#legolas x f!reader

[gloomwitchwrites]

We Won't Be Missed

Legolas x Female Elf Reader

Content & Warnings: mild sexual content, fade to black, kissing, sneaking away, flirting, fluff

Word Count: 1.5k

During a celebration in the Woodland Realm, Legolas suggests that the two of you sneak away for some alone time.

ao3 // main masterlist

Dedicated to @firelightinferno

Above you, the stars glimmer.

You don’t know how Legolas managed it, but the night sky is there, twinkling through pockets of canopy. Perhaps he sang to the trees, promised them sweet water or fair winds for their leaves to dance in. Whatever he did, they have opened up, revealing the dark sky and silvery bursts of light that break the inky expanse.

Smiling up at the dazzling lights, you twirl gently in a tight circle, the sheer fabric of your dress spinning with you. All around you, your fellow Elves dance by themselves or with a partner. Music plays, and there is gentle, contented laughter everywhere. It is a moment of celebration and of peace.

Warm hands grab hold of your waist but you’re not startled. Instead, you step into it, inhaling. A familiar woodsy scent fills your nostrils and then your lungs. Twisting in said grip, you find a face that you’d know anywhere.

His name hardly leaves your lips before he pulls you close.

“Legolas,” you breathe, voice nearly a sigh.

“My star,” he replies softly.

Heat creeps up your neck to inflame your cheeks. When it comes to public affection, Legolas is not one for boldness. He is typically subdued and reserved, and this singular moment is enough to surprise you.

“You’ve outdone yourself,” you compliment, gesturing outward to indicate the room.

Legolas blushes slightly under the praise.

It is true, and he should take pride in what he has accomplished. The large hall is beautifully decorated, hinting toward the oncoming summer that will draw forth warmer weather and the migrations of different creatures. The forest will shift, and new life will emerge. Everything is in bloom. Everything is earthy and rich.

“Your approval is a comfort,” he responds in that soft tone.

You turn to face Legolas completely. “But is my approval the only one you seek?”

The answer is already known to you, but you want to remind him why he’s done all this in the first place. Birthdays are not often celebrated by the Elves because time moves differently. For those who have dwelled for hundreds if not thousands of years, birthdays become insignificant. They are small memories, sometimes completely forgotten.

Yet Legolas decided to celebrate anyway. For his father.

Thranduil, King of the Woodland Realm, hasn’t celebrated anything since the death of his wife. Since that time, he has been stoic and cold. There has been celebrations and other such occasions, but Thranduil has either been absent or only made a brief appearance.

This party is a surprise. A way for a son to show his father that he cares.

Legolas turns in the direction of the throne, and you follow his gaze.

Thranduil is surrounded by his people. He is talking. Animated. A gentle smile on his face. The raven-haired woman sitting beside him says something, and Thranduil laughs, his smile widening.

You haven’t seen him this expressive in years.

“Do you think I’ve made him happy?”

You turn back to Legolas who gazes upon his father. The middle of his brow is tightly pinched.

“Your father?”

Legolas hesitates and then nods, like he isn’t entirely sure his father is appreciative of his efforts. When you don’t answer, Legolas tears his gaze away from his father and gives it to you. Before you is the man you love seeking validation.

“What do you think?” you ask softly, nodding toward the throne.

Legolas sighs and then glances back at his father. As Legolas watches, his features melt from hardness to peaceful contentment.

“You’ve done well,” you say. “He is happy.”

“He is,” sighs Legolas, a dreamy look on his face.

Smiling, you rest your head against his shoulder. Legolas wraps an arm around your waist and starts to sway to the music. Time passes, the two of you simply moving together, breathing in the essence of the other.

Legolas turns his head slightly, placing a quick kiss to the crown of your head. “Would you like to slip away?”

You pull back enough to glance up at him. Legolas’ smile is a bit sultry and it immediately warms you everywhere.

“What did you have in mind?” you ask curiously.

“We won’t be missed. We should take advantage of the opportunity.”

Private moments between the two of you have been scarce. Legolas may be your betrothed, but you hardly see him. Duty comes first, and sometimes that doesn’t always include you. A few hours alone would be nice. Perfect.

“I agree,” you answer, and Legolas beams. “Lead the way, my love.”

Legolas’ smile turns into a delighted grin. Sliding your hand into his, he guides you away from the dancing bodies and past the large casks of wine. No one turns to look or to question where the two of you might be off to. There is only your hand in his, and the teasing way he stops to push you into dark corners for chaste kisses before taking off again.

This boldness is new, and you find that you like it. He leads you to his private quarters, the place that will soon by your home. When the door completely shuts, Legolas pulls you into him, arms wrapping around your body like vines.

This time, his kisses are not chaste.

They are liquid heat and from it comes a burst of fire in your chest.

“Legolas,” you murmur, a hint of need in your tone. “My love.”

He only draws back enough to look into your eyes. His eyelids are heavy like he wants to devour you. A stuttering exhale leaves him, and then Legolas is grasping the side of your face, pulling you back to him.

Your bodies are pressed close. Hands roaming.

Elves mate only once. Legolas is it for you. There is to be a ceremony, but that is just a formality. To be skin to skin, to accept him into your body, is your acceptance of him.

Legolas’ hand slips between the delicate folds of fabric to graze over your bare thigh. You inhale sharply and Legolas steals the exhalation, his tongue delving for a taste. Your dress is nothing in his hands, the sheer material bunching as he touches.

“Is this too much?” he asks, voice raspy with need.

You shake your head, fingers digging into his shoulders. “No. I want more.”

Legolas hungrily draws you back to his mouth and your heart hammers in your chest. It is so loud it is all you hear.

To seal the bond, the two of you must become one. To be bare. Open.

The ceremony is only for the people.

“I love you,” murmurs Legolas against your lips. “With all my heart and all the stars in the sky.”

You grin. “And I love you. I never wish to be apart.”

Legolas makes a little purr in his throat. It sounds like contentment. “That will no longer trouble us come the end of summer.”

“Must we wait?” you ask softly. You slide your hands off his shoulders, bringing them to the twisted straps of your dress. You pull on them, drawing them over and down your shoulders. “I do not wish to.”

Legolas’ pale skin flushes before his mind catches up. “I cannot resist when you ask this sweetly.”

“That is why I asked,” you reply, matching his tone.

The dress falls from your body landing in a pool at your feet. His sultry gaze morphs into appreciation. His fingertips lightly trace over your flesh, leaving a trailing heat behind.

“Are you certain?”

“You are my betrothed. It is not wrong to want this.”

Legolas runs the back of his knuckles down your throat and over one breast. He leans forward, and sucks the nipple into his mouth. You moan, arching into him, one hand sliding to the back of his head. His other hand delves between your thighs, and that too twists your stomach into knots.

He brings that nipple to a stiff peak, and then moves to the other, his other hand still moving between your legs. That too springs to life, and then Legolas’ mouth trails further south over your stomach. Lower still to kiss between your thighs.

You gasp. Groan. Shudder as he learns your taste and brings you to an endless sea of stars.

“You are perfect,” he nearly growls, his words drifting upward to caress.

“I am yours,” you gasp out, fingers tangling in his silky hair.

He continues to explore with his tongue, and then he’s standing before you, removing his formal tunic, shedding all this clothes to match your own bareness.

“Let us go to bed,” you murmur, palms pressing against his bare chest.

Legolas’ hands slide to the backs of your thighs. He lifts and you’re locking your legs around his waist as he carries you to the bed. You cling to him, tasting yourself on him.

The bedsheets are cool against your back.

Legolas nuzzles the side of your face, his lips pressed against your ear as he speaks. “I shall give you no rest.”

[altaira-ibnlaahad]

The Road beneath the Starlight - Chapter 3

Legolas x F!elf!reader

Chapter 2 Masterlist Chapter 4

Chapter Three: Shadows in Stone

The mountains loomed higher with each passing day, white peaks piercing the clouds like the crowns of sleeping giants. The wind grew harsher, carrying flurries of snow that stung your cheeks and numbed your fingers even beneath gloves. Still the Fellowship pressed on, though doubt gnawed at every step.

Caradhras rose before you like a wall of ice and storm. Its ridges were sheer, its passes treacherous. Yet Gandalf and Aragorn had chosen this way, believing speed lay in the mountain path. Wrapped in cloaks, you trudged upward with the others, boots slipping on frozen stone, the Hobbits shivering with every gust.

By the second day, the mountain had turned against you. Snow fell in sheets, blinding and heavy, driving you to shield your eyes with an arm. The wind howled like a living thing, dragging at cloaks, shoving you back. Even Legolas, light-footed as he was, narrowed his eyes against the storm.

“This is no ordinary weather,” you said, raising your voice over the gale as you walked beside him.

He inclined his head, his braids dusted with snowflakes. “The mountain resists us. Caradhras has long been cruel, but this…” His gaze lifted to the black ridges vanishing in the blizzard. “This feels like malice.”

Malice it was. By nightfall the company could go no further. The snow had buried the path, the Hobbits were trembling with cold, and even Boromir’s strength was waning beneath drifts waist-deep.

When Gandalf finally called the retreat, you felt both relief and dread. If not the mountain, then another road must be taken. And only one remained.

The gates of Moria yawned wide before you, half-drowned in black water, the walls etched with ancient runes that glimmered faintly under starlight. The lake lapped at your boots as the Fellowship gathered before the stone doors, their mood uneasy.

“Dwarf-doors are invisible when closed,” Gimli muttered, pacing with impatience. “Surely there is a trick—”

“There is,” Gandalf said, laying a hand upon the runes. “But it may take some time to recall it.”

While he worked, you wandered the shore, bow in hand. The air here felt thick, as though heavy with secrets. Legolas stood nearby, eyes narrowed at the still water. His silence troubled you more than Gimli’s muttering or Boromir’s doubts.

“You do not trust this place,” you said softly, stepping to his side.

He did not look at you, only at the water. “I do not trust what sleeps beneath it.”

His words proved true. As the moonlight revealed the runes and the gates began to stir, the black water rippled. Then it erupted.

Tentacles shot forth, slick and glistening, wrapping around Frodo with terrifying speed. The Hobbits screamed. Steel flashed as Boromir and Aragorn hacked at the coils, while you and Legolas loosed arrows into the dark water.

“Hold fast!” you cried, firing shaft after shaft until one pierced deep into the creature’s flesh. It shrieked, thrashing, dropping Frodo in its frenzy. Legolas seized him, dragging him back just as Aragorn shouted the command to the rest:

“Inside! Into the mines!”

You were among the last through the gates, firing one final arrow into the beast before Gandalf slammed his staff upon the stone. The great doors groaned and closed with a thunderous crash, cutting off the tentacles that still writhed within.

Darkness swallowed you whole.

The air inside Moria was thick with dust and silence. Your footsteps echoed on stone, mingling with Gimli’s eager mutterings and Gandalf’s low chant as he lit his staff. Faded carvings lined the walls—once proud halls, now broken and empty.

“This is no mine,” Boromir muttered as they pressed deeper. “It is a tomb.”

You felt the truth of it. Skeletons lay strewn where they had fallen, axes rusting in their grip, shields splintered. The Hobbits clutched each other tighter with every step.

Yet through the unease, you found a strange steadiness in Legolas’ presence. He moved like a shadow among the pillars, bow ready, gaze sharp. Once, as you passed beneath a broken archway, his hand brushed your arm—not by chance, but to guide you away from loose stone. It was the smallest of touches, but it left warmth against your skin in the freezing dark.

The chamber of Balin was worse than you had imagined. The stone floor was littered with the remains of Dwarves, the air rank with the memory of slaughter. Gandalf lifted an ancient book from a withered hand, his voice heavy as he read aloud the last words:

“We cannot get out. Drums, drums in the deep. They are coming.”

The words had scarcely left his lips when the drums began.

A deep, echoing thunder rolled through the halls, growing louder with each beat. The company drew weapons at once, the Hobbits pressed back against the walls.

You drew an arrow, your heart thundering as orc cries filled the tunnels.

Then they came—dark shapes swarming through the doors, eyes gleaming in the torchlight.

The battle was chaos. Orcs poured in waves, their shrieks piercing the stone. You loosed arrow after arrow, each finding its mark in throat or eye. Beside you, Legolas moved with deadly grace, his bow singing, his blades flashing when the enemy drew too near.

“On your left!” you cried, striking down one that lunged for him.

He spun in turn, cutting down another that had slipped behind you. For a moment your gazes met in the frenzy, and though no words passed between you, there was understanding: you fought not as two, but as one.

A shriek split the din—a cave troll lumbered into the chamber, chains clanking as it swung a massive club. The floor shook beneath its steps, scattering the Fellowship before it.

Arrows flew, swords clashed, yet the beast pressed closer. It roared, swinging at Frodo—

You fired without thought, your arrow striking its eye. The troll staggered, howling in pain. Legolas seized the opening, leaping upon a fallen beam and loosing a shaft deep into its chest. The beast crashed to the floor, shaking the chamber with its fall.

For a heartbeat, silence fell. Then Gandalf shouted—

“To the Bridge! Fly!”

The flight through Moria was a blur. Drums thundered behind you, orc cries echoing through the endless halls. Arrows whistled past, one striking your cloak, nearly dragging you off your feet. Legolas caught your hand, pulling you onward, never faltering in his pace.

Then—the chasm.

The Bridge of Khazad-dûm stretched before you, narrow and crumbling, the abyss yawning below. But worse still was the shadow that followed: vast wings unfurling, fire blazing, a roar that shook the very stone.

“A Balrog,” Gandalf said grimly, turning to face it.

You felt the word like ice in your veins. Even Legolas’ face tightened, his bow lowered slightly. Few of your kind had ever seen such a creature and lived.

One by one the Fellowship crossed, hearts pounding. You reached the far side just as Gandalf turned, staff and sword raised.

“You cannot pass,” he thundered, his voice ringing through the cavern.

The battle that followed seared itself into your memory. Fire against light, shadow against strength. For a moment you believed he might truly hold it.

Then the bridge cracked.

“Fly, you fools!” Gandalf cried—

And he fell.

Your scream joined the others as he vanished into the abyss, fire swallowing his form. Frodo struggled against Boromir’s grip, Aragorn shouted for retreat, but it was Legolas who seized your arm, pulling you away when your feet refused to move.

“Do not let his sacrifice be in vain!” he shouted, his voice breaking through your horror.

The Fellowship stumbled into the daylight at last, collapsing in grief and shock upon the grass. Frodo wept, the Hobbits clung to one another, Gimli cursed his tears. Even Aragorn’s face was lined with anguish as he urged the others onward.

You sat apart, your bow limp in your hands, staring at the ground that no longer held him.

A shadow fell across you. You looked up to see Legolas standing there, his expression unreadable. Yet his eyes—those clear, unclouded eyes—held sorrow as deep as your own.

Without a word, he lowered himself to sit beside you. His hand brushed yours, light as a whisper, just enough to anchor you to the present.

For the first time since Rivendell, you allowed yourself to lean into that quiet strength. The world was darker now, but you did not bear its weight alone.

Yes, this is very similar to the movies. It's gonna be considering this is during the Fellowship years.

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