An Unexpected Catch: Boromir x Female Reader
Chapter Specific Warnings: oral sex, piv penetration, fluff, kissing
Word Count: 2.3k
Chapter Three
While investigating an attack on a Gondorian settlement, Boromir finds himself run through with a sword and tossed into a nearby river. When death seems dangerously near, Boromir’s body washes up to shore, tangled in a fishing net. A young woman living alone finds Boromir and brings him home to care for him. As Boromir physically heals, he finds that his heart is also missing something important.
ao3 // main masterlist // an unexpected catch masterlist
The sky cries. Large raindrops patter against the roof. From the door, you watch as Boromir braves the downpour, herding Daisy into her pen. The cow is stubborn, but she’s also scared.
“Come now,” he coos. “Just a few more steps.” Boromir’s tunic and trousers cling to his skin, his hair soaked and sticking to his face.
He is healthy and whole. Has been for some time. Every day presents the opportunity of his departed, and yet he does not go. Boromir stays, finding excuse after excuse to remain at your side. It is nice to feel so wanted. And he is kind. Gentle.
And what if I were your husband? Would you have me then?
Words spoken weeks ago now and yet they still linger in your mind, haunting your every thought. Boromir still reaches for you, finds moments to wrap you up in his arms for a few tender kisses. And though he always stops, sometimes the touching becomes bolder, the two of you falling into gasping pants as skin touches skin.
Long have I been drifting. With you, I’ve only known peace. Contentment. You are not my ship or anchor but my compass. I was adrift. But now I know nothing but calm seas and a forward path.
The small spark within your heart brightens, ensnaring your stomach, finding refuge between your legs. Your cheeks flame, your heart thudding loudly in your ears.
Daisy moos, and Boromir laughs, patting her on her rump before dashing for the door. When his gaze meets yours, he smiles, broad and bright and so full of love that you find yourself momentarily stunned.
“Angel,” he greets, coming to a stop before you. Boromir rests a hand against the doorframe. “May I come in? Or am I subjected to sleep in the rain?”
“Oh,” you laugh, stepping backward to allow him entrance. “Suppose you’re allowed to stay.”
“Suppose?” he teases as you shut the door behind him. “Have I been that bad?”
“Terrible,” you smile.
Boromir grasps the back of your neck, pulling you in for a kiss. Though he’s wet and a bit cold, the kiss is all searing heat. It shoots right down to your toes. But it’s not only one kiss. He takes another, then another. Each one becomes deeper than the last, until your mouth parts for him and he slips his tongue inside for a taste.
“You’re so warm,” he breathes, breaking his attention to your lips to gaze into your eyes.
“Cold?”
“Freezing,” he answers.
“I put some bedding down next to fire. You can warm yourself in comfort.”
Boromir’s smile is sweet. He gives you one more kiss before pulling away. Removing his boots, he sets them by the door. You’re about to turn away, but Boromir is lifting his tunic up and over his head. His trousers, heavy with rain, sag slightly, revealing a deep v and a trail of hair. You quickly glance away; hand pressed to your chest as Boromir discards the soaked fabric. He runs his fingers through his hair, pushing the damp strands out of his face.
As you glance over your shoulder at him, you notice the shift in his gaze. The way he looks at you, it’s deliberate and wanton. Hungry.
“Come here to me,” he says, voice throaty and gruff.
Your limbs move of their own accord, gliding across the floor to him, entering his space, wanting nothing more than to be close to him. Lying to yourself would be silly. You adore this man. You cherish him.
“Will you stay with me?” he asks. “Keep me warm?” Boromir’s fingers dance along the side of your throat, trailing down to hook under the neckline of your dress. He pulls it to the side, the fabric falling down your shoulder, revealing bare skin.
Leaning forward, Boromir presses his lips there. You gasp. Shiver. Reach out. You’re pushing at his trousers, urging them down over his hips. Boromir is just as insistent, exposing more of you to his heated gaze.
His hands roam down, and then he’s pulling you into him, guiding you to the nest you made before the fire. There is no barrier. No walls to hide behind. Boromir guides you down onto your back, the two of you entangled in each other, kissing and touching until there is nothing but warmth and fire.
Before you, Boromir is all hunger. You are completely naked. Bare for him. Legs spread wide for his pleasure, his gaze is locked to that place between your legs, the one that aches for him and longs to be filled. You want to know him in all ways.
His hands rest on the insides of your thighs. “You’re so beautiful.”
The compliment catches you off-guard. You’re so absorbed in admiring the beauty of him that you forgot to listen.
“Thank you,” you murmur, heat rushing to your cheeks in embarrassment. It’s such a silly thing to say in the moment, but it’s all you can muster.
The corner of Boromir’s mouth quirks in amusement. His large hands stroke up and then down your thighs absently. The movement is soothing; your muscles relaxing beneath his touch. Boromir gently squeezes, fingers lightly digging into your skin as he flattens himself on his stomach. You watch from between your legs, momentarily paralyzed as he makes himself comfortable. You notice a slight wince, but it’s so brief you might not have caught it if you weren’t paying attention. His wound still hurts him on occasion.
Boromir glances up, the middle of his brow creasing slightly. “Do you want me? Do you want this?”
He might sound steady but it’s all in the eyes. There is pain there—a hesitation bordering on trepidation. He doesn’t want to hurt you, and it only makes your love for him soar higher.
“I want you,” is the answer you give, because it’s true.
All the muscles in his shoulders relax.
His chest heaves, and then his arms snake under and over your thighs, locking you in place. One hand splays wide over your lower belly while the other firmly grips your thigh. There is no escape from him, but you wouldn’t try.
“And I want you,” he replies, voice almost a growl.
He adjusts his hold, pulling you closer to his mouth. Boromir’s breath is hot against the inside of your thigh. From between your legs, his lips land against your skin just shy of his fingers. It’s slow but purposeful, each kiss moving lower and lower to what is clenching—needing him to be inside.
Boromir is not your husband, at least, not in ceremony. But why need there be? To be with him, to share in each other if both are willing is enough. That is all you care for anyway.
Boromir’s lip graze against you, and everything tightens, anticipating the moment he makes contact. The tip of his tongue just grazing over your sex. It’s a tease of a touch. A flash of pleasure that quickly vanishes. He repeats the movement, giving a bit more, sending you squirming in his hold.
You whisper his name, as he lazily run his tongue over you.
“Be still, my heart. I wish to enjoy you.”
Your fingers find his biceps the second his tongue returns, stroking slowly.
Your hips want to move. They want to seek out his mouth. To have the constant pleasure before it explodes into fragments. But you are unable to do much with your lower half. Boromir has you locked in, and he’s taking his time. Each stroke is agony, and yet utterly satisfying. The hand splayed on your lower abdomen descends, and you don’t really notice until a finger parts you, sliding inside.
This is different. This is more, and that is all you desire. To be more with Boromir.
Boromir sucks gently, the tip of his tongue making little circles. Your back arches, hips flexing, but there is nowhere to go. It only shoves you further into his hold. Your breath comes in short pants, breasts heaving with every inhale. Every part of you is tightening, the coil building under pressure. Like floodgates preparing to open, you too are close to bursting.
Another taste. Another stroke.
All the limbs and muscles in your body suddenly clamp, shaking. The exhalation is cut off—choked—before blooming into a depraved moan.
Tension releases, and then you’re truly writhing beneath him. Boromir does not cease, his tongue and fingers moving in tandem. You claw at his arms, gasping for breath, wanting to beg but unable to find the words. They keep escaping you, floating off into the air where you cannot catch them.
“Boromir,” you cry, tears beginning to form in the corners. “Please—I can’t. No—no more. No—”
With that singular word, Boromir withdraws. He kisses the indies of your thighs, moving upward. Soothing your heated skin with kisses.
“We can stop,” he murmurs. The heat of the fire has chased away the dampness, leaving his skin dry and hair slightly damp.
“I don’t want you to stop,” you tremble, hooking your leg over his, drawing him close until his hardness rocks against you.
“We are not bonded before our people. Does that not worry you?”
“No,” you answer. “The stars will be our witness.”
With a pleased groan, Boromir pushes your left leg wide, and with the other, brings your right leg flush against his front, ankle at his shoulder. He hooks his arm around the leg against his chest, creating an anchor. His free hand rests against the inside of your thigh. There is pressure at first. A brief bite that quickly eases as your bodies come together. His shoulders are a bit hunched, body leaning forward slightly as he drives forward and back, skin smacking against skin. Other than that, it’s just your breathing and his, and the slick sound of you taking him.
This time you’re free to writhe against him.
Reaching out, you try to grasp for anything. What you receive is tenderness. The hand on your thigh disappears, and Boromir snags your seeking hand, trapping it against your pelvis. He holds it, fingers intertwining.
“Look at me,” he growls, his hips stuttering slightly. You glance up. Make eye contact. It is brief. Fleeting. You are unable to hold his gaze. “Look at me, angel.”
Your eyes snap open, and Boromir grinds his hips against you, chest heaving. “Repeat after me.”
Between thrusts and throaty groans, you and Boromir exchange vows. And when the last word is finally spoken, Boromir drops all pretenses, draping himself over you as he claims you as his wife. You cling to him, fingers digging into his skin, holding on so tight you fear you might draw blood.
There is none. Just shared love. Shared pleasure.
And the night is no longer cold. Nor are the days that follow. At every opportunity, the two of you couple. Sometimes it is Boromir reaching out. Sometimes it is you seeking him.
Days pass. Then weeks.
You are content. Happy.
And then you’re shattered. Confused.
“Boromir? Who is this?”
You stand just outside the front door, perplexed by the scene before you. There are three men on horseback in Gondorian armor. They look regal. Imposing. But the fourth is almost a mirror image of Boromir.
Boromir steps back. Inclines his head. “This is my brother. Faramir.”
Faramir bows his head. “I’m sorry for the intrusion. But I’ve come to retrieve my wayward brother.” Faramir gives you a soft smile. “Father’s been worried.”
Boromir frowns, his expression grim. “How did you find me.”
“We stopped at the nearby village. Asked if anyone had seen a man that looked like you. A fisherman said he say you here while on his boat.”
You step forward. “Are you leaving?”
Faramir is the one that speaks. “The Steward of Gondor commands it.”
You turn to Boromir, your voice lowering to a whisper. “Who are you?”
Boromir approaches, placing his hands on your arms. “Come with me.”
“Who are you?” you repeat.
With a sigh, he answers. “I am Boromir. Son of Denethor. Steward of Gondor.”
“You’re—”
The revelation is a tumbling boulder. All this time, the man you’ve been looking after, caring for, will one day sit on Gondor’s throne, protecting it for when the True King returns.
“I’m sorry I never told you. Thought it best. To keep you safe.”
“Safe from who?”
“Are you angry with me?”
Are you? No. Not because he kept this from you.
You shake your head. “You’re leaving.”
“I must,” he murmurs. “And you are to come with me.”
You laugh. “I can’t. What about my father? The animals?”
“Faramir and I have already discussed this. Someone will look after the animals while we search for your father. I’ll have him brought back here once we locate him.”
“But I won’t be here. I must see him.”
His hands come up to cradle your face. “And he will. But you will come with me. Back to Minas Tirith. I will have him brought to you, and then before our families, we will be joined.”
You hesitate. Life outside your home has been nothing larger than the nearby village. This is travel. This is adventure. This is the unknown.
“Do you promise?”
“Angel. I will give you the world.”
It is easy. Simple.
Just your hand in his, and a promise of a new future.
