“I, I ate two.”
The breath hitched in her throat.
Boromir had eaten two flower heads. Two Lover's Delight. When one was meant to be boiled, boiled and removed from the tea before it was consumed. When one was meant to be enough for two people. A single flower would enhance his senses and push him into a state of arousal. And Boromir had eaten two.
“Fuck,” Rhosynel breathed.
“Yes, Valar, please.”
*
Rhosynel and Boromir have gone flower hunting and found every flower on Rhymenel’s list. However the last one, named Lover’s Delight, proves too tempting. Sceptical of how impactful the flower truly is, both Rhosynel and Boromir put it to the test. Unfortunately for them, the flowers aren’t meant to be eaten, and the pair soon find out just how potent a little flower can truly be…
WARNINGS: Sex pollen, mentions of pregnancy, biting, rough sex, overstimulation, and dubious consent in… many places.
/smacks post on 24k of smut and rUNS FOR THE HILLS/
“B-Boromir?”
Relief flooded Rhosynel’s body at the realisation it was him, unless there was another six foot four man running around who looked exactly like him. No, this was unmistakably Boromir, she knew that face, knew that beard, knew the shape of him even in the gloom of night. It explained a lot, the message in the middle of the night, the lack of guards at their usual posts, even the stable gates being ajar with an empty building, and the floor of this room having been softened with the saddle blankets.
“Not tonight,” Boromir replied lowly.
She didn’t get chance to be confused by his answer or to question him further, as there was the unmistakeable sound of a blade being drawn.
*
Minas Tirith has become safe enough for Rhosynel to walk the streets at night unarmed and unbothered. Or it would be, if it wasn’t for the fact Boromir made plans, as the next thing Rhosynel knows, she’s getting chased through the streets and dragged into a storeroom by a shadowy figure.
NGL I've been having to hype myself up to post this one.
Trigger Warnings: Rape roleplay, consensual non-consent/dubious consent, mild knife play, overstimulation, biting, and uh, generally rough sex.
Also includes improper use of stable tack rooms, saddle stands, and reins. Apologies to any horse riders if you remember this next time you go to the stables 😅
Her weight leaving the bed garnered an immediate reaction.
“W-wait!” Boromir barked, blindfolded head immediately whipping about in alarm, “I’m sorry! I’m sorry, y-you’re in charge!”
Rhosynel raised an eyebrow at that, pacing silently around the bed, eyeing his bindings, the silk scarves about his wrists and eyes. She’d intended to tie him up and have her way with Boromir, but at no point had she considered the idea of being… in charge.
It had a nice ring to it.
“I am,” Rhosynel agreed, feeling a grin pull at her lips, “will you remember that, or will you continue to misbehave?”
*
Wanting to try something new, Rhosynel’s managed to convince Boromir to let her tie him to the bed, fully intending to have her way with him. She does, however, rather enjoy teasing Boromir till he snaps, and he certainly enjoys returning the favour.
FULL disclosure, the idea of Boromir breaking free was entirely inspired by @melians-griddle's delightful fic Hilted. But while Aragorn doesn’t break free, I am a sucker for Boromir fucking the ever loving daylights outta Rhosynel 😊
Rhosynel jolted out of the fantasy, lurching upright and shoving herself back on the bed until her spine hit the headboard. Damp hand snapping to the side, and closing on the hilt of the little knife she kept on the bedside.
A towering figure was stood at the door, arms folded, head tilted, watching with great curiosity and far too much intensity.
“Don’t stop on my account.”
Boromir.
*
Impatiently waiting for Boromir to return from an excessively long meeting, Rhosynel takes matters into her own hands. Only for him to return home just as it's getting good.
Tagged by the lovely @melians-griddle whose snippet is of Aragorn/Faramir spending time at a beachside "Fuck Cottage", which naturally made me think of the smut one shot I've written of Rhosynel/Boromir spending time at a forest "Fuck Cabin". So here, have a snippet of sex pollen flower motivated smut to match 😂
No pressure tags (for reading or responding!) @erathene @tenderclio @scyllas-revenge and @esta-elavaris
Explicit content below the cut!!
At her back, Boromir was huffing.
It wasn’t from exertion, Rhosynel wasn’t sprinting and she knew Boromir could tolerate long distance runs. Was it the Lovers Delight? Was it making him struggle for breath? Was it making his pulse race and his skin red and beads of sweat roll down his brow, his throat, his chest?
Since that was happening to her… probably.
Cresting the rise, the thatched roof of the cabin came into view.
The noise which left Rhosynel’s throat was one part relief, one part desperation. She was too hot, too aware, too sensitive. The cotton of her tunic was abrasive against her skin, the leather of her boots too snug about her calves, the belt on her hips was too tight. Her heart was pounding, her lungs were straining, her blood was thrumming, and she was far, far too aware of Boromir’s presence half a pace behind her.
“N-not far.”
The low growl of an answer made her shiver.
Flitting across the glade, Rhosynel bounded up the steps onto the porch, reaching for the door latch—
Boromir’s hands seized her waist, the weight of his body abruptly pressing against her back, all but pinning her to the rough wooden door of the hunting lodge. That alone had Rhosynel yelping in shock, but when his mouth landed on her neck, it turned to a whine, spine arching instinctively.
“In-inside,” she barely managed to protest, fingers scrabbling for the latch. “Inside. Now.”
It was less that Boromir listened, and more that the door opened inwards.
Tumbling forwards they almost crashed to the floor, where Rhosynel was fairly certain Boromir would be happy to keep her. With a lurch, she managed to squirm free of his grasp, hastily dumping the identification book and sack of the Béma blasted Lovers Delight to one side.
A good thing too, as Boromir soon caught her hips, dragging her roughly backwards to thud against his chest.
“Th-the door.”
He growled, but lashed out blindly with one foot, his boot solidly hitting the wood and slamming it shut. Apparently not all reason had fled him yet.
“Rh-Rhosynel—” Boromir was panting, face buried in her hair, breathing in deeply and exhaling with a groan. “—ho-how do we stop it?”
“I don’t know. I do-dont know if we can."
His rough curse was somewhat mitigated by the fact his hands was grasping at her, kneading at her flesh, fingers curling into her waist, her breasts, her thighs, her stomach. No matter how close he was, it didn't seem close enough, bearing down on her, forcing her another shaky step forwards.
“I don’t wa-want to hurt you. You sho-should go,” Boromir insisted, voice hoarse, words broken as he struggled to speak. “I’m burning up. I’m aching. I want –I need– you. But t-tell me to let you go. Tell me. I’ll le-let you go. You can lock the door. Keep me in her-e, w-wait it out.”
“I won’t leave you like this,” Rhosynel managed to reply, reaching out, gripping the back of a chair, knuckles turning white and head tilting back. Just his hands were too much, the heat of his body against her back, the kneading of her flesh, the ghost of his lips against her neck, the roughness and heat and desire and need in his voice. “I-I ate one too, remember?”
“Two.”
Considering the haze that was rapidly clouding her thoughts, Boromir’s one word answer was still cut through it and left her… confused.
“T-two?” she repeated breathlessly, “what do you mean two?”
“I, I ate two.”
The breath hitched in her throat.
He’d eaten two flower heads. Two Lovers Delight. When one was meant to be boiled, boiled and removed from the tea before it was consumed. When one was meant to be enough for two people. A single flower would enhance his senses and push him into a state of arousal. And Boromir had eaten two.
“Fuck,” Rhosynel breathed.
“Yes, Valar, please.”
Boromir’s pleading was deep and throaty, desperate with need and utterly overwhelmed by desire. His chest reverberated against her back, sending a shiver down Rhosynel’s spine as she tried –and failed– to come up with a solution.
She was too hot, too needy, too desperate, and too utterly overwhelmed to know what to do. Her own senses were going haywire, painfully aware of Boromir’s heat, of each movement, of each grope and caress and stroke and knead. She couldn’t think, couldn’t figure out what to do, not when she was aching with need.
Not when Boromir was worse.
“Rh-oh-synel.”
At his whimper, Rhosynel moved.
Clawing at her belt, her fingers felt far too unwieldy, too uncoordinated, too shaky, but with some effort she managed to unbuckle it. The clatter of leather and metal hitting the floor was loud.
And entirely drowned out by Boromir’s moan.
She’d only managed to undo one button of her breeches, when his hand flattened against her stomach, shoving beneath her waistband. Sliding down between her thighs, his fingers carded through the curls there, as he sought out the wetness that had been gathering ever since she touched that fucking pollen.
“Rhos,” Boromir panted, “Rhos, te-tell me t-to stop, if you don’t want—”
“I do. I w-want this. I need you.”
His answering groan was little more than a snarl.
With how slick she’d gotten, it was far too easy for Boromir to find her clit, fingers starting to rub and circle at a pace that bordered on frantic. A breathless gasp left Rhosynel, hands scrambling for purchase against the chair back, unable to brace herself properly.
In a frenetic burst, she shoved the chair aside, and the pair lurched forwards. Her thighs hit the edge of the table hard enough to push it a few inches across the floor, but at least now she could brace her forearms, arch her spine, push back against Boromir—
He was hard.
Pressed against her ass, Boromir’s hips shifted and ground against her, even as his fingers kept swirling about her clit. Already starting to shake and shiver, Rhosynel lifted one leg, planting her knee atop the table, spreading her legs wider and allowing his fingers better access. Boromir’s chest pressed to her back, folding her down, lips and mouth and tongue and teeth tracing across her neck with licks and kisses and sucks and bites.
The whimper that left her was loud.
Huffing and panting against her neck, Boromir’s hips rocked and ground against her ass, the fabric between them was too much, not enough, she needed more, wanted less. His fingers pressed more firmly, all but demanding she come.
A startled wail left Rhosynel, as she did as bidden.
The spike of pleasure was sudden and intense, crashing over her far more swiftly that any climax she'd had before. Her hips bucked, thrusting and grinding into his hand, shuddering for a moment before the tension fled her equally as swiftly.
A pleased groan left Boromir, as more slickness soaked his fingers.
All too quickly his hand slid away, leaving her clit and her breeches, even as she gave a whimpered protest. Dazed and confused more than anything, Rhosynel’s body sagged. That climax had hit and passed far too quickly, and while it had felt good, it had been fleeting, hadn’t helped the ache, the burn, the need. If anything… she wanted more.
Not that Rhosynel was left wanting.
With a few deft yanks, Boromir had her breeches down, snagged on her boots and trapped about her knees. There was a second clatter as his own sword belt hit the floor and then—
The hard length of his cock dragged across her slit.
Hard, hot, thick, and heavy, Rhosynel was already panting in anticipation. He’d not warmed her up much, but she was beyond caring, she ached, burning and throbbing and desperate for Boromir to split her open and fill her up.
Thank the Valar he didn’t keep her waiting.
Pressing the head of his cock against her entrance, Boromir apparently still possessed enough sense not to thrust too hard too fast. Gingerly pushing forwards, Rhosynel whined at the stretch, whimpered as he breached her, and let out a pitiful mewl as he slowly pressed forwards sinking deeper into her too-tight cunt.
All too quickly, Boromir’s hips were pressed flush to hers.
She was not wearing the best clothes for this game, no, her bright red tunic stuck out like a sore thumb in amongst the greens and browns of the forest. But then again perhaps it was a good choice, Boromir wasn’t a Ranger or a tracker, and while he had skills in hunting, that was for animals, not people. No, her flash of red would be enough to keep him on her trail, to ensure that this game would actually reach a conclusion.
Or a climax.
Trying not to snort at her own joke, Rhosynel flitted from one wide trunk to the next.
*
Boromir asking if Rhosynel missed doing anything with her previous partner is all well and good, but now she’s hurtling through a forest at a breakneck pace with him hot on her heels. And absolutely no illusion as to what’ll happen if he catches her.
Tagged by the ever wonderful @melians-griddle and this time I thought I'd give you all a snippet of the Bath-Shot! Everyone say thank you to @erathene for gently bullying me into writing this 😊
Tagging: @erathene (bring me your bath-shot!!) @scyllas-revenge and @konartiste
Anyway, enjoy a Boromir massage
“I found a book in the markets, while you were away,” Boromir replied, moving closer and causing another shift of water, another splash as yet more escaped the tub, “and I want to try a few things I read in it.”
“One of those books, was it?”
“No.” His defensive reply was mitigated by the guilty pause. “Well… yes. But! That’s not what I want to try.”
Rhosynel breathed a laugh, inclined to keep teasing him. She would have, if it wasn’t for the fact Boromir’s warm broad hands settled against her shoulders. Blinking in confusion, she found herself wondering just what he’d been reading.
The pressure of his fingers gently dug into her shoulders, and any queries she had abruptly became unimportant.
“Oh.”
Her sigh of pleasure earned a low hum from Boromir, as his fingers carefully kneaded at her shoulders. For a brief moment, her body tensed against the unfamiliar feeling, but just as quickly, any and all worries were brushed away.
That felt so good.
Boromir was strong, she knew that, she’d had first-hand experience of how easily he could lift her up to carry, how quickly he could pin her when they sparred, especially on how he could effortlessly manhandle her in bed. But this? This was something else entirely.
His fingertips dug into the muscles between neck and shoulder, a scent of some warm oil meant his hands glided across her water slicked skin, smoothed over her shoulder blades, before circling back up to knead at her shoulders once again. Another circuit, and Rhosynel found her back arching, pressing against his palms in a request she didn’t know she had.
It seemed Boromir understood, as he increased the pressure of his touch.
The groan that left Rhosynel’s throat was louder than she’d expected.
For half a second, Boromir froze.
And then renewed his efforts, with vigour.
“Feels good, I take it?” he murmured, voice a low rumble to echo the distant thunderstorm, “enjoying yourself?”
“Pl-ease, don’t stop.”
He didn’t, thank Béma. Boromir’s thumbs pressed to the back of her neck, rubbing in soothing circles, quickly banishing any aches or pains or lingering tensions Rhosynel didn’t know she had. Back to the shoulders, rubbing firmly between her shoulder blades, and her arms shifted, granting more access to the tense muscles beneath them.
There was a pleasant warmth from the oils he was soothing across her skin, an almost spicy scent. Was that… cinnamon? The spice was expensive, imported from Harad and beyond, where had he gotten it? How much had he spent on a vial of oil that was just to be rubbed into her skin?
The worries of cost quickly became unimportant, as his fingers dragged down her spine.
Entirely without meaning, Rhosynel’s back arched with a sigh.
The cost didn’t matter. She’d buy ten, twenty, hells, a hundred vials of the oil, but only if Boromir promised to do this with each and every of them.
The bath water was warm, the oils were suffusing into her skin, and the heat of Boromir’s palms glided across her back and shoulders with a comforting familiarity. Another drag across her spine, his hands sinking beneath the waters to knead at the muscles across her ribs, slowly roaming lower to her waist. Her spine bowed, pressing into his hands, subtly moving to where she needed his fingers to dig into most.
Again and again Boromir stroked, kneaded, pressed and smoothed, allowing her to dictate where she needed touching, what aches she needed banishing. Rhosynel didn’t need to speak, didn’t need to explain, Boromir listened to the breathy sounds leaving her lips, and did as silently bidden.
His thumbs pressed against her lower back, rubbing in circles, teasing out the knots of stress and tension that had built up over Béma knew how many years. His fingers wrapped about her waist as he pressed his thumbs harder.
There was a subtle shift in Rhosynel’s body.
The pleasure of being so warm, relaxed, and comfortable, took on a slightly different pleasure. One that had her blood warming for an entirely different reason.
Inhaling deeply, the heady spice of cinnamon mingled with the relaxing scent of lavender, and the familiar fragrance of patchouli, flooded her lungs. Rhosynel’s hips shifted, pressing backwards in a bid to find the heat of Boromir’s body.
Mistaking her request for him as a request for more, Boromir dug his fingers into her flesh.
Rhosynel moaned.
The grip on her waist tightened, a sharp inhale at her back.
“Do—” His voice was rough, having to clear his throat to continue. “—Do you want me to stop?”
“No.” She whined. “Yes.” She panted. “I—I don’t, I don’t know. I want—”
“Shh, shh easy,” Boromir was quick to sooth. His hands released the tight grip on her waist, smoothing back up her spine to run gentle fingers across her shoulders. “I’ve got you. Take a deep breath. Try and relax for me. Just breathe.”
Behind her, there was a sharp inhale, and the inked stained quill was abruptly flattened to the desk, Boromir’s free hand landing on her hip. Rhosynel didn’t react to his reaction, other than to paw through the parchment and find the map of Gondor she knew was buried somewhere.
And if her hips and ass happened to press back against him, shifting with her weight as she moved, that was entirely accidental, and certainly not intentional in the slightest.
*
Unwilling to let Boromir slave away over his reports long into the evening, Rhosynel takes it upon herself to distract him. It works, possibly a little too well, as Boromir’s more than enthusiastic to put her through her paces, and risk ruining the reports he was working on in the process…
FUN FACT this was my first attempt at writing smut! Admittedly I’ve edited a little bit here and there, but the over all majority of it is the OG attempt. Hilariously, I thought it was SO debauched and indecent, and now I look at some of the other stuff I’ve written and laugh myself silly 😂
