#Steve rogers holiday | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

nicestgirlonline · 10 months

Text

Underneath the Tree

Pairing: Steve Rogers x Reader

Warnings: Lightly smutty! Minors DNI! Angst and romance mostly

Work count: 1.4k

Summary: Dating Captain America during Christmas time certainly has its cons, but Steve is always there to make it up to you

a/n: ARE YOU EXCITED FOR SOME OOEY GOOEY HOLIDAY FICS??? I'm so excited for you to read this one. My first time writing Cap! Lots of Christmas fluff! Reblogs and comments are so so appreciated! Love you all <3

There’s a certain amount of Christmas Spirit that is expected from Captain America, that became clear the first year of dating Steve. Tree lighting ceremonies, Christmas parades, children’s hospital visits, charity galas, Christmas parties all across the country.

Christmas had become a marathon month where you saw less of your boyfriend in person and more of him in glossy PR images. You couldn’t go with him given your full time job. Everybody got a piece of your boyfriend but you. This year you were hoping it would be different, but here you were. decorating the tree by yourself. Partially out of an empty boredom and partially from loneliness that comes this time of year.

It was nearly midnight when you heard the lock of your apartment click, followed by the clattering chaos of Steve coming in. You could tell he was trying to be quiet, fighting against the noise from entering his bag of presents as well as his shield.

“Oh, you uh, you already got the tree decorated?” Steve asked, clearly disappointed. You had resisted decorating it for nearly a month. Steve and Bucky chopped down real trees after thanksgiving and it filled the apartment with a wonderful pine scent. You two put the lights on right away, bright multi-colored bulbs that made the room glow yellow, red and blue. But putting up the ornaments was something Steve had wanted to do together. Unfortunately, you didn’t get to be together much during the Christmas season.

So it stood tall and empty in your living room. A gloomy reminder of your lonesomeness most nights. He had promised you two would decorate it before Christmas, but that deadline was fast approaching.

He had lifted the huge sack of presents over his shoulder. You wanted to laugh seeing him in his Captain America get up, with a Santa hat and presents over his shoulder. He looked adorable but exhausted. He placed the gifts under the tree and took off his helmet. He ran his hand through his messy helmet hair then turned to you to give you a kiss.

“Well, it's going to be Christmas in eight minutes. So I figured I had to at least get started.” You said dryly. He sent you a sad smile.

“Thank you for saving the popcorn at least. It’s the best part of the tree.” He picked up the popcorn garland that he insisted on each year. A throwback to the old-fashioned decorations he loved. He had lost the argument about tinsel but popcorn garland was a mainstay.

“You should get some sleep Sweetie. You’ve got the ABC Special tomorrow.” Even with the smile on his face, you could see how tired his eyes were. There were dark bags expertly hidden under some TV make-up. He scoffed.

“What are you talking about? We’ve got to get this place decorated. I promised before Christmas.” He said already starting to get the garland strung up. “Any of the ornaments left? There’s room up at the top of the tree!”

You smiled at him. Your frustrations and resentment twisted in your stomach. It was nice that he was trying.

“I saved you the cutest one.” You handed him his personal favorite. Winter Fighter, a bootleg Bucky figure with both arms painted silver and no eyes. It made Steve laugh hysterically when he first saw it. You started to collect them, until you had a tree with nearly only ugly, knock-off Avengers merch. The red and yellow Mcdonald’s looking Metal Hero, Nordic Space Hero who had brushable blonde hair, the twisted plastic face and bulging eyes from the Commander USA ornament.

He hung the remaining ornaments with care. You really didn’t know how he still had the energy.

“I love Christmas. I always have. For a long time I didn’t really celebrate it because I didn’t have anyone to celebrate it with. So I'd filled my calendar with all of this - stuff. All of December I would get to see so many people and make their Christmas’s special. ”

“Except I haven’t really been here this year, have I?”

You shrugged, you didn’t want to fight but you didn’t want to lie either.

“I’ve seen like thirty Christmas tree lightings this month. But this is the only one that has actually made me feel anything.”

“Because it's so ugly and cheap?” You joked, lightly elbowing him. He doesn’t laugh, instead he grabbed your arm and brought you into him. He moved his hands to your waist.

“Because it's ours. I hate that I’ve been away from you so much. I keep celebrating Christmas with everyone except the one person I love most.” His voice broke slightly. You could hear his sorrow. You hugged him

The two of you embraced, you felt tender and vulnerable as you swayed in the soft light of the tree.

“This is all I wanted this year, just to be with you.” you whispered to him. He squeezed you tighter, you snuggled into his warm chest.

“Well, I guess there’s still time to return all these...” He sighed, gesturing with his head to the gifts overflowing under the tree.

“Hey!” You grabbed his chin as he chuckled at your indignation. “Let’s not get crazy here. You still have some things to make up for.” You kissed him again. He tilted his head and parted your lips with his tongue. He gently cupped the back of your head, his other hand going to your hip bringing you tightly against his body. He pulled his lips away, to lean down and scoop you up in his arms. You let out a squeal as he swept you up in his arms, placing your arms around his neck. He brought his lips back to yours as he started to carefully make his way towards the bedroom.

“Wait, wait!” You cried out. Steve stopped in his tracks, his head tilted to the side.

“I thought we were making up for lost time?”

“It’s just…the tree finally looks so good.” You said sheepishly, biting at your bottom lip. “It’s kind of romantic, don’t you think?”

Steve beamed. He bent down to nuzzle his nose against yours.

“Yeah Sweetheart, I think it looks great.” He spun around to place you down on the couch instead. He crawled over you, warmth radiating off of him as he boxed you into place. His lips met yours again, slowly moving against yours. His tongue teasing against your lips, asking for entrance. You wrapped your arms around his broad shoulders, hugging him closer, you’d missed him so much. You clung to him, hitching one of your legs over his, both of your lips dancing together.

You reveled in being surrounded by Steve for the first time in weeks. You basked in every part of him. The smell of his cologne, a cedar wood and musk, the sound of his breath hitching as you lift your hips to reach his, the roughness of his calloused hands and the gentleness of his lips.

“I love you,” he breathed.

You gazed into his blue eyes, filled with warmth and affection. His beautiful face was illuminated by the twinkling lights of the tree.

“I love you too Steve.” Glancing at the clock, you could see it was past midnight now. “Merry Christmas.” He glanced over his shoulder at the clock then back down at you. You could tell what was weighing on his mind. He was the Star - Spangled Christmas Man, he had places to be in about six hours. He cracked his neck then eased back down on to his forearms over you.

“You know, I think I’m starting to feel a little sick.” You cocked an eyebrow at him.

“Excuse me?” He let out a few performative coughs before burying his head in your neck. He started to slowly press kiss down to the base of your throat.

“I think I’m far too sick to even think about going out tomorrow. In fact, I think we are going to have to cancel all of my engagements, until the new year.” He continued his kissing down from your throat to your clavicle.

“Hmm well if it's that serious sweetheart, maybe you should just stay in bed all day tomorrow.” You suggested. You let out a happy sigh as his lips continued down to your chest. He snaked one hand down your legs, cupping your pussy and snapping your panties off.

You tangled your fingers in his blonde hair and you started to push his head further south, which he quickly obliged.

You knew you couldn't have your boyfriend all to yourself all of the time. But you’ve been very good this year, and you deserved it.

#steve rogers x reader #captain america x reader #steve rogers fanfiction #slight angst #fluff #holiday smut #christmas fanfic #chris evans #chris evans fanfiction

166 notes · View notes

buckets-and-trees · 2 years

Text

Title: Fire Burning from a Cedar Tree

Fandom: MCU

Characters/Pairings: King!Steve x Royal!female!Reader, brief appearance from Natasha

Word Count: 3.4k

Summary: Georgian-but-quasi-American royal AU. You came into the betrothal with no illusions to the situation – yours was a marriage to ensure the continuation of many generations of alliance and peace between your respective kingdoms. Very early, however, you learn what your royal union truly means to you both.

Content Warnings: politically arranged marriage, reluctant pining, SMUT (rough fucking, p in v, oral – female receiving, fluffy fucking, nipple play)

Additional Notes: The eighth and final offering in my 2022 Holiday Extravaganza. Just a smutty one-shot here with a smattering of situation painting/plot and relationship development. Did I think we were going to end up with this much Steve for the HE? Nope! But here we are, yet again ahaha. I had closed my laptop and gotten up to go to bed, had this idea while brushing my teeth, and sat back down and typed for an hour, then have been feverishly returning to it as I had the time. So I hope you enjoy, dear reader.

Music Ficspiration: Big God by Florence + the Machine, I’ve Grown Accustomed to Her Face from My Fair Lady, Better Love by Hozier, Movement by Hozier, So Real by Jeff Buckley, Lover, You Should’ve Come Over by Jeff Buckley

“Your Majesty,” one of your ladies in waiting enters your bedchambers and sweeps into a curtsy.

“Yes?” you prompt, turning in your chair to look at her directly instead of through mirror of the vanity.

“His Majesty the King has returned.”

You nod, “Thank you. You may retire for the evening.”

She curtsies again, bowing her head, and then leaves, closing the door softly behind her. You sigh, turning back properly in your chair so your lady in waiting, the Duchess Natalia, can resume taking down your hair.

“Your Majesty?” she prompts, noting your sigh.

“It’s good to hear the king is back.”

“He will undoubtedly request an audience with you tomorrow,” she says. She is far too observant and already knows you too well.

She is also mercifully diplomatic, discreet, and a confidant who listens and doesn’t needle you or pry, so she continues letting out the braids, letting you muse on your own and only speak further if you want to.

You don’t want to.

The product of a long-arranged betrothal to bring peace between two countries, you had accepted your fate, resigned to be a good and dutiful queen. You were not to inherit a throne in your own country, had known that from birth with two older brothers, and you had grown up ready to embrace duty and opportunity. On arriving in the kingdom of Brooklyn as the future queen, your interactions with King Steven had been limited, but pleasant. They had been sufficient for you to be secure in your hope that it would be a good union, no need to worry about him being either cruel or moronic.

You had expected to be wedded and bedded. What you had not expected was to actually fall for him after the wedding ceremony and royal festivities when the two of you had taken the custom ten-day royal honeymoon to the palace in the north of his country by the lakes. The first night, of course, you’d consummated the union. The first few days you had been tentative in each other’s company. But with few staff, few interruptions, no royal obligations, only time really to yourselves – dining together, walking in the gardens, riding in the forest, in your bedchambers… you had grown close, and you had dangerously started to lose your heart to him.

Then you had been sent back to court while he had to depart directly to attend to matters in California in Stark’s kingdom. Two weeks had stretched to three, and the longer he was absent, the more you missed him, spurring you to grow more irritated at your naivety for developing more tender feelings for him than just that of the dutiful wife and queen you were supposed to and had intended to be.

No, here you sat, hoping your husband would summon you on the morrow, as you could not simply turn up in his royal presence, even though you were queen. Indeed, you could go anywhere else in this kingdom, had the company of many – some only because they had to or were courting your favor, but enough warm and developing relationships throughout the court – but not the one person you now yearned for.

You had been prepared all your life to marry a king and not to grow sentimentally attached to him as your husband. You felt like such a fool, pining when you had been perfectly fine and content in your life a mere six weeks ago.

There are voices outside your bedchamber and you and Natasha exchange perplexed looks. Just as she turns toward the door, it bursts open, the king entering without hesitation. He takes in the scene then quickly strides forward.

Natasha quickly drops into the customary curtsy. “Your Majesty,” she says.

You should have risen from your spot and greeted him as well, but your heart has jumped into your throat, and you are momentarily frozen.

The king is across the room and standing next to you by the time Natasha rises back to her full stature. He reaches out for the brush in her hand, and you catch the nearly imperceptible lift of the corners of her lips in a smile as she gives it to him.

“Duchess, you may go, I will take over.”

“Yes, your Majesty.”

She makes to curtsy again before exiting, but he waves her off. “Go,” he commands, impatiently but somehow without any irritation, and she heeds his wishes and departs immediately.

Wordlessly, he steps right up behind you. You suppose you shouldn’t have been surprised he came to you. You belong to him, and he’s been denied by proximity for three weeks. He pulls all your hair into his left hand, then, holding it, works the brush through it with his right hand, starting at the bottom, moving up a little at a time. You marvel at how gently and methodically he works through your locks, almost reverently. Neither of you speak as he brushes your hair. You study him in the mirror. He’s concentrated fully on his task. Coming to a finish, he finally meets your gaze in the mirror, and the look in his eyes is intense. He sets the brush on the dressing table and sweeps your hair to one side, exposing your neck and he leans down to press a long, heated kiss to your delicate skin. You shiver as he follows this with shorter kisses trailing down your neck to the juncture where it meets shoulder, and it’s a sensitive point that draws a sigh from your lips.

He stands up straight and urges you to turn in your chair and face him. His fingers possessively trace along your jaw, tilting your chin up. “Did you miss your king?”

You couldn’t say you missed your husband and not your king, not yet, so instead of mincing words or spinning together something else true enough to say, you bring your hand up over his, and turn your head to press a kiss into the palm of his hand.

You try to move to kneel before him, but he says, “Oh no,” instead insisting on luring you up and pulling you into a kiss, fully flush against his body, and he leads you in no uncertain terms to the bed, shoving you down to sit at the foot of the mattress. He draws back and both of you are panting heavily. He stands between your legs, and he doesn’t take his eyes off your as he pulls his tunic up over his head and drops it to the floor. His breeches quickly follow, and his cock springs free, hard, and ready to take you. Already breathing heavily, you’re able to hide your reaction somewhat – which is a confusing mixture of both excitement and trepidation.

He urges you to scoot back, crawling up to join you,

Midway up the bed, he presses on your shoulder, “Lay back for me. “

He rucks up your nightgown around your hips, and crawls over you, using one hand to guide himself into your already slickening folds before caging you in on either side of your head and thrusting deep inside your cunt, filling you completely with the first thrust.

He adopts a frenzied pace to fuck you. It’s hard and fast. He’s no longer looking at you, his head dropped and buried into the crook of your neck. You can’t catch your breath. This isn’t what you wanted.

He holds your thigh up around his narrow waist, spearing into you again and again, his fingers digging into your flesh with a bruising force. You let out a quiet sob and he abruptly stills, raising his head to look at you, but you can’t look at him.

You’re not fast enough to brush away the tears though, and you know he sees them slowly rolling down your cheeks, tears you had fought to keep at bay.

He utters your name as if in pain and draws away completely, sitting back on his heels.

You turn away, rolling to your side, feeling so much more of you has been exposed than merely your naked body before him.

After a moment that stretches on between the two of you, his fingers tenderly caress your calf. He murmurs your name tentatively this time, a question.

You sense him shift on the bed, and suddenly you feel him behind you. You are wrapped in on yourself, but his hand brushes softly from your elbow to your shoulder. He lingers there for a moment, then you feel him shift behind you again, and he props himself up, so he can look down at you over your shoulder, and his hand moves purposefully now to your cheek to wipe away your tears. He plants a kiss on your shoulder. Then he brings his hand back to your shoulder and softly urges you to roll toward him so you’re on your back again and he can look directly at you again.

“That was too rough. You are a queen and deserve better treatment from a king.”

You turn your head away. “No, it’s not…” You bite your lip. Even the way he apologized was too detached and it made your heart ache.

“Not what?”

More hot tears spill silently over your cheeks. How can you explain? You hardly understood the tempest in your heart yourself.

But then he cups the side of your face, brushes his thumb over the apple of your cheek, and when he draws your gaze back to him, there is something in his eyes so searching and raw that your heart longs for more of that version of him. “It wasn’t that you were too rough, it was that I don’t want to be merely used and discarded.” Your admission is out in a rush before you could second guess your words or their consequences.

He frowns. “Far from it.”

He moves closer and plants a kiss on your forehead, then rests his forehead against yours. Eyes closed, for a moment you both simply breath each other in being that close, one of his hands still cupping your cheek. At length, he speaks again. “I was desperate for you.”

“Desperate for me?”

He breaks away and laughs softly, but there’s a pang of bitterness to it. “Yes, desperate.”

He sits up, facing away from you.

You sit up next to him, smoothing your nightdress down, unsure how to proceed, you don’t want to lose him in the present. “Steven?” you try to coax him for more.

He sighs. “I’m afraid you will find me to be a fool.”

You wait for him to continue, needing to hear what he means.

“I was serenely independent and content before we wed, and inexplicably in a matter of days you somehow seem to have seeped into my bones, because from the first of your absence my mind turned so often of you. I found myself wondering what your opinion would be, wanting you to try some of the delicacies alongside me, wishing to see your smiles and your frowns throughout the course of the day. When I returned to my chambers each night, they were empty instead of peaceful and solitary. I’d grown accustomed to your voice, accustomed to your face, accustomed to your place at my side.”

He pauses again for a moment, and his expression pained. “But it was more than accustomed – I truly yearned for you and was angry to feel so much unlike myself when I’ve ruled for more than a decade without you, lived a life I thought was very much complete before you, devoted to the crown and happy in my reign, and now…”

The sentiment lingers in the space between you. Surely, he must hear your thundering of your heart in your chest. Finally, you say, “If you’re a fool, I’m a fool.”

His head snaps to look at you.

You take a deep breath and expose your soul to him, too. “I was born and raised for our royal duties, to marry and become a useful and reliable queen. There was no question of your deep commitment to rule this kingdom dutifully as its king. In the days before we married, it was evident we had the same expectations of our union, no sentimental notions. It made sense, and we were well-matched. At our wedding, we became king and queen. Away from our royal expectations, alone with each other, I think we both fell into becoming husband and wife. I’ve yearned for you these past weeks as well, and I couldn’t abide how impossible I thought my situation was, so sure and confident I would make for a good queen but discovering I wanted more. It was only when you went away that I felt the lack of something – an affection as I’d never had before, both for you and from you.”

He turns fully toward you and kisses you again, and instead of the demand and hunger, as he kisses now it’s driven only by the unrestrained yearning he confessed and that you admitted in return.

He pulls you into his lap, and you straddle him. He breaks the kiss to rid you of your nightdress entirely now instead of only pushing it out of the way as before, and then his lips immediately seek yours again. Your arms wrap around his neck, and his broad, warm hands are splayed across your back, pressing you flush to him, and you are just as eager to feel every inch of his skin seared against yours

He pauses his kiss, both of you utterly breathless now. You put a hand on his chest over his heart. He looks down and smiles at the gesture before looking up and beaming at you, but his small falters a fraction at the concentrated look on your face.

“What is it?”

You speak the notion that’s newly bloomed in your chest. “We are the only two people in the world with whom we can be totally ourselves, husband and wife, not the king and the queen, just a man and a woman.”

He nods fervently. “A new vow then between us: to both guard and embrace this as a true and unfettered love.”

You kiss him, but he only returns it briefly before pausing it again. “Do you swear it?” he asks.

You bob your head eagerly, seeking his lips, but he grips your chin, holding you back. “Words.”

“I swear it with everything I am.”

“As do I,” he affirms, then captures your lips again with his, moving you both again, this time lowering you worshipfully to the mattress. His mouth begins moving slowly down your neck, and you shiver, one hand coming up to tangle in his hair, the other clutching his muscled bicep. When he reaches the base of your neck, his tongue laves at the sweet spot he discovered there in your first precious days together, making you whimper. He then mouths at the spot and plants one more kiss there before moving lower. His lips skim lightly down your chest, kissing over where your heart is thrumming. He kisses the swell of your left breast, and then moves to mirror that action on the right. He brings his right hand up to palm one of your breasts as his tongue flicks across your nipple. He works to bring both to stiff peaks, licking and sucking the right while his hand plays with the left. Your back arches in pleasure at his ministrations.

He moves his mouth back to the other breast, and before you can think to miss his hand there, it’s confidently parting your thighs, seeking your now extremely wet folds.

“Steve.”

“That’s it, my love, let me make you feel good,” he says, and you whimper again. His fingers stroke your labia slowly. Your eyes close as he stokes your pleasure. He slips a finger into your core, pumping in and out. When he adds another finger, you can’t hold back the little noises that escape you. He presses his thumb to your clit, rubbing circles, and those little noises morph into a moan. Steve moves up now to hover over you, watching your face as he works you up to your first climax that night. You would feel too exposed if he had studied you this way during your first days together, but your confessions tonight to each other leave you now feeling safe being so intimately on display. When you cry out, hips bucking, he continues to stroke, working you through the orgasm.

He removes his fingers, and you need the moment, but lament the emptiness. His eyes are still on your face, and when your breathing is close to normal, you open your eyes and look back at him. Then you glance lower to see he’s pumping his hard, thick member with the hand that was still glistening with your slick of arousal. His eyes are aflame with his need, and he moves in to kiss you again. You welcome it, parting your lips and sliding your tongue between his. He opens for you, and as your tongues tease and delve, you roll and hungrily push him back on the mattress.

Steve grabs your hips with both of his hands and moves your body to straddle him. In place just where he wants you, chest to chest, you drop down to your elbows, planted on either side of his head. As you continue to kiss, he presses his hand down to the base of your spine and brushes his cock temptingly against your entrance. You push your hips back against him, and his chest hums with approval.

“Please,” you plead.

He doesn’t make you ask twice, using his other hand to guide his length into your quim. He doesn’t rush this push into you, but it’s not slow. Once fully sheathed, he moves his arms to circle around your chest, holding you close to him as he sets a steady pace thrusting up into you. He swallows your moans of ecstasy. When it begins to overwhelm you, you have to break off the consuming kiss to gulp lungful’s of air. Seeing you desperate like this above him drives his voracity.

Still buried inside you, he rolls to bring you beneath him once more. You cling to his shoulders, and he continues to advance toward release for both of you. He shifts the angle of his hips, and he’s rewarded with a pure keen from you. He continues to hit the spongy spot up against your pubic bone. You sob, so close, and this time the tears are pure pleasure. He grasps at one of your hands, and your fingers twine together. A few more thrusts and your walls flutter around him and then he your orgasm hits. Your spasming channel is too much, and with a groan he spills inside you right after.

He collapses against you, and you welcome the weight of his body. You’re both quiet in your moment of satiation. Your free hand draws lazy patterns over his shoulder blade as your breathing returns to normal. You wonder if he’s going to drop off into sleep, but then he repositions slightly, and asks, “Are you comfortable?”

“Mhmm,” you respond. You’re comfortable physically and intimately in this moment with him.

He brings your joined hands to his lips, and he kisses the back of your hand, then tucks it close to his chest and begins conversing with you – about the mundane, the important, things from the past few weeks apart, and from your lives apart before. There’s more kissing, followed by more pleasure, pulling each other apart in turn, and no sleeping until long after midnight.

You groan when he wakes you at what seems to be daybreak. You close your eyes again swiftly, and open your mouth to protest, but he cups your jaw and his thumb brushes over your parted lips. “I know it’s early,” he murmurs, “but I want to have you once more while we’re alone and unbothered.”

And when he says it like that, with such tenderness and longing, you wouldn’t dream of denying it for either of you. You hope to grow accustomed to many more stolen mornings over your lifetime together now.

COMPANION/PREQUEL PIECE: The Thrill of Knowing How Alone We Are

READ THE NEXT PART: A SHIFT IN THE MORNING ROUTINE

↠ Masterlist | Aspen's Ask Box | Field Guide to the Forest

If you enjoyed, reblog to help others find this story AND to normalize the fic-reblog culture. There are so many talented writers, and a reblog really fuels the muses of the soul more than you know - we all appreciate it whether we're big or little fish in this pond.

My askbox is always open.

#aspen wrote something #aspen's holiday extravaganza #ahe 2022 #royal au #steve rogers fanfiction #steve rogers x you #steve rogers x reader #steve rogers smut #steve rogers royal au #steve rogers x female reader #steve x yn #steve x female reader #steve x you #royal reader #cedar trees au

601 notes · View notes