Fifty Shades Of Elf (Thranduil x Reader)

Chapter 4

Your heart pounded against your chest, hearing it through your ears, and feeling it in your throat. If you were to be caught. . . .you didn't want to think about it. The cream, all you needed was the cream. You looked all around his quarters, cupboards, and even drawers. Your eyes widened as you saw things that would surely get you positioned for treason. You couldn't help but pick up one of the various items in the drawers,

"Shackles." You breathed, looking down at another item, looking at its leather loop end, you felt shivers run down your back. You saw the multiple pieces of silk that were knotted quite securely together. Why did he have these? Did he have some sort of self-pleasure kink? He had no women or. . . .man? That he could please. Unless he had some illicit times with his servants. The lucky ones of course. But they looked too unused. Usually one would attend to these when they had someone to use these with. And yet—

"I thought I told you to go down to the baths."

You flipped around, the shackles still in your hands, your heart thundered inside your chest.

"Uh. .uhh, l was just," You couldn't talk, your mouth going dry, looking to the bathroom and back.

Thranduil looked at the bathroom, then back to you, walking towards you. You quickly dropped the shackles, going over to the bathroom, going in and scrambling for the cream, that would cover up those dreadful marks on your neck. You knew it was in here somewhere. You flipped everything upside down trying to find it, going over to the small cabinet, pulling the drawer, reaching to grab it. But you couldn't, that feeling crawled up your body, freezing you to the spot. His gaze. You felt his, calm yet dominate gaze.

"Kitten," He said, walking over to you, sliding his hand around your throat, bringing his mouth to your ear, "Do you not like these? Your actions from before. . .they told me you wanted more. Was l wrong?" He asked.

You could hear the disappointment in his voice.

"Did you not like what you felt? What you experienced? What you saw just before? Did none of that make you feel special? Well? Are you going to speak?" His hand tightened slightly around your throat.

You tried to swallow, turning just so that you faced him,

"I–l. . .l do. I did. I just don't know why you're doing this. I am nothing but a disheveled vagabond, my clothing unacceptably disgusting, trespassing in your soil. Why did you choose me? Why did you choose such a lowly being? What l mean to say is, there are hundreds of more beautiful, much taller maidens than me. Why not choose them?" You asked, swallowing once more, over his hand.

"You are widowed, are you not?"

"But what does that have to do with anything about choosing me?" You retorted, moving out of his restrictive hand.

He thought for a moment, moving his eyes to meet yours.

"Nothing. You're right." He stood up, "Now, don't make me ask three times. Go down for a bath, and stay the night. Then you can decided whether you want to stay, or leave." He ordered, you doing so immediately, going out of the bathroom, and his quarters.

You made your way to the baths, asking the servings to run you one immediately. And surprisingly, they did so without question. Their looks at you flew over your head, the fact that you still had the marks in your neck had completely evaded your mind.

Why did he get you to eat the berries?