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minaturefics · 4 months

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Watching, Wanting

A/N: Hello! (its been awhile) I just wanted to indulge in my love for Boromir (ft some faramir bc i love my brothers). Very vague plot if you squint. It's a bit spicy, but nothing explicit!

Reader gets sent out in a storm by Faramir and turns up at Minas Tirith soaked.

Boromir x Reader

Gender-neutral reader

Rated: TEEN

2.3k words

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The low hills of Emyn Arnen at your feet gave way to soft fields and in the distance the Anduin meandered through the landscape. There were dark clouds on the horizon, grey and heavy, and the faint earthy scent of coming rain was in the air. If you rode fast, you could make it to the city in a few hours, but judging by the clouds, you would be riding right into the storm anyway. You sighed and turned to Faramir. “Are you certain this is of such vital importance that I have to risk getting soaked to the bone?”

He nodded. “My brother requires these maps. I would have sent it with the trade carts this morning but it slipped my mind.”

“Rather uncharacteristic of you,” you muttered, raising your eyebrows at him.

He shrugged, an easy smile on his face. “My mind has been occupied of late. It is no easy feat, establishing a settlement.”

You softened at his words. Eowyn and Faramir had been working from dawn to dusk the past few weeks and the spring rains had been slowing construction and delaying the new workers and settlers journeying to Emyn Arnen.

“Very well.” You tucked the long, flat wooden box into your pack and buckled the waxed canvas securely. “I’ll be off now.”

“Safe travels, my friend,” he grinned and waved.

You swung onto your horse and, with a flick of the reins, started off down the road. As the grass and trees sped by, your thoughts drifted to Boromir.

You had become friends with Faramir first and, in the months Boromir had been away from Minas Tirith, you had helped coordinate the Ithilien Rangers from the city. Boromir had been civil to you when he returned, respectful of your battle and logistical strategies, but distant outside of the war rooms and planning councils. But something shifted one evening.

It was one of the many victory dinners, a smaller, more intimate one for The Fellowship and close companions. The hobbits had pulled you into their game of roughhousing and somehow you had ended up sprawled on top of Boromir. He had been large and solid underneath you, his hands heavy on your waist. You looked up into his grey eyes and your breath caught in your throat.

After that, it seemed as though his eyes were always on you. Across dinner tables, across courtyards, even, once, from across the throne room in full view of everyone.

You thought that with the end of the war, there would be no need for much contact between you and him, that all you would ever do is look, but Faramir had unofficially appointed you as a representative between the city and Emyn Arnen.

There had been so many afternoons spent with Boromir, shoulder to shoulder, pouring over maps and trade routes, so many nights spent eating across from each other in the low light of his private dining room. Yes, he was brave and proud and a fantastic tactician, but all that seemed to vanish when you saw him.

Really saw him.

Him with sleeves rolled up, exposing his strong forearms. His hair tied up, the pale column of his throat on full display. And those training breeches, somehow loose and tight at the same time…

What would he look like sprawled on your bed? Eyes glazed and chest heaving, hair mussed and lips parted. His breath hot in your ear, his voice low and raspy.

Thunder clapped overhead and rain started to fall on your overheated skin. The drops were cool and refreshing and you tipped your face to the sky.

How were you to spend another evening, another moment, in his presence? It was maddening, the way his eyes would blaze, the way he would draw close to you but never touch.

Why would he not act? It is true that you did not hold as high a standing as his family, but the brothers never seemed to care about such a thing. Even though that may be true, surely he understood that it was not as if you could do anything — it would be far more impertinent that you, of a lower standing, should be the first to move.

You shook your head and tightened your grip on the reins. You would ride back tonight to Emyn Arnen, even if you had to make the journey in the dark. It would be too much to spend another night near Boromir only separated by a few doors.

Boromir rushed down with the panicked servant who had burst into his study. What was his brother thinking? Sending you to Minas Tirith in the storm? He rounded the corner and found you shivering and dripping onto the polished marble. Someone had already taken your cloak and pack and you stood in your soaked clothes and saturated boots, clutching a wooden box. He swallowed at the sight of the fabric clinging to your form and strode towards you.

“Riding in such a storm is madness. What was so urgent it could not wait until morning?” You shoved the box into his hands and he stared at it for a moment before shaking his head. “Come, let us get you warm and dry first.”

He led you to his rooms and sat you down before the fire. “You cannot stay in those clothes,” he said, handing you some towels and a blanket along with some of his spare clothes. “You will catch your death.”

“But, Boromir, it is not proper —”

“I do not care. I would rather some impropriety if the alternative is illness or death.” He turned around and faced the wall. “I will not look until you are sufficiently… dressed.”

For a moment, he thought you were about to protest some more until he heard the slick swish of your clothes. He could imagine you, peeling off your layers, bare skin tinged orange by the fire. Heat crept up his neck to his ears. By the gods, he needed to control himself. He squeezed his eyes shut and drew a ragged breath in.

What sort of delightful torture was this? How many days had he spent beside you, close enough to breathe in your scent? How many nights had he spent staring at his bedroom door, willing you to walk through it?

He took a deep breath, trying to ignore the sound of your wet clothes hitting the floor. He had to be proper. A gentleman. A man of honour. He had to be mindful of his position and standing. Yes, his brother had appointed you various titles and responsibilities, but whatever they were, they were still ranked below his own title of Captain of Gondor.

He had heard too many stories of people being swayed and persuaded by the nobility — he would not allow you to feel obligated to reciprocate his own selfish desires simply because he was ranked higher than you were.

There was the rustle of cloth, the whisper of cotton on skin, and he fought the images of you donning his clothes. Oh, how will he ever wear that tunic ever again and not think of you?

You were wonderful and smart and were filled with endless ideas for new laws and trade. But in his quiet moments, he wondered what you would feel like under his touch, wondered what sort of sounds you would make.

How would you say his name? In a whisper? A gasp?

In a cry of pleasure?

He spied the wooden box you had brought with you on the side table and shook his head. Damn Faramir for putting him in such a position! What could possibly be so important?

“I, um — I’m just going to look at what my brother sent. Do not be alarmed by my movement,” he said and heard you hum in assent.

With slow, measured steps, he made his way to the box and opened it.

“Faramir said you needed maps,” you muttered behind him.

There were maps indeed, but they were just the regular sort that anyone could buy at the market cartographer. He frowned, rifling through the parchment, and pulled out the envelope tucked in between the papers.

Brother,

Forgive my deception, but I hope my interference will be forgiven. Aragorn has written to me saying he is on the verge of tearing his hair out at the sight of you two. Eowyn and I are not faring much better here in Emyn Arnen with the constant pacing and faraway looks my, our, friend has whenever they return from the city.

I pray you spare all of us any more heated longing stares.

Best of luck,

Faramir

The nerve of his brother! To send you out in the storm simply for the purposes of… of… matchmaking! The paper crinkled in his grip and his eyes wandered down to the scrawl at the bottom.

P.S. I am not so foolish as to send them out in anything threatening. Spring storms may be chilly, but hardly dangerous.

That mollified him little and he grumbled.

“Is anything the matter?” you asked. “Were they damaged in the rain?”

“No, not at all. It is nothing. Simply my brother being… my brother.”

He read the letter again. Pacing… faraway looks… heated stares… Was his brother implying…? No, that could not be, could it? But, then again, perhaps he did not imagine the way you would linger in the sitting room after dinner or how he would feel your eyes on him sometimes. Your expression was always unreadable, careful and controlled, that he could hardly be sure of what you felt for him. If you felt anything at all.

And yet, Faramir’s letter…

Your bare feet shuffled on the stone. “You may turn around if you wish.”

He folded the letter away and replaced it along with the maps into the box. He turned and his stomach clenched at the sight of you.

You were bathed in the warm light of the fire, your skin aglow, incandescent in the dim light. His tunic was loose on you and the front ties of the collar were undone, revealing the skin of your chest. His eyes wandered down to the pile of wet clothes on the floor and he spotted, what were unmistakably, underthings, heaped on top.

Heat flared low in his belly and he glanced away.

You. Naked under his clothes. Valar help him.

Boromir had that look in his eyes again, all aflame and intense, except he was directing it at one of the tapestries on the wall. You glanced down at the wet clothes at your feet. Well, he could not have reasonably expected you to keep your underthings on, could he?

He was still staring at the wall. His jaw was tense and his hands were clenched by his sides. You took a step forward and he stood straighter. His eyes cut to yours for a moment, smoldering with want, before they went back to the wall. He took a shuddering breath and you took another step.

Perhaps if you couldn’t act, you could make him act first instead.

You fought a smile and walked to stand before him. You could smell him fully then, his familiar musk mingling with cedar from the scent he favoured.

“Boromir,” you whispered.

His eyes snapped to you and he swallowed.

“Boromir.”

You tipped your head to the side and parted your lips.

“Boromir.”

He crashed his lips against yours, his hands coming up to cradle your face. He deepened the kiss, his chest rumbling in a low moan when your fingers curled into his shirt. He tasted like the bitter tea he favoured after dinner. His hand drifted down, skimming your waist before coming to rest on your hip. Your nails scraped at the nape of his neck and he groaned.

His body was warm, hot even. He pressed himself closer to you and you could feel him, hard, against you. Heat pooled in your stomach and you moaned his name. His hand slipped under the hem of your shirt and he pulled back for a moment. “Is this alright?”

You nodded and tipped your head back. “Don’t stop.”

“I’ve… wanted this… for weeks,” he said, kisses drifting towards your jaw. The delightful scratch of his beard was followed by soft, warm lips as he worked his way down your neck. “Wanted you.”

“You should have done something.”

He smiled against your skin. “I’m doing something now.”

His lips paused at the curve of your neck and shoulder, sucking for a moment, as his hand slid up your side, his touch gentle but demanding. Your fingers fumbled with the ties on his tunic and tugged on the fabric. He pulled it off and tossed it to the side and he stood flushed and grinning before you. You trailed your fingers down his solid chest, past his stomach, following the light dusting of hair down.

“Maddening man, you —”

There was a knock on the door and you yelped, startling away from him.

“Who is it?” he asked, voice low and rough. He cleared his throat. “What is the matter?”

“Should we prepare a hot bath for your friend in the spare room?” The servant’s voice was muffled through the door.

His eyes darted to yours before a smirk spread across his face. “There is no need for that, thank you.”

There was the sound of retreating footsteps and you exhaled. Boromir let out a relieved chuckle and pulled you towards him.

“Sending my warm bath away?” You threw a challenging look at him. “How ever will I get warm?”

“I can think of a great many ways.”

“Will I like any of them?”

“I think you will find that you’ll like all of them.”

He dipped his head, capturing your lips, and tugged you in the direction of his bedroom.

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I never realised just how quick things can head into a mature rating until I wrote this lmao. Not sure if I will ever write smut but well ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ (maybe)

Tags: @sotwk @ass-deep-in-demons @thetempleofthemasaigoddess @hippodameia

#boromir x reader #boromir x y/n #boromir x you #lotr fic #lotr fanfiction #lotr fanfic #boromir

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just-a-little-cellist · 1 year

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incorrect middle earth starring y/n #8

Boromir: My future partner must be brave, strong, intelligent, successful and organized. Y/n: *steps on a caterpillar and proceeds to drop to their knees and sob while apologizing profusely* Boromir: That one. I want that one.

#lotr #lotr x reader #lotr x y/n #lotr x you #lotr incorrect quotes #incorrect quotes #lord of the rings incorrect quotes #lord of the rings #lord of the rings x reader #boromir #boromir x y/n #boromir x reader #boromir x you

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elficially-done-with-life · 4 months

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You Are Important

Pairing: Boromir x shy/insecure!Reader

Summery: Reader is part of the fellowship and feels insecure. Luckily Boromir is there to help.

♡♡♡♡♡♡♡

It was the third day that you and the others from the Fellowship had been travelling and so far you had barely exchanged a word with them.

Not because you found them uninteresting or didn't want to interact with them. No, it was more that you had always found it difficult to befriend or talk with new people.

You were also sure that every one of them would quickly lose interest in you anyway. You were neither pretty nor interesting enough for any of them to want to get to know you or to waste their time on you.

That's why you were surprised when Boromir from Gondor sat down next to you on the evening of the third day and struck up a conversation.

You hadn't spoken to him personally until that moment, but he spoke to you openly as if you had known each other for a long time.

After that day, he never left your side. Every evening when you stopped to rest, he would sit next to you and engage you in conversation about this and that, and when you went to sleep, he would always lie down a little closer to you than to the others.

You appreciated his presence and attention very much, because no one had ever been so interested in you before, but you feared that he would soon lose interest in you and realise how boring and insignificant you were. Especially next to someone who shone as brightly as he did.

Most of the time you managed to banish these thoughts. Especially during the day, when you had to keep an eye out for danger or Boromir found a pretty wildflower in the forest and put it in your hair.

But at night, these thoughts always haunted you.

Sometimes you would lie awake for hours and stare up at the starry sky.

Then one evening you couldn't stand it any longer.

Boromir had already put up with you longer than anyone before him. He must have realised long ago how boring you were and just didn't want to be rude by telling you.

You moved away from the rest of the company. You were in a small wooded area and everyone was busy setting up camp for the night that nobody noticed when you took a few steps away.

No one except Boromir.

He came after you until the two of you were standing next to each other, looking quietly into the forest for a while.

"You've been very quiet these last hours," he said worriedly and his gaze wandered to you. Your gaze lowered. "If there's something on your mind, you can tell me."

You tried to gather your thoughts, but somehow you didn't really know what to say to him. You didn't want to lie to him. It just wouldn't have been fair. Not when he had always been so kind.

So you sighed. "Boromir, it's just- why? Why are you still- aren't you bored when you spend time with me?"

Boromir frowned. "Why would I be bored? You're great."

You could feel the heat rising in your cheeks. "That's hardly true. No one has ever spend so much- no one- I'm not," you paused and took a breath. "Is it because we're forced to spend time together? Then I can assure you that it's fine. I'm used to people ignoring me!"

Boromir looked at you with an expression that looked almost pained.

"Please don't talk about yourself like that. Like you're not important. Because you are important." He reached out a hand and gently grasped yours. His large hands were rough and radiated a pleasant warmth. You hadn't realised how cold your hands had become until you felt his warmth.

"I like spending time with you and will continue to do so," he continued gently as he took hold of your hand with both of his and massaged the back of it. "I would also spend time with you if our journey would be over already. If you want, I'll show you my home, Minas Tirith, after all that."

At these words, you finally looked up. "I would be very happy to come with you." you said quietly.

Boromir smiled. Then he leant forward and kissed you gently on the forehead. Your heart began to beat faster.

"Let's go back to the others," he suggested. You could still feel the warmth of his lips on your forehead. "Otherwise they'll eat without us."

Boromir took your hand and you walked back beside him. A smile spread across your face.

#tolkien x reader #x reader #boromir x reader #boromir #boromir x you #lotr #lotr x reader #lotr x you #lotr x y/n #shy reader

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entishramblings · 4 months

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Fuck the Forbidden Pt. 2

[Boromir/F!MermaidReader]

PART 1 | PART 3 — coming soon

Fuck the Forbidden: FTF LINK MASTERLIST

A.N: my apologies for taking so much time to update: graduate school is a tornado, plus getting sick and the craziness of holidays season didn’t help. Anyways, thank you for your patience and your continuous support! I literally read all your comment in order to inspire me to write again!

Request: none

Pairing: Boromir X Fem!MermaidReader

Summary: The Reader is a Mermaid and witnessed a shipwreck. She becomes interested in human life—particularly one human: Boromir.

Disclaimer: Any mythology relating to the mermaids of middle earth is not canon. also I tried my best with arda water/river geography plz don’t come at me—it’s not one of my finer subjects :/

Word Count: 5.7k — listen, yes, I STILL have a problem

Warnings: depression, drowning, ptsd, alcoholism, angst, comfort, fluff, stalking (idk how to make that last one sound less creepy. you’re just gonna have to read it).

MASTERLIST | AO3 | WATTPAD

The following day, (Y/N) waited in the depths of the Anduin River by the entrance of the Minas Tirith castle. Sure enough, the captain, decorated in silver, came out upon his steed. Though he did not have the cheer he normally held—despite his recent struggles—he seemed….different. (Y/N) had hoped that he didn't remember what he saw under the lake. Maybe he figured he was too drunk and his mind was playing tricks on him? Maybe he would forget it all together? However, that fearful look in his eyes when he glanced at the river told her otherwise. It appeared Faramir failed to convince his brother that the mer-folk were just a myth.

Boromir deviated from his routine as well. He did not go to the market for the breakfast that he seemed to love. No, no. Instead he went out towards the edge of the city–towards the docks. And (Y/N) went with him. He passed his horse off to another and walked upon the wood, passing ship and boat, until he came upon a small fishing vessel. (Y/N) swam around it and took to the surface upon its side, far enough to not be spotted, but close enough to see and hear.

“Iwar,” Boromir called out. “You there?”

“Oi!” the old man replied, emerging from the sails. “What can I do for yer?”

“You have a moment?”

“For ye? Of course I do, lad. What is this about?” Iwar stated, squinting in the sun.

Boromir huffed, and pulled something from his pocket. He lightly tossed it to the older fellow. “What do you make of this?”

Iwar frowned, holding the whale up before his face by the string Boromir had used to make it into a necklace. “Where’d ye get it?”

“In a pond. One that connects to the Anduin River.”

Iwar sent him a strange look. “Do ye know what this is made out of?”

Boromir shook his head and shrugged his shoulders.

“It’s bone, Boromir,” he replied tentatively.

At this, the captain’s lips parted. “Bone?”

Iwar tossed the whale carving back to him. “Aye, couldn't tell ye what it came from. Whittled too much away for that. Ye said yer got it from a pond?”

He nodded, swallowing dryly.

“Could’ve washed up from the currents.” Iwar stated, nonchalantly, returning to the tasks of his sail. “Some trinket someone lost to the sea.”

Boromir dipped his head, his anxiety present as he fiddled with the whale.

Iwar glanced at him. “Something else, boy?”

Boromir inhaled slowly. “Iwar, do you–do you really believe those tales of the sea-folk?”

The old man sent a weary look at the captain as he tied off one of the ropes upon the fabric. “Aye. Saw one of em’ when I was just a lad. Nearly lost my life.”

Boromir focused his gaze upon Iwar. “I think–I think I saw one last night.”

At this, the older man froze. Slowly, he turned his full attention to the captain, dread slipping from his face.

Still, Boromir continued, trying to justify his sighting. ‘Though, I don't know. I was very drunk. Had a couple ales too many. My mind could’ve—”

“You were out on the sea last night?” Iwar interrupted, confused.

Boromir shook his head.

“The shore then? Never heard of em’ venturing so close.”

Boromir released a nervous chuckle, rubbing the back of his neck. “I, uh, I was in the pond by the Minas Tirith castle.”

Iwar’s form stiffened as he walked toward the captain. He nodded at the bone carving in Boromir’s hand as he spoke in a tone that held so much anxiety that it radiated through the air around him. “The same pond where ye found that?”

“Yes.”

Iwar’s eyes widened wildly. “I’d tell ye what, lad. Ye have been marked by em.’ And that—” he dipped his head at the whale once more. “—I reckon that's human bone.”

Blood drained from Boromir’s face, replaced with sheer panic. His fingers clumsily grappled with the carving, uncertain of how to handle it. Reluctant to make direct contact, he hesitated before settling on gripping the string, allowing the whale to dangle. Disgust etched across his brow.

“I’d get out while ye can. Stay away from the sea waters, boy.” Iwar warned.

….

That night, Boromir didn't go to the pool of water by the white walls—nor the following night. He, quite frankly, didn't go near the water at all. He stayed far from the beaches and from the Anduin River. He took longer paths to where he needed to go in order to avoid such circumstances that put him near what Iwar had described to live in the sea.

And this—all this broke (Y/N)’s heart. It stirred up a tumult of emotions—sadness, anger, fear, and frustration. Therefore, on the third day, she sought solace in a secluded nook along the Bay of Belfas. Hoisting herself onto a warm rock, she sat, enveloped in her misery. Her once-vivid fantasies of the land-people and Boromir now dissolved into sorrow and regret. What lingered was the haunting image of Boromir's disdainful expression when Iwar speculated that her gift was crafted from human bone. Any mer-folk would be delighted to receive such a heartfelt gesture! But Boromir wasn't of the sea, now was he.

(Y/N) stayed upon the rock for hours, hoping the sun would soak up her melancholy mood. However, that is not what the golden beams absorbed. Her skin dried, her hair lightened and billowed freely, and the scales on her tail lacked the moisture they once held. It was at that moment discomfort struck. Excruciating, searing pain surged through her tail, a relentless agony that prompted a deep cry from her lips. Every nerve seemed to flare with an intense, burning sensation, rendering her nearly paralyzed by the sheer intensity of the pain. She couldn't move, only shake and claw at the rock she perched upon. It felt like hours as she laid there, praying to the gods to make it end. And when it did, she instinctively reached for her scales. However, to her surprise, her hand met no such thing; instead, flesh had replaced the once-familiar tail.

(Y/N) gasped.

Her father had said…

He had tested them all…

None had the gift….

He lied.

Emotions swirled around her naked form as she stared at the strange extension that replaced her glimmering scales—legs. Anger, irritation, sadness, regret, frustration, excitement all ran through her blood.

Slowly, she stood. As she took a wobbly step upon the rock, a loud, breathy giggle escaped her lips.

Was this a dream?

(Y/N) took another uncertain step, and another, and another—until she stumbled, her hand reaching out to break her fall. However, a splash came from that, for her palm struck where water had gathered in a dip upon the rock.

Immediately, she felt it.

Her skin tingled, then burned and stung, stretching and pulling in a painful dance. (Y/N) cried out as the pain intensified. With scales attempting to form on her dry legs, the tugging became excruciating once more—tears streamed from her eyes as she desperately scrambled towards the water.

Her form slipped and rolled, right off the rock and into the ocean.

Immediate relief enveloped her. Scales continued to knit together without a hint of pain. The water soothed her. It coated the soreness into nonexistence.

(Y/N) allowed her form to sink, adjusting.

There she floated, letting her body and mind adjust to what had just happened.

It was then when one of the turmoiling emotions overtook the rest of them. It coursed through her gills and surged through her veins.

How dare he…

With a decisive flick of her tail, she propelled herself toward her father's palace.

The anger granted her remarkable speed, causing other merfolk to whip their heads around in confusion as she barreled past them.

She swam directly to the grand chamber, where she anticipated her father perched upon his throne, and busted the door open with her tail.

“HOW DARE YOU?!” she screamed at him.

Heads turned instantly—her father’s, her sisters’, the guards’.

“HOW DARE YOU LIE TO ME, FATHER. HOW DARE YOU NOT TELL ME I HAD THE GIFT?!”

Her father rose, signaling the guards to leave. They swam away quickly, avoiding the impending wrath of the sea's king and his children.

“You lied straight to my face,” (Y/N) stated.

“(Y/N), what are you talking about?” Anahita interjected, appalled by her sister’s tone.

Mareena added to her statement. “That is no way to speak to our father!”

(Y/N)'s tail flicked with irritation as she focused her gaze on the man before her. “I have the gift to walk among the land-folk.”

Una gasped. Seria’s mouth dropped open. Rana’s eyes widened. Nerida’s brows shot upwards.

Their father swam towards (Y/N). “You went to the land?!” he growled. “It is forbidden.”

“I DID NOT GO ONTO THE LAND!” She snapped back. Taking a deep breath, she spoke again. “I was letting the sun warm me upon a rock when it happened—the tingling, the splitting, the pain.”

“You went to the surface—”

“How dare you not tell me, Father!”

“I DID NOT TELL YOU BECAUSE OF THIS!” He yelled. “Because I knew the minute you would figure it out, you would want to test out your new form. You would put us all in danger.”

“YOU HAVE PUT ME IN DANGER. YOU HAVE MASKED YOUR PROTECTION IN LIES THAT HAVE ONLY CAUSED ME PAIN. HOW DARE YOU!” (Y/N) retorted.

With that, (Y/N) swam away. She twisted through the reefs and the grass. She slipped through the schools of fish and their bubbles. She slithered through the rocks and caves. She did so until she was back in the Anduin River, where the lively markets and the hustle of people's households awaited. Breaking through the water's surface, she emerged with a cautious awareness, ensuring she remained unseen.

She swam along the edge until she came upon a line of clothing strung between two buildings. On it hung sheets as bright as a lemonpeel angelfish, a skirt holding the vibrance of an orange clownfish, a flowing wrap the hue of a blue tang fish, a pair of trousers the color of a brown leafy sea dragon, a top shaded like that of a pink fairy wrasse, and a flowing dress the cream color of a stingray’s belly.

(Y/N) looked at her surroundings.

The people were on the other side of the clothing line—all mucking about in the market. None even bothered to shed a glance behind the fabric. All were too busy going about their day.

Therefore, with little regard for the forbidden nature of her actions—because, really, fuck the forbidden—(Y/N) decided to defy the rules that had once controlled her life.

Originally, she hadn't intended to act in such defiance, but the anger coursing through her veins urged her forward into impulsive urges.

Hauling her form out of the water, (Y/N) manipulated the water clinging to her, using her fingers in twisting and rippling motions. She gathered the liquid into a cohesive ball and, with a flick of her wrist, sent the sphere dancing through the air before it plopped back into the river.

The tingling sensation began, followed by the excruciating pain, and soon enough, the transformation into legs commenced.

Anxiously, (Y/N) stood. Her shaky legs wobbled as she adjusted to their unfamiliar form. Her trembling fingers swiftly seized the cream colored dress—she didn't want to stand out, she needed to blend in—and she clumsily slipped it on. Her gaze then fixated on a brilliant blue wrap. The color resonated with the deep seas she hailed from, and she couldn't resist. The mermaid grasped the silk and yanked, winding it around her hair in a manner she had observed from land women when peeking from the river. Letting some of her locks cascade out of the twisted band, the blue fabric draped over her shoulders. She smiled.

Her hand instinctively rose to her neck, where her necklace adorned with shells, sea glass, and bones encircled her skin. A frown crossed her face. She couldn't part with it—this cherished gift from her since passed mother. Therefore, she let it remain, finding that it didn't look too out of place.

(Y/N) ventured into the market, nervously navigating the bustling city of Minas Tirith with her new, wobbly legs. The vibrant atmosphere teemed with life and excitement as diverse groups came together to weave the people into the human race. So many men, women, and children—all different sizes, all different shapes, all different skin tones—bustled through the streets.

Young children ran through the tents playing games and tricks on one another. Often enough, a woman was pursuing the chase while yelling for their halt of mischief. Men were not involved in this matter. Instead, they loudly called out the names of what they sold, along with prices, at the busy passerbyers in hopes of getting a customer. Never had (Y/N) seen something so brilliantly enthralling and engaging—not in her time under the sea with the mer-folk.

As she moved through the people, she discreetly snagged what she needed. A pair of sandals disappeared from a rack, and she swiftly turned away before anyone noticed. Vibrantly colored bracelets caught her eye at a vendor's stall, and she couldn't resist snagging a few. Additionally, she plucked food from bins and baskets. She didn't know what it was—but oh how delicious it tasted when it was not dunked in the salt of the sea.

Here, (Y/N) stayed, exploring the thrill of humanity and letting their culture enrapture her senses. So much so, that she failed to notice a soldier adorned in silver until she collided with his metal-plated chest.

Her form tumbled backwards, taking an extra moment to steady.

“Are you alright, miss?” a concerned voice inquired.

(Y/N) slowly raised her head to meet a familiar face: Faramir.

Unable to find her voice, she could only nod in reply. Shyness and anxiety filled her as she backed away from the unexpected encounter.

He acknowledged her reply with a dip of his own head before turning to another soldier a little ways away. He made way towards him and gently touched his arm. “Boromir, we should get going. Father is expecting us.”

(Y/N) went still. Her inquisitive gaze shifted towards him, and indeed, there stood Boromir. His dark, sandy hair brushed upon his forehead, tousled slightly from the refreshing breeze. Vibrant blue eyes held a sternness, concealing the sadness she knew resided in his heart. His pink lips pressed into a firm line, refraining from the warmth of a smile. Boromir was clad in the silver armor and the metal weapons that she had seen him in nearly every day. He looked fit for his position as captain, his authority nearly radiating from him. Now that she was upon the land, he seemed so much bigger—so much stronger. So much more important.

(Y/N)’s cheeks began to heat, prompting her to quickly ducked behind the fabric of a tent. After giving herself a moment, she peaked out.

Though she knew she shouldn't, she found herself following them. At a safe distance, she mimicked every turn, accentuated every step, and utilized every path they took. And when the Steward's sons crossed the threshold of Minas Tirith Castle, so did she.

Instantly, she was met with just as much business as the market. Servants flooded the halls, carrying trays of fruit and platters of meat. Maids held onto neatly folded laundry and finely pressed sheets. Guards bustled about, their steel clanking as they moved through the halls, to get to their next shift, meal, or rest.

(Y/N) was so overwhelmed that she failed to notice a group of soldiers rounding the corner. As they pushed past her, a heavy shoulder slammed into her, the edge of the metal plate catching her forehead. The impact sliced the skin open, causing her to tumble backward against the wall.

Surprising her, she felt a gentle hand upon her arm, holding her steady. A soft voice that she knew all too well, that spoke words all too similar to his brother’s, filled her ears. “Are you alright, miss?”

In a daze, (Y/N) looked up at the dark sandy hair, vibrant blue eyes, and perfect pink lips of Boromir. Too stunned to speak, she merely stared at him, every thought that had occupied her mind vanishing in the moment.

Boromir turned towards the group of soldiers who had caused the commotion and knocked her down. With a tone infused with authority and anger, he snapped at them, “Watch where you are going!”

They turned, initially confused and uncertain of Boromir's reprimand until they spotted the frightened and injured girl beside him.

“What kind of soldiers are you that you let your steel hit a woman!” Boromir added, his irritation even more obvious. “Keep better track of your things—and your forms!”

The soldiers nodded, though their indifference was evident, and they shuffled away without much concern.

Boromir turned back to (Y/N), repeating his prior question, his tone gentle once more. “I apologize for the actions of my men. I will reprimand them later, but right now you are more important, yes? Miss?”

She looked up at him, blinking. He didn’t recognize her, did he?

“You’re bleeding,” he stated softly, his finger pressed gently upon her forehead.

A quiet gasp of pain escaped (Y/N)’s lips and her expressions distorted slightly.

“My apologies. I did not mean to make your pain worse. May I take you to the infirmary? We can get that treated.”

Unsure what to say—and what an infirmary was—she nervously dipped her head.

“Alright,” he began. “Let’s get you moving.”

Gently, he helped her move away from the wall, one arm wrapped around her waist. However, with a couple steps, her vision swirled and she stumbled.

Boromir caught her quickly. “Whoa, whoa. Slow down. Just a step at a time.” His brows pulled together as he looked down at her. “Are you dizzy? Is the room spinning?”

“I—I,” she stuttered. “Y-yes, uh, sir.”

He released a heated breath from his nose, the anger at the men who had harmed her simmering within him. However, he pushed it away, ensuring his attention remained on her. "How about you sit back down? Lean against the wall to keep you upright, yes?"

(Y/N) nodded, allowing him to help lower her to the stone floor. As the coldness rushed through her bones and the stillness began to steady, she looked up at him. “T-thank you,” she whispered. “Uh, sir.”

The captain smiled softly. “You may call me Boromir.”

She nodded slightly.

Boromir looked up and stopped a passing servant. “Could you please fetch me a medical kit from the infirmary? Just basic supplies.”

The man nodded, accepting the order, and rushed off. Moments later, he returned with various materials in a small box.

Boromir expressed his gratitude as he opened the kit. Without hesitation, he took hold of a soft cloth and gently swiped it upwards, collecting the blood that was now trickling down (Y/N)’s forehead. He then pressed it against the cut that was bleeding rather heavily. "Hold this there," he commanded gently.

The woman reached up to follow his instructions, and Boromir proceeded to lay out an array of little bottles and scraps of cloth. "What is your name?" he inquired as he doused a cloth in the liquids of one of the containers.

Her eyes followed his motions nervously. “(Y/N),” she replied timidly.

The Captain smiled, attempting to provide some comfort. “Are you from around here, (Y/N)?”

She shook her head.

“No? What are you doing in these parts then?” He asked.

“I—I don’t know.”

Boromir frowned, looking up at her from the medical supplies. She appeared more disoriented than he had initially expected. Perhaps the blow to the head was more substantial than he had thought?

“You don’t know?” He questioned, no alarm in his tone. Meanwhile, he began threading a needle, preparing it for the task of stitching her forehead. “Have you come with anyone? A husband? A father?”

She frowned, a blush creeping into her face at the implications of his words. “N-no. Alone.”

Boromir pressed his lips together, a sudden loneliness hitting him—one that he knew all too well—as he placed the threaded needle upon a clean cloth.

“Do you have a place to stay?”

She shook her head.

“Hmm. Alright. Let’s get you cleaned up, then we can worry about that.”

Boromir took the cloth from her forehead, his hand brushing upon hers as he did so. He then began bringing a damp cloth towards her face.

Instantly, her eyes went wide and she ducked away from the material. “It’s alright. It’s alright. It’s just alcohol.” He replied, lowering the cloth.

“N-not water?” She whispered, almost fearful.

He shook his head. “Nay. Water would not clean it properly. This will prevent any infection, though I’m afraid it will sting a bit. Is that alright?”

Slowly, (Y/N) nodded.

Boromir pressed the cloth to the cut and, instantly, she hissed.

“I know, I am sorry,” he murmured.

Gently, he cleaned the wound, being careful to not make any sudden movements that may startle her. When he was certain it was clean, he moved to pick up the needle.

“I will have to stitch it back together so it heals properly.” He looked into her worried gaze and he instantly felt guilt tugging at his heart. It appeared she had never experienced such an injury, or perhaps she had but never received proper treatment for one.

Cautiously, he used his other hand to pick up her own. Her soft palms brushed upon his hardened calloused, gentleness upon her touch. Placing her hand upon his knee, he spoke softly, “If it hurts too much just squeeze really really hard, and I will pause, alright? It is important that you keep your head still, yes?”

She nodded, adjusting her grip upon his knee, a mixture of anticipation and anxiety in her eyes.

Slowly, Boromir began the delicate task of stitching her skin back together. Her grip tightened upon him, only slightly, as she adjusted to the strange sensation of tugging on her skin.

"You are doing beautifully, (Y/N). We are almost done. I promise," the Captain reassured her. As he finished the last stitch and skillfully moved the thread to knot itself, he breathed out, "There we go," placing the needle back upon the cloth. He smiled gently, a reassuring warmth in his eyes, as he carefully cleaned the area around the stitches. "All finished," Boromir stated before leaning back, (Y/N)’s hand slipping from his knee.

“It will be sore for a bit,” he said. “But it should heal in a week. The stitching will fall out on its own, so if it starts to come out, do not worry. Though, I would advise you not to get it wet.”

At that last sentence, (Y/N) smiled softly. She wasn’t planning on getting wet—not anytime soon.

“Can you stand? Has the dizziness subsided?”

The woman nodded and slowly rose to her feet, taking Boromir’s hand when he offered it.

“Let’s find you a place to rest while you heal. And I would like to apologize for my soldiers’ actions once more. You are welcome to stay in Minas Tirith as long as you would like. I will make sure you get everything you need.”

(Y/N) looked up at his kind expression and spoke with that same nervous hesitancy. “Thank you.…Boromir.”

The captain guided her through the castle, arriving at a room. He opened the door and gestured inside with a soft smile. "It is yours to stay in. I will ensure the maids are alerted to provide you with adequate care. If you need anything else, my chambers are just down the hallway to the right, the second door."

She nodded in reply.

He bowed his head. “I will leave you then, miss.”

With that, he was gone.

(Y/N) moved to the center of the room and slowly spun around taking it all in. It was massive and airy. The windows were wind open, the sea breeze rushing in and caring hints of the city. The white curtains blew with that gentle wind, dancing in its whispers. The walls of the chamber were adorned with intricate tapestries depicting only what she could assume to be the legendary tales of the city. They were woven with beautiful silver and turquoise thread, catching the light so delicately. A bed sat in the middle of the room, soft white blankets and comforters piled on it. (Y/N) walked towards it and gently sat upon the fabric. It was….strange. Very different from the large shells she was used to curling up in.

Feeling a sudden tiredness take over her form, she laid down with ease. Resting her head upon the pillow, she allowed sleep to consume her.

…….

When she finally woke, the sun had set, and the stars took their place among the blanket of the sky. Cautiously, she pulled her legs from the cage of blankets and let them dangle off the side of the bed. They looked so….strange upon her form. She was used to her glimmering tail that collected light to share among the waters. Not—not this. She lowered her feet upon the stone floor, almost startled by the coldness that greeted them.

Hunger settled into her stomach as she moved towards the door. However, she found herself at a loss, unsure where to find a meal at this time. The markets were long since closed and she knew not where the kitchen in the Minas Tirith castle was. Of course, she could wander down to the tavern that Boromir frequented regularly—she knew the way well enough, but she didn't have any means to pay.

(Y/N) shifted on her feet. Boromir did say she could come to him if she needed anything….

Almost as if it were an excuse to see him again, she slipped through the door and began following his directions to his chambers. With every step, her heart pounded harder. She would get to see him again—and it wouldn't be through layers of water.

Upon arrival, the door stood ajar, allowing a whisper of cold air to drift from his open windows. Cautiously, she peered into the room. It was shrouded in darkness, with only the soft glow of the moon reflecting upon the vast room—oh, and what a beautiful room it was. The room eluded a captivating chaos, in the most exciting way. Tablets and shelves were filled with various items—maps, books, stones, germs, inventions, and trinkets. The room held a multitude of objects, each beckoning to be looked at, studied, and pondered—igniting a sense of wonder and an urge to guess the intention. Oh, it was a captivating sight.

“Boromir?” she called out.

Silence.

Slowly, (Y/N) stepped in. She let her feet carry her throughout the room, her hand brushing upon every object that her eyes could consume. She picked things up, examined them, then put them down for another. She did so continuously, urgently, the thirst for knowledge of the humans’ customs eager in her blood. She did so, until she came across something familiar—something she was surprised to see.

(Y/N) picked up the bone carved whale from the shelf that it rested on.

He had kept it.

A little grin formed on her face, for after his conversation with Iwar she didn’t think he would.

“Does that one interest you?” A soft tone asked.

(Y/N) jumped, startled.

Boromir chuckled lightly, stepping into the room. “I am sorry. I didn't mean to startle you.”

She glanced down at the whale carving before looking back to him.

“I am not quite sure how that one came into my possession,” he continued as he moved to stand beside her.

She frowned, looking up. Her eyes were now direct at him, focused and stern—for the first time since he had met her. He would be lying if he said it didn't startle him a bit.

“You don't remember?” she asked, her tone strong.

“Well, no it’s not that. Of course, I remember how I got it. It just was a bit peculiar.”

(Y/N) tilted her head, not understanding.

Boromir sighed, his tone was distant as he spoke, his blue gaze not wavering from her curious eyes that suddenly seemed so bold. “A friend of mine says it's a dark omen, ment to mark me for death.” His vision trailed across her face. “He says it is made of the bone of my fallen brothers, urging me to follow them to their deaths.”

“Do you believe that?”

He blinked, his gaze lingering upon the whale. “I do not know what to believe.” Boromir looked at her expression. “What are your thoughts on such a statement?”

(Y/N) shrugged, placing the whale in its spot upon the shelf. “I believe people don’t understand other cultures and customs. I believe they make their own assumptions out of ignorance and fear.”

The captain raised a brow at her intelligence. “You are feeling better then?”

“Hmm?” (Y/N) hummed in question as she moved to another object.

“Well, that is the most I have heard you speak since I met you. You are wiser than you appear to be.”

She only shrugged in response, picking up a telescope and looking through its glass—by the wrong end.

“Though,” Boromir continued in a teasing manner as he plucked the object from her grasp, turned it the correct way, and placed it back in her palms. “That wisdom seems not to extend to everything.”

She frowned, looking through the glass once before placing it down. She then went for a music box, her confused expression deepening. “We do not have all these….these things where I am from.”

Boromir reached across her and twisted the little lever, releasing the gentle music from its hold. “And where is that, may I ask?”

At the twinkling sound, her smile, born of pure delight, extended from her expression. Her response to his question, however, was only that of a simple word, “Far.”

The captain raised a brow. “How far?”

(Y/N) shot him a strange look, placing the music box down and picking up a crystal sphere instead. “You ask a lot of questions,” she mumbled.

He grinned playfully. “You do not seem to give many answers, Miss (Y/N).”

She glared at him.

With that playful smile, he spoke again. “Would it help if you got to ask a question?”

(Y/N)‘s eyes crinkled with thought as she placed the object down and turned towards him. She saw how his shoulders slumped ever so slightly, how the circles under his eyes appeared so dark, how his expression was so hollow. Softly, she spoke again. “Why are you so sad, Boromir?”

Taken aback by this, his lips parted. “I—I do not know what you mean.”

She took a step closer to him, a step that nearly eliminated the space between them, and her piercing gaze burned up at him for the truth.

Hesitantly, he whispered that truth, as if she compelled it right out of him. “I—I recently was in a shipwreck. I thought, well, I thought I was dead—left for the watery graves below.” He paused, just for a moment. “But yet I am here and I do not know why. And, I am beginning to question things that I know, well, thought I knew, for the world appears different now.”

Silence.

Boromir's soft voice then picked up again, his breath warm upon the woman’s face. “Why are you so sad, (Y/N)?”

At this, her shy nature returned. (Y/N) turned her head away, not wanting to look at the source of her sadness.

Gently, Boromir tugged on her chin, forcing her to look at him. “You implored me to tell you such a truth,” he whispered. “May I not ask the same of you?”

(Y/N)’s tone was soft. “My truth is complicated.”

“Are not all truths complicated?” he responded.

With that, she withdrew from his grasp—a hold she desperately craved—and created enough distance between them, leaving him to wonder if such closeness had occurred at all.

A loud grumble then echoed through the dark room—splitting the darkness with something else, something much for lighthearted.

“When have you last eaten?” Boromir asked.

Her brows pulled together as she looked at her stomach.

He chuckled, offering her his hand. “Come. Let’s get you some food. I can take you to my favorite place.”

“But I—I have no coin,” she whispered shyly.

“You are a guest of Gondor, Gondor will see you fed.”

(Y/N) smiled, that innocent gaze returning. She hesitantly took his hand and he led her through the castle and towards the tavern.

The two arrived at the tavern rather quickly. Urine, stale ale, and sweat flooded (Y/N)’s nostrils—familiar aromas reminiscent of her vigilant watch over Boromir along the Anduin River. The lively atmosphere enveloped the pair. In the corner, a bard sang to the patrons, his melodic voice resonating throughout, enticing some to join in. Drunk men, tapping their feet along to the beat of the tune, howled in laughter and glee as they clinked their ales together and shoveled food into their mouths. Requests for additional drinks prompted maidens, adorned in long skirts and aprons, to gracefully deliver brimming glasses, the foaming liquid sloshing about.

(Y/N) smiled, taking in the environment.

Boromir cast a glance at her out of the corner of his eye, a smirk pulling at the corner of his lips. “It’s just a tavern.”

She turned to him, her grin unwavering. “We don’t have taverns where I am from.”

He raised a brow. “And where is that? You never said.”

She shrugged. “Far.”

(Y/N) moved deeper into the tavern, with Boromir following suit. He motioned towards an available table, and they both took a seat. Before long, a serving maiden approached. Boromir signaled for two meals and two ales, and they promptly arrived.

The woman wasted no time and eagerly indulged in her food, swiftly emptying the plate.

Boromir tried to suppress a smile as he saw this, for he was glad she was getting proper nutrition after her likely long and hard journey. He, of course, wished to know more of her origins; though, he could see she wasn't quite ready to discuss such things. Instead, he opted to answer any and all questions she had which began with her curious tone.

“Boromir, would you be willing to tell me of your city? How you live in these parts? I wish to know.”

His soft gaze made contact with hers and he nodded, chewing his food and swallowing before he spoke. “What would you wish to know?”

“Everything—its structures, its people, its culture, its history.”

Therefore, Boromir spoke of such things. He described the White City's towering architecture, the valor of its people, and the complexities of the various beliefs held. He relayed its history and tales, showcasing the values of the Gondorian people.

His narratives ignited a spark in her eyes, drew laughter from her lips, and filled her heart with joy.

Fuck the forbidden indeed.

As the hours stretched on, Boromir’s friends joined them. (Y/N) could see the gleam in their eyes and catch the less-than-subtle teasing tones as they whispered about Boromir bringing a lady to their tavern. Faramir, arriving shortly after, seemed prepared for a night of dealing with his drunken brother, only to find himself pleasantly surprised by his brother's apparent sobriety and the joy the unknown woman seemed to bring to his melancholy soul.

Yet, amid the cheerful atmosphere, a pair of shifting gray eyes belonging to an old man that (Y/N) recognized as Iwar, kept her uneasy heart alert.

…..

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witchthewriter · 1 year

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𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐋𝐨𝐭𝐑 𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐚𝐜𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐬 𝐬𝐞𝐞𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐛𝐚𝐭𝐭𝐥𝐞 𝐬𝐜𝐚𝐫𝐬 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐟𝐢𝐫𝐬𝐭 𝐭𝐢𝐦𝐞 𝐰𝐨𝐮𝐥𝐝 𝐢𝐧𝐜𝐥𝐮𝐝𝐞

⤷ gender neutral, ambiguous race, and any size reader. Requests are open, thank you for reading!

Warnings: not self-harm scars, but there are mentions of war/battle and violence, talks of being a prisoner of war

ᴹᵃˢᵗᵉʳˡᶤˢᵗ

Legolas’ is here.

𝐁𝐚𝐜𝐤𝐬𝐭𝐨𝐫𝐲: You’ve been in many battles, fights and wars. And your s/o is seeing your scars for the first time.

𝐀𝐫𝐚𝐠𝐨𝐫𝐧

・It was late evening, both of you had had your supper, but even after you had finished eating, you were still sitting at the oak table

・Unwinding, you were both relaxing after a big day

・Aragorn was smoking pipeweed, and you were happy with your wine

・The snow was falling outside and you were both rugged up

・The conversation from the day had found its way into your chambers

・Although there was no threat of war, it was still spoken about since Aragorn was the ruler

・He was no stranger to seeing the horrors of war, it was drastically different when he saw the effects of it on your body

・He was devastated.

・His gruff voice asked about what you had been through

・Aragorn filling both your cups in celebration of surviving

・Though neither of you were drunk, the affect of the drink was starting to make you both loosen up

“Do you regret them?” Aragorn said suddenly, breaking the impregnated silence

“I don’t.” You said after a while, insinuating that you didn’t see your scars as a negative thing

It was quiet for a while. But not the type of silence that was awkward. Nothing with Aragorn felt awkward, nothing.

After taking another sip from your cup, you asked him the same, “Do you?”

“For some...I do.”

・He said it without looking in your eyes

・And he took a long puff of his pipe. After blowing the smoke from his mouth, he reached across the table and took ahold of your hand

“I just want you to know. I love you.”

𝐄𝐨𝐰𝐲𝐧

・She hadn’t been in many battles herself, so seeing your scars took her breath away

・Many long slices that had healed badly, some healed well

・All depending on how many healers had been there during the fights

・Eowyn’s long hair travelled down her back in a braid that you had done earlier

・Making it so her hair didn’t fall in her face as she trained

“That looks like it hurt,” she said absentmindedly, reaching out to stroke the reddish coloured scar.

Without meaning to, you laughed and nodded enthusiastically. “It bloody did.”

・Her heart broke for you

・But she laughed lightly at your response

・You were both standing, staring out the window which overlooked the village below

・Her hand snaked down to yours and squeezed

“I’m sorry,” she whispered, entwining her fingers, still looking out the window

“Thank you, but I did what I had to do. And this is what came of it.”

・She turned to you then, and leant her forehead against yours

“I won’t let you get hurt again.”

“And I you.”

𝐁𝐨𝐫𝐨𝐦𝐢𝐫

・Sighed when he saw them, hanging his head in defeat. “I wish you never had to go through that.”

You smiled at him, “No other choice, my lord.”

・Although you meant the name as a joke, a teasing nickname, he took it in a different way -

・Like he could have somehow stopped this from happening. That he had the power to stop it.

・He was very upset

・And went to sit by himself for a bit

・You didn’t go after him; sometimes people just need time to process their feelings. In other words - to feel their emotions...and work through them

・When he came back, Boromir got on both of his knees and held your hand against his face.

・Shocked, you let him lead the situation

“Y/n, forgive me. Please forgive me.”

・Your shock didn’t waver, it didn’t falter - only grew

“Boromir, why would you ask for my forgiveness?” You knelt as well, so you were on the same level.

“Because your family has lived in my kingdom for so long. Every decision my forefathers have made led you to endure this. They are to blame, and therefore, I am to blame.”

・Tears welled in both of your eyes and he stroked his thumb against your cheek

“I will not forgive you. Because there is no need for you to apologise. I know you will be a just ruler, but I will not have you apologise for my decisions.”

・Kneeling, he took you in his arms and hugged you fiercely. His hand firmly holding your head to his chest.

𝐀𝐫𝐰𝐞𝐧

・Her gentle voice soothes you, it was the end of another battle and she was healing your wounds

・As your partner, she tended to you without breaks. You had your own rooms that she took you to, getting help from the other’s to move you to the bed

・She was with you day and night

・So she saw your scars when you were unconscious and her heart broke from what she saw

・Arwen never wanted you to go through the hateful thing that was war. And seeing the results of that on your skin made her want to kill every person who did that to you

・When you finally awoke, she was asleep next to you

・But the moment you stirred, she jumped up and hurried to your side

“My love, how do you feel?”

“...sore,” you said in a croaky mumble

・She smiled, going to get you some salve and drink that would mull the pain

・When you realised you were topless, you deflated

・And when she came back, you stared at her, trying to see if anything had changed in her since seeing your scars

・When you were about to talk, she beat you to it

“Yes, I’ve seen them. And I’m sorry you went through that.”

・You were glad she spoke, because you still didn’t have the strength to explain

・It was like Arwen could sense it; or maybe she just understood beings better than most. Because she didn’t push for it, she didn’t ask you too many questions.

“I can do my best to fade them as well, if you wish.”

・It took you a while to decide, but at the end of it. You decided against it.

“They’re apart of my story.”

・And again, she understood.

𝐅𝐚𝐫𝐚𝐦𝐢𝐫 (this is where talks of being a prisoner of war is)

・You were both up late talking about life and the conversation went to war and what you had both experienced

・A deep conversation that you both didn’t intend on having

・It was late night, with the stars above you, a fire in front of you and two pales of ale next to you

・Faramir didn’t mean for the conversation to go to a darker place

・But you were in the beginnings of your courtship and you wanted to learn more about each other

・It wasn’t until you took off your large jacket and left on your undershirt that he noticed the raised slices on your skin

・He took a sharp intake of breath, seeing your arms alone...it broke his heart to see just how hard you had fought for what you believe in

・Faramir didn’t know how to bring it up, but you knew what he was talking about

・You had been a prisoner of war, and had been tortured for information...but still held strong. They got nothing out of you but a bunch of spitting and swears

・It was Aragorn who had found you, and both you and Faramir were eternally grateful

・But Faramir hadn’t seen how bad the orcs had hurt you

・Their brutality was obvious and it took everything in Faramir not to scream out in agony and hatred

・You, who he loved so much. Who made him feel whole, who made him feel like the world made sense, who gave him a purpose - a will to live

・The fact that someone had hurt you so badly... he wished he could return the favour a hundred times over

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drearydaffodils · 4 months

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Forevermore

Boromir x GN!Reader

Tooth-rotting fluff <3

Drabble: 500+ words

Boromir melted into your arms in the instant he was upon you. A soft smile marked his war-torn face as you moved one hand to gently stroke his cheek and moved your other hand to flip through the pages of your leatherbound book. You were radiant in the dim candlelight, and he couldn’t help but let his eyes wander along your cheekbones and the scars that marred your skin—and the newfound redness that sprung upon your face in the instant his eyes flickered to your lips.

“Boromir…” Your eyes wandered from the elvish script of your book to the radiant depths of his eyes, and your hand fell from his cheek. Your voice was soft, as if you were afraid you would shatter the massive man should you ever raise your voice. Your eyes reflected such deep kindness that it made Boromir’s heart ache, and he did naught but grumble in response to his name and rest one of his hands upon your thigh. His uncharacteristic silence caused you to shift from where you sat, and you gently closed your book. His eyes trailed your movements as your hands moved to rest on his chest. He was sitting beside you, his gaze piercing into yours. “Is everything alright, my love?”

Boromir was lost in a trance as his fingers rubbed gentle circles onto your thigh, but he hurriedly snapped into reality as your melodious voice brushed past him like a soft breeze.

“I am alright, dear, but you are.. Valar, you are beautiful. I can hardly think much less speak around you.” Boromir muttered, his raspy voice causing nervous laughter to burble out of your soft lips. Your amused reaction only caused him to grow flustered. “I’m–it is serious, truly serious.”

“Incredibly, love.” You muttered as you leaned in to press a chaste kiss to his chapped lips. “I would never doubt you for a moment.

Boromir grunted in approval as he kissed you tenderly, his hands shifting to rest on your hips as yours found the roots of his hair. The feeling of his warm, calloused hands shifting beneath the fabric of your dress caused heat to rise within your body, and your breath hitched.

"Boromir." You spoke softly as the man moved to press kisses down your jawline and towards the base of your neck, gently unraveling your focus bit by bit. “I love you, honey, but I must finish my translations for the council.”

“That’s unfortunate.” Boromir said between kisses, and you ran your hands through his brown, soft hair, shaking your head softly. He only continued to kiss you wherever he could, the touch of his lips igniting warmth across your body.

“It truly is.” You murmured as you dipped down to connect your lips to his. He stared up at you as you broke the kiss, utterly entranced by your angelic features. “Perhaps.. if you let me finish my translation tonight, I will be yours.”

“I am not sure I can wait that long, my dear. Your absence will torment me.”

You laughed softly as Boromir cracked a wide smile before he regretfully stood up from his chair. He stared down at your reddening cheeks and parted lips and prayed to the souls above that he would not lose you—that he could kiss and praise you forevermore.

“I’ll see you tonight, Boromir. I love you.”

“I love you, too.”

#lord of the rings fanfic #lord of the rings fanfiction #lord of the rings #lord of the rings fics #lord of the rings x you #lord of the rings x reader #lotr #lotr fic #lotr fanfic #lotr fanfiction #lotr x reader #lotr fandom #lotr x you #boromir #boromir x reader #boromir x you #drearydaffodils

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erathene · 2 months

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Unguarded

100 word drabble written for @fellowshipofthefics 'Luck of the Draw' March 2024 writing challenge. For this one I got 12 ("I don't need a gentleman right now.") and 14 ("Strength").

I have read some incredible Boromir AUs recently with strong female characters; specifically The Unravelling of Hard Words by @eternal-vambraces and Fuck the Forbidden by @entishramblings, they honestly made me look at him differently so guess I'm a Boromir simp now thanks guys. I haven't ever written anything for Boromir so decided to use this prompt for him!

Warnings: Description of battle, Boromir x Female!Reader pairing.

......................

"I don't need a gentleman right now!"

Two Uruks are annihilated by your blade in quick succession as you speak, the words woven with bitterness and ferocity. It's more than a demand to let you handle this yourself; it's resentment against societal norms dictating that a woman should be defended by a man.

Boromir knows this; he sees your scarred leather armour, toned physique and fearlessly unapologetic personality. He doesn't see a defenceless woman. He sees a warrior.

Broad shoulders press against your own, covering your back, sword and shield raised to fight.

"No," he concurs. "You need a friend."

#fotfics #fotfics march event #luck of the draw #writing event #fanfiction #lotr fanfic #Boromir #Boromir x y/n #Boromir x you #Boromir x Reader

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wordbunch · 11 months

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Boromir with a hyper partner

a/n: requested by the sweet @aphroditesmoon - headcanons of Boromir with a hyper reader who likes to talk abt their special interests!! i did my best and I hope you all like it! 😊 let me know, and reblogs + comments are always greatly appreciated! 💖💖💖

okay he is also a high energy person but in a different way

sometimes (though not often) he finds you hard to keep up with, but over time he figures out how you function

loves going to social gatherings and occasions with you cause you’re so captivating and other people love talking to you, meaning that he can hang back half the time and just be a trophy husband lmao

he will stand there with the biggest, most obvious heart eyes while you’re having other conversations and he will basically fail to notice when someone else tries to approach him

however sometimes he gets just a tiny bit worn out after dancing with you for a while because you take it seriously

regarding your info-dumping, he is a fan

listening to your voice is like coming home, especially when you’re passionate about something and want to share it with him

it melts Boromir’s heart that he is the first person (and often the only one) to whom you come to talk about something that’s very important to you, or just when you generally confess things to him

he will treasure them and everything you tell him is always safe with him

sometimes he will listen attentively and other times he will ask you some questions

he never fails to notice the twinkle in your eyes when he asks you to elaborate further on something

personal headcanon - he loves a healthy debate with good arguments

of course as long as you’re both being respectful

actually it’s kinda hot when it gets heated and both of you are Into It, so don’t be surprised when he just cuts you off with a passionate kiss

on rare occasions when he’s extremely tired and overwhelmed by what happened throughout the day, he will very politely ask you if you can just be quiet together a little bit

he will certainly tip-toe around that for a bit, not wanting to hurt you or discourage you from doing it again tomorrow in the future

but it’s fine, you understand, and you know that on most days your rambling helps take his mind off of bad things and dull responsibilities

pleasepleaseplease run to this man when he returns home PLS

literally go tackle him in a hug so he can lift you up and spin you around as you both laugh and then kiss (at this point it’s basically canon that Boromir would do that and I am never letting it go)

✨ taglist my beloved ✨ @lotrnonsense @starlady66 @queenmeriadoc @entishramblings @thesolarangel @silversword7000 @friendofthefellowshipsnerdblog @averys-place @valkyriepirate @emmaarenstarr @noldorinpainter @asianbutnotjapanese @adamgetawaydriver @fenharel-enaste @ironmandeficiency @starryeyedrogue @dinofromspac3 @wisheduponastar @lady-of-imladris @frodo-cinnamonroll

thank you to everyone who joined the taglist!

#boromir x reader #boromir imagine #boromir headcanons #boromir fanfiction #lotr x reader #lotr imagine #lotr fanfic #lord of the rings imagine #lord of the rings x reader #lord of the rings #lotr #boromir x you #from my pocketses

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intoxicated-chan · 4 months

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𝐌𝐞𝐞𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐌𝐚𝐧 𝐍𝐚𝐦𝐞𝐝 𝐁𝐨𝐫𝐨𝐦𝐢𝐫…

Summary ➳ You are a street rat in Gondor, after the rise of soldiers patrolling the streets, you become desperate for coin and meet the man you attempt to steal from.

(A/n) ➳ I would consider this a series but not really a storyline/story. It’s more like headcanons/scenarios because I have a lot of them.

You guys can check out the masterlister for this if you wanna request something!!

Word Count ➳ 1.2k

Content Warnings ➳ Gender Neutral Reader, Reader’s age is eight, stealing, mentions of starving, violence, mentions of death…

Series’ Masterlist

Thirteen Years Before LOTR: Fellowship of the Ring - Reader’s age is eight - Boromir’s age is twenty seven - Faramir’s age is twenty three -

You were part of a misfit group in Gondor, causing trouble wherever you all went. And you all had one thing in common, all of you were unwanted by your families. It’s what kept you all together, made you believe you were your own family.

You all got away with various crimes, and being the youngest of the family, you listened, learned, and paid attention to whatever they did. You knew your way around Gondor like the back of your hand, well… Almost all of Gondor.

But it was like a flip was switched. Suddenly soldiers patrolled the streets, it didn’t matter the hours. The citizens spoke of how they cannot wait to get rid of the thieves plaguing their homes. You watched as the thieves were dragged off.

You were scared, and they all saw it. They reassured you that it wouldn’t happen to them and they would be with you, forever.

Yet one-by-one everyone started getting picked off, getting into trouble that was certain to be their demise, or getting into fights that they could not win. It was until you were the only one left. If you continued and followed in their steps, you would surely end up like them.

So you tried to stray off the path that they all followed, but being on the poor side of Gondor meant you had to do it to live.

You went back to stealing, getting into fights over food or even housing… You weren’t proud of yourself but hey, you were still breathing. That’s when you got over your head. You heard there was a high price on any of the soldier’s swords. No way someone would dare to try but you were willing.

It was late at night when you found two soldiers alone, chatting and the younger one was drinking at the older one’s request. When the younger one went inside, believing he forgot something, the other seemed to follow, leaving their swords behind.

Maybe you could take both, get paid double. You would be set for a long time if you used the money wisely.

You slowly made your way to the swords, grabbing the hilt of one and reaching for the other. You were suddenly pulled away by the shoulder while the sword in your hand was taken back. You were met by the eyes of the older one.

One would say he looked angry, but it seemed like he was more frustrated than angry.

“What’s ?” He kept a soft grip on your shoulder, letting you run if you pleased. But you were scared, unsure if he was going to use the sword to strike you down. “What is a little child doing playing with dangerous weapons?”

“I-I didn’t mean to sir, I promise!” You begged.

“It’s alright.” He smiled, setting the sword against the wall. “But you shouldn’t go touching stranger’s belongings, if I was someone else, they might not have been so kind.” He warned you, releasing your shoulder. “What is your name, child?”

“(Y/n).”

“Well (Y/n).” He searched through his pouch and tossed you a couple of coins. “Here, go and get warm. There’s a tavern that would take a single coin for a week. It gets very cold in Gondor around this time.” He took the swords, sheathing one and with his back turned to you. “Take care (Y/n), I hope you will not find trouble.” And he enters the tavern, following the younger one.

“Did something happen?” Faramir asked, taking the sword when it was handed to him.

“It was just a child.”

It was strange for a stranger to have an effect on you. You tried to live by his words for the next couple of weeks, anything to keep you from straying on the road you were on. But you were down to two coins left, two weeks, and the weather wasn’t getting any warmer.

People stay inside to keep warm, and when people stay inside, there is no work to be done.

You were starving, you could buy just for the day from the two coins or use the coins for the shelter given to you. You would say the hunger clouded your judgment, and the cost for the soldier’s swords was still in the air.

You swiftly maneuvered around the boxes blocking the street, you looked through alleyways for any soldier leaving their weapons unattended, unaware of another soldier following you from afar.

But as far as you could search without looking suspicious, none decided to leave their swords, not even from a moment. They all desperately searched for warmth.

Your last resort was to steal from the very few vendors still open, all you needed to do was distract, snatch, and then run back to the tavern. You made sure to calculate a route that would surely lose the vendor.

You pulled the cloak tighter around your frame, hood up and head down, you walked to the vendor asking questions and picking out what you wanted. While they were busy, you grabbed the largest piece of bread dashed away.

“Hey!” The vendor shouted. The soldier ran after you but made no promise to the vendor, the vendor believed that the soldier would drag you back to them.

You made cuts through the alley, jumping over boxes and did your best to speed past soldiers without looking suspicious, but it’s difficult when you’re being chased. Your lungs burned as your legs felt heavy, it seemed that the cold weather didn’t like you and slowed you down.

When you cut into another alley, you tripped another box. You let out a cry, falling to the stone cold ground. As you dragged yourself to the bread, it was taken from you and you were thrown over someone’s shoulders.

“Let me go!” You demanded, struggling against his hold.

“No one is going to help a thief.” You remembered that voice, just barely.

“S-Sir?!”

“Quiet down.” He ordered you, rushing deeper through the alleyways until it was a dead end, he finally let you down yet still kept the bread in his hands. “Did I not say to keep out of trouble?”

“You hoped that I wouldn’t get into trouble.” You retorted, reaching for the bread only for him to pull. You reached for it again but he held it over your head. You weren’t going to even try to jump. “What do you want from me? Who are you?!”

He quickly hushed you, covering your mouth with his gloved hand. “I’m Boromir.” Your heart dropped. “You are young, you shouldn’t be out here without your parents but from what I’ve seen, you don’t have any… How long have you been alone, little one?”

He stepped closer to you, his arm coming down, and handed you the bread. His hands were caring, especially when they took your hands to hold the bread.

You sniffled and held the bread close to your chest, you broke down crying. You felt his arms come around your body, kneeling to meet your level. He rubbed your back as you cried into his shoulder. “It’s alright, little one.” His thumb swipes away a tear. “I’ll take care of you now, you’re safe.”

#divider by cafekitsune #x reader #x gender neutral reader #boromir #boromir x reader #faramir #lotr x y/n #lotr x you #lotr x reader #lotr #lord of the rings x y/n #lord of the rings x you #lord of the rings x reader #lord of the rings #boromir x you

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mimilind · 6 months

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Stranger of the Falls (Complete)

Summary: You gather healing supplies below the Falls of Rauros when a boat with a dying man drops at your feet. As you take the stranger home, you resolve to achieve the impossible: to heal him, find out who he is, and figure out why he is so determined to die.

For @scyllas-revenge

※※※

Pairing: Boromir x Reader (no specified gender)

Tumblr Links: [ 1. The Stranger ] [ 2. Lord Främling ] [ 3. Healing ] [ 4. Convalescence ] [ 5. Boromir ] [ 6. Defense ] [ 7. Free ] [ Bonus: Love (E-rated) ]

AO3 Link: Stranger of the Falls

Rating: T (apart from the bonus chapter)

Complete Word Count: 18 400

Tags: Hurt/comfort, Injury Recovery, Healing, Boromir Lives, Only One Bed, Falling in Love, Orc Attack, Kissing, Wholesome, Sex (bonus chapter).

Warnings: Injuries, Blood, Suicidal Character

#boromir #boromir x reader #boromir x oc #lotr #boromir fanfiction #lotr fanfiction #lotr fanfic #lotr x reader #hurt/comfort #boromir lives au #lord of the rings #boromir x you #boromir lives #only one bed #bed sharing #Stranger of the Falls #mimi lind

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jamiewintons · 7 days

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Boromir Relationship Headcanons

Boromir x F!Reader, headcanons are both SFW & NSFW (so no minors, please!). This is based on the movie version of Boromir, so if anything contradicts the books, I apologise 🙏

These are just some of the first headcanons that came to me, so I may end up doing a second post at some point! Anyway, hope everyone enjoys, and if you’d like to discuss Boromir headcanons, my askbox is always open!

****

SFW Headcanons

- Boromir is quite the romantic. He’s never really been in love before you, so it catches him by surprise how strongly he feels for you. Like he finds himself randomly thinking about you while he’s training and ends up all flustered and distracted. He never saw himself getting married either - he’d always been too busy defending Gondor - but once he falls for you there’s no doubt in his mind that he wants you to be his wife.

- Even if you’re of a proper status to be Boromir’s wife, there’s a good chance that Denethor won’t think you’re good enough for his favourite son. But Boromir will not relent in his desire to marry you, even if that means defying his father and marrying you in secret. There’s a good chance that Denethor will get past it eventually anyway, because in his eyes Boromir can really do no wrong.

- He is incredibly physically affectionate - he loves giving hugs, and cuddling, and picking you up and carrying you. He loves being the big spoon, wrapping his arms around you and holding you close to him while he buries his face in your hair. Even if he’s had the most stressful day imaginable, holding you in his arms makes all of the stress and bad things in the world seem to melt away, even if only temporarily.

- Boromir hates being away from you, though obviously his duty to Gondor means he often has to leave for battle, sometimes even for long campaigns. But he keeps you on his mind always, and he fights in your name just as much as he fights for his country and his people.

- One of the ways to make Boromir melt is to show him gentleness and tenderness. Like you tending to his wounds after a battle? You washing his hair? He’s going to fall even more in love with you and look at you with pure adoration in his eyes, just feeling so lucky to have married the most wonderful woman in Middle Earth.

- I think he’d want to have a big family, maybe four or five kids, and a mix of daughters and sons! Of course if you’re not comfortable with that, he’ll defer to your choice - he understands that when it comes to making a child, he’s really got the easy job. If you do end up having children, he’d be such a sweet and attentive father - just imagine him playing with your kids the way he did with Merry and Pippin in Fellowship 🥹 - and I like to think that he would encourage his daughters’ interests just as much as his sons’! He’s definitely making sure not to play favourites at all either, because he saw how much that hurt Faramir when they were growing up and to this day.

- (I saw an imagine post talking about dad Boromir where he plays knights with his daughters and it solidified girldad!Boromir as my favourite headcanon, but I’m having trouble finding it again - if anyone knows the post I’m talking about please send me a link, I’ll love you forever ❤️🙏)

NSFW Headcanons

- Boromir is a very attentive lover, and so so handsy. This man will be touching you all over while you’re making love, particularly focusing on your hips, breasts, and thighs. I think he’d love it if you’re on the thicker side, because it makes it even more satisfying for him to touch you.

- He can be a massive tease - especially if you have particular sweet spots that he knows how to exploit in the best way possible. When you moan loudly, he’ll look at you with the biggest grin on his face as he asks you if you’re enjoying yourself. He’s a tease with his words too - sometimes he’ll whisper something dirty in your ear in an otherwise innocent situation just to see you blush - but he’ll certainly follow through on any promises he might have made to you later.

- When Boromir’s not being a tease he’s still talking a lot, mainly a lot of praise and whispered sweet nothings. If you talk dirty to him, it drives him crazy.

- This man absolutely has a breeding kink. I don’t know what exactly makes me think that but I just get that vibe from him. Like I said above, he wants to have a big family, and he certainly fantasises about getting you pregnant. If you beg him to cum inside of you he will fold so quickly. And when you are pregnant, he can barely keep his hands off of you, though he makes sure to be extra gentle as to not accidentally hurt you while you’re in such a delicate condition.

- He eats pussy like he’s starving and you’re the first food he’s seen in weeks. If he could spend all of his time with his head between your thighs he’d probably die happy.

- Also he loves it when you sit on his face.

- He’s very proud of himself when he makes you come really hard, and he usually won’t think about his pleasure until he’s made you come at least twice, maybe three times. As such, he’s not really into quickies, he wants to take his time.

- His favourite places to have sex are in bed, and also sometimes in the bath (but touching each other in the bath usually leads to him taking you to bed).

- Boromir prefers to be able to look you in the eyes when you have sex, so any position that facilitates that will be a favourite. He does like putting your legs over his shoulders, but he also likes watching you ride him.

#boromir x reader #boromir x you #lotr x reader #lotr x you #lord of the rings x reader #lord of the rings x you #boromir imagine #boromir imagines #lotr imagine #lotr imagines #lord of the rings imagine #lord of the rings imagines

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minaturefics · 1 year

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Anything But This

Request: hi! Could you write a Boromir x fem! reader where Boromir thinks that The reader is in love with Faramir but she actually likes him

A/N: Hello! Some love for my man Boromir, hope you enjoy it!

Boromir x Reader

Fem reader

No content warnings

3.5k words

---

The late afternoon air was cool and carried the sharp, almost sweet scent of oncoming rain. The colourful market awnings stood bright against the grey sky. Thunder rumbled in the distance while the shopkeepers’ voices called over one another. You nudged Faramir along, your elbow knocking into his, while his eyes scanned the wares on display.

“Faramir, it is no use. We have searched for nearly an hour now,” you said, throwing up your hands. “Perhaps we should come back next weekend.”

“Do not fret, my lady. There are still a few more stalls yet. I am certain you will find something for my brother.”

You sighed but continued on down the long street. Boromir’s birthday was in less than two weeks and despite your best efforts, you were yet to find a gift for him. What could you give to a man who could have whatever he desired? What could a lady of your station give him that he could not already acquire himself?

“What about painting him something?” Faramir suggested as you turned away from another stall.

You shook your head. “I still have to finish the one I am working on now.”

You thought back to the day you had met the brothers. Faramir had heard about you from one of his page boys and had summoned you to the Citadel to paint a portrait of them together. Faramir was handsome enough, but your heart had nearly stopped when you saw Boromir.

It was torture, trailing your eyes over his broad shoulders, fixating on the way his tunic hugged his form, staring into his proud grey eyes trying to mix the right shade to capture them. He seemed stiff and uncertain during the first session with Faramir when you sketched them out, but he warmed over the various sittings.

When you were painting the details of his face and clothes, he had sat alone for you, talking while you mixed colours or cleaned your brushes. How strange, how sweet, to see Boromir, the stern Captain of Gondor, lay down his steely exterior. You delighted in the way his eyes would light up when he spoke of the battles of old, how his whole demeanour changed when he laughed, how he would tell you stories of his army misadventures.

There had been a few times where you needed to straighten his tunic, or reposition his arm, and his nearness was almost too much of a distraction. You could feel the heat radiating from him, smell his scent of cedar and musk. How your fingers longed to touch more than the fabric of his sleeve or the back of his hand.

You had tried to paint slower, to make mistakes with the colour, but there was no escaping the fact that the portrait would be finished soon enough. And with that, your time with Boromir would come to an end. Your stomach lurched. Boromir’s birthday was perhaps the last time you would see him.

You groaned as the end of the market street drew near. “I fear I will have nothing to give him.”

“I would not say that.” A smile played about Faramir’s lips and you arched your eyebrow at him. “I could not help but notice that you call Boromir to sit for you far more frequently than you do me.”

Heat rose to your cheeks and you glanced away. “I do not know what you are implying.”

He chuckled. “Nothing, except that I do not believe I have seen my brother in such high spirits as I have seen him these past few weeks.”

Your heart sped up. Was it possible that Boromir felt the same for you? Or perhaps he had simply been happy to enjoy the company of a new friend. “You… you must be mistaken.”

Faramir’s voice softened. “I know my brother. He has been climbing trees and chasing things since he was young. He must truly enjoy your company for him to sit in one place for such a long time.”

“We are simply friends. Of a sort.” You sighed and crossed your arms. “It does not matter.”

“Why do you deny what is so plain to see?”

You thought of all the ladies you saw around the Citadel and the higher circles. Such sumptuous silks, such clean, pretty hands. They were befitting of Boromir's station. You had heard the whispers among the halls, overheard the quiet words in the courtyards — you were fortunate enough to even have the friendship of such a noble family. It would be foolish to think that he could ever be with you, a common painter.

“Faramir, I am not of noble birth.”

“Such things do not matter, not to Boromir and not to me.”

“They will not allow —”

“Who?” His words were sharp but his eyes were kind. “There is only Boromir and I left in our family, and I certainly do not object.” He placed a gentle hand on your arm. “I would be proud to call you ‘sister’.”

Honour and gratitude swelled in your chest and your bit back the tears forming in your eyes. “But King Aragorn…”

“Aragorn and Boromir have been through much together, and Aragorn of all people will not stand in the way of love. He will not deny the both of you either.”

Your heart swooped and you could not help but smile. It was possible, truly possible, for you to be with Boromir. But could you be certain of Faramir’s words? What if he was mistaken about Boromir’s feelings? The churning in your stomach started up again.

Your eyes roved the last few stands and you paused, catching sight of some carvings at a nearby stall. The spoons were beautifully carved, their handles even more so. Hearts weaved in and out of each other, a dove fluttered above a bell, grapes on vines curled up to blooming flowers.

“Lovespoons,” you breathed, tracing your fingers over one with two interlocked hearts. They were common among the regular folk, a heartfelt and inexpensive token someone could present to their lover.

“I dare say you have found a suitable gift.” Faramir grinned at you and you smiled back.

“Will you help me select one?”

He laughed and patted your hand. “I am not professing my love to Boromir. You pick which speaks to your heart.”

Your eyes drifted to one in the corner. It was less adorned than the rest, with twisted stems that led up to a single heart. An intertwined life, one love, one heart. You picked it up, and the anxious hum under your skin settled.

This would be the one.

Lightning cracked across the sky and thunder rumbled above. Rain mingled with Boromir’s sweat and dripped down his face. He took a vicious swing at the dummy with the wooden sword and let out a roar. His arms burned and his hand stung with blisters, but he carried on attacking the dummy, hoping that each strike would clear the images that had plagued him for the last few days.

You and his brother, looking at lovespoons. Together.

He was supposed to sit for you that afternoon, but you had sent him a note an hour beforehand saying that you could not make it. He had sought out Faramir, wanting to alleviate his boredom, but had found his brother’s rooms and the steward’s office empty. Restless and unsettled, he had wandered through the city, until he saw you and Faramir in the distance.

The memory stabbed at his heart and pierced the dummy’s straw body. What could he do? His brother loved you, and who could blame him?

It had been so easy to fall in love with you watching you work. Passion burned in your eyes, your gaze soft but keen as it swept over him. Your hands were swift and confident, capturing his likeness in a way that felt natural, creating textures on the canvas that he did not think possible.

You were so beautiful in the morning light you enjoyed painting in, the soft yellow glow seemingly radiating from within you. And the stories you told about yourself captivated him. How you covered the walls of your family home in murals, how you once travelled to Dol Amroth to find seashells to make a new pigment, how you would paint portraits of dogs or cats that have passed to ease the suffering of their owners.

Each time you requested he sit for you, his heart would leap in his chest, and more than once he had to hide the heat rising in his cheeks from you. There was a time where he thought that perhaps you returned his feelings, but alas… He must have misread the looks you gave him, mistaking gentle observation for tenderness, mistaking genuine smiles with ones borne of politeness. And your touches, the ones he secretly coveted, the ones where he would wrinkle his shirt or mislay his hand for, they were nothing more than that.

Perhaps the reason you called him in more than Faramir was simply because he was more difficult to capture. Valar knows his armour has more small parts and embellishments than Faramir’s steward’s uniform. Maybe all the time spent talking was simply you wishing to know him better, the brother of your lover.

Lover. The word sat like a black stone in his chest. He growled and drove the sword into the dummy again and again.

No, he would not tell Faramir of the pain in his heart, of the love he had lost. He knew his brother well, and Faramir would forever look upon him with guilt and pity in his eyes. No, his brother had suffered far too much, especially at the hands of their father. Let him have his love unhindered.

Boromir would cope. He had to, somehow.

Your laugh rang out across the small courtyard and his head snapped up to the sound. You were walking with Faramir under shelter, your eyes bright and your lips parted in laughter. His heart wrenched and he glanced away. Hopefully you and his brother would pass quickly. He did not need the sting of your presence, the reminder of everything he could not have.

“Boromir!” you called.

He tried to keep his voice even when turned and spoke. “Yes, my lady?”

“Faramir and I were wondering if you would like to see the decorations in the hall.” You glanced behind your shoulder to where his brother stood just a few steps behind. There was a small smile on his face and fondness in his eyes.

“No, I… I am certain whatever you and my brother have come up with will be sufficient.”

Your expression dropped and you shifted on your feet. “Is anything the matter, Boromir? When you sat for me the other day you… you left early.”

It had been too much, to sit there under your stare, to watch your hands and your eyes and your lips. He had faced hoards of Uruk-hai, battled oliphants on Pelennor, faced the Enemy at hell’s gates, but you… you just a few metres away, beautiful, untouchable… it had been too much. Was this what his men meant when they said that love brought people to their knees? He had sat there, still and stiff, begging, pleading in his mind for some sort of relief from the images that sprung to it each time he looked at you.

“I have been occupied recently. The guards require my attention.” He glanced at Faramir, whose brows were drawing together. Could his brother see the love plain on his face? He would need to be better at disguising it. “I trust the both of you.”

You opened your mouth and snapped it shut again. “I see… Perhaps… Would you like to dine together this evening? When we have finished with the preparations?”

He could not endure an entire evening with only you and Faramir. To see the love in his brother’s eyes that he himself could not show, to see your warm smiles directed at another, to bear witness to your loving touches. No, he could not abide by that torture.

He shook his head. “Another time perhaps. You should go, my brother is waiting.”

“Boromir —”

He turned away, finger tightening around the sword. “Go.”

The small hall was alight with candles and lanterns. Bunting was strung up between the pillars, the bright colours stark against the black and white stone. A quartet of musicians played a cheery tune that some were dancing to in the middle of the room. You skirted the edges of the crowd, offering polite smiles to those that recognised you, searching for Boromir.

He seemed strangely intent on avoiding you for the last few days, spending most of his time in the army barracks where you were not allowed to go. Unease sat in your stomach and you fisted your dress. Was Faramir wrong all along? Perhaps Boromir truly did not have any affection for you. But what of those shared looks, half-hopeful and hesitant? Maybe you simply envisioned it, put meaning to something simply because it was what your heart longed for.

You sighed. The portrait was finished. Tonight would be the last time you would be able to see him. There would be no more excuse to go up to the citadel, no excuse to see him in the week. Faramir had said you were welcome to visit whenever you wished but it would be too painful to walk the rooms and corridors, Boromir’s absence reminding you of the love that was not yours to have.

You craned your head around the mass of bodies and found Faramir was standing by the door that led out to one of the side gardens, a worried expression on his face.

“Faramir, is anything the matter?”

“It is my brother,” he said, sending another furtive look outside. “He has been remarkably sullen this whole evening. And he usually loves his birthday celebrations.”

“He has also been avoiding me,” you sighed. “I fear there is something bothering him. Do you suppose it could be me?”

“What do you mean, my lady?” “What if I have made him… uncomfortable with my attentions? Perhaps he realised that I could have misunderstood the closeness between us and this is his way of quietly turning me down?”

Faramir shook his head. “I have never known my brother to do anything quietly. Especially for something such as this. He would be direct, even if it was hurtful, so as no misunderstandings would occur.”

You glanced at the dim garden. “Where did he go?”

“He said he wanted to get some air. I thought of giving him some time before going to speak to him. I hope he has not already escaped to his rooms.” Faramir’s mouth tightened. “Perhaps you should go find him. I think you will be better received than I will.”

You touched the lovespoon in your pocket, feeling it through the fabric, and nodded. You wandered out into the night, wincing a little at the cool breeze that swept through the garden. The noise of the crowd ebbed away and was replaced by rustling trees and chirping crickets. Sand crunched under your slippered feet as you walked down the path that winded through the tall hedges and shrubs.

You rounded a corner and found Boromir standing by one of the trees, head tilted back to look at the stars. There was a look in his eyes. Resignation and anguish, weariness and fatigue.

“Boromir?” you called softly, afraid of startling him. He turned his stormy grey eyes on you and you hesitated. “Is… is something the matter? You are missing your party.”

“I am in no mood for celebrations,” he muttered, voice distant and bitter. He shook his head and cleared his throat. His voice was gentler when he spoke again. “Did my brother send you to find me?”

“Yes… No, well I… I was looking for you and he told me where you were.”

He shook his head and glanced away. “I suppose I should get used to the notion of the both of you together.”

Get used to it? What did he mean? Tonight would be the last time you would see either of them regularly, if at all.

“Forgive me, my lady. My mood has left me ill-mannered.” He gestured towards the path. “I am not much for conversation tonight. Please enjoy yourself this evening.”

You took a step towards him. “Boromir, what did you mean? About getting used to Faramir and I together.”

His eyes cut back to you, pained and guarded. He let out a puff of air before he said, “You and my brother. Now that the both of you are…” He swallowed.

“I don’t understand.” You reached a tentative hand out and he stepped back. Your heart lurched. He had never recoiled from your touch before.

“Fine. I will speak plainly then, as much as it pains me, but I must ask you spare Faramir of the truth.” His voice grew hard and stiff. “I will admit to harbouring feelings for you.”

Your heart thudded in your ears. Feelings? Boromir returned your feelings?

“And as much as I am happy that the both of you have found your joy,” he continued. “I must confess it causes me great suffering to —”

“Boromir,” you said. “Faramir and I are only friends.”

He frowned and crossed his arms. “I do not appreciate being lied to. I saw you that day at the markets, looking for lovespoons.”

You shook your head at him and reached into your pocket. You presented the spoon to him with a small laugh. “It was for you.”

His jaw grew slack and his shoulders dropped. “For… me?” He unfolded his arms and took it from you. He ran his fingers over the wood, tracing the intertwining vines.

Such beautiful hands, such lovely fingers. And yours, finally yours.

“Did you truly think that Faramir and I…?”

“I do not know,” he whispered, pressing a soft kiss to the wood before tucking the spoon into the breast pocket of his doublet, right above his heart. “I could not think of any other reason why two people would look at lovespoons together.”

“I was searching for a birthday gift when we chanced upon the lovespoon stall.” You reached out, your hand hovering in the space between the both of you. He grasped it, his warm fingers curling around your own.

He drew you in and his other hand came to rest on your waist. His scent enveloped you and inhaled, melting at his familiar smell. You caressed his cheek, his beard rough under your fingers, and he grinned at you.

“For so many days I have lived in agony, wondering how I should live watching the two people I love most in the world love each other.”

“Why did you not say anything until now?”

“How could I? It would have done little good.”

“And you would have suffered in silence?”

“For you and Faramir, I would do anything.” His hand slid up your arm to your shoulder. He cupped your face and swept his thumb over your cheek. His eyes shimmered in the low light, tender and naked in their affection. “You are so beautiful. For so long I have wanted… wanted…”

He leaned down and you tilted your head up. His lips were warm and soft, and his exhale was hot on your skin. He tugged you closer and deepened the kiss. You could taste the tartness of the wine lingering on his lips, the sweetness of the berry pie, and something that was distinctly him. He was solid against you, his chest broad and firm, searing even through the layers of fabric.

You drew back and took a breath, flushed and dazed. He chuckled and nudged your temple with his nose. “Should I have known how good you taste, I would have kissed you earlier.”

You laughed and buried your face in his chest. “I would have never finished the portrait then.”

“Then you would have more excuses to come see me.”

“Do I need excuses to see you?”

He shook his head and pressed a kiss to your forehead. “No, not ever. Speaking of excuses, we should rejoin the party. Our presence will be missed, I think.”

“I think we are more in danger of Faramir finding us… occupied.”

He laughed, a deep, warm sound, and led you down the path. “A terrible fate for him, I should think.”

The sounds of the party grew louder and when the both of you emerged from between the hedges, Faramir was standing outside by the door.

“Thank Valar” he said, a soft smile on his face at the sight of your joined hands. “I was going to send one of the hobbits after you. I thought something truly unfortunate must have happened.”

“No, brother,” Boromir said, slinging an arm around Faramir’s shoulder. “I think I have been given the greatest blessing of my life.” He knocked his head against Faramir’s. “After you, of course.”

“Was your ill-mood simply due to pining? It felt too thunderous for it to just be that.”

You shared a look with Boromir and he shook his head. “I will explain another night, little brother.”

Faramir’s eyes darted to you, eyebrows raised in silent question. You laughed and tugged them forward. “We can talk later.”

“Tonight,” Boromir said as he released Faramir and bumped his shoulder, his smile wide on his face, “we celebrate!”

#boromir x reader #boromir x y/n #boromir x you #lotr fic #lotr fanfiction #lotr fanfic #lotr #boromir #request

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just-a-little-cellist · 1 year

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incorrect middle earth starring y/n #7

Y/n: That was so hot, Boromir. Boromir: I literally called the person who just flirted with you a degenerate dog and told them I hope they get dragged through the streets. Y/n: I'm so in love with you.

#get you a respectful man like boromir #incorrect quotes #lotr x reader #lotr #lord of the rings #lord of the rings incorrect quotes #lotr incorrect quotes #boromir #boromir x you #boromir x reader #boromir x y/n #lord of the rings x reader

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mlmxreader · 3 months

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Politics | Boromir x gn!reader

『••✎••』

↳ ❝ Would you write prompt #4 why can’t we be together? And #38 nobody can ever take me away from you For Boromir with GN reader? If this doesn’t spark anything for you that is ok too! Thank you 🙏 - @spngingerbread21 ❞

: ̗̀➛ You and Boromir have been together for a while, but there's only one thing stopping you from being together properly.

: ̗̀➛ N/A

↳ @arthurmorgansballsack

•───────────────★•♛•★──────────────•

The sprawling hills were enough to know that you were home. The village beside the valleys, so thick and so bursting with life that it was a surprise that they were still luscious and green; with the wild grasses mixing of their winter yellow paint and their springtime soft green, the wind seemed to sing amongst the gentle breeze.

For years, your forefathers and their forefathers had stood upon those hills; for years, their hearts had belonged to the country and to its sprawling hills. You were no different. The deep and lively valleys meant home, they always would; the hills tall and stoic as they watched over what the mountains were too tall to see.

From the smallest of emerald green beetles with little red triangles on their backs, all the way through to the largest stag with great antlers and dark brown coats. The hills saw everything the mountains could not, forever keeping an eye on the country as the home passed from generation to generation.

There had always been tales of those valleys and mountains and hills; once a great king had ruled over them with the hearts of his people and nothing more in mind.

He was said to be fair and just; a great political leader, but an even greater friend to the prophet and magician that he called a best friend, a brother, and to the knights that he treated as his own kin. He was said to be a great king, forever fighting for his people with a sword that had been blessed and linked to his bloodline until the end of days; but they were just tales and nothing more.

The dreams of a people who resided there.

But there were more; for years you had been told that if you were to ever go into those mountains, you would have to sing in the old language, the ancient language that everybody knew, so as not to wake the dragon that slept within them.

The dragon was a kind, fair beast who fought for his people and loved them dearly; if they should ever need help, he would always rise to the occasion and protect them with every ounce of his mighty strength. Bright red in colour, he was old and ancient, but powerful; having fought off a white dragon that threatened to steal the land and to rule its people with an iron fist, the red dragon was tired, and needed to sleep to reserve his strength.

Ever since you were a child, you always sang when you visited the mountains; even now, well into your adulthood, you still sang every time. Even old stories, you had learned, had some truth to them. Maybe too much.

Everybody sang in the mountains, though, always in the old and ancient language; even at home and during sports matches and times of togetherness, everybody sang. Sometimes in large choirs that made the songs seem so ethereal and unreal; other times just when they were sweeping and cooking on their own.

But as your hand rested upon the hilt of your sword, you couldn't help but to smile. A bright red blade, it had been in your family for so long that no one remembered how it had come to be in the first place; it glowed with the colours of fire when you wielded it, but even the elves with their bountiless knowledge did not understand it.

It was ancient, they had said, going back even further than their own time. You watched with great curiosity as a horse galloped up the hills, panting heavily as its rider waved with one hand; you smiled even more, taking your hand from the sword so that you could wave back.

Boromir.

He pulled his horse to a stop when he was close enough, dismounting and smiling at you brightly, causing his eyes to squint.

"Your Grace," he hummed, earning a playful smack to his shoulder.

"Who sent you?" You asked, raising a brow. "I know it wasn't your father."

"No," he admitted with a shake of his head. "Faramir did."

"No, he didn't," you bit back a laugh as you tilted your head to the side. "Who sent you?"

"Alright, alright," he breathed out, doing his best not to laugh. "My father sent me on patrol, and we were in the area. So I asked around if anyone had seen you."

"Good," you smiled at last, licking your lips. "You interrupted my patrol, so you can come with me."

Boromir nodded, falling into step beside you as he resisted every urge not to lace his fingers with yours. It was too risky, if any of his men saw him then they would surely tell his father.

He might have been his own man, and the golden boy of his family, but that wouldn't stop his father from using his political positions to demand that Boromir stay away from you.

"I don't understand it," he sighed. "Why can't we be together?"

You glared at him from the corner of your eye. "Your father would never allow it. We're not politically important enough for you to be caught with me in any compromising positions."

"But your family is older than mine," he pointed out. "You have good history and alliances with the elves."

You shrugged, your hand wandering to the wooden spoon you had in your back pocket, protected by your dark grey cloak. "We do, but you know how Denethor feels... he's a powerful man, but he's also embittered and full of despair."

Boromir frowned, taking a look around before gently linking his fingers with yours and giving your hand a little swing. "When I am the steward of Gondor, you'll be there with me."

You raised a brow as you laughed softly. "And what makes you think I'd leave my home?"

"We could share," he started, "spend half of our time here, the other half in Gondor."

"It's a good dream," you told him softly. "But dreams lie."

"I had a dream once," he mused. "You were a great monarch - beloved and fair. Just and kind. That sword of yours was the fear of every orc and troll and goblin in the land. You woke up that dragon in the mountains, and it served with you."

"It's just a dream," you said with a soft laugh. "Little more... besides, you're the one who's going to be a great political leader - not me. You inspire people, Boromir, and you have the right heart for it."

"But I'd want you there with me," he admitted. "Nobody can ever take me away from you. Not even politics."

You smiled as you paused, leaning into him slightly. "Look, over there."

He looked where you pointed, smiling a little at what he saw; amongst the grey skies were two birds.

Hawks.

Flying together as they hunted, the phantoms of the forests with their dark brownish grey backs, their stomachs littered with dark tipped feathers against a large white background; their golden eyes keened in on the nearest little vole or mouse as they swooped down with great yellow legs tipped with long and sharp charcoal claws. They made not a single sound.

Boromir always loved to see them, and looked forward to it every time he visited you; there was something so fascinating about watching them easily glide through the skies before swooping down like an arrow from a bow. He smiled, leaning into you.

"Do you remember when we went onto the mountain path?" He whispered. "I got caught on a fragile rock, and you swooped down and grabbed me... just like the phantoms."

"I still think about it," you admitted with a soft laugh. "You were so scared."

"And you just kept singing," he laughed softly. "I'll never forget it, you always sang when you're in the mountains."

"I don't wish to waken something," you hummed. "Come on, I know where there's some ripe berries - we can sit for a while and talk properly."

"I'd like that," Boromir admitted with a smile. "Lead the way."

"I also have something to give you," you confessed as you gently tugged at his hand. "It's nothing big, but promise me you'll look after it."

"Of course," he agreed without hesitation. "If I can, I will always keep it with me."

"Good," you nodded. "I spent a long time on it... and I hope you like it."

You couldn't help it, reaching into your back pocket to fumble with the spoon again to make sure that it was hidden; you had spent countless hours on it, carving the phantoms of the forest into the wooden handle as best as you could and chipping away at the spoon just to make sure that it mimicked the pattern of their feathers properly. You chewed at the inside of your lip.

You really hoped that he would like it.

"While we walk," Boromir looked at you with a slight smile. "Would you sing?"

"Why?" You asked with a soft laugh. "You're not scared of dragons, are you?"

"No!" He huffed. "But I do like to hear your voice."

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sotwk · 1 year

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Breathe (Boromir x femReader)

Summary: You have harbored a deep, secret crush on Boromir for years, and have now been asked by him to dance.

Word count: 1.5k

Content: Romance, pining, yearning, longing (you get the point) Regency-inspired dance, fluff, started as a drabble but got way out of hand

Warnings: None

To Read on AO3: Link

A/N: This was supposed to be a Dance of Romance + Scars from @fellowshipofthefics’s January Trope Roulette, but the “Scars” part just never came out. Whoopsie. I guess I can’t claim credit for fulfilling the challenge, but FotF can claim credit for providing the prompt!

Update: This one-shot has been formally upgraded to the prologue of a multi-chapter Boromir x OC fic. More to follow soon!

Dedication: For @scyllas-revenge, a fellow Boromir stan whose talent I admire. My first ever Boromir fic is just a small thank you for being a cheerleader to me and other writers.

Divider credit: @firefly-graphicsphics

Breathe

Third Age 3008

Minas Tirith, Gondor

“I cannot breathe,” you whimpered to Anarlas, grasping at the sleeve of his tunic as he guided you from the edges of the crowd towards the center of the Great Hall.

But your brother knew you too well and merely chuckled at your dramatics. “That is a bit problematic, given that a good air supply is necessary for dancing." He felt you pull back in resistance and stopped to examine you closely. "Do you really not wish to do this?" he asked softly. "Should I not have accepted the invitation on your behalf?"

You stared up at him, wide-eyed as you struggled to process the last two minutes. One moment you were puttering back and forth aimlessly behind the pillars, content at the fringes of all the merrymaking, with just a cup of wine and your daydreams for company. All of a sudden Anarlas appeared and asked you to come with him, which you did in full trust…until he started to lead you into the noise and commotion instead of saving you from it, dashing your hope that he had decided to go home early, as you had implored for from the start.

"There must be some mistake," you stammered. "Perhaps you heard him incorrectly."

"The Captain was clear about his request. He could not have spoken more plainly: ‘Might I ask your sister for a dance?’.” Anarlas squeezed your arm and grinned. “And since he knows well that I have only one sister, there can be no mistake.”

You bit your lip before you could blurt out a ridiculous argument, that you still believed it possible Lord Boromir had you confused with some other woman. What other explanation could there be for him asking for you? On the evening of a kingdom-wide celebration, when every fair lady in Gondor was clamoring to gain even just a few moments of his attention? Who were you? Just a produce vendor with your own little stall in the lower markets of the White City.

Your family, at least, was worthier of note. Your brother served directly under the Captain of the White Tower, and your father had been an even closer friend to him. He had trained the Steward’s young son in swordsmanship before falling in battle almost twenty years ago. You had been a mere infant then, still nursing at your mother’s breast. Then a few short years later on a particularly harsh winter, your mother succumbed to consumption, leaving you with Anarlas.

Perhaps that was the logical explanation. Lord Boromir was granting you, a poor Gondorian orphan, this kindness in honor of your gallant father. Why he chose this particular occasion to do so, that was the greater mystery.

Anarlas chucked you under the chin to call back your wandering mind. “You look beautiful,” he said gently. “If you ever wonder what Mother looked like, just find yourself a mirror.”

Hope bloomed inside your heart at his words, hewing through the shadows of anxiety and doubt. You wore her dress that evening, the finest article of clothing in your wardrobe, and had been delighted to discover you had finally grown up enough to match her womanly form and fill out the bodice properly.

“If you refuse to believe in yourself, then believe in me,” your brother added firmly.

Confusion knotted your brow, but before you could ask his meaning, someone cleared their throat behind you.

“Forgive my interruption…”

You froze at the arrival of this voice, one you knew intimately despite having had barely any conversations with it. It was the light in the sweetest of your dreams, a sound you committed to memory, plucked from many years of brief and often stolen encounters. Public speeches, overheard conversations, and precious greetings from the incidental crossings of your paths.

“My lord Boromir." You dipped into a curtsy, tightly clutching the skirts of your mother’s dress as you willed yourself to channel her reputed grace and poise.

“My lady…” He bowed to you and spoke your name, ending all doubt of his familiarity. As it rolled off his tongue, the joy that thrilled inside you bolstered your meager courage.

Your mind had already sailed to the clouds and did not register whatever he else might have said or asked. But when he stretched out his hand for yours, instinct and years of pining took the place of thought and good sense, and you slipped your fingers over his, giving your consent.

The crowd parted to give respectful berth to the Son of the Steward as he led his chosen partner to the dance floor. Boromir released your hand to take his place on the side of the men, leaving you to stand with the rest of the women. Open stares of scorn and envy fell upon you, beating at you with silent hostility as you waited for the music to begin.

You wrenched your tearing eyes off the ground, and in trying to force your chin up high, you caught sight of Anarlas standing down the line of men. The love and pride that shone on your brother’s face revitalized your shaky confidence. Believe in yourself, you could imagine him saying. He tilted his head in a pointed signal.

Your gaze shifted to the right and fell straight upon Boromir, and found him staring right back at you, lips slightly parted. The second your eyes locked, he startled, caught off guard. His stare collapsed to his feet in discomfort and, to your amazement, he appeared to blush.

Your breath hitched and you pursed your lips to stifle a giggle that escaped your throat.

The music started. A slower tune, one familiar enough for you to coax the steps from your body’s memory. You loved to dance and did so as often as you could, but your shy nature limited your audience and partners to only Anarlas and yourself.

As the two lines stepped forward to begin the dance, Boromir raised his eyes to you again, defiant of his own embarrassment. As you glided by him in the first pass, you offered him your soft smile. His features immediately relaxed, and his lips curled back upwards, making you shiver.

You twirled and turned back towards him, reaching out with both hands. As his thick, calloused fingers encased yours, you thought you heard him draw a tight breath. Your own heart thundered madly in your chest as his light grasp slipped away once more.

As the spinning and swaying carried on, every reunion of your hands dizzied you with tingling, while each departure from his touch struck in pangs of yearning. The bittersweet longing you had borne for him from afar and for so long now surged sinfully into profound craving. For his touch, for his gaze, for the very warmth of his body next to yours.

His eyes never strayed from you, even as the routine separated you over and over. They were storm-grey, you realized, confirming what you had always fantasized but never truly saw. After every turn they quickly sought out your face again, as though ravenous for the sight.

When your hands joined for several prolonged beats of the song, you heard him murmur your name. In mindless insolence, you returned the favor and addressed him in kind.

“Boromir…”

His fingers suddenly closed around your hand, trapping and enveloping it and preventing you from slipping away again. With a soft tug, he urged you close and cupped his other palm on your hip, stalling you both in the middle of the floor.

“I…” You braced your hands against his chest, summoning the last dregs of strength in your legs to support yourself, when everything else within you begged to melt in his arms.

His hold around you tightened in painstaking slowness, as he ascertained your approval, watching for signs of objection that you never showed. The only distance that now separated you was his towering height, which he breached by leaning down, closer, closer, until you were drowning in his nearness, and felt the sweep of his sigh on your brow, the graze of his nose on your temple. Long dark lashes fluttered over those keen grey eyes that now seemed dazed with the wonder of you, of this moment.

Valar, he was more beautiful than anything your imagination ever conjured over the years.

“I cannot breathe,” you finally whispered.

A chuckle rumbled from his chest and his hands rose to cradle your face. "I know exactly how you feel.”

His thumbs savored the soft skin of your cheekbones, his fingertips explored the delicate shells of your ear. His ministrations were almost enough to eliminate all awareness of your surroundings. While the music carried on, several other couples had finally stopped to gawp at the Captain of Gondor's scandalous display. But for once in your life, the unspeakable, glorious joy that overflowed in your heart simply left no room for concern of anything or anyone else in the world.

“Perhaps we should continue this outside," Boromir suggested, his voice heavy with a promise that ran goosebumps through you. "Where we can have all the air we shall need.”

Tags: @aduialel @fizzyxcustard (Sorry if I missed anyone; I have no formal tag list but will likely put up a tag request form soon!)

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#boromir #boromir fanfiction #lotr fanfiction #boromir x reader #boromir x you #boromir fanfic #lotr fanfic

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