thewolffenrir: "Is that my shirt?"

Tauriel entered the house, drawing a long sigh as she began to remove her armor: shoulder braces, arm bracers, weapons belt and and lastly her scale-male tunic. She could feel his eyes on her, watching her, admiring how she transitioned from a knight in armor to a maiden in a tuni– wait, was that his tunic? Fenrir narrowed his eyes with a smirk. Padding behind her, his human form still taller than the Silvan, he questioned. 

“Is that my shirt?”
Her cheeks flushed red immediately. 
“You wanted to wear my shirt, didn’t you?" 
Her eyes squinted as she frowned, unable to take the teasings for a reason she wished not to even voice. 
"Fenrir–” “Tauriel." 
He cut her off. 
"I’m considering making a pelt out of you, if you do not stop.”
Tauriel whipped around, only to have his arms braced on the wall blocking her off from slipping past him. 
“You are wearing my shirt,” he stated again with that god awful smug smirk that she wished to slap off his face.
Her hands undid the fastenings of the tunic as she placidly stared him down, exposing her topless form in front of him. She really wasn’t in the mood for his chastising or playful games. 
 "Not anymore.“ 
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