18+ Only
Tags: medieval!au, sex in a tent, shig tops from the bottom, mildly dubious consent, coercion, medieval warfare, gender neutral reader, blood, injuries, sorry animal death, size kink
sex in a tent’s been up on ao3 for a week now, i was just testing out headers and working on making my tumblr blog a bit less ugly. that’s why it’s taken so long to put it up here. enjoy dumb sex in a tent fic.
You knew you had to have him the moment you saw him across that ruined battlefield.
Tomura Shigaraki was the finest specimen of man you had seen in all your years of war.
A ferocious snarl across his fine features, dangerous corded muscle, pulling a spear free from one of your soldiers, the force of it carrying entrails and waves of blood breaking across his chest, his face. Eyes the same colour as the blood he drew. Hair like smoke, clouds thundering across the sky. It made your mouth water.
Your warhorse whinnied frightfully as an arrow flew past you, embedding itself into the filthy ground. Dropping your heels and your weight into the saddle, you calmed the beast, eyes focused on the prize.
“Capture their leader alive!” You order your troops, “Everyone else can die!”
It was thrilling to finally see him. The pain in the kingdom’s side, the rebel leader of less than 500. Yet somehow still butchering his way through the king’s provinces and cities. You knew him from stories and pictures and not so flattering descriptions, but in person...
The King had ordered you to bring Shigaraki to his knees.
So, you would.
“CHARGE!” your own voice was joined by the roars of your cavalry, a swarm of hooves and gilded swords, the stampede engulfed the hillside in darkness. The bodies of the enemy and your own kingdom’s armies crunched wetly under the weight of your warhorses. Your sword was secondary to the speed and the gravity of your armoured horses. You swung your sword, beheading those soldiers stupid or desperate enough to rush mounted fighters. Your whizzing sword cut a path open to your prize.
Shigaraki was beleaguered, finishing off a squad of your kingdom’s men. You let your men deal with the rest of them; Shigaraki was yours.
His eyes turned to you in a cold red fury, trained on your blade. He gripped the wet wood of his spear and sneered at your uniform, your cape, your rank.
You responded to the lengthening of his stride, the change in his stance. He was coiled like a snake in the dark, and you were barely able to bring your sword arm up to block in time. Your warhorse stood ground, but you backed him up, breathless. For a man on foot to push back cavalry... incredible. Shigaraki didn’t let up, he pushed on and alternated between deft stabs and swings, all of which you blocked with practiced hefts of your blade. You danced away from his attacks and led him in too close, close enough to kick him back with your boot.
He stumbled.
You smirked. He looked beyond enraged. Before you could find your balance in the saddle, Shigaraki’s next attack was aimed to kill. Your belated block let his spearhead tear a bloody gash up your arm to your shoulder. Horrified, you retreat a dozen meters on your warhorse. Blood trailing, splattering across the dirt. Amazing! That was your sword arm! You gripped your weapon tighter; it was time to end this.
You use the distance put between you to set yourself up in a charge. Your warhorse bellowed, grunting, and heaved towards the guarded Shigaraki, his eyes wide open and manic, smiling with all his teeth. Every point of contact became obvious to you in a moment. Your sword cut open his shoulder, spraying blood and bone into the air, the wood of his spear blasted to fragments your periphery and into the sodden ground and you know the sharp tip of his spearhead is embedded in your horse’s chest. You’re airborne for a moment before you hit the sodden ground and roll inelegantly, pain blooming in your legs and up your sides. You’ve fallen off enough horses to grasp for the pommel of your lost sword immediately and stand up, shaky from the adrenaline. But there is nothing. There is barely the sound of fighting.
Your army is winning.
And Shigaraki is pushing the weight of your dead horse off his broken legs, one of his arms dangles uselessly as his side as he crawls toward you stubbornly, chest in the mud, eyes full of murder.
You sheathe your sword and hold out a hand to him.
“Surrender.”
But he catches your wrist in a rabid bite. He is feral, truly the demon king of the underworld, but his perfect body is falling apart now and so you rip your hand free of his jaw and kick his head in.
Only then does he sag, bruised beyond recognition, body fractured like broken stone and rest. His eyes wide open, but very much gone. You suspect even unconscious he’s fighting. It puts a smile on your face. There’s lots to celebrate tonight.
➼
Tomura woke up to extraordinary pain. He felt taken apart and barely put back together. His breathing was laboured and moving, as he quickly discovered, was altogether impossible. Stripped naked and in an enemy camp is never a good situation. The alarming musk of warm smoke curled lazily up his nostrils, and lantern light bled golden towards his cot.
“Welcome back,” came a voice.
You
Disgruntled, Tomura stared sullenly right at the very person who put him in this predicament. The Commander of the Royal Cavalry that was very late to the battle, but very effective. His broken legs were testament to that. You had your own wounds though, sword arm in a sling, Tomura noted with slight satisfaction.
He wished he had a chance to really crush you. Though your technique was practiced, you would’ve never won a battle off your stupid beast of a horse against him. He outweighed you in both height and muscle, your reliance on your beast of burden was altogether too obvious now that you were out of your armour and your ugly animal was dead. You didn’t look menacing at all.
You smiled at him.
Tomura felt suitably annoyed by that expression. He wished he were dead. He always figured he’d die in battle, fighting for what he believed in. And now he was a prisoner of war while most of his army lay dead? He could feel an uneasy sense of hopelessness rising in his chest.
“Tomura Shigaraki... how are you feeling?”
You even kneeled beside him; hands affixed delicately to the side of his cot. Tomura slithered away from you, skin prickling angrily at the nerve of you.
“I’m afraid your army lost,” you explained gently. If he stared hard enough at your forehead maybe you’d combust. “There were a few survivors, some did surrender, and we do take prisoners. Most will be fine given a few weeks bed rest.”
“Shut up,” He said. He only just woke up, but he was already tired of listening to you.
You shut up, watching him patiently. Where did your fight go? You were poised, clean, nothing like you were on the battlefield. Tomura realised what you were. You were everything he hated, a coddled, entitled Noble from Endeavour’s Kingdom.
His sneer twisted his scarred lips handsomely, “Why don’t you just fucking kill me, you imperial scumbag?”
You smiled at that, ignoring his insult, “Well, I don’t think you wish to die...”
Tomura snorted, looking away from you. He could not stand the sight of you. Faux innocence, courtly manners.
“And... I suppose it’s selfish.” You mused, taking on an embarrassed tone, “But you’re everything I’ve ever wanted, Shigaraki.”
That got his attention.
“What kind of Devil are you?” grit out Tomura.
You chuckled at that, “Forgive me, it’s rather forthcoming of me,” You stood up, walking to the table in the dimly lit tent, picking up a wooden jug, bringing it over. Pensive expression. You lift the jug to Tomura’s lips, and he considers spitting at you. Or biting you again, but he is dreadfully thirsty and takes several hungry gulps while you patiently tilt the jug for him. As he finishes, he feels you stand.
You saunter back to the table and bring back a plate of fruit and cheese, hard crackers lining the sides. It gets placed at the edge of Tomura’s cot while you walk away again. Tomura is itching to eat so he uses his good arm to prop himself up and grabs the bite sized pieces in twos. The flavours burst on his tongue; the food is good. Fresh. Fresher than soldiers’ rations have a right to be. He watched you suspiciously. He detested the kind of privilege Nobles lived with.
The kind of privilege that made them immune to the suffering of people just trying to scrape by. The kind of privilege they earned from subjugating and terrorising for countless centuries. Just as you demonstrated on the battlefield. A good fighter he could respect, but you by all means didn’t deserve his respect. How many of his men did your army kill? How many of them did you personally kill or execute? Did you ever kill peasants, torture them? Did you ever bribe, steal and rape?
Probably.
“You’re gorgeous.”
He narrowed his eyes; you were a rapist. He continued stuffing his face. But he watched rapt at your trembling form. You looked so ashamed. Probably from being attracted to bottom feeders like him-
“Your fighting is, ah, something else” you say, overtaken by emotion. “You’ve been fighting all your life, haven’t you? It’s beautiful.” You beamed. So, you were a crazy too.
“Nothing is wasted in your movements!” You sighed, “Wow. I thought the stories were just legends…”
Tomura blinked at you, settling back into his nest of pillows. They were scented. He thought he was going to vomit.
“But your technique,” you came to his bedside again, “Powerful, but not refined. It’s... self-taught?”
He does not want to look at you, but it is almost flattering. He snorted, “Gets the job done.” There’s no dueling rules or best practice outside of the Kingdom, not when you’re scrounging for scraps and trying to stop people who want to kill you.
Tomura takes a jab at you, “You need your horse, otherwise you’re useless.”
“You caught me out,” you said lightly with a chuckle. You take his emptied plate and put it to the floor, “I’ve got a proposition for you.”
“Whatever it is, no,” drawled Tomura. You laughed again. Tomura thought it was not a bad sound.
You said, softly, with reverence and severe seriousness, “Tomura Shigaraki, will you be mine?”
He was sore and tired, but the furs and blankets over him were warm, and his belly was full. He simmered a bit. Glaring at you hatefully.
You were too optimistic at his lack of real response, “Would you let me convince you?” Your hands gripped the edge of the cot, but your knuckles were white, could your insufferable gaudy attitude be a very fragile front?
Tomura felt like knowing.
“How?” he asked, “How exactly will you convince me?”
A pink blush flushed your cheeks as you replied, “In whatever way you let me.”
So, a polite rapist.
“I think no,” Tomura said firmly.
You stiffened, and slowly stood up. “Is that final?”
Tomura pretend to think about it because it was entirely gratifying watching you agonise. You sighed, crumpling to your knees beside his bedside, pouting.
“Why don’t you just take me?” asked Tomura, “Take me like your type takes everything. I don’t have much of a choice, do I?”
You thought, not meeting his eyes, “If… if you reject my offer, you will still have my political protection. I won’t let the King kill you.”
“I will make sure your men are provided for. And yourself, of course. With whatever you need to start a new life, an honest life in the empire.”
“There is no honest life under the empire,” Tomura said, but your earnest demeanour had him believing you, believing a spoilt rich brat.
You grumbled, “that is truly all I can offer.”
Tomura wondered if this was it. If he was giving in. But he had nothing left to fight for. It hit him then that things would not go back to the way they were. It felt terrible and empty. Empty enough that the thought of a warm and eager body was a balm on the open wound of his loss.
Tomura said voice streaked with weariness, “Convince me.”
You perked up.
“You better make it good,” snarked Tomura, shifting himself just a little to get comfortable. He was no stranger to tangles in the dark with interested men and woman wanting a piece of the saviour, but you were the first Noble he’d be fucking. If he couldn’t destroy you on the battlefield, he could...
He watched you slip off your uniform jacket, it was awkward with your tightly wrapped sword arm and you let it fall to a mess on the floor. Soon, more of your clothes joined the pile. Your body was battle ready, but not a twisted mass of scars like his own. You looked healthy, skin soft and supple unlike his own flaking body. His dick jumped at the thought. Becoming aroused was normal especially since he hadn’t had any for months on end since the campaign began. It wasn’t because he was attracted to you.
You slid a warm hand over his pec, pushing down the furs covering his honed upper body. You straddled his thighs lightly and continued your touching down his front. Tomura shouldn’t be aroused by this, he shouldn’t be rock hard while the enemy just touches him like some desperate virgin stable boy, but your touch is attentive and slow and wonderful. The anticipation is killing him.
You were engrossed by his body, appreciating the hard dangerous edges of a man carved from war and survival. Humming, you push an eager hand against his hipbones and find the curve of his dick, half hard and ready for you. Tomura is looking at you with dark eyes, breathing long and slow, like a pinned animal.
Convince me, he’d said.
You lick a long stripe up him. The musk of him there is indescribable, the prickle of his curly pubes on your nose. He smelled amazing. You were slobbering all over him within seconds, swallowing down the fat tip of his erection and gobbling as far as you could do. He groaned when the tip hit the back of your throat and that wasn’t even half of him. You used your good hand, wrapped around the thick base of him while your mouth slicked more saliva over the top of him.
Tomura sighed, content, the sucking was a good pressure, a warm slutty throat like yours was able to keep his thoughts off the pain and his failure dancing around. He laid back further into the pillows, looking up at the lantern light bouncing off the tent covers and closing his eyes to the comfort.
“Go faster,” he said lazily, “you can, can’t you?” He was clearly trying to test you.
Your ears burned with humiliation, but you pried open your jaw just a little more and crammed more of his huge cock down your throat. The slick slurp slurp slurp intensified and Tomura really couldn’t help the whispered, “fuck,” dragged from him.
God you were such a whore, suckling his cockhead like a teat. He realised he didn’t want to cum in just a mouth. For his troubles he deserved to cum inside you.
If he could, he would flip you over and pound you straight through the night and into the morning. If he could, he’d take you on your knees in front of your whole damn army, so they knew how much of a slut you were for rebel cock. He would absolutely do that. But he could not, so he contented himself with angling his hips in a sharp shove against your throat and heard you choke and struggle and valiantly continue to suck again. He reached an impatient hand to your hair, fisting it and pulling you forcefully off his cock.
“That’s enough, ride me.”
With shaky legs you pulled off your under garments and straddled him, conscious of his wrapped appendages. With one slippery hand you grabbed his stiffness and guided it to your dripping hole. He was thick so it was a tight fit, but the hardness of his cock helped spear you open. Feeling stretched to your limit, you shuddered and ground yourself against him. He was only halfway inside.
Tomura gave you a teasing flick of a slap on your thigh to urge you to fully sit. Then he decided to be a little bolder. You were the one that offered anyways, so he gave your ass a resounding slap. You gasped. He hoped the whole camp would hear their commander getting railed. Tomura smirked, it was a terrible situation, but he was enjoying himself, “You’re cavalry, aren’t you? Shouldn’t you know how to ride?”
Your reaction was gold, your face turned completely red. “Th-that was awful.”
Tomura pumped up his hips, catching you off guard. “Neigh,” he said, extending the joke.
You rolled your eyes, muttered, “Oh Gods,” and got to work, raising yourself up on your thighs and enjoying the slide down. It felt like he was piercing you open. Far too wide and far too good. You’d never ridden a cock this large. Your back was rigid and quivering trying to get the right angle. Any movement you made meant his fat dick bullying your puffy insides out of the way.
Neigh, he had said, he was very good at getting under your skin. You bounced up and down harder, the tip of his dick catching on your sweet spot. You moaned and chased that feeling, pumping your hips desperately. Loving the feeling of him filling you up as he bottomed out against you.
Tomura, for what it was worth, was trying whilst mostly disabled. He’d canted his hips up slightly each time to meet your rhythm. The way his balls tightened made him realise it really had been too long for him. Faced with an eager sloppy hole for him to fuck up into, it was getting hard to not cream you so soon.
Cream the commander kind of had a ring to it.
Tomura’s juicy cock inside you felt so good that you were struggling to concentrate, trying to chase your orgasm, which felt so so good. You were ready to cum; you were ready to cum all over his dick. Inside you was where he belonged. Slamming it as deep as it could go. Gods you were losing your mind.
“Gods, but you’re a slut,” said Tomura. He is beautiful in the red lamp light, smirk daring you to retaliate. He leaned into your ear, breath hot on your neck, “Do you think they can hear you outside?”
You bury your face into his shoulder, embarrassed, he reeked of sweat. You nip him as revenge. “I’m being quiet,” you stage whisper, “It would be unbecoming if my guards heard me.”
He jostled you with a naughty thrust and it made you squeak. You clapped your hands over your mouth. Tears beading at the corner of your eyes because his dick is fucking huge. He’s edging you closer with every hump and making your eyes lose focus. It appeared effortless for him, even battered, and bruised and halfway to death, just like his practiced, greased movements on the battlefield.
Destruction, but this time it was his dick.
It should not have been hot, or sexy, but it was what it was. You were going to pass out from the exertion of fucking Tomura Shigaraki’s massive rebel cock.
You clutched at his chest, letting out tired breaths, letting him grind into you. Shigaraki had the nerve to look bored and smug.
“Come on,” he teased, eyes slitted dangerously, “You’re done already?”
And between sharp white teeth came a whisper...
“Where’s that fight?”
Again, that shouldn’t have been hot as hell. But, laboured, you get up on your knees and begin riding him again, your good arm braced against the wooden slats of the cot. He sighs in satisfaction, head resting against the pillows. The column of his throat hot with sweat.
You find yourself getting into a soothing rhythm, tiny puffs of breath and the wet squelching of your coupling filled the tent. Your hole clenching but finding nearly no difference in the tightness because of Shigaraki’s generous girth. But it’s nearly impossible not to clench helplessly against him with the way he was jammed against your insides. You were closer now, sweat peeling off you and you grinding closer to his belly for some blissful friction.
A dark moan came from him. You flushed.
“Ugh shit,” and Shigaraki’s raised himself up on his good elbow, looking windswept, white hair plastered to his cheeks. He was drooling. There was so much spit, it was down the corners of his mouth, still crusted with sleep. It dripped heavily onto his chest.
“Shit, fuck, keep going,” he begged, swallowing thickly.
It was so good; nothing had ever felt this good before. You’d never fucked a man with a battering ram for a cock before. Your mind really was melting. And you couldn’t help your cries now, soft whimpers every time Shigaraki fucked into you, your body taking his cock like you were made for it.
Wetness, your foggy mind drifted back to him when you noticed he was dribbling his drool all over your chest and neck, seizing mouthfuls of your flesh and sucking with abandon. Hot vibrations rumbling through your bones when he moaned.
You whined, high and needy like never before. Thinking only of Shigaraki’s cock, your release. Thinking minutely of how Shigaraki drooled when he fucked and how he prefers a certain angle that feels so damn good for you.
He hits it, like he’s doing it deliberately, that soft spot inside you that’s making you see stars and fragmented lamp light. His sharp teeth dig deep into your sweaty neck, not letting go. His cock twitches and releases hot ropy cum inside you. Filling you up with him. He snarls into your bloodied neck, and you tip your head back, wailing as you cum.
it’s a high res version of just shig’s cute face. Tbh i am really proud of this drawing weheeheh. So. Hence. I’m sorry it’s not new content, but i feel like i must’ve posted at an off time first time round.
Vote Now! [Shigaraki is your prisoner of war and fucks for asylum (you give him asylum)] [Dabi dicks you down in an ikea (you buy him meatballs after)]
This blog was put on hiatus at the beginning of February. The intention was so I could spend some time creating works and come back with some (amazing, brilliant, groundbreaking, I wish) content to share with everyone.
To be honest, I have not recovered from the incident which incited the hiatus, and I’m finding my experience in the BNHA fandom is no longer enjoyable. To put it in perspective, I am being medicated for generalised anxiety disorder and major depressive disorder, so for me, although I attend therapy, it is hard for me to get over negative events in my life, however small or insignificant to others they may seem.
Getting involved in fandom for me was an excercise in undoing a lot of damaging abuse done to me from my time at art school. These things were emotional abuse, personal insults, racism and sexism rather than myself or others being sensitive to constructive criticism. So the generally positive reaction to my creative works after sharing has been a first for me.
I find myself at crossroads here, although Shigaraki and BNHA has given me a great deal creatively, I now struggle with a lot of anxiety surrounding it. I want to keep creating work for free consumption as it is a passion of mine, but I find myself facing new mental barriers. I thought some time away from the blog and creating would do me good, however a month later and it doesn’t seem to be the case.
I have pondered a few solutions to my problem, none of which I’m entirely satisfied with.
1. Shutting down this blog would be unfair to people who’ve enjoyed my work and use this blog as an archive.
2. Leaving this blog alone and beginning fresh in a different fandom under a new username has a great appeal for me right now. This could be giving into the avoidance anxiety, but could also be healing. Though, I am afraid this will create a cycle of me making and dumping blogs when the going gets tough. It also makes it hard to build an audience, and although I deny it, it does bring me great joy to see views and interactions my works make.
3. Continue being miserable about it all and saying to myself I’ll make something but I don’t.
4. Overcome the horrible hurdle of posting content again and interacting with people again, and realising it’s not that awful or bad. <- this is where my anxiety struggles with letting me function like a normal human being. This particular option fills me with so much dread I am sweating just thinking about it, haha. But again, it’s really just a part of my disorder filtering reality.
5. Begin creating works for other fandoms under this username. Again just fills me with dread and the desire to simply not exist.
6. I dunno, leave fandom for like 7+ years again, get divorced or some shit and come back here bc here is less bad than real life.
Like I said. I don’t like any of these options. But I want to take a next step which feels true to the things I believe in (accessible content which you can’t find in the mainstream like a bookshop or something). I mean ideally I just feel better and start posting absolute rubbish again I’d love that, we’d all love that. I’ve got so many sketches, so many notes on content I’ve been working on, but my noodles get in a tangle when I try to work on them in a sustained way.
Well, I thought writing this would give me some kind of clarity going forward, but it really hasn’t. What I do know is that I have enjoyed bringing creative works to this space, and that I would like to do it again, but that anxiety stands in the way of it. My body and mind are sometimes just not my own to control lmfao.
Thanks for reading my writing or viewing my art if you ever have. I do notice and that’s very special to me. At the end of the day I don’t feel the need to become popular or make money off my work, but I am still happy when people see my stuff and enjoy it. Or uh, depending on the work are disgusted by it lol.
I think it will take a little while longer for me to figure out the best way forward, but we’ll get there and you can all enjoy my weird shit again unmolested.
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