share now, don't we?"

Just as the soft words leave his mouth, he catches that edge of her smirk, and he knows. He knows before she even puts down the full house.

As Hawk howls in irritation and Trap tosses his own hand down, BJ shakes his head with a heavy sigh. "Okay, fine, I take it back. She always wins everything in the end."

"But you love me," Peg teases, and Beej loops back into her orbit just for a taste of her lips before she starts gathering the chips for sorting.

"I do." He tucks her hair behind her ear, pleased as punch. "We all do."

"Son of a bitch," Trap murmurs as he gets to his feet. He grabs his empty glass, then Hawk's, stealing a quick kiss from him as he walks behind his chair. "You want another, Peg?"

"I'm good!" She all but wiggles in her seat as she stacks. "This is fun~"

"You say that every time, you cute, little hustler." Hawk leans across the table, and she meets him in the middle with a quick smooch of her own. He chases her when she tries to pull back, and as she squeals and grins against his mouth, BJ shakes his head and picks up his own empty glass.

He meets Trap by the bar, their arms brushing as Beej reaches for the bottle of bourbon.

"Hey." When Trap speaks, they lock eyes. Trapper leans into the counter, his body nearly cupping BJ's own. "What does it stand for, anyway?"

A month ago, he would've been inclined to tell him to go fuck himself. Maybe even a week ago. But something's different on his tongue tonight—something he blames entirely on the bourbon, nothing else.

So when BJ lets, "Anything you want," slip off his tongue, it's more fluid than the last time he said it. Looser. Sweeter. And as he departs the counter, he feels the faint tug at his shirt.

Instinctively, he twists out of Trap's loose grip, and the other man lets him go. As BJ backs up three slow steps, he lifts his brows in silent question. Trap doesn't fill the silence. Doesn't come after him either.

They watch each other, long and hard, before BJ disappears around the corner with an oddly fluttery heart.

#i had fun with this THANK YOU #satisfies myself with writing late late late late series stuff as bite-sized pieces while i wrestle with this behemoth of a chapter #mcpunnihawk #some things are evergreen #my writing

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remyfire · 11 months

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Thigh riding - PEG/TRAP, PEG/TRAP, PEG/TRAP

Kink Writing Prompts (AAAAAAAA THEM) (Trappeg, my favorite pokemon name. Set against the background of BJ/Peg/Hawk and Peg/Hawk/Trap, because BJ is........the way he is. For now.)

Honestly, if Hunnicutt's gonna be spending all his time whisking Hawk away to God knows where every time John puts a hickey on his neck, he really can't blame John for filling the empty hours by spending time with Peg. John's got no clue how long Hunnicutt's gonna circle him like a fucking shark either, but one day the guy has to learn how to use his words instead of just staring John down like he's trying to shoot lasers through him.

There's a few things that are true. One, Hawkeye lives here in California. Two, it's because Hunnicutt had the balls to go after Hawk when he had the chance. Three, John still saw him first, so Hunnicutt's gonna have to learn how to share eventually. Four, Peg's the only reason Hunnicutt's behaving himself in the first place.

And five...it's honestly really fucking funny to watch Hunnicutt spin in circles like a dog on a leash and try to figure out how he can reclaim Hawk and Peg from John's affections at the same time without also leaving the door open to be scolded for being such a possessive little shit.

He's sure Hunnicutt wouldn't say it, but with Peg, John's been gentle as hell this whole time. It's fascinating to see this electric woman who runs a household, gets her hands dirty, mothers a child with the confidence she could only gain from having to raise her without a lick of help, and takes her fellows to task when they're being unfair get so flustered when she ends up alone with John.

It's not even like he's been chasing her skirt since he got here or anything either. If Hawk treated John with uncertainty from the moment he hit the doorstep and Hunnicutt offered him barely concealed hostility, Peg's been the only one who welcomed him in with unabashed kindness. He still has no idea why. Maybe she understood the nerves right behind his gaze when he walked through their door with nothing more than a suitcase, a desire to make amends with Hawk, and an uncertain timeframe. Maybe she saw the pale band of skin on his left ring finger and drew her own conclusions. Maybe she's just good without any expectations.

Whatever it is, she gave him a soft place to land. And the trouble with that is she made him feel safe enough to start to wonder what went on behind those pretty eyes of hers.

Lucky for him, she seems curious too. Even if she does turn red at the drop of a hat nowadays.

Tonight, the little tyke's off at her aunt's down the street—a monthly gift she apparently started up once Hunnicutt got drafted to give Peggy a night to herself once and a while. Dinner's done. The dishes have been cleaned and dried. And from upstairs, if John turns his head just so, he can catch the edge of Hawkeye's particularly overwhelmed moans, probably from a bedroom door left open intentionally. John's still getting used to what act brings what sounds out of his lover, but if he had to guess...

He leans into the doorframe that divides the dining room from the living room, watching Peg watch the stairs with her hands tucked against the small of her back. His lips quirk. "Whaddya think?" he asks, going on even as Peg spins around to look at him with wide eyes. "On his hands and knees? Hair pulled back from behind?"

There it is, the flush. It tickles over her pale skin, starts making its way down her neck. She hesitates before a slow smile blooms. "If I had to guess, I'd say BJ's not letting him let go."

"Oof." John winces as he saunters further in. "That's a tough one. He begs so pretty."

"He does," Peg agrees with a chuckle. "The magic number with BJ's three. He'll get him right there to the edge, back him off again, really make him fight for it. He'll act like he's going to make him wait longer, but...no. Three times."

It took him a while to let himself reach for her. It's a hell of a lot easier now. He shapes his hand around her hip. "How long do you make Hunnicutt wait for it?"

"As long as I want," she murmurs.

John laughs. He coaxes her to turn and face him, then leans far down to steal a kiss from her pretty mouth. "Come sit with me," he whispers.

Peg nods, biting her bottom lip. "All right."

It's been a lovely dance, seeing what Peg's ready to let him have, what she's still shy about giving. He wishes he could break open her layers and really brush his fingers over each one, understand what makes her tick like this. He's watched her kiss her husband. She isn't afraid to attack his mouth with all the hunger of the sea, like there's been waves churning in her for years while he was gone that she's still catching up to. And with how happily and easily Hawkeye bends for just about anyone, it's not surprising to John that Peg'll take him with just as much confidence.

But he also knows the nervousness in her touch. The way she'd pull back from those first few kisses with John with a murmured apology. How when he finally worked her confession out of her—that Hunnicutt had been her first, her one, and her only for years, that even Hawk still makes her feel unsteady from how badly she wants him sometimes—she couldn't look him in the eye.

She and John, they've done so little. Cuddling. Kissing. The careful brush of hands over legs, backs, arms. Not for the first time, he wonders if she needs a little nudge to get over her last vestige of shyness, or if the only reason she crossed it with Hawk was from her husband being right there in the same room, reminding her that it was okay to shake apart into her most base urges.

He's not particularly confident in Hunnicutt standing watch while John makes his wife melt, not without either pulling her away in a hungry rush or pushing John down into the sheets with a handful of curls. And while he's not...entirely opposed to the latter, he also can't guarantee it, so...

A nudge it is.

As John sinks down onto the couch, he tugs Peggy right along with him, and she lands beside him with a quiet sound of surprise just before he slips his fingers in her loose blonde hair and pulls her in for a deeper kiss. He keeps the contact intent but gentle, searching and inviting, and as she grabs hold of his shoulders and squeezes them hard enough to ache, he grins against her.

There she is. They both know this part. They've been here often enough together now that he anticipates her sweet whimper, the way she licks at his lips in question so he'll let her in.

Honestly, he half expected her to need a little more warming up, but maybe there's something about the echo of Hawk's pleasure through the hall—tinged for just a moment with a ruddy groan that must belong to Hunnicutt—that makes Peg push in closer so he can wrap his arms around her.

John strokes a slow pattern over the bare part of her neck right above her first buttons, feeling the goosebumps rise to meet his fingertips as she shivers. It'd be easy to push now. But he waits just a little longer. He plays with her tongue so she goes weaker in his arms, finds his pleasure in the taste and heat of her mouth alone.

Only when she shifts into a more comfortable position—her skirt and petticoat rising a little higher as she puts one of her knees between his legs for a better angle—does John tip slightly backward on the couch and slide his knee toward the sky.

The moment his thigh makes contact with the crux between her own does Peg startle, pulling back and catching herself with her hands on his chest. "John," she breathes.

"This okay, honey?" He's so caught by her that his tongue feels thick in his mouth, making the words come out a little slurred even though he hasn't had a drop of booze.

Peg seems stunned to find the position they're in—John almost flat on his back, Peggy straddling his leg. She drags her eyes along his body with a soft, shaky sigh, her fingertips ghosting down his ribs and to his waist.

He'd stirred just from kissing her, but the growing confidence in her touch has him hard enough to ache in seconds. "Fuck, that feels good," he whispers.

"Does it?" She barely gives volume to the words.

He tries it, the nudge. John gently grinds his thigh against her heat, but even with the barrier of her nylons and panties, she makes a stifled sound and curls in on herself.

"How's that?" It's suddenly vitally important that she talk to him, tell him exactly what she needs, even if it's for him to stop. "S'that good too?"

"Mm-hmm..." Peg nods wildly, her hair falling a little more in her face.

That won't do. He needs to see her. He comes up on one elbow so he can push the silky strands out of the way. "You wanna keep going?" John thumbs over her cheek, keeps his voice low. "How 'bout it? We keep kissing. You take what you need. We don't gotta touch nothing you're not ready for. We just have a little fun."

Peg relaxes a little more, starting to pet one hand up and down his waist, her fingers searing him through his thin shirt. "It won't be much fun for you, though, will it?" She peeks down at him through her long lashes, dark from mascara. "If we just...did this?"

John grins so wide, his cheeks hurt. "Sweetheart, if you think I'm not gonna have a fucking blast getting you off like this, you don't know a thing about me. You think this isn't hot as hell? I'm happy to prove it is."

The longer he talks, the more her pupils dilate, thick black orbs overtaking the blue. When John lifts a hand between them and crooks two fingers of invitation, she dives like a bird and kisses him hungrily.

There it is, there it fucking is, he knew this was in her. He lets a little more of his fire meet her in the middle, two tendrils of flame twisting from each of them and feeding each other sharply into the sky. She's still holding back, but there's a whisper in the back of his head that they just jumped twenty steps ahead, far closer to Peggy realizing for once and for all that it's safe to let herself feel like this—to let all those perfect, settled, middle-class, amiable, delicate trappings fall away just like she does with her other fellas.

John takes her firmly by the hips and coaxes her to move, and the moment Peg feels that first long grind against his leg, she whimpers into his mouth. His moan is a ragged reply, wordless and succinct, and she takes the reins and works herself against him intently.

It frees his hands, letting him cup the back of her head in that certain way he's always seen Hawk do. He slips just a little bit under her skirt with the other and strokes his thumb up and down her thigh.

Once she's found her rhythm, the broken sound of pleasure she makes vibrates through him. "Oh, Jesus," she whispers, burying her face in his chest.

The words come pouring out of John, piling on top of each other so she doesn't have time to think. "That's it, that's it, that's my good girl. Can feel how hot you are through all our clothes. I bet you're wet as hell, aren't you?"

Peggy digs up fistfuls of his shirt with a shudder, barely giving voice to what slips out of her. "So good, it's so good..."

"Yeah, c'mon, honey, just like that." He kisses her temple, noses into her hair, fights against everything inside of him to keep his hands right where they are. He lets her chase her pleasure, just serves as the vessel for her to take it from. "Don't you stop. Fuck my thigh good and hard, huh? Wanna feel every inch of that pussy getting some love."

When Peg lifts her head, her swollen lips are parted, her cheeks are flushed, and her brow is drawn up as though she's overwhelmed. "John, please..."

He moves on instinct, hands snapping to grab her hips one more time. "You want me to get you there?"

Peggy nods. "I'm so close, John, I-I—"

"I'm right here." It's been, fuck, probably a decade since he got a girl off like this, all dry humping and sweating in their clothes, and he takes it gently for a second as he shifts his weight to get better leverage—the last thing she needs is to come this far, then have a bad combination of fabric and pressure take her right back down to square one. But he keeps his eyes tight on hers, reading every nuance of her expression and her gasps and the unfathomable depths behind her stare, and as he pulls her back into a focused rhythm, her eyelashes begin to flutter.

It all comes back to him, the utter ease he has with driving a woman out of her mind, and the almost religious reverence that overtakes him in response.

As John smirks, he can feel her starting to shake apart, and he leans in to steal a quick kiss. "That's it, sweetheart, come for me, just like that..."

The sound that breaks from her—a raw moan—is one he'll admit he's jerked off to more than once in the guest bedroom, hearing how Hunnicutt or Hawk will draw it out of her just across the hall. Maybe it's a little weird, thinking of all things in this moment about how trusted he feels right now, that she'll let it erupt from her without a hint of shame because she knows she's safe with him. As she trembles through her release, he pushes her just that bit further, gets instantly inundated with a keening cry as she buries her face in his chest again.

He doesn't take her past that. As Peg shivers like a kitten, he pulls her close and makes sure she feels held, comforted. "Fuck, Peggy," he whispers in between soft kisses on the top of her head. "You know how beautiful you are?"

The sound she makes has no words attached to it—sounds almost pouty that he's making her think at all—and he grins from just how goddamn cute it is.

There's a hint of movement then. He cocks his head to the side until he can see the flash of pale skin and navy blue near the top of the stairs in the other room. It's Hawk in just a cozy pair of boxers, his chin resting on his forearms which are pillowed on the railing, and he's grinning absolutely unrepentantly. For a moment, it feels kind of like old times—one of them catching the other with a girl, giving him a wink at his good fortune.

But there's no war here. There's no fear about blowing Hawkeye a kiss, and Hawk's not shy about catching it in his palm and putting it on his cheek. When Hawkeye holds up his thumb and finger in a circle—the universal okay—John rolls his eyes affectionately and waves him off. Hawk takes the hint, gives Peggy one long fond look of his own before he wanders back up the stairs.

John figures they've only got a few minutes before Hunnicutt comes down, probably freshly showered. Maybe he'll tense up when he sees Peg here sprawled on his chest. Maybe he'll come straight in, pluck her up, and carry her to bed for some snuggles of his own.

Or maybe for fucking once, he'll see that John's not here to steal anybody away. Just looking for his soft place to land. Just finding a reason to keep pushing forward into whatever life looks like now.

"You wanna go somewhere else?" John finally whispers.

"Mm-mm." Peg wiggles her hands around his back until she can finally slide them between him and the couch and cling to him.

John chuckles. "Okay." One more kiss. "You take as long as you need. I'm not going anywhere 'til I have to."

#I LOVE YOU WIFE THANK YOU #my writing #mcpunnihawk #trappeg #smutty oneshots #ask meme answers

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remyfire · 1 year

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"I'll raise."

"Getting too rich for my blood," BJ murmurs, tossing a couple of chips into the pot. "I'll call. Sweetheart?"

"Sorry, what does raise mean again?" She winces, teeth toying at her lower lip sheepishly. Perfectly playing her part as BJ plays his. They had done this before, one night with Hawk and the brunette at Peggy's other side had requested an encore.

"You gotta put in another fifty cents like Trap did, or bump it up another quarter or more," Hawkeye supplies, managing a decent poker face himself.

Peg pretends to think for a moment, tongue running along the outside of her teeth behind her lips before she tosses her bet in. "Alright! I'll raise you another dollar!"

"You sure about that, Peg?" Hawkeye questions, eyes flashing with concern even as she nods.

"I'm not a fan out takin' money outta kiss's mouths but if you're sure," Trapper smirks, calling her bet.

"I fold," Beej remakes easily, sitting his cards down and propping an arm on the table to rest his cheek in his palm.

"It's all yours, Peggy," Hawk concedes, his amusement starting to shine through. Hopefully able to be masked as eagerness for Trap to show off.

"Flush!" Trapper announces, spreading his cards on the table.

Peg, for her part deflates a little, shoulders sagging in seeming defeat. "Dammit," she swears. "I think you win, Trap. All I have is a full house." Only when cards on the table, literally and metaphorically, does Peg let the poker face fall away into a cheeky, mischievous smirk of her own.

(this is just 2,500 words of self-indulgent complicated polyam configurations, thanks @lattehearted)

It's not a bad gig, what Hawk's got set up here. Yeah, sure, maybe he hadn't exactly caught Trap up on the specifics of why the hell he was even in California in the first place, but given how they last parted, that's all but expected at this point—the unspoken threat that if Trap is gonna pull the shit he did when he walked off on Hawk again, then that's it, and no two-years-late letter's gonna save him again.

The hosts were, ah...notably chilly as fuck when Trap first arrived, but...well, it's been a month now, and at least one of them has thawed significantly. Peg's sweet, practically an angel. There's more bravery in her pinkie than half the guys he's been shoulder to shoulder with in wars. He doesn't know what kind of saint's got a heart that'll let her husband come home with a man when she's been raising a kid solo for two years nor who'd let a perfect stranger waltz into her home to try and fix the mistake he made years ago.

She's cute. She's sweet. She makes it safe for Trap to let his guard down as he sinks back under Hawk's skin more and more. And by spending time with him over tea or scotch or ice cream—the last one shared by Erin, of course—she makes it way fucking less frustrating for him to learn how to share. After all, Hawk was already reacclimating to civilian life with his pretty boy toy before Trap even bit back his pride and sent his letter to Maine in the first place. And said boy toy's shown no particular desire to let Trapper be alone with Hawkeye any longer than he has to. Compassion for a guy finally shoving down all that old fear of his own desires? Nah, no, get in line, pal, he might as well say, like he doesn't have a perfect wife to attend to as well.

At this rate, he's pretty sure the big guy's never gonna give him more than an inch. But that's fine. They can be civil. And if BJ happens to be so busy with Hawk every night, then...

Well, Trap's certainly no stranger to chasing a wife, even if her husband's grumbling about it.

It's been a long hour of poker so far. Trap's up a little, Hawk's up a lot, BJ's middling, and Peg's only got her last chips. It almost makes him feel bad to take her down to next to nothing. One more hand, she's gonna have to go all in, and once the chips are gone, if she wants to keep playing, then...

Down, boy. Trapper knows a shy girl when he sees one. She's got it written all over her face. It's been there this whole game while she's been struggling to learn. Last thing he wants to do is scare her off with his filthy mouth when the chase is half the fun.

He's actually feeling pretty damn cocky when he spreads out his flush. He's ready to gently remind Peg that the best way to learn to play the game is to lose the hardest—and then he sees the delicate way she skims those cards onto the table, as though she's all too intimately familiar with the feel of them in her hands, and something...sinks in, way, way down deep.

The sparkle in her eyes. The curl of her adorable nose. The way her teeth gleam in the light like a predator. She leans forward ever so slightly, elbows on the table, as though she's trying to drink in his reaction for a very specific reason.

It's been a long, long time since he's been hustled quite so elegantly. And he forgot exactly how quickly it can start an bonfire inside him.

Trap slowly lifts his brows as he stares her back down. "Y'know, Hawk, I think we might've just been hustled."

"I think you might be right, Trap," he drawls right back, fast as a bullet, his timbre as dark and rich as Trapper's ever heard it. "Look at her. She thought she could get away with it."

"Thought there wouldn't be consequences." Trap sets his chin on his fists as his lips start to quirk.

"Thought that just because she was cute, she could rob you down to nothing and just waltz away, unscathed."

Trapper takes a second to flick his gaze to Hawkeye. "That only works for you."

Hawk bats his lashes, those sleepy blue eyes more than a little inviting. He doesn't take his gaze off Trapper, not even when Trap looks back at the little blonde pixie across from him.

"Dunno if you know this, sweetheart, but most people don't take too good to being hustled." Every muscle in Trap's body is coiled, holding him down in his chair. This ain't no nurse he can just pull across the table and kiss the life out of. If he takes a step forward, he's gotta make sure she's not taking one further back. "You've gotta pay your dues. Make it up to me."

Peg pushes her lips out into a frankly impressive pout, dipping her head so her hair falls more in her face. "Well...I'd certainly hate to let you go home empty-handed after I just cleaned you out of so much." It's only the breathy edge of her tone that tickles across Trapper's skin, whispers that she didn't just take one step forward, but two. "Tell me, John. How do I make it up to you?"

It's like missiles go off in his legs, filling them with explosive energy. He shoves back from the table with a grin and starts to stand. "How 'bout I show you?"

A house-slipper-covered foot shoots out, propping loudly on the edge of the chair between Trap's thighs, and he drops back down in surprise and locks eyes with BJ Hunnicutt himself. The man's almost languidly leaned back in his own seat, but Trapper's gotten into enough trouble on the streets of Boston as a kid to know what it looks like when someone's looking for a reason to fight. Not even the smooth smile that plays across BJ's face can make him look any less lethal.

"Please, she's my wife." BJ's voice is deceptively bright. "Whatever she's totaled up, just put it on my tab."

Trap's eyebrows lift. It's not enough for BJ to keep the boyfriend all to himself. No, he's gonna step in and block off his wife too when she's all but giving Trapper the bedroom eyes? He can't help but let out a little huff of a laugh. "Hey, now, don't put other people's things on credit if you're not gonna pay it back, pal."

BJ's lips spread just a bit further—"Oh, not the smirk, Beej," Hawk murmurs from the other side of the table—and he chuckles as well. "You came here for one thing, McIntyre. I don't believe running up a credit line on everybody else was part of that."

"For the record," Peg perks up, "I'm perfectly happy helping to balance the ledgers, Beej. You never minded how I handled the finances before."

BJ doesn't take his eyes off Trapper, but he does flare his nostrils, and a hint of color travels down his long throat as he takes a deep breath. Interesting. Very, very interesting.

"Why the fuck are we all talking in metaphors? What is this, Intro to Lit?" Hawk whispers to Peg. She pats his hand.

It's a tough choice. Hunnicutt here's throwing down a wall around his pretty little wife, brick by brick, but he's going slow. He's not snarling, not running Trapper off. He's clearly hearing every damn word his wife says. But when Trap shifts in the chair, he also sees those hackles go up just slightly, the goading temptation for Trap to see what happens if he chooses Peg's invitation over BJ's claim.

Something tells him he's got a lot more to figure out about how this couple prefers to operate.

"Oy," Hawk mumbles, then stands. He wanders around behind Trapper, fingers trailing little sparks of fire right across his back, and that same hand drifts down Trap's shoulder, his bicep, all the way to where he can snag BJ by the knee. He tugs, bringing the leg back down to the floor, the slipper trailing down the inside of Trapper's thigh as it does.

As BJ's foot hits the ground, Hawk throws a slim leg around his waist and straddles him. "You're trapped now. Oops."

"Am I?" Beej drawls.

"Mm-hmm." Hawk brushes their noses together with a smirk as he wraps his arms around BJ's neck. "It's really a shame."

"I should've known you'd be in cahoots."

"Who, me and your wife? Yeah." Hawk nods thoughtfully. "Yeah, sounds about right."

This time when Trapper gets up, BJ only follows him with his gaze rather than a physical barrier.

He circles the table and leans down until he's on a level with Peg. This close, her wide eyes are pools, so fucking dangerous to toe the edge of. He knows what he could fuck up right here in the name of fun. He knows his body, his mind, his heart. The pale skin on his left ring finger still hasn't started to tan to match the rest of him. If he's not careful, if he actually lets himself fall for her...

Trapper lightly taps her chin with his index finger, tipping her head back so they're closer still. "Feeling brave, soldier?"

He can hear the nervous anticipation in the shivery breath she takes. But to her credit, she doesn't so much as flinch. "Are you?"

His grin widens. Yeah, no, he's fucked. Completely and utterly.

He scoops her up without another hesitation and starts carrying her into the living room. "C'mon. If I'm gonna kiss you, I'll keep your modesty intact by taking you away from the audience."

Peg giggles as she tightens her thighs around his waist. She's got fucking strong legs. It makes a man's mind wander. "You know, from all the stories I've heard about you, I never would've pinned you as someone who gave a damn about a woman's modesty."

"You calling me a cad?" he teases, lifting his brow.

Fun as the banter's been, the unfamiliarity between them rises up. Peg's jaw drops. "Oh, o-oh, no, I wouldn't do that—"

"No, you can, it's true." Trap tumbles back on the couch with her on top of him, then knits a hand around the back of her neck to coax her down. "Call me whatever you want, sweetheart. Just kiss me first."

As Peg sinks her fingers into his curls and his lips meet hers, a wave rushes through him. It's funny. He's fantasized about exactly this for at least two weeks, ever since their first little walk to the park together with Erin in her stroller while the boys took some time to themselves. He just hadn't anticipated that only the taste of her sweet mouth was going to be enough to satisfy him. He could do this—just this—for hours and not get sick of it.

She lifts away just an inch, watching him with a silent question in her eyes, and he answers it by pulling her down to drown with him.

In the other room, BJ leans his chair as far backward as he can, trying to catch a peek at what might be happening, and Hawk chuckles as he tugs him by the shirt collar to look at him again. "You're so jealous, you're about to paint the whole kitchen green."

"I'm not jealous," Beej corrects him with smooth confidence in his own lie. "I am simply making sure that your boyfriend knows how to be a gentleman."

"And what if Peggy doesn't want a gentleman right now, huh?"

It really doesn't take much to call up an image of someone as strong and self-assured as McIntyre pinning down Beej's petite wife, hands around her wrists, making her plead for whatever she wants. Hickeys on her neck. Fingerprints on her forearms. He takes what must be his hundredth huge breath for the evening, but it does nothing to cool the lava storm in his chest. He doesn't yet have appropriate words for the possessive need to reclaim her like he wants. If she begs McIntyre to cover her with his marks, then BJ will have a lovely time plastering over all of them with his own.

Hawk rocks back in his lap and Beej holds him still with his hands on his hips. But it's too late. Hawk's felt the lift of interest in Beej's pants and he's damn well smug about it. "Ohoho," he breathes right against Beej's lips. "You're gonna absolutely ruin her tonight, aren't you?"

"If she'd like." He manages to keep his tone perfectly measured.

"Oh, yeah, Miss Flutters-Her-Eyelashes, friend of every bartender, waiter, handyman, and pool boy in the state, no, yeah, this is the one night she's gonna throw you in the cold shower." But barely before Hawk's even done talking, BJ leans to look again, and Hawk catches him by the cheek and presses their foreheads together. "C'mon. Let her have a little fun." He wiggles. "And let me have mine too."

Beej snorts, but as he slides his arms around Hawk's slim waist, he seems to be relenting. "You're just distracting me so your boyfriend and your girlfriend can neck for a while."

"I'm distracting you because it means I get to have the matinee performance all to myself so I can be in the audience for the grand finale tonight." He sinks his teeth into BJ's bottom lip and sucks it into his mouth, fueled by the rough groan that Beej feeds him. "Whaddya say, huh?"

Beej gives him one long, dangerous stare before he stands and pushes Hawk down on the poker table, scattering cards and chips everywhere. "I say let's raise the curtain."

Hawk throws his head back with an indulgent, self-satisfied smirk as Beej slots their hips together and starts sucking a bite of his own into Hawkeye's neck. He gets the distinct feeling that he's being reclaimed too—and he's really not mad about it. His boyfriends will figure their shit out one day. Until then, he's more than happy to be the spoils of their war.

#HOW THE FUCK DO I TAG THIS #THEY ALL LOOK SILLY #okay let's go girls #trappeg #piercintyre #hunnihawk #punnihawk #my writing #mcpunnihawk #I'M GOING WITH THAT ONE UNTIL ONE OF YOU PEOPLE GIVES ME A BETTER ONE #some things are evergreen

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remyfire · 1 year

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Silence, her face hidden by the paper in her hands. She waits, rocking on the balls of her feet for her audience to absorb her work before Erin peeks over her drawing. Wide ocean eyes and unruly blond curls spring to life as she lowers the paper. "See? See?" She implores, pointing at the squiggles and circles meant to stand in for people. "That's Baby," she begins, pointing at the smallest figure, meant to be herself. "That's Mommy and Daddy," Erin continues, pointing at the second smallest figure and the massively tall one on either side of her. "An' Uncle Hawk an' Uncle Mack Tire!" She's quite proud of it too, especially when she holds it back out and exclaims, "See! We hold hands!!" Which is true, the five figures connected by the hands even as squiggled and messy as the drawing is. "You like it?"

(QUAD FLUFF QUAD FLUFF QUAD FLUFF QUAD FLUFF—)

There's a long moment where there's no response. It's not surprising that Erin has finally drawn a full family portrait, but the implications of it take a little bit of time to fully set in for all observing parties.

Erin pops her head around the side of the paper with a frown, and that's what spurs BJ into dropping to one knee in front of her with a warm smile as he cocks his head to the side. "It's perfect, sweetie. I love the colors you chose." He taps them one by one. "Red for Uncle Hawk, pink for me, blue for Mommy..." There is one detail, however, that makes his smile just a bit more barbed. "Why did you make me and the Tire hold hands?"

"BJ," Peggy murmurs with that sweet warning tone from the kitchen table. Trap, who'd been grabbing the orange juice out of the fridge, stares holes through BJ's head, which he doesn't acknowledge.

One long, slow, deep breath in. "Sorry. Daddy misspoke." No, he didn't. "I meant Uncle McIntyre."

Erin blinks rapidly. "'Cause Mommy and Uncle Hawk always hold hands."

"Do we?" Hawkeye glances all around the room, even to the ceiling, trying to solve the mystery, then gasps gently when he looks down and finds his fingers lightly laced with Peg's on top of the table, just like they have been for the past ten minutes. He beams at her, like isn't this just the most delightful surprise? "Oh, look at that!"

Peg presses her lips together, trying as hard as she can not to laugh.

BJ nods encouragingly. "That's right, they do. You've got great eyes. I love how you see the world." Encouragement is the name of the game—even when his daughter accidentally manifests absolutely awful things. He can accept Trapper's presence in their home and even the joy he brings to both Peggy and Hawk, but there are lines in the sand one should never cross. "But you know what?" He drops his voice.

Erin leans in. "What?" she asks in the loudest stage whisper known to man.

BJ taps the page again. "You forgot someone extremely important."

Erin stares back at him. He can see the gears turning behind her eyes in her young but incredible mind. Finally she gasps and turns and starts running out of the room as fast as her tiny legs can go. "Waggle! I didn't do Waggle!!"

Hawk's the one who finally succumbs to the laughter, bright and beautiful sounds that fill the whole room, only going muffled when Trapper circles around behind him and puts a hand over his mouth to muffle it. "Quiet, don't embarrass her," Trap tries to say as commandingly as he can, but it doesn't quite work when his words are wobbling from his own barely restrained laughter. "You wanna give her an art complex for the rest of her life, Hawk?"

Hawk pulls Trap's hand down when he's got himself more in control, but his eyes still sparkle. "S-Sorry, sorry, she's just so goddamn cute," he whispers.

Trap taps Hawk on the thigh, and Hawk obligingly stands up just enough so Trapper can slip into the chair. Hawkeye retakes his throne shortly after on Trapper's lap, burying his face in the man's curls so he can keep his last few chuckles quiet.

As BJ sinks into the seat next to Peg, he rubs his face. "You know she's going to start saying things to people soon."

"Or doing them," Trap points out. Out of all of them, he's the one with the most to lose—the last thing he needs is a summer visitation with his girls becoming the final one because word of his perverse lifestyle makes its way across the whole country to Massachusetts.

Peg clears her throat in the particular way she does when she's trying not to laugh as well. "It might be a bit too late for the latter."

"You're kidding."

"No."

"Yes," Peg murmurs. "Do you remember the birthday party at the Stantons last Saturday for their little girl?"

The three men stare her down. Beej is the one to speak. "What happened?"

"I stepped into the kitchen for a second to refill my tea." Peg clears her throat, brushing one of her fingers over her upper lip, trying to keep her voice even. "When I went back to the backyard, Erin had every single child holding hands."

Trapper wraps his arm around Hawkeye's waist to steady him better as he peeks around his arm. "Well, I mean, kids play games doing that sort of thing all the time. Hell, the first thing we taught Becky and Cathy was to always be holding hands before we crossed the street or anything."

Peg slowly shakes her head. "They weren't playing anything. They were just talking and waiting before cake. Then she started leading them one by one to the table in a little daisy chain behind her."

They all absorb this information. It's tricky. Celebrate how their little girl is unafraid to be affectionate with her friends? Or squash it where it stands? All four of them spent so long being isolated to one degree or another that restraining physical contact in the house feels almost impossible.

"We have to talk about this," BJ points out, scanning over them. "Make an actual game plan for what we're gonna do from here on out."

Hawk looks between BJ and Peg with fondness. "With your lead, she's maybe a week out before she just starts laying a wet one on all her friends when she sees them."

"Jesus." Beej rubs his eyes.

"Well?" Peg heaves a sigh. "Where do we even start with this?"

They're all at a loss. They're still processing when Erin calls, "Okay, I'm done!" from the other room and comes running back.

Sheer instinct is what makes Trap shove Hawk straight out of his lap and onto the floor, and arguably is also what makes Hawk follow his yelp with a loud, "FUCK!"

Erin skids to a stop in the kitchen door with huge eyes and a gasp. "UNCLE HAWK."

After all her hard work at keeping it at bay, Peg finally bursts out in such a bright laugh that there are tears in her eyes.

#your honor i love them #mcpunnihawk #my writing #some things are evergreen

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remyfire · 1 year

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I think so far the best thing about Christina giving me post-war prompts to write about in the context of my Some Things Are Evergreen series when I have, in fact, not yet finished my watch through is all the accidental foreshadowing I do to myself—

#two days ago i wrote that post-war mcpunnihawk ficlet where peg laughs about trying to guess beej's full name when they were in school #today i choked on a chip when hawk asks if he can guess beej's full name and beej gives him The Look with a long pause #so there will be gentle edits when that finally goes up on ao3 at its appropriate place in the timeline bfhsfds #my ramblings

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remyfire · 6 months

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that wld b such a funny polycule I'm so glad I asked

AND I AM SO GRATEFUL YOU DID TOO, I am always rotating the dynamics at such high speeds that they begin to transcend. There is so much fun to be had.

#i feel like writing polycules that large is something i would not be good at but i could improve and make it feel like home #but i'm going to be having enough trouble with just the mcpunnihawk in some things are evergreen endgame oh god #my ramblings

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remyfire · 4 months

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20 Questions For Fic Writers

I was tagged by @quordleona03! Thank you so much for the tag I know lots of people have already been tagged, so consider this a formal request that if you have NOT been tagged, you please come play! But off the top of my head, @onekisstotakewithme @cuddleswinchester @dreamingofspring :D

How many works do you have on Ao3?

40.

2. What's your total Ao3 word count?

I think we might officially be leaving 2023 with 300,842 words. Not a bad count for only publishing since April! That's a novella a month right there.

3. What fandoms do you write for?

MASH. :D

4. What are your top five fics by kudos?

Scratching The Itch, Can't Take My Eyes Off You, To Have and To Hold, Anything You Say Can and Will Be Held Against You, and Tear Out All Your Tenderness. Good morning beejhawk nation I see you all hkdfds

5. Do you respond to comments?

I try to! Sometimes they pile up and I get overwhelmed and just click that "Mark All As Read" button while hiding behind my hand. But I really try to circle through nowadays even just for a "Thanks for reading!!" because I really appreciate every single one!!

6. What is the fic you wrote with the angstiest ending?

I feel like ...With Too Many Miles Between Us was a pretty rough one. There's maybe optimism that you can read through the cracks, but it was a damn agonizing prompt fill (affectionate) all around. The Good Ones Always Seem to Break is another. Sorry that I keep putting you in situations, Beej.

7. What’s the fic you wrote with the happiest ending?

Oughhhh, just about anything that suggests they don't end here, so to speak. I think To Have and To Hold probably tops the list, but I Intend to Hold You For the Longest Time and Soft Place to Land also come in hot just by nature of being established postwar situations.

8. Do you get hate on fics?

Not yet! I've had a couple of people not understand what I was going for and who were not afraid of saying so, but it wasn't outright hate. They were probably just not the intended audience.

9. Do you write smut? If so, what kind?

Ahh yes. 65% of my current fics are rated E for a reason, and the 5 M ones are flirting with that line.

I categorize myself as an erotic romance writer, meaning that typically if you remove my sex scenes from my fics, you are losing integral information or character/relationship development that would otherwise make the fic not stand on its own. I also have a handful that are just pure erotica—sex for titillation's sake rather than development. I adore writing smut!! It's a lot of fun, it's exciting when you know you've landed it exactly like you wanted to, and it's a way for me to reclaim all those years I spent being forcibly repressed due to my religious upbringing. I love every minute of it.

10. Do you write crossovers? What’s the craziest one you’ve written?

I do not!

11. Have you ever had a fic stolen?

Not that I know of.

12. Have you ever had a fic translated?

Not that I know of.

13. Have you ever co-written a fic before?

The Famous 4077 Dog Tag Party certainly counts! Many of us authors randomized a list of pairings for both eras of the show, and then we were responsible for picking a pairing, writing the characters going on a date (platonic or romantic), and seeing what happened. Extremely fun way to get some rare pairs we might not have expected. For example, I got to write Margie/Klinger for it!

14. What’s your all time favorite ship?

Hey now I am too fucking polyam to answer this and you know it. Mcpunnihawk probably tops the list, warring with margbeej and sidbeejhawk.

15. What’s a WIP you want to finish but doubt you ever will?

I am not taking this defeatist energy into 2024, how dare you. One day, my pretties, I'm coming back for all of you and we are crossing that finish line OR ELSE.

16. What are your writing strengths?

Smut, capturing character voices accurately, physicality, spinning relational scenarios on the fly.

17. What are your writing weaknesses?

Genres like mystery or sci-fi or horror, repetition of comfort words/phrases, putting my characters through significant levels of pain (I am too empathetic, I can and will cry over my own fics).

18. Thoughts on writing dialogue in another language in fic?

Things that I do not feel comfortable doing myself because I am not familiar enough with any other language to know I'm doing it accurately.

19. First fandom you wrote for?

The kid wizard one.

20. Favorite fic you’ve written?

How dare you make me pick from my children. Scratching The Itch, Anything You Say Can and Will Be Held Against You, I'd Give Up Forever to Touch You, and Desperate Times Call for Desperate Measures. Notably this could all change by this time tomorrow. I'm very fond of my fics.

#ty for the tag!!#ask meme answers #my ramblings

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