Lee Pace & Richard Armitage 💯

“The first snows have arrived.”

“It has come early.”

Thranduil inclines his head in acknowledgement. “Indeed.”

You stand beside Thranduil outside the main gates. Five guards stand nearby but there is no danger. A steady snowfall drifts down from the sky. The snowflakes are slightly gray in appearance, almost like ash on the wind. You frown down at a few of the flakes that land on your leather vambrace.

“You look ready for your hunt,” observes Thranduil, gesturing toward your attire with the tip of his head.

“Yes,” reply softly. “I plan on heading out for a bit.”

His eyebrows rise toward his hairline. “In this weather?”

You glance up from the vambrace and meet his blue eyes. Thranduil’s gaze is startling and sharp. Piercing. Intense. It cuts right down to your heart. His gaze always holds you hostage, wrapping you up in his essence. Most might find Thranduil intimidating, but you know better.

“Is my king telling me I cannot?” You’re teasing him, and Thranduil knows this. His smile is one of soft amusement.

“As long as you return to me. You are free to do as you wish.” Even though Thranduil’s tone is gentle, you understand the deeper meaning.

Thranduil lost his wife many years ago. Other than his son, Legolas, you are his comfort. He wants you to be free, to enjoy the pleasures of life, but he also wants you to be safe, to return to him at the end of every leaving.

Thranduil glances over his shoulder. The guards on duty discreetly glance away, staring off into the distance as if they’ve suddenly found something of great interest. Thranduil leans in and shifts his body to block their view of you. He is close enough that it might appear that the two of you are kissing, but he does not meet your lips.

In the end, Thranduil is private about affection. He does not like to share your tender moments together in front of others.

“Enjoy your hunt. I eagerly await your return.”

You give him a half-hearted, sarcastic bow that immediately puts a wide smile on his face. Thranduil watches you until you disappear into the trees. Perhaps he lingers longer than that, wondering if you will turn around and come back to him.

It is true. You are on a hunt, but not for what he or anyone else is likely expecting.

Over a week ago, Thranduil went out in the woods with some of the guards on patrol. It’s the first time he’s been out beyond the walls in some time. Many patrols that ventured into the northern regions reported back on a strangeness in the air, and the scent of evil. Thranduil decided to investigate.

While tracking, he lost something precious.

Around his neck on a chain, Thranduil kept a silver ring. Within the ring is a precious gem, a blue stone so pale it almost appears white like a burning star. The chain that held it snapped while he and the guards chased a group of spiders that had made their way south.

He remembered it snagging, and while he did not show any distress upon telling you of its disappearance, you also know how much that ring and jewel means to him. It was a gift from his wife when they were newly married. She had a matching one, but upon her death, Thranduil moved it from his finger to around his neck.

This hunt—your hunt—is about that ring. You have a fairly good idea about where it might have fallen, and there is no reason for it to have moved since then. Few enter these woods unless they follow the road, and that is on rare occasions.

Tracking is your specialty, and your time is not limited due to the falling snow. But you’ve tracked in worse weather. The snow is unfortunate, but you can still search as long as it remains at its current pace. The tree cover will keep much of the snow in the higher canopy. There will be time yet before the snow completely covers the ground and you lose the trail.

Heading north, you retrace the path the patrol took. Yes, a week has passed, and nature reclaims much, but not everything is hidden so quickly. There are small disturbances that indicate the path ahead.

As you begin to draw nearer to the area Thranduil mentioned, the snow starts to pick up. It becomes thicker, not staying above in the canopy but instead making its way to the ground. It’s not ideal, but you can manage.

Thranduil mentioned two tree trunks growing together and then breaking apart. When you happen upon it, the snow comes down in thicker sheets. On the ground, it’s sticking. Collecting. Time is running out. Elves have good eyes, and you focus in on the ground, gnarled roots, and underbrush.

Near the base of the tangled tree, you notice a slight sparkle. Approaching it, you go down on one knee, brushing away some of the snow.

“Found you.”

The ring is there, resting in the roots. It appears undamaged, and that is a relief. Picking it up, you tuck it into an inside pocket, protecting it from the elements.

The snow crunches under your boots, and the wind howls. For the first time, you shiver. Cold is not and has never been an issue. Elves can withstand a great many things, including winter weather.

Frowning, you turn into the chilly wind. There is a disturbance. Something dark and foul. It sets the edges of your nerves tingling. A simmering suspicion bubbles up from somewhere within you, question whether this snow is natural or not.

Turning on your heel, you head back the way you came. But the snow is heavy, and your fresh tracks are starting to slip away, returning to the snow. As you walk, the snowfall becomes a storm. The wind whips up, swirling the snow around until you cannot see more than a few feet in front of your face.

Your instincts were right. This storm is not natural. It is too early for it, and storms like these are rare in the Woodland Realm.

The toe of your boot catches in a downed tree branch and you slam face first into the snow. It’s freezing. Temperature isn’t usually a deterrent for the elves, but this is beyond cold. It’s as if you’ve been swallowed whole by a massive glacier.

You walk and walk, and you have no idea if you’ve gained any ground. There are no visible signs, and you’re not sure how far you’ve gone, or if you’re simply walking in circles. The snow is deepening or perhaps you’re imagining it. Everything seems darker, like the world is closing in.

You’re not dressed for this sort of weather.

And you’re tired. So tired. Your knees and thighs burn, and sitting down for some rest doesn’t seem so bad. It’s fine. You can take refugee within the deep roots of a tree. You can stay warm there until the snow dissipates. Then, you can return. Thranduil will understand.

As if opening for you, the roots of a nearby tree expand, showing safety from the storm. You slink into it, curling up into a ball.

You drift in the howling wind. There is a haze that sits on your eyelashes. Whether you dream or not is irrelevant. Numbness oozes into your limbs, and that only forces you to curl up tighter, wanting to pull away from the cold.

A hand touches the side of your head. It is warm. Gentle. The fingers slide up to brush your hair out of your face. You hear your name but it is a whisper. Distant. So far away it doesn’t seem real.

There are arms around you. Lifting. Steady. And when you inhale, the scent is familiar. You know who it is instantly.

“Thranduil,” you murmur, and the answer is a gentle squeeze of your hand.

“I found you, my star.”

There are only short moments of consciousness. There is snow. Cold. The antlers of an elk. The gates of home, and then warmth. So much warmth that the numbness begins to recede.

You are brought back to the living world near a roaring fire. Beneath you is a makeshift bed comprised of pillows and soft blankets. You shift, and feel bare skin against bare skin. Slowly, you push yourself to sitting.

Your leather gear is gone, replaced with a soft robe that traps in the heat.

“You’re awake.” Thranduil’s voice is a gentle, comforting hug.

Turning toward his voice, you watch as he glides across the floor. Thranduil wears silver robes of starlight. In his hands in a small tray. On it is a steaming cup of tea and an assortment of food. Bending at the knees, Thranduil settles in beside you, placing the tray down on the blankets.

“You came looking for me,” you say, and your voice nearly cracks with emotion.

“Did you think I would not?” he asks, arranging the food around on the tray.

You know, deep in your heart, that Thranduil would come, but you also believed in your abilities as a tracker. “When did you start to worry?”

Thranduil lifts the cup off the tray and presents it to you. “When the storm picked up. Something about it felt unnatural.” You take it, and bring the warm beverage to your lips. “I gathered some guards and we set out. It is good that we found you in time.” He pauses. “I’m not sure my heart could take any more loss.”

The heat of the tea spreads throughout your body, the chill slipping away quickly. “I do believe you are correct. That storm was not natural.”

Thranduil nods. “There is a growing darkness to the north. The scouts on patrol have spoken of it often but have been unable to get close enough for more details.”

“Perhaps I strayed too close,” you murmur.

“Perhaps,” replies Thranduil, reaching out to take your hand. He lifts it, and brings it into his lap. Using both hands, he rotates your wrist until your palm faces the ceiling. Then, he guides your open palm to his lips, placing a soft kiss in the middle of it.

Instant warmth shoots out from that spot, running down your arm and piercing your heart like an arrow. Slowly, he curls your fingers in, creating a loose fist, and then brushes his lips against your knuckles before pulling away.

He does not release your hand. “I know why you left.”

“Thranduil—”

“You did not need to explain. I understand why.” Thranduil reaches out and cups your cheek, turning your face toward him. “I am thankful that you found it, but you are also precious to me, and losing you is a far greater loss.”

You turn into his touch. “That ring is important to you.”

“Many things are important to me. But the ring is just that. A thing. You are breathing. You are here. I would like to keep it that way.”

Your eyes drift close and you revel in the warmth of his touch. “Are you mad?”

“Never.”

“Will you hold me?”

“For as long as you like.”

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“I love the way your body takes me,” Lee purred against your ear.

His thumb pressing between your lips as he rolled his hips lazily, his cock buried deep inside your pussy. You rolled your tongue, taking his finger on your mouth, sucking on it like it was his hard cock. You hummed as he split you open, pounding into you harder.

How did you end up here, with him between your legs and ripping your clothes off and fucking you in the gym? Well, you worked for some time together and the tension was inevitable. None of you said a word, besides occasional flirting and teasing, but not going further than words. But today, seeing him working out, sweaty, and building up muscles for his new role made you feel things you were not supposed to, since you were part of his publicist team. When you gave it a try, he sensed the lust on your eyes and excitement coming from you. Then a sloppy kiss happened, and now he had you pinned down against a yoga mat on the empty gym floor, half dressed, fucked out and moaning his name over and over.

“I've wanted to do this since forever,” he growled, pulling out his thumb from your mouth.

His big hand moved down, caressing the sweat coated skin on your neck. “You’re so fucking perfect, made to fit me.”

His praise earned whimpers from your lips, your pussy clenching around his cock when his big hand wrapped around your neck, cutting some of your air perfectly to make you shiver. Lee grinned wickedly.

“You like it rough?” he teased, giving you a couple of hard thrusts, reaching that sweet spot that made you see stars as your eyelids closed harshly.

You nodded as best as you could. The sensation down your belly became too much to handle, and you soon found yourself coating his cock with the juices of your release, as he moaned with that beautiful, deep voice of his, not stopping his hips at all. Fuck, just by this session he was getting addicted to your pussy. He was fucking close too, but he had another plans for you.

Lee suddenly pulled out once you came down from your high, forcing you on your knees with his incredibly strong body. Standing before you, he grabbed a fist of your hair, pulling you closer to his cock.

“Be a good girl and suck me off,” he ordered. He was extremely pleased when you took him in your mouth, humming and tasting his precum mingled with your own release like a starved whore having her last meal, until he released down your throat. He forced your head so you couldn’t pull him out. “Swallow. All of it.”

And you did as told. When you swallowed completely, he backed up pulling out his softened shaft and locking eyes with your own. You opened your mouth sticking out your tongue. He grinned, satisfied with your work.

“I don’t think we can remain professional any longer,” you said, catching your breath, and looking at him with innocent eyes.

- legolas

Scent. Things of the earth that brought comfort to the elven prince were far and few; it was farther and fewer when it came to instantaneous soothing. It neared the realms of impossibility to cease the never-ending chatter, the sleepless nights, and the constant sensation of fight or flight that roamed through his veins.

Yet, there was one thing that always eased him. The one thing that lulled him into a sense of security he hadn't felt for decades. 

Your scent.

The moment he breathed in your scent, the perfect mixture of forest musk and spring waters, all chatter within his mind ceased. The lids of his piercing blue eyes would flutter shut, the weight of his toned figure easing into your gentle arms as he breathed you in. 

His face buried in the crook of your neck as he inhaled the scent straight from the source, the soothing tightness of his strong arms holding you close to him as he kept breathing you in. 

The exact position would keep you in place as his aching cock stretched you out. The halls filled with the squelching click of his manhood carving itself deep into your sensitive walls as he kept his face buried in your shoulder, the soft tickle of his breath upon your exposed skin sending shivers down your spine as you heard him inhale shakily.

"So good." The words would be breathless as if he was a sailor who had fallen overboard desperately attempting to gain air, yet all he wished to fill his lungs with was the scent of you.

He wouldn't raise his head from your shoulders; his grip upon you would tighten as he hid his face further into your flesh as a slew of soft whimpers vibrated against your skin. The weight of his body firmly pressed into you, deepening the heavenly stretch of your inner walls as the speed within his hips would quicken.

His thrusts deepened, ensuring each inch of his cock had its moment within your sensitive area as he moaned in your scent, breathing it all in as he painted your walls with his hot seed.

And when there are nights where you were unable to warm his bed. He would find your scent in other manners.

The sight, one of his face masked within the fabric of your intimate wear. His nose pressed deep into the fabrics, seeking the spot that contained the most amount of your sensitive aromas.

The faint squelching click of the elven prince toying with his throbbing cock was stifled by his shaky, deep inhales as he breathed in the scent that clung to the fabric upon his face.

"Fuck." The word was a muffled moan as his slender hand tightened around his cock, the weight of his head falling back, allowing the intimates to weigh upon his face, drowning his sensitive nose in the pure scent of you. 

He'd continue to breathe in the tang of your scent, his motions growing sloppier and sloppier as he envisioned himself in that all too familiar position: deep inside you, holding you tight, breathing you in.

A slew of whimpers would fall from his lips, muffled by the fabric, as his aching cock would shoot rope after rope of white, hot seed. Trickling down his strong hand, dripping onto his wrist as he sat there: breathing in your scent.

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- tauriel

Taste. The captain of Mirkwood's guards had a very refined pallet. There was little that truly satisfied her taste buds, as many of their foods she deemed as bland and the wines lackluster.

But, there was one thing she craved. One thing she yearned to taste over and over again.

You.

The moment your lips entwined with hers, allowing her to taste that divine sweet taste upon her own, quenched her cravings. The lids of her emerald eyes would flutter shut; the warmth of your soft lips melding into hers would ease all tension from her.

Her tongue would graze your bottom lip as the kiss deepened, seeking out more of your taste as her strong hands rested upon your shoulders. A content hum would vibrate into your mouth as your lips part, allowing her to indulge in her cravings.

Cravings that she held for more than your lips. The training grounds flooded with the harmony of your breathless moans; the sensation of your hands tugging at her hair filled her senses as she continued to pleasure your sensitive area.

A pleased hum would vibrate against your nether regions, sending a shiver down your spine as her tongue continued to navigate your sensitivity. The bitter tang of you filled her mouth, making her moan in pleasure against your flesh as she buried her face further into you.

A faint sting of her nails digging into the flesh of your hips would fill your senses, earning a faint hiss to fall from your soft lips as she continued to lap away at your sensitivity. The sound of her pleased hums growing as loud as your moans, the training grounds filled with the pleasure-filled melody as the elven guard indulged in her cravings.

Her tongue would move faster, lips pausing to suck against the sensitive flesh, causing a wave of pleasure to surge through your body. The knot within your stomach would snap, sending that familiar static of pleasure to rush within your veins.

A grin would spread upon her lips as your sweet nectar filled them, her tongue seeking out every last ounce of the heavenly liquid as she continued to lick and suck until there was none left for you to give.

And for nights without you, she would find other ways to fill her cravings.

There was a dish she claimed tasted like you, a dish she would spend hours perfecting to be to her taste. The sight of her, legs sprawled wide on the bed, a silver platter of food beside her, a hand between her thighs, and the other grabbing from the platter.

The halls would tingle with the soft harmony of a gentle squelch from betwixt her thighs, her slender fingers gliding in and out of her soaked core as she bit into the food. A moan would be muffled by the food within her mouth, chewing it as slowly as the slender fingers that pumped inside of her.

The gentle stretch of her fingers delving deep into her core was nothing compared to the heavenly stretch of your fingers, nor was the dish as divine as your taste, yet that did not detour the elven guard from getting her fill.

Her fingers would move faster, food falling upon her chest as her inner thighs would clench around her hand. The gasps of her pleasures momentarily stalled as she swallowed down the delectable dish, envisioning it was you upon her lips.

Her inner walls would flutter and spasm around her fingers, drenching her fingers and hand with her sweet nectar as she lay on the bed. Legs still spread wide, the platter beside her, and a yearning for your taste.

──────

- thranduil

Touch. The elven king wasn't necessarily fond of familiar greetings. He didn't see the point in them: handshakes, headbutting, and worse of all, hugs. The elven king saw no purpose in such juvenile greetings. 

In his mind, there was no purpose for his skin to touch another, for his warmth to mix with theirs. They were a waste of time, nothing more.

However, there was one whose touch was like a soothing balm to his aching heart. A touch that allowed his view of familiar greetings to crumble.

Your touch.

The moment he felt your soft hand within his, the soothing sensation of your fingers resting within the gaps of his fingers, the elven king would soften. The sharpness of his steel-blue eyes would ease as his gaze fell upon the sight of your palm pressed against his.

His thumb would glide upon the smooth skin of the back of your hand, tracing the path of your knuckle to the crook of your thumb. The weight of the day would ease away as he held your hand tightly, his free hand encasing the other side of yours as if it were the most precious gem within his collection.

A grasp all too familiar to you. One you would often feel upon your wrists as the king held you on to the smooth silks on his bed, his throbbing cock carving itself deep within your sensitive walls as the bed creaked with each sharp thrust his hips made.

His free hand would glide down upon your side, tracing the path to your upper thigh as he brought your hands to his lips, pressing his thin lips against the smooth flesh that separates your wrist and your thumb as he continues to drive his hips into yours.

He'd free one of your wrists, allowing it to fall onto the smoothness of the bed as he placed the one within his grasp up to his toned chest, allowing you to feel the contrast of smooth skin within the sea of scars his chest held from previous battles.

"Touch me." The words would be a breathless plea as if he was a poor sinner who had spent endless hours begging for forgiveness, yet all he was begging for was the warmth of your touch.

His eyes would loop back into his skull, the weight of his head falling backward as he'd feel your hand glide down from his chest towards his lower abdomen. You could feel the muscles of his abdomen tighten from your touch, how his hips would stall for a moment before driving into you even harder.

"More." He'd command, his hips bucking into yours relentlessly as he lost himself in the sea of your touch. You would be able to feel every inch of his cock twitching with pleasure whenever you'd move your hand; the smooth glide of your skin against his was utter perfection.

The twitching of his cock would come to a halt as he painted your inner walls white with his seed. The small circles you traced upon his lower abdomen would send him over the edge of pleasure. Sharp hisses of pleasure would escape his lips as you'd feel his body quivering beneath your touch, trembling just as a leaf would in the wind.

And for nights without your touch, he would improvise.

The sight of the elven king sat upon his bed, legs spread as his hand glid up and down his throbbing cock. The faint twinkle of the candlelight reflecting against the delicate bracelet upon his wrist caught within the corner of his eye, a bracelet which was an exact copy of the one he had given you.

The delicate metal charm upon it would often tap against his massive cock as he continued his stroking motions as a chill would roam down his spine as the lids of his steel-blue eyes would flutter close.

His lips parted, mouth falling open, allowing for each groan of pleasure to escape his lips with no resistance as the air filled with the squelch of his hand upon his cock, and the faint jingle of the bracelet bouncing upon his wrist.

His cock would glisten, covered in a cream specially crafted to keep your skin as soft and smooth as he enjoyed it. The whiteness of the cream mixed with the whiteness of his seed as his brows knitted together.

He would continue to revel in the sensations, envisioning your hands upon his cock, your touch, as the tightness within his abdomen would continue to strain until it finally snapped.

A hiss of pleasure would escape his lips, his head tilting backward as the heat of his seed drenched his hand, trickling down upon the bracelet. Envisioning it was yours instead.

──────

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Legolas, Tauriel, Thranduil

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