⤷ gender neutral, ambiguous race, and any size reader. Requests are open, thank you for reading!
a/n: I just wanted to write some fluff!
ᴹᵃˢᵗᵉʳˡᶤˢᵗ | ᴹᵃˢᵗᵉʳˡᶤˢᵗ ᴵᴵ
𝑨𝒓𝒂𝒈𝒐𝒓𝒏 🗡️
・At first, he tilts his head, lips parting like he might question it. But then he sees your expression; calm, trusting, maybe a little playful, and something in him softens.
“I can try,” he says, voice rough around the edges, but warm.
“It’s been… a long time since I’ve braided anyone’s hair.”
・You sit together near the fire. His sword is laid beside him, boots still dusty from the road.
・And yet, he treats the moment like it deserves stillness. Like your request has pulled him out of time.
・His hands are calloused, weather-worn.
・You can feel him being careful not to tug too hard.
・He works in silence, brows furrowed in concentration.
・His fingers move slower than Legolas’, less sure than Faramir’s, but steadier than you’d expect.
・Every now and then, he huffs out a breath that sounds like a quiet laugh.
“You have too much hair for this to go unnoticed,” he murmurs.
“The braid will hold, but only just. It may rebel before the day is done.”
・But still, he continues.
・And when he finishes...it’s a bit uneven. Slightly lopsided with a few bits of hair hanging out.
・Yet it was done with love and effort and the kind of care no one taught him
・He rests a hand briefly at the base of your braid, like he’s grounding you. Or himself.
“There. You’re ready.”
・And when he sits back, he doesn’t say anything else.
・But throughout the day he watches you, making sure it holds, and if were to come loose, you can come back to him.
・He'll braid it again. Every time.
𝑳𝒆𝒈𝒐𝒍𝒂𝒔 🌙
・He blinks once, slow and surprised, then tilts his head, curious.
“It would be my honor,” he says, with the kind of sincerity that makes your chest tighten.
・Legolas doesn’t ask why. Doesn’t tease.
・He treats the request with deep, quiet admiration. Almost as if you've asked him to perform an ancient rite...which you kinda have.
・He steps behind you in complete silence.
・With featherlight, gentle hands (you hardly feel them at first), he works. And he does it quite quickly.
・You realise this isn't the first time he's braided hair before.
“Each braid has meaning,” he murmurs.
“Length. Type. Tension. In my realm, we braid for protection. For remembrance. For love.”
・You go still. He doesn’t elaborate.
・And then he sings.
・It's soft, in Elvish.
・And not one that you know. But it feels old. Comforting. Like wrapping your arms around a loved one you haven't seen in a while.
・When he finishes, he runs one finger gently along the braid’s edge
・And when you turn to look at him; eyes shining and heart full, he meets your gaze and adds, ever so softly:
“You should ask me again sometime.”
・Because this wasn’t just a braid.
・It was a memory.
・And he plans to make more of them with you.
𝑩𝒐𝒓𝒐𝒎𝒊𝒓 🛡️
・Oh how he melts.
“I’ve never been asked to do something like that...But I'll try.”
・He moves to sit behind you, shuffling so that his legs are around you.
・Boromir's hands are big, definitely too big for this, but he continues anyway.
・As he gathers your hair, gently brushing it out of your face and into his palm, he mutters:
“You’ll have to forgive me if it’s not Elvish-perfect,” he murmurs.
“We weren’t taught much about braids in the White Tower.”
・And then he grows quiet, thoughtful. This isn’t just a braid anymore. It’s a way to show you affection...a part of him enjoys it.
・Although he is trying to make it perfect.
・At the end, the braid is a little loose, a little uneven, but strong.
・Woven like a promise.
・He secures it with a small leather tie from his own belongings; nothing special, but something his.
“There. Done.”
A pause.
“I hope it’s alright.”
・You turn to thank him, but he’s already looking away, trying not to smile.
・Fingers twitching like he wants to touch your hair again but won’t; unless you ask.
“If it ever comes undone,” he adds quietly, “you know where to find me.”
𝑬́𝒐𝒎𝒆𝒓 🏹
・He thinks of it as a challenge...straight away.
“You don’t think I can?”
"Ugh! That's not what I meant?"
"What did you mean?"
"Just wanted someone to braid my hair, you ass."
・You weren't even teasing him, but then it becomes a whole thing.
・He kneels down behind you like a man preparing for war. Cracks his knuckles. Rolls his shoulders. And in turn, you roll your eyes.
・When he actually starts, there's a shift. The bravado eases and he becomes focused.
・His rough fingers, to your surprise, are steady.
・And you can feel the care as well...and feel, a protective energy.
・Like if anyone tried to touch your braid he'd punch them.
・When he’s done? He absolutely beams. And before getting up, he tugs the end playfully, then stands back with his arms crossed.
"There. Just got your hair braided by a Third Marshal...that's got to be worth something."
・If someone compliments it later, he absolutely puffs up with pride (but plays it off like it was no big deal)
“Looks good doesn't it. I did it. She asked me. Only right I made sure it was done proper.”
・And although Eomer doesn’t say it out loud, in his mind he promises something wolfish and loyal:
No one touches what I’ve claimed with my hands.
𝑭𝒂𝒓𝒂𝒎𝒊𝒓 🌾
・At first, he blinks—slow and surprised, like he thinks he misheard you.
“You would trust me with something so personal?”
・He isn't teasing. No, Faramir is genuinely honoured.
・Because he's the kind of man who sees tenderness as something rare and doesn’t take it lightly.
・You sit between his knees, and he treats your hair like something sacred.
・The word 'gentle' repeats in his head over and over.
・His hands are warm as he gathers your hair from your shoulders
・His fingers accidentally touch the bareness of your neck and goosebumps erupt.
・You go red; luckily he can't see your face.
・Faramir barely speaks, only jums softly under his breath; something old, maybe a lullaby he remembers from his mother.
・Every now and then he asks, in a light voice:
“Does this feel alright?”
“Too tight?”
“Shall I start again?”
・Once he's done, (he took his time on purpose), he wraps the end with a small ribbon.
One you didn't know he'd been keeping. As he ties it, it's as if he's sealing a promise.
・For a moment longer than they need to, his fingers linger.
“There. You’re ready to meet kings and storms alike.”
・And if you could see his face, you would notice a faint flush on his cheeks
・Like he's been given something sacred...and he hopes you'll ask him again tomorrow.
𝑮𝒂𝒏𝒅𝒂𝒍𝒇 🪄
・His first reaction is a slight chuckle, partially amused.
“My dear, it has been centuries since I was asked for that favor.”
・He takes a seat and motions for you to sit in front of him. Your legs are crossed on the floor, and your hands are fidgeting in your lap.
・You can feel his long, elegant fingers begin to pick up hair. A slight shiver runs down your spine at the image of it.
・At first he murmurs, in a language you do not know. But his voice is peaceful, and you can hear the chirping of night bugs.
・He knows exactly what he's doing. You’d expect an old wizard to fumble, but Gandalf’s hands are steady
・It takes a while, but the murmurs turn into little humming and you cannot help but smile.
・The braid is meticulous, elegant, maybe a little too perfect.
・You end up with something that feels sacred, like it should be worn into battle or a coronation.
・After he's done, he gives a small hum of approval. In a wistful voice he says:
“So the wind will not catch your thoughts and carry them away.”
・And then he lights his pipe, looks off toward the horizon, and pretends it was no big deal.
・...But for the rest of the journey, he walks a little closer to you.
Wait, oh my god. If you don’t mind, could you possibly write the oversized tunic prompt for Haldir, Legolas, and/or Thranduil?
Or possibly, their SO in their tunic?
Thranduil, Legolas, Haldir version below.
🍷𝓣𝓱𝓻𝓪𝓷𝓭𝓾𝓲𝓵
The flickering light of the hearth bathed the guest chamber in a warm, golden glow, the shadows of the flames stretching across the polished stone walls and draping the room in quiet intimacy. It was peaceful—until the door opened, revealing the imposing figure of Thranduil. He moved with effortless elegance, his long robes trailing in his wake as his sharp gaze swept over the chamber. For a fleeting moment, his expression was serene, his features carved from ice and marble, betraying nothing. But then his eyes fell on you.
You stood in the doorway, caught in the firelight, the oversized tunic billowing slightly as you shifted under his gaze. The garment—his tunic—hung loosely on you, its fine fabric pooling in some places and clinging in others, betraying the fact that it had not been tailored for you. The neckline dipped low, and the material had slipped off one shoulder, baring the curve of your collarbone and a hint of your skin. The hem barely reached mid-thigh, your every move revealing just how precariously it sat. Though the look was accidental, it carried with it an unintended allure.
Thranduil stopped mid-step, his ice-blue eyes narrowing ever so slightly as they trailed over you, taking in every detail of your appearance. His expression was unreadable at first, the practiced neutrality of a king who had seen and weathered all things. But then his lips curved into the faintest of smirks, a spark of amusement glinting in his gaze. “Is this…” he began, his voice low and smooth, laced with an almost imperceptible edge, “intentional?”
You froze, your heart stuttering in your chest under the weight of his scrutiny. “Intentional?” you echoed, heat rising to your cheeks. You felt your embarrassment bubbling over, but you did your best to keep your tone even. “You make it sound like I’ve planned this.” You gestured vaguely to the tunic, the sleeves so long that the cuffs nearly swallowed your hands. “I didn’t exactly have many options. My clothes are being washed, and this was the only thing I could find that didn’t reek of travel.”
Thranduil took a measured step forward, the soft sound of his boots against the stone floor echoing faintly. There was something predatory in his movements, though not unkind—a quiet, deliberate grace that left no room for misunderstanding who stood before you. His gaze softened slightly, though his intensity did not waver. “And you thought it wise to wear this?” he asked, his voice quieter now, as though the question were for himself as much as it was for you. “My tunic?”
You bristled, a mix of defiance and self-consciousness sparking in your chest. Crossing your arms over your chest in an attempt to shield yourself, you tilted your chin up. “It’s not like I expected you to walk in unannounced,” you countered, though your voice wavered slightly under his piercing gaze. “Besides, it’s not that revealing.”
At that, one of his thick brows arched elegantly, the faintest quirk of his lips betraying his disbelief. “Not that revealing?” he repeated, a note of dry humor slipping into his tone. His eyes flicked down briefly, lingering on the exposed curve of your shoulder where the fabric had slipped, then lower, taking in the hem that rested just a little too high for propriety. “It barely clings to you,” he said plainly, though there was something warmer—something almost dangerous—beneath the cool cadence of his voice. “It is… distracting.”
“Distracting?” You scoffed lightly, though your pulse quickened under his steady gaze. You had meant it to sound dismissive, but the nervous edge to your tone gave you away. “You sound offended. Or…” You allowed a playful edge to creep into your voice, though you knew you were treading on thin ice. “Or maybe you’re just jealous that I pull it off better than you.”
For a moment, silence hung heavy between you, your words echoing in the chamber. Then, to your surprise, a deep, rich chuckle escaped him, the sound resonating low in his chest. His smirk deepened, his gaze glinting with what could only be described as admiration. “Brazen,” he murmured, almost to himself, though the amusement in his tone was evident. “Only you would dare to jest with me in this way.”
You took a tentative step forward, emboldened by the flicker of humor in his expression. “Would you rather I cower?” you asked, your voice soft but steady now. “Or apologize for borrowing something clearly too fine for someone like me?” The teasing edge in your tone was deliberate, but underneath it lay something more vulnerable—something unspoken, though not unnoticed.
Thranduil tilted his head, his gaze never wavering as you drew closer. When he spoke, his voice was lower, quieter, as if the moment demanded it. “I would rather you be more aware of what you provoke,” he said, his words measured but weighted with meaning. “For once tempted, I may not so easily let it go.” You blinked, the air in the room seeming to thicken as his words hung between you. He took another step forward, his towering frame casting a shadow over you. His hand rose slowly, hesitating just for a moment before brushing the edge of the tunic where it had slipped from your shoulder. The gesture was so light, so fleeting, it could almost have been unintentional—but the look in his eyes told you otherwise.
“It is not the garment I mind,” he said softly, his fingers lingering just a moment too long against your bare skin, his gaze locking onto yours with a startling intensity. “It is the thought that others might see you like this. That I might have to share what stands before me now.” Your breath caught, the heat of his touch leaving a trail of fire in its wake. “Thranduil,” you murmured, your voice barely audible, “it’s just a tunic.”
His lips quirked into a small, knowing smile, though his gaze never softened. “Perhaps to you. But to me, it is far more than that.” His hand fell away as he leaned in, his face mere inches from yours now. His voice dropped lower, barely more than a whisper, but it carried the weight of a command. “Be more mindful of how you tempt me. You may not like where it leads.” Your heart raced, your words catching in your throat as his meaning settled over you like the heat of the firelight. “Who says I wouldn’t?” you managed to whisper, though your voice wavered with the tension of the moment.
For a moment, he froze, his gaze sharpening as if searching your expression for the truth behind your words. His hand, which had fallen to his side, tightened into a loose fist as though reining himself in. Then, slowly, he straightened, the icy mask of the elven king sliding back into place with practiced ease. “Be ready for supper,” he said, his voice cool and composed once more, though his words carried an undeniable weight. “And wear something less… distracting.” Without waiting for a reply, he turned on his heel, his robes sweeping behind him as he disappeared into the hallway, leaving you standing there, breathless and warm, the echo of his touch still lingering on your shoulder.
🍃𝓛𝓮𝓰𝓸𝓵𝓪𝓼
The quiet chambers of Mirkwood were bathed in the warm, flickering glow of the hearth, the light casting golden shadows on the stone walls. The faint scent of cedar lingered in the air, mingling with the earthy aroma of the forest beyond the balcony. Legolas stepped through the carved wooden door with his usual Elven grace, the gentle creak of the hinges the only sound that broke the stillness. His sharp eyes, gleaming with the light of the fire, immediately sought you out.
You stood in the center of the room, hesitant, your fingers brushing nervously at the hem of the oversized tunic you wore. It was one of his—a garment you’d found folded neatly atop the guest bed, clean and soft but unmistakably his. The loose fabric hung down past your knees, its neckline slipping off one shoulder to expose more skin than you were comfortable with. The tunic billowed lightly with your every shift, and though it covered you, the way it clung in places and revealed too much in others made you feel distinctly… vulnerable.
Legolas froze mid-step, his crystalline blue gaze locking on you as if you’d stolen all the air from the room. His mouth opened slightly, but no words came out at first, his expression flickering between surprise, concern, and something far more unreadable. He tilted his head just so, as though trying to make sense of the sight before him. “Is… is that my tunic?” His voice, usually steady and serene, carried a hint of bewilderment, the faintest quirk of his brow betraying his confusion.
You shrugged, trying to feign indifference but failing miserably under his piercing gaze. “I didn’t really have anything else to wear,” you explained, your voice quieter than usual. “My clothes were still drying from the river, and this was here, so…” You gestured vaguely to yourself, feeling the heat creep up your neck and cheeks. “It’s fine, right?”
Legolas stepped closer, his movements slow, deliberate. The flickering light of the fire danced in his eyes as they roved over you—not with judgment, but with an intensity that made your skin prickle. He stopped just short of you, his tall frame towering yet somehow gentle in its proximity. “It is not… improper,” he said carefully, though the faint flush blooming at the tips of his ears betrayed him. “Though I must admit…” He paused, as if searching for the right words, his gaze drifting to the exposed curve of your shoulder. “It is… revealing.”
You laughed softly, a nervous edge to the sound as you pulled the loose fabric back up your shoulder. “Revealing? Says the elf who walks around in robes with slits up to—” You stopped yourself with a smirk, raising an eyebrow at him. “I think your standards for modesty are a little… flexible.”
His lips parted in a soft exhale, and you swore you saw the faintest twitch of amusement tug at the corner of his mouth. “Perhaps,” he conceded, his voice low, almost teasing. “But when it is you wearing my tunic…” He trailed off, his words hanging in the air like a string plucked on a harp. “When it’s me, what?” you challenged gently, meeting his gaze, though your heart thudded loudly in your chest. “Do I wear it poorly? Should I have asked for something less ‘revealing,’ your highness?” You added the last part with a playful lilt, trying to ease the tension that had settled between you.
“No,” he said swiftly, too swiftly, his tone softening immediately after. “No, it is not that. It is…” His hands twitched at his sides as if unsure whether to reach for you. “It suits you. Better than I expected.” You blinked, caught off guard by the sincerity in his tone. “Better than you expected?” you repeated, arching an eyebrow. “You make it sound like I’ve been parading around in your clothes for weeks.”
“Have you?” he countered, his voice dipping into something teasing, his sharp gaze briefly flicking over you again. The faintest ghost of a smile played on his lips now, though his posture remained composed, regal. “No!” you said, shaking your head. “I just—” You sighed, gesturing helplessly at the tunic. “It was either this or sitting around freezing in a damp shirt. And it’s not like anyone else is here to see me.” You hesitated, catching the way his eyes softened. “Except you, apparently.”
Legolas tilted his head, his expression gentling further, the faint blush on his cheeks lingering. “I would not fault you for choosing comfort,” he said, his voice quieter now, almost tender. “Though…” He reached out, his fingers grazing the fabric where it pooled loosely over your wrist. “I must admit, I am unused to seeing you so… unguarded.” “Unguarded?” you echoed, a small laugh escaping you. “I’m wearing your tunic, not armor.”
“It is not the tunic,” he said, his gaze steady and earnest. “It is… you.” His fingers brushed against your wrist again, feather-light but enough to make your breath hitch. “You wear it with a grace I did not know my garments could possess.” You blinked up at him, momentarily speechless, before narrowing your eyes slightly. “You’re just trying to distract me from the fact that you think I look ridiculous.” He smiled then, soft and genuine, the kind of smile that could break down even the strongest walls.
“Ridiculous?” he repeated, shaking his head slightly. “No, Mellon nîn or shall I say meleth nǐn.” The Elvish slipped from his lips like a melody, and though you didn’t know the meaning, it made your heart ache in the best way. “Far from it.” And for a moment, as he stood there in the firelight, his fingers lingering near yours, you couldn’t help but wonder if you’d ever be able to look at that tunic the same way again.
🏹𝓗𝓪𝓵𝓭𝓲𝓻
The quiet serenity of the guest chambers of Lothlórien is broken only by the soft crackle of the hearth. The golden light dances on the smooth, pale walls, casting flickering shadows that shift as if alive. Outside, the faint hum of the Elven woods persists, a sound so subtle and ancient it feels as though it could weave dreams.
Haldir steps in, his presence commanding yet measured, as always. His silver hair gleams in the firelight, and his sharp, discerning gaze immediately sweeps the room before settling on you. He stops short, and for a moment, the mask of stoicism that is his constant companion falters. His eyes widen, just slightly, betraying his initial surprise.
You stand there, clothed only in one of his tunics, which hangs loosely around you, brushing against your knees. The neckline dips further than you expected, the fabric slipping off one shoulder to reveal your skin beneath. The garment is clearly oversized, its looseness making it far more revealing than you intended. You shift awkwardly under his gaze, both self-conscious and oddly amused by the rare moment of silence from the Marchwarden.
“Haldir,” you start, breaking the tension. “I didn’t expect you so soon. I didn’t have time to… change.” Your voice carries an air of calm, though your heartbeat quickens. His gaze snaps to yours, his usual composure quickly returning, though a faint flush lingers high on his cheekbones. “I see,” he says, his tone carefully even, though there’s a tightness to it that suggests he’s restraining himself. He takes a step closer, his eyes darting—unbidden—back to where the tunic slips off your shoulder, exposing a sliver of collarbone.
“I trust,” he begins, clearing his throat as if to steady himself, “that you are aware how… unconventional this attire is.” His voice is low, calm, but there’s a tension beneath it—a mix of protectiveness and something more hesitant. “Such a sight might… cause distraction to others. Particularly in my halls.”
You arch a brow at him, crossing your arms over your chest, which only causes the tunic to shift further, sliding a bit higher on one leg and baring more of your skin. “Your halls?” you counter, a faint smirk playing on your lips. “And here I thought these were the halls of Lady Galadriel and Lord Celeborn.”
Haldir’s lips press into a thin line, though there’s a glimmer of amusement in his eyes. He takes another step closer, his voice softening but losing none of its authority. “You know what I mean. Such…” he gestures vaguely at your attire, clearly uncomfortable even addressing it, “an ensemble is not… fitting.”
You tilt your head, letting the smirk grow. “Oh? And who decides what is fitting, Haldir? You?” There’s a playful lilt to your tone now, and you can see the faintest twitch at the corner of his mouth, as though he’s torn between exasperation and amusement. “It is… unbecoming,” he insists, though his voice has lost some of its sternness. His gaze flickers once more to the slipping neckline, and he quickly averts his eyes, clearly wrestling with himself. “What if one of my brothers or the sentries had seen you like this?”
You take a step toward him, your bare feet silent on the stone floor, and tilt your chin up to meet his gaze. “But they didn’t,” you say, your voice soft but teasing. “You’re the only one who’s seen me like this. Shouldn’t that be enough?” Haldir freezes, his breath hitching at your words. For a moment, the guarded walls he keeps so firmly in place seem to crack, and he looks at you—not as the Marchwarden of Lothlórien, but as Haldir, the Elf who feels so deeply yet shows so little. His lips part slightly, as though he’s about to say something, but no words come.
You take another step closer, your movements deliberate now, emboldened by his reaction. “Haldir,” you say, your voice softening, “you don’t have to pretend to be so composed all the time. It’s just me.”
He exhales sharply, as though your words have pierced through the layers of his restraint. “You test my patience,” he murmurs, though his tone lacks any real bite. There’s something almost tender in the way he looks at you now, his gaze lingering on your face, your eyes, before flicking back to the tunic once more. “You… shouldn’t wear things like this,” he says finally, his voice low, almost a whisper. “Not when you don’t understand what it does to me.”
The confession hangs in the air between you, and for a moment, you’re both silent. Then, a slow, mischievous smile spreads across your face. “Oh,” you say, your tone light but pointed. “And what does it do to you, Haldir?”
He steps closer still, his composure unraveling further with each passing second. The faint flush on his cheeks deepens, and he looks at you as though you’re the most dangerous thing he’s ever encountered. “It makes me forget my duty,” he admits quietly, his voice barely above a whisper. “And that is something I cannot afford.”
You reach out, your hand brushing lightly against his arm. “Maybe forgetting your duty, just for a moment, wouldn’t be the worst thing in the world.” Haldir’s breath catches again, and for a moment, you think he might close the remaining distance between you. But then, with a deep inhale, he steps back, his usual composure snapping back into place like a shield. “You should change,” he says, his voice firmer now but still soft. “Before someone else sees you.”
You watch him for a moment, the tension still palpable, before nodding. “As you wish, Marchwarden,” you reply, a hint of teasing in your tone. As you turn to gather your clothes, you catch the faintest trace of a smile tugging at the corners of his lips—a smile that’s gone almost as soon as it appears. But the way his eyes linger on you, even as he tries to compose himself, tells you that you’ve left him thoroughly shaken.
You're soo good at writing and I wanted to know if o could make a request? It's for a mlm reader×legolas fanfic with no spice preferably and in an adventure setting- its totally fine if you don't want to, but I would love love love it if you did!! <33
I have been SAVING this ask, because I just rewatched all the LOTR extended editions yesterday in a day-long binge!!! RAHHHHH! I hope you enjoy! I kept everything gender neutral, with some slight masculine reference :)
Give Me Your Word - Legolas x Reader
Summary: You've narrowly escaped the mines of Moria, and though he appears composed and quiet, Legolas asks you for your word...
Word Count: 811
Warnings: Hurt/comfort, grief, gn reader with a reference to facial stubble, ambiguous confessions
There was a heavy and solemn silence as the Fellowship marched on from Moria, crossing the peaks and valleys of the rocky mountain scape. With Gandolf gone, there was an air of uncertainty and a feeling of hopelessness nagging at the back of everyone’s minds.
But Aragorn had insisted everyone keep moving—that they all needed to continue the trek to Lothlórien before orcs began to swarm come nightfall. It had been a taxing descent down the mountain side, and by the time the sun was beginning to set, everyone was feeling exhausted from the physical and emotional toils of the day.
Everyone set to work preparing camp—the hobbits laid out their bedrolls, and Boromir left with Gimli to fetch fire wood. Aragorn stayed back at camp to ration the supplies for the remaining days of travel, leaving you and Legolas to patrol and scout out the nearby areas.
Night was quickly descending over the rocks and trees, blanketing the landscape in darkness and shadows. Though, the cool dark of the night lacked the oppressive dread that had filled the treacherous mines of Moria, which you had just narrowly escaped.
The lithe elf walking beside you treaded light as you weaved through the trees, stealthily keeping close observation on your surroundings. A quietness hung over the two of you, and you couldn’t help but notice the contemplative expression on Legolas’ beautiful, elfish features.
“Tell me what troubles you?” you asked, and your voice sounded rough and tired even to your own ears. Legolas did not falter in his steps, keeping an even and controlled pace as his pale blue eyes scanned the tree line.
“It has been a taxing day,” his voice returned after a moment, even. But you’ve known him long enough to sense the undercurrent of sorrow there, the emotion quiet and restrained.
“Indeed,” you murmured, your own mind beginning to reimagine the horrors of the mines…of Gandalf’s fall.
“I suppose Aragorn will be inheriting control of the helm,” Legolas’ voice cut through the night once more. “Though I can not think of a better man for the task.”
You nodded your assent, and you both come upon an opening in the trees. A cliff’s edge peaked out over a valley far below, and you stepped towards the edge to survey the moonlight bathed land. As you looked out, Legolas looked up, reading the stars.
A moment later, he gestured his hand in an eastward direction. “We’ll arrive in Lothlórien within another day or so,” he hummed.
Silence fell over you once more, though neither of you moved from where you stood at the cliff’s edge. You gazed outward towards the horizon, and wondered how so much evil could exist in a land so beautiful. You turned your face to your companion, surprised to see that his eyes were already looking upon you.
You felt a warm feeling stir in your chest, cutting through the lingering solemnity. “What?” you asked. As you stared into his eyes, it was as if the stars themselves were reflected there.
Legolas doesn’t speak for a moment, his eyes studying your face with an emotion you couldn’t name. “Will you give me your word?” he breathed after a moment, voice so soft it might have been carried away by the wind.
“What?” you asked again, this time in a whisper.
“Give me your word,” he repeated, his voice stronger now, “that you will not rush headlong into danger—that your courage will not lead you to a place I cannot follow.” His eyes shined with an intensity that nearly set you off kilter.
You swallowed, keenly aware that this sudden, delicate moment was something sacred. You could feel the beat of your heart pounding in your chest, and wondered if he might be able to hear the loud, steady rhythm of it.
You reached out your hands, grabbing his hand and holding it tenderly between your calloused palms. Though Legolas tried to appear collected, you could feel the slight tremble in his fingers. He was scared…for your sake. He had seen the fall of an old friend. He had even kept his composure with all his subdued grief. But despite all this, you knew then and there that he would not be able to bear the loss of you.
“I swear it,” you vowed, your voice quiet but assuring. “I will not leave you.”
His shoulders sag, as if your words alone had eased their tension. You watched, mesmerized, as his other hand reached to touch your cheek. His thumb brushed the stubble there, and you leaned into the caress. This was more than fellowship…more than friendship, wasn’t it?
The look in his eye left no room for doubt. “Then I will not fear the journey ahead. If you are by my side, I already have more than I had dared to hope.”
most of the fellowship doesn’t even realize how weird he is
thranduil did not socialize his boy well. legolas is not aloof he just has no idea what he’s supposed to be doing.
will walk very slowly with exaggerated movements around hobbits because he thinks they won’t see him otherwise.
the hobbits thinks this is elf custom. frodo theorizes this is because elves want to rest their eyes and ears when they’re at home, so other elves like to announce themselves so no one gets spooked.
this is aided by the fact that legolas loudly announces his presence whenever he enters the room, just incase you missed it.
this conclusion is false. legolas will approach other elves by charging at them, full speed. alternatively, shooting an arrow in their vicinity for a vibe check.
he also likes shooting at people to wake them up and/or scare them
legolas likes that it’s a gentle reminder to his companions that he could kill them at any time and they should be honored that he doesn’t.
aragorn has options about this. legolas tells him that he should be grateful that such a skilled elf is on his side and cares for him. aragorn maintains that if legolas really cared, the elf would stop waking him up with ‘good morning’ shots. he also would like to note that legolas’s loud singing is only slightly better than an arrow flying at you first thing in the morning:.
legolas tries to make friends by staring at them from afar and when they look at him he looks away. like a cat. he will also blink at u as if to say “look! i like you! i’m closing my eyes!!!” again, like a cat.
will bring you small gifts to curry favor, also like a cat. interesting rocks and pretty feathers, samples of dirt, fallen leaves in different shapes and colors, and whatever flowers are near by and catch his eye. gets very upset if you don’t marvel at them for the appropriate amount of time.
will eat bites off of your plate. this is a form of endearment. he’s showing he trusts you and likes you. he’s also showing his inability to cook and hopes you’ll take pity on him by sharing your food.
sometimes will intentionally walk loudly around the camp if he’s bored, angry, or lonely so he can wake aragorn up and they can be awake together :)
likes to sing, loudly, at inappropriate times
no one in the fellowship has seen him piss. some of the hobbits are under the impression that elves don’t pee. aragorn and gandalf do not correct them.
up at the asscrack of dawn. this is annoying, because he’s chipper, looks amazing, and is a tad judgmental that you aren’t as well.
captain obvious as well as worlds most unhelpful elf ever. will point out your mistake, claim to know how to fix it and half the time not offer the solution or his assistance.
cannot do laundry. he doesn’t even get dirty enough to consider it, and with how little people in middle earth wash their clothes anyway, none of his clothes have been cleaned for easily centuries.
is very confused by dogs. doesn’t understand what he’s supposed to do with them. they’re always so happy and want (physical???) attention and,, it’s not a one and done thing either. you’re supposed to keep petting them? after you already pet them.
they’re like wolves, but smaller and maybe stupider. they also stink. boromir has explained to him many times that dogs are man’s best friend and are beautiful creatures. this worries legolas, because that means either dogs are more evolved than they let on,, or men are significantly further behind than elves than he first thought..
can not play the harp. is upset by this fact.
never really bothered to learn how to harp, either.
he believes he should be able to play the harp regardless because the harp is just a big bow with many strings. this is, in fact, false.
will eat anything. mushrooms and questionable berries mean nothing to him.
this upsets aragorn as he believes legolas is setting a bad example for the hobbits, dispite hobbits having the most durable digestive systems. (note: elves can eat almost anything, but hobbits have the stomach of a labrador retriever. they are always hungry, can can eat anything, even what they’re not supposed to)
DID set a bad example for boromir, who mistakingly ate some of the berries legolas offered him and had the shits for weeks.
is like 90% sure who frodo is. it’s definitely one of the hobbits. it’s probably not the one with the pony.
is faceblind. he can’t recognize other people’s faces for the life of him. if you asked him to pick out aragorn in a sea of humans, he’d panic dispite knowing the man for 50+ years.
this also goes for all races, including dwarves. gimli thought he might just be racist and covering his ass, but then watched him stall for like 30 minutes making small talk with some lorien elves and try (and fail) to pick celeborn out of the crowd.
does know what galadriel and thranduil look like. has a hard time pointing out elrond.
will forget your name almost immediately after you tell him. guys like 3k old and has met a lot of people give him a break
to be fair he does know who you are and what you sound/look like. defining features like voice and hair help a lot. it’s just if you were to give him a book of cropped faces and ask him to name, just one,,, he’d panic and throw it at you.
feels robbed of the golden ages,, resents the fact that the world he knows is drastically different that the world he could have been. wishes there were more elves his age and just more elves in general.
that being said he wouldn’t change this for anything as the world he’s in gave him the friends he’s made and the adventure of a life time :)
You sat next to Legolas on Elvens' supper (it was a mistake)
Legolas Greenleaf
The golden hues of the setting sun poured through the grand arched windows of Thranduil’s castle, casting a warm glow over the elegantly decorated hall.
Flanked by towering pillars and adorned with shimmering fabrics, the atmosphere pulsed with the quiet laughter and gentle music of elven life.
As you entered the hall, you marveled at the beauty of the exquisite feast laid out before you. The scent of roasted meats and fragrant fruits wafted through the air, creating a tantalizing allure that was hard to resist.
Finding your place at the long, serpentine table, you felt a twinge of excitement and apprehension. You had been invited to this elven supper—a rare honor for a human—and the knowledge that you would be sharing a table with some of the most enchanting beings in Middle-earth only heightened your nervousness.
You glanced around. Elves laughed and talked, their voices like music, but you felt small and out of place amidst such beauty.
To your surprise, you found yourself sitting next to Legolas, Son of Thranduil.
After some time, their fruity wine started to hit. You turned to Legolas- he was watching you the whole night-
His white hair shimmered like spun sunlight, and his eyes sparkled with a hint of mischief. You had heard tales of his skill and bravery, but in this moment, he was simply beside you—tall, beautiful, and impossibly charming. Something about him was drawing you in, his pale skin, his long fingers splitting fruit in no time, sweet juice dripping down his thumb.
You hate to admit but your thoughts were wild. Maybe it was the wine, maybe it was the way his eyes looked at you- so hungrily, but you started to imagine how his fingers would feel all over your body.
Suddenly he leaned to you, his strong masculine scent filling your senses.
“Ah, a human amongst the elves,”
He whispered lightly, a playful smile tugging at his lips as he glanced at you, his voice smooth and melodic.
“Does the magic of the night overwhelm you? I promise, we bite only in jest.”
A blush crept onto your cheeks at his words. You shifted in your seat, stealing a glance at the ornate platter full of sweet pastries.
“It’s beautiful here. I just think your wine is a bit strong.”
You managed to say, your voice barely above a whisper.
Legolas chuckled softly, leaning in a fraction closer, the fragrance of leaves and the earth lingering around him.
“I doubt that's wine, dear. Don't think I didn't notice how hungrily you look at me..”
He said, his tone both teasing and sincere.
“Surely you must know that by now.”
You felt the heat rise to your face as his slender fingers found a way to your soft thigh, gently stroking you. It was at once flattering and mortifying, and you wrapped your hands tightly around your cup of sweet elven wine, focusing on the intricate patterns carved into its surface.
“I-I don't think I understand-”
You stammered, your heart beating faster.
Legolas arched an eyebrow, his expression incredulous yet playful.
“Come on, don't do that to me. I see how you watch my hands.”
He leaned back slightly, the teasing glint in his eyes never wavering.
“I know what you're thinking dear. Tell me, I want to hear it. Are you thinking of me? Are you thinking of my long fingers in your dripping hole, hm? Tell me, baby.”
The right words eluded you, and you looked down, the vibrant color of the goblet reflecting in your eyes.
“Legolas...I..”
You managed to mumble.
A melodic laugh escaped Legolas’s lips, filling the space between you with warmth.
“Shhhh let me give you something to think about.”
He said as he leaned closer, his sweet words and warm breath tickling your neck.
You dared to peek at him, and his expression was earnest yet mischievous.
"Imagine me, slowly dipping in your juices, moving my fingers gently, curling them in you. I bet you would be full, hm? Filled to the brim, darling. Would you want that?"
Your breath was caught in your throat, his hands still gently squeezing your thighs.
"I would use my tongue on you, lap and lick, tasting your sweetness. My, my, wouldn't stop until your legs are all shaky. I know how to pleasure, baby."
Your chest was heaving and you could feel pure desire pool in your stomach. It's impossible you're discussing this with Elven kings' son.
"Legolas please.."
You pleaded, your eyes finding his, full of lust.
"Shhh no need to plead, dear. Let me give it to you, hm? Let me show you how a real man loves..how a real man fucks."
His hand gently moved closer to your underwear. You could feel his warm thumb ghost over the hem of your panties, his blue eyes half lidded.
“And why not join me in some adventure? Why not come with me? You won't regret it baby, let me fill you so good.”
He suggested, his eyes sparkling with enthusiasm. Your heart raced at the thought of a personal adventure with him beneath the stars.
All you could manage was a small nod, catching his hand to lead you away. His body was radiating heat.
As the night wore on, you found yourself lost in the woods, stepping into your own light, following Legolas. You watched his broad back, moving behind his slender figure. You knew, when you find the spot this man won't leave your side. Your cheeks were as red as strawberries, arousal pooling between your legs.
As you walked deeper in the night, you knew you will never forget this supper.
Sorry this one was shitty y'all TwT I'm a bit behind because of my college but I will post on-date if I could.
Anyways, hope you liked it. Feel free to request anything! Requests are open <3
I mean let's be real here, when it comes to friendship, Legolas values it so much.
You're practically family to him.
And you think the world of him.
90% sure as young elves, you two would spend all day in the woods and play tag, practice archery or just run around and laugh about something.
hang out in the trees, swing from tree to tree.
usually you'd instigate the tomfoolery (as Thranduil would point out) and Legolas would just follow you with a soft smile because though he's not very expressive, it's super clear that he loves to just hang out with you.
Yeah, Thranduil ain't too happy about that, though. But then again, when has he EVER been happy after his wife passed away?
It's obviously no surprise that when everyone's gathered in Rivendell at the secret council with Elrond that you volunteered to go with Legolas.
Wasn't really a favored choice, though, considering that Elrond gave you the side-eye and Gimli almost lost his mind at the thought of having to deal with not just one, but TWO elves.
Poor dwarf's wringing his hands in the air, and swinging his axe around.
Doesn't sway Legolas's opinion, he's ecstatic about the fact that not only were you joining The Fellowship to get rid of the One Ring (an important task) but you were going to be able to hang out with him even more?
The past few years the two of you hadn't seen each other since he had been with Aragorn, but this was a prime opportunity!
You'd probably eat Lembas bread with him and chat about how your life has been since you've grown up
Not much time for your usual shenanigans and the dynamic has quite shifted since you were young
Rather than trying to do something for the sake of adventure, you were going on an adventure for the sake of saving Middle Earth.
Yeah, BIG change.
And Legolas, being the best friend you could ask for, would certainly help you along the way, guide you through the quest and still be that kind soul you knew when you were young.
You could tell him anything, and he'd listen intently
your own personal little therapist and he'd listen to you rant about something
and he's ALWAYS interest to hear what you have to say, even if it's in the middle of fighting a bunch of orcs or Nazguls.
Y'all got each other's backs ALL the time.
I mean ALL the time.
When Legolas and Gimli are having a face-off at Helm's deep, best believe you're killing these orcs alongside him
"That's not fair! You can't just add your kills together!" Gimli would cry out
"Ah, but you forget, we're practically the same... one in soul," you'd reply with a cheeky grin.
Legolas would totally grin back as Gimli's losing his mind.
The banter?
Insane.
You're more forward than Legolas, so you're quick to tease Gimli whenever an opportunity comes up. Legolas is more subtle, finding only a few moments to tease the dwarf
but when he does? yeah roasted
Both of you teaming up against Gimli for fun sometimes, hunting together, making plans
Safe to say that when Legolas leaves for the Undying Lands with Gimli, he brings you as well.
Just the three of you guys, on a boat, talking about life and making tons of jokes
Best friends, side by side, with no worries at all.
- His hair is still kept long, maybe not as long, or flawless. A few split ends, it gets trashy from time to time, but very healthy overall. Rarely lets it down.
- He takes good care of it, and thinks he'll go bald if he skimps out on his routine.
- A lot of earthy tones, greens, browns and creams. Sweater guy, but settles for button ups and those art pants (do you know what I'm talking about💔??) when it's too hot for sweaters.
- Minimalisfic jewelry. Those necklaces with the seashells or the tooth, arm bands, rings sometimes but no more than two on each hand. His ears are pierced but sometimes he forgets, won't wear earrings unless someone reminds him to.
- I could see him being into plaid
- Socks guy as well, but they aren't cool sock just the boring white ones, maybe a few have a snail on it or something.
- Only sleeps in boxers, wouldn't spend money on pyjamas anyways.
- Does not believe in fast fashion, his articles of clothing last decades. If it's washed out he'll dye it, if it's torn, or stretched, it's fine because he knows how to sew and hem.
- Owns like three pairs of shoes that he wears in rotation.
Career/Job:
- Definitely something nature oriented, although I could see him doing something in history and human sciences (whether that's teaching or studying it).
- Zookeeper or conservationist. If he cares for the earth so much why not make it his life?, he's the guy that gets into heated conversations over climate change over dinner (as he should).
- Biologist or botanist. Very curious so if he could study life for and earn money at the same time it's a win win.
- I don't know what you call them, but you know the people who guard the parks and Savannahs to ward off poachers?? I could see him doing that.
- His job just wouldn't be conventional, or highly sought after.
Hobbies/ lifestyle:
- Dad hobbies. Fishing (okay maybe it was just fishing), cycling (do dads do this??😭), hiking, all of that.
- Very outdoorsy, drags his loved ones out of bed for a nice getaway, and everyone returns with sore bums and blisters on their ankles.
- Goes out for a drink with his guys whenever he can, is that co worker that takes everyone out to the pub after a long day.
- Sociable but Values his alone time, has his moments where he'll disappear for a while, maybe by a creek, and comes back hungry with mosquito bites but content.
- Doesn't mind staying in either, once it isn't a frequent thing.
- Likes cards and board games as much as anyone else, d&d nerd I think. He also likes films.
- Musically inclined, always whistling orhumming, he knows how to play anything with strings.
Family life:
- Girl dad
- Everytime he's about to have another child he goes "maybe this time we'll get the boy" and then it's another girl😔 (he isn't complaining)
- Doting, but he doesn't spoil them
- Nature valley parent lol, once they're able to blink they can and will go play in the dirt.
- I can see him with twins, maybe even triplets.
- Very hands on, and teaches them life skills from early on, like sewing and cooking. Might show them how to shoot once they're old enough.
- Very loving husband goes without say, and very supportive, his spouse would never feel alone in the relationship.
- Mignt take on extra, or part time jobs so that his family can live comfortably.
- In touch with what extended family he has. Considers his very close friends family, and treats them as if they shared blood.
- The biggest heartbreak he could face is not his child bringing home someone he disapproves of, or dropping out of college, it's if they cut their hair💔 he spent a lot of time taking care of it while they were growing up, why would they do that?? :(
(I'm out of hcs and my phone is about to die, if you couldn't tell)
