Peggy pauses beside the bed, fingers drifting automatically to the underside of her stomach, supporting the weight there out of habit now. Five months in and her body no longer belongs entirely to her. Everything aches differently. Her back. Her hips. Her chest most of all lately, heavy and sensitive in ways that leave her short-tempered and distracted and constantly aware of herself.

And Angie notices all of it.

Of course she does.

“You’re thinking too hard again,” Angie says softly from behind her.

Peggy exhales through her nose. “I’m always thinking.”

“Yeah,” Angie murmurs. “That’s the problem.”

Warm hands settle at Peggy’s waist from behind, careful at her middle, familiar enough to make some of the tension leave her immediately. Angie presses a slow kiss against the side of her neck, lingering there just long enough to feel Peggy’s pulse jump beneath her mouth.

“You spent all day trying not to climb me in front of Howard Stark,” Angie says quietly. “You gotta stop pretending you’re still in control of this situation.”

Peggy closes her eyes briefly.

“That is an outrageous exaggeration.”

Angie laughs softly against her skin. “Honey, you practically dragged me into that pool.”

Peggy turns in her arms then, one brow arching with as much dignity as she can manage while already flushed from the attention.

“And whose fault was that?”

“Mine,” Angie answers immediately, without an ounce of shame. “Obviously.”

The honesty of it makes Peggy laugh despite herself, low and helpless and fond.

Angie’s expression softens at the sound.

God, Peggy loves her.

It hits her suddenly sometimes, that sharp, overwhelming affection underneath everything else. The wanting is easy. Constant. But it’s the tenderness that undoes her. The way Angie looks at her now like she’s something precious. The way she’s adapted to every change in Peggy’s body without hesitation, without fear.

Like loving her has always been the simplest thing in the world.

“You know,” Angie murmurs, stepping closer again, “you were very mean to me earlier.”

Peggy blinks slowly. “Was I?”

“Mhm.” Angie’s hands slide along her sides carefully, thumbs brushing just beneath the swell of her chest. “Walking around all day looking like that. Asking for massages in front of innocent people.”

“Innocent?” Peggy echoes dryly.

“Fine. Less guilty people.”

Peggy smiles despite herself, but it falters when Angie’s hands settle more fully against her ribs.

The sensitivity sparks instantly.

Her breath catches.

Angie stills at once, eyes lifting to her face. “Too much?”

“No,” Peggy says quickly, then softer, more honest: “Just… sore.”Something in Angie’s expression changes immediately at that, playfulness giving way to concern so genuine it makes Peggy’s chest ache in an entirely different way.

“You should’ve said something.”

Peggy shrugs one shoulder lightly, though the movement pulls discomfort through her again. “It’s manageable.”

“Peg.”

That tone.

Firm. Warm. Her wife’s voice.

Peggy melts for it every time.

Angie guides her gently toward the bed, hands steady at her waist until Peggy sits on the edge of the mattress with a quiet sigh. The relief is immediate, though short-lived once gravity shifts the weight of her chest again.

Angie notices that too.

“C’mere,” she murmurs.

Peggy looks up at her, already flushed from the way Angie is looking at her now, focused, intent, devastatingly affectionate.

“What are you doing?” she asks, though she suspects she already knows.

“Taking care of my wife.”

The words settle low and warm in Peggy’s stomach.

Angie kneels carefully between her knees, hands sliding slowly upward along her thighs before resting lightly at her hips. There’s nothing hurried about her touch tonight. Nothing careless. Every movement deliberate enough to make Peggy shiver.

“You’ve been uncomfortable all week,” Angie says quietly. “And every time I ask you about it, you brush me off.”

“I do not brush you off.”

“You absolutely do.”

Peggy opens her mouth to argue.

Angie kisses the inside of her knee.

The argument disappears instantly.

“Oh,” Peggy breathes.

“Yeah,” Angie says softly, entirely too pleased with herself already. “That’s what I thought.”

Heat curls low in Peggy’s stomach again, familiar and sharp and impossible to ignore. She watches Angie’s hands smooth upward over her hips, over the curve of her waist, before pausing with palpable restraint.

“Can I?” Angie asks quietly.

The question alone nearly undoes her.

Peggy nods once.

Angie’s hands slide higher.

The relief when Angie finally cups her carefully through the navy silk is immediate enough to make Peggy’s head fall back with a soft sound she absolutely did not intend to make aloud.

“There she is,” Angie murmurs.

“Do not gloat.”

“You liked it.”

Peggy cannot deny that, especially with her nipples hardening beneath Angie’s palms.

Her chest has felt unbearably heavy for days now, tender enough that even fabric brushing wrong has become irritating. But Angie touches her like she’s something precious instead of fragile, warm palms easing ache into heat, discomfort into something that makes Peggy’s pulse flutter instead.

“Oh, sweetheart,” Angie whispers, seeing her expression soften despite herself. “You’ve been putting up with this alone?”

Peggy laughs weakly. “You say that as though you weren’t already aware.”

“I knew you were sore. Didn’t know it was this bad.”

Angie’s thumbs stroke gently, carefully, and Peggy closes her eyes for a moment, overcome by the sheer sensation of being tended to. Taken care of.

Desired.

“Better?” Angie asks softly.

Peggy exhales shakily. “Marginally.”

“Liar.”

“Perhaps.”

Angie smiles then, slow and wicked and loving all at once.

She squeezes gently.

Peggy can’t stop the moan that follows.

“Well, if that’s how you feel,” Angie teases, nimbly unbuttoning Peggy’s pajama shirt. Peggy let the sleeves slide down her arms and tossed it to the floor. 

She means business.

Her breasts are now fully exposed to Angie; what had been pronounced quite enough before is now… well, more pronounced, and Angie can’t help but watch them move as Peggy shifts on the bed. 

Peggy winces again, and pulls Angie’s hands back up to her chest immediately. “Don’t stop, darling, I won’t make it,” she says breathlessly, with more vulnerability than she usually shows, especially this early on in the night.

Angie feels herself flush deeply as she smirks, squeezing again and teasing Peggy’s nipples with her thumbs. “Someone’s feeling drama—“

Peggy grabs a fistful of Angie’s hair, her pretty nails digging into her scalp and tugging her head right to where she wants it. Angie isn’t exactly surprised as much as she is amused. Peggy has had little to no patience in general these past few weeks, but especially in the bedroom… or anywhere else Peggy might start feeling Angie up.

Angie squeezes and attaches her mouth to one of Peggy’s breasts, her tongue teasing one nipple and her thumb working on the other. 

Peggy’s head falls back in bliss, her nails digging in sharper to Angie’s scalp; her other grabbing the strap of Angie’s nightgown and pulling it off Angie’s shoulder, not caring if it stretches it out. 

She needs Angie naked. She needs Angie inside her, to consume her, to breathe her…

At least, that’s what she would be thinking if she could think at all. 

There are no thoughts. Only the sensation of Angie’s tongue, her hands; it is too much, not enough, going straight down to her core—

Peggy feels Angie’s teeth nip at her; then Angie’s hand claps over Peggy’s mouth. She must have gotten too loud.

She removes it promptly and sets it on her thigh, shivering when Angie squeezes and slides her hand up slowly.

“Angie, Angie…” Peggy repeats, heat and desire coursing through her veins.

Suddenly, Angie takes her mouth off Peggy’s breast, staring at it in shock, as if it had bitten her back.

Peggy opens her eyes, which are still glazed over and darkened with desire. 

“Why’d you stop?” she asks, looking quite affronted.

Angie is looking very closely at Peggy’s nipples now. “Honey… is that milk?”

Peggy looks down at herself, swiping her finger across one of her nipples and examining it. “Colostrum. It is normal. Resume,” she commands nonchalantly. It’s hot enough that Angie’s first instinct is to do as Peggy says, but thoughts of mischief bloom inside her mind. 

“‘Resume?’ No please? No thank you for making you forget your own name?” Angie challenges, certain she’s matching Peggy’s affronted expression.

“Angie!”

“See? Your name is Peggy,” Angie teases, skimming her hands up Peggy’s sides.

Peggy snorts and grabs Angie’s hands again, but this time Angie doesn’t let herself be pulled. “Tell me what you want, and I’ll do it until you’re completely soaked from—“

“Flipping hell, Angie, I told you, get your mouth and hands back to work where they were and don’t you dare stop again, or else.” Peggy’s eyes flash with warning. Her eyes are angry, bewitching, desperate.

Angie values her life enough to quickly comply, but truthfully, Peggy in this state, undone, needy, demanding, is deeply attractive to her, and pushing Peggy to her limits of patience very nearly gets Angie herself off. She moans against Peggy’s breast when her hands dig back into Angie’s hair.

Angie licks, nips, squeezes, and caresses, feeling the tension drain out of Peggy steadily. Whatever it was Peggy had said was leaking out of her tasted a bit salty. Angie wasn’t sure if she was supposed to swallow it or not, but she didn’t much care when her wife was falling apart under her touch, her legs wrapped up in Angie’s and squeezing powerfully.

They were lying on their sides now, facing each other, both in nothing but their panties. Peggy slips her hand into Angie’s butter yellow cotton panties and strokes Angie’s clit in a circular pattern, stimulating her with just the tip of her nails first, then the pads of her fingers. 

Angie gasps and nods quickly, shifting their legs to provide better access, and Peggy sinks one finger into Angie, teasing a second. 

Angie bites down a little harder than she means to and feels Peggy wince. She presses a kiss to the bitten nipple, and Peggy shivers.

Peggy’s pretty fingers inside Angie are doing a number on her, curling as they slide down her walls and hit that spot just right. Angie feels like she should tell Peggy to relax and not worry about doing her this time, but it feels too damn good to say anything except Peggy’s name and some words that she hoped the baby couldn’t hear. 

Angie is close, so close, when she feels Peggy’s hand tense up inside her and slowly remove itself.

“Bloody hell,” Peggy gasps, and Angie leans back from Peggy. 

Angie is frustrated, but also concerned; this is clearly not part of one of the torturous edging games Peggy likes to play.

“What’s wrong? Was it me?”

“Darling, no, you’re…” she smirks and lets out a short, flustered giggle, “too good for me to use my vocabulary, apparently. My hand is cramping; let me switch them and let you finish.” 

Peggy licks the fingers that are covered in Angie’s wetness, adjusting so her left hand can take over.

Angie gently pushes it away.

“I want you to feel better after this, not worse. Put your thigh between mine,” she asserts, and grins when Peggy does it without arguing. She grinds against it until she’s satisfied with her release, Peggy stroking her hair tenderly all the while. 

“Okay, your turn,” Angie says between panting breaths. “Do you wanna lie on your side or sit?”

Peggy tilts her head back in thought. “I could sit. On the edge of the bed?”

Angie grins wickedly. “Nope.”

Peggy’s brow furrows. “Straddle you?”

“Try again, English.”

Peggy considers, then her mouth falls open slightly. “Darling, don’t you know how much heavier I am by now?” “Uh huh,” Angie answers with a smirk, patting Peggy’s rounded stomach and squeezing her growing thighs. “Those midnight dessert cravings are doing wonders.”

Peggy snorts. “We’ll see what the doctors have to say,” she replies, covering Angie’s hand on her stomach with her own. She didn’t mention the snacks and treats Sousa had been slipping her at work. Nor had she ever mentioned to Sousa that Angie made sure she always went to bed pleasantly stuffed with whatever her heart, or cravings, rather, desired.

“So you’ll crush my face with your majestic thighs?” Angie’s eyes glimmered teasingly as she squeezed said thighs once again.

“I believe I would be most comfortable on the edge of the bed… let me get about to the size of a beached whale, then we’ll revisit,” Peggy responds, already sitting up. 

Angie shrugs, only slightly disappointed now that Peggy was taking her panties off. “Suit yourself.”

She slides off the bed onto the floor, getting on her knees between Peggy’s legs so her head is perfectly level with Peggy’s soaked core. She tries not to think about just how suspiciously perfect the furniture design is.

She kisses her way up Peggy’s thighs, grinning as Peggy wraps her legs tightly around Angie’s head, keeping her firmly in place.

When she leans forward afterward, pressing lingering kisses over the warmth of Peggy’s skin with deliberate, devoted attention, Peggy realizes with sudden clarity that having her wife for dessert may, in fact, be the only thing that’s been on her mind all evening.

“Angie,” she breathes, fingers slipping into her hair automatically.

“Mhm?”

“We are never leaving this bedroom again.”

Angie laughs softly against her skin, the sound warm enough to make Peggy shiver.

“Yeah,” she murmurs. “I think that’s probably for the best.”

The room feels softer afterward somehow, quieter, warmer, filled with the kind of intimacy Peggy rarely allows herself to fully sink into.

No secrecy.

No interruptions.

Just Angie’s hands, Angie’s mouth, Angie looking at her like she’s adored.