venus_cow

DNI!

Generative AI, Kink-shamers, Homophobes, Transphobes, Xenophobes, Basic DNI Criteria.

CW!

T4T, Belly Kink (Not Inflation), Feederism, CNC, Cannibalism, Oviposition, Monster Fucking, Period Sex, Breeding Kink.

I would say minors DNI but any inappropriate content I make will be tagged appropriately, I recommend blocking #suggestive if you also don't like that. I don't make nsfw art frequently, I may make a nsfw blog in the future but for right now my content is safe to scroll.

The Todoroki family was renowned for their monster hunting abilities, and Toya had grown up learning every which way to kill monsters of all types. Under the guise of protecting the people, he’d believed every tale his father spun for him when he was tucked into bed each night. When he was awake, all he did was train, learn, and breathe monster hunting, and even in his sleep he dreamt about it, it’s all his brain knew of course.

The entire kingdom and villages below were surrounded by large walls to keep the monsters out, but walls aren’t a permanent solution, which is why his entire bloodline exists, to protect the ‘innocent’ from mindless beasts. His father took over as king, and as such Toya expected the same for himself after his father were to pass and Toya would succeed in his monster hunting abilities.

Years of training did him good, for a while at least, because when monsters would sneak in or he and a group of knights would be sent outside them to make sure no monsters nested too closely by, he and his group would slay beast after beast, returning from their journeys and fights worn out but proud enough to sleep through the night uninterrupted. Toya was confident in his abilities, he’d killed his first monster before he even turned 16, he’d had nothing to worry about.

Until one fight didn’t go as planned. His group had been wiped out, either dead or soon to be, and he had to face a dragon alone. It had been flying nearby, burning their cities to the ground, too dangerous, and that danger had proved to be too much. He’d only managed to slay the beast when backup had shown, but by then he’d been too damaged by fires he couldn’t outrun, and in a bitter twist of things, all his years of training and learning had become null. He could no longer do what he’d been born to do.

And he was quickly replaced, not even Natsuo or Fuyumi had been given the responsibility of slaying monsters. He’d been replaced by his youngest brother, Shoto, and it frustrated Toya to no end. Toya lived in constant pain, physically, emotionally, he never really hated Shoto for this, but he still resented the little brat for being better than him. It seemed like every day Shoto was killing monsters without the need of a group, Shoto didn’t need a crutch Toya had considered normalcy,

And so Toya had left on his own, desperate to prove he could still be the monster slayer and heir to the throne his father had once thought he was. He’d gone out on his own, sword in hand, venturing out in search of something big he could kill.

He traveled as far as he could manage, his knees screaming at him as the incline of a slope up a mountain tested him. He knew he shouldn’t be on his feet, but he had to, knowing something large surely resided in a cave high up here, perhaps he’d get another chance with a dragon, a way to prove his last mess-up had been a fluke, not proof he wasn’t cut out for what he’d been raised to believe was his destiny.

The mouth of the cave was threatening, but he didn’t let it deter him, nor did he let the many large animal bones rest in its entrance scare him off. He carried on, kicking a femur as he moved inwards, hoping to use the shadows to his advantage. He pressed himself against the rightmost wall of the cave, keeping his left hand on his sword. His eyes struggled to adjust but eventually he could make out the outline of something large and scaly curled up in a large opening. It breathed deeply as it slept, resting among piles of bones and treasures, gold and jewels shimmering enticingly with every small puff of flame the beast let out as it snored.

It looks like a dragon, it’s big, not as big as most of its kind, but large enough to still pose a threat, a deep green color with pink tinted spines crawling from its head down to the tip of its tail. The only issue is Toya can’t see its wings, what kind of dragon doesn’t have wings? He’s a bit preoccupied with finding out where they’ve gone, he steps around goblets and chests, trying to avoid making a sound, and when he manages to come into view of the large, fat dragon’s back, he sees large scars across the expanse of those scales, marks of scales grown in wrong or not at all, the wings torn out. Toya’s not at all sure what could have done that, but it must have been something bigger than this overgrown lizard, and he does not want to figure out what it is just yet…

For now, Toya’s going to focus on this slaying, and once he returns home, head in hand, he’ll be able to tell his father of his findings and go out to get rid of that creature next too.

Warmth feels his chest, tingly and soft like cotton in his pillows back home, filling all the crevices in his ribs that fuel his confidence more than it should, but this dragon is wingless and asleep, he should be able to handle this without much issue. He creeps back towards the front of the dragon, watching the soft glow of orange flames fill the space with every snore the creature lets out. He makes sure to stay out of the way of each puff to avoid accidentally catching his clothes on fire, and then he shifts the blade so it rests in both his hands, grip going white-knuckled the moment it tries to slip from his grip, definitely holding the blade too tightly.

The tension in his fingers travels up his arms, but he still lifts the weapon over his head, aiming the slice to go across the dragon’s neck for when he should swing it down. The weight is throwing him off on his weak legs, already sore from the journey, he has to shift his stance. But his leg slides across the humid, rocky surface of the ground, sliding right into a flame, catching the fabric of his pants ablaze.

“Shit—” Toya hisses, jolting from the sudden heat, the warmth momentarily bringing him back to the last time he’d faced against a dragon, making his limbs suddenly lock up with phantom pains. He jolts, he’s been trained to not make mistakes like this since he was born, but now he’s acting like a rookie. The blade loudly clatters against the rocky floors behind him, he stumbles as he tries to extinguish the flames in a panic.

He repeatedly slaps at his ankle until the flames go out, and when the burning is gone, he feels like he’s no longer in danger anymore. He’s not being burned alive surrounded by his fallen comrades, he’s okay, he just needs to slay a sleeping beast.

The snoring isn’t there anymore, and the flames have stopped flickering ahead of him. He only looks at the dragon when he suddenly hears a scraping sound of scales against stone and those open, rosy colored eyes are staring down at him as it only seems to get taller and taller. All at once bile rises in Toya’s throat, he feels sick to his stomach, the dragon isn’t the size of most but it’s not fucking small by any means. Toya is still only a few bites for this creature, it could snap its jaws on him right now and he’ll be dead.

He breathes in sharply, his hand scrambling behind him in search of his blade, but the first side he finds is the blade itself, not his handle, and his palm cuts like softened butter against the expertly crafted weapon, blood immediately dripping and forming a puddle behind him. He winces at the sharp, sudden pain but still manages to find the handle and grip it. The dragon isn’t even attacking him, it’s just staring down at him as he frantically aims the pointed end of the weapon towards the beast while he shakily gets to his feet.

“What’re you doing?” It isn’t Toya that says that, that lizard-like mouth opens, revealing sharp teeth, and a raspy voice tinged with…fucking humor. In all the textbooks Toya has read, and his own past experience, this monster hunter has never heard of dragons speaking at all, and yet here one is, fucking talking, making Toya feel pathetic as his grip slips on the handle of the sword from his own blood.

The dragon is smiling at him, looking bewildered with furrowed ‘brows’ and a slight smirk, head tilted and looking down at him like one would look at a very dumb puppy. Toya’s not even sure what he’s supposed to fucking do when a dragon is talking to him! This isn’t a normal fucking occurence for him! He just feels humiliated, confused, almost offended because he’s supposed to be one of the greatest monster hunters to have ever lived! And yet he’s standing here being treated like a spider that needs to be caught in a glass and placed outside, not where he’s supposed to be and harmless.

“Killing you…?” Toya sounds uncertain, even to his own ears, and he hates how helpless he sounds right now.

“Oh, really?” The dragon murmurs, sounding amused by the situation. Toya hates that this oversized gecko isn’t intimidated at all.

“Yeah, I am.”

“You’re bad at it.”

“Shut up!” Toya bites that out, stepping closer and shifting his stance to be more grounded, blade resting over his shoulder, ready to swing at the creature and kill it. He really hates this fucking thing, he can’t fucking believe he’s being treated like a joke right now.

The dragon spares him by not replying this time, but Toya finds himself preferring hearing the voice instead. The large creature just reaches its front leg…arm(?) out, and, of course, when Toya goes to attack, intending to defend himself from what he’s anticipating to be a swat or slash, he just ends up losing his grip on the blade. It flies out of his hands weakly, going in the completely wrong direction to the right, not ahead in the least. It doesn’t even get the dragon’s lizard-like paw-hand in the process! It misses entirely!

Toya watches as the sword scatters away across the cave floor, staring at that embarrassing failure with an impending sense of dread. Why the fuck is he fumbling right now???

“Yeah, you’re really bad at this.” The dragon drawls, and Toya’s completely speechless at himself, slowly looking back at the dragon that’s paused its reach towards him mid-air.

Literally what is Toya supposed to do? Shamefully walk over to his sword and hope the dragon just lets him kill it because it feels bad? That’s not fucking happening, not in a million years, he’s dead as shit right now, all his plans of making his dad proud have gone out the window, which has been fucking shattered rather than opened since he’s apparently suddenly very bad at the one thing he’s good at.

“Just kill me, jesus christ.” Toya’s just accepted his fate, he’s not doing this anymore. At least if he gets eaten here, no one will know, his family won’t feel ashamed. Maybe his family will think he ran away, or he died in a noble battle, not like this. He’s just shut his eyes and he’s waiting for the inevitable.

“You’re so dramatic—”

. . .

Things did not at all go according to plan.

The explosion at the hospital months ago had been detrimental, the last they heard from Ujiko was his Nomu ramblings and his offer of help in taming Gigantomachia. Tomura had been fighting the giant for 12 hours, but the explosion came, the air had gotten polluted, and their attempts at wrangling the beast had been cut short when the explosions turned rampant and power started shutting off.

It's a fictional topic most people have read or watched: zombies. Spinner's heard of people with zombie quirks, but usually it's a very loose definition of a zombie or too weak to be useful. Nomu were kind of like zombies, Tomura's leading theory was Ujiko was trying to make a different type of Nomu and it backfired. It's only a possibility, however, but Shuichi thought the idea was enough to settle his curiosities, and it had for a few months… And now he's convinced it's true given that everyone's quirks are growing weaker day by day and the undead seems to lose theirs upon turning.

Tomura used to be able to dust people in seconds, but the Decay takes so much longer now. Dabi's actually cold, he needs to wear layers now that it's begun snowing, and it feels weird seeing him shiver…get sick. Toga doesn't even want to drink anyone else's blood anymore, but Twice feels more secure in himself being real now…seeing as he hasn't turned into a puddle at this point.

Spinner really wishes he could climb about now, though, and that Dabi could just send his flames out. This was supposed to be a normal scavenge for supplies, Tomura had hurt himself on the last run and Dabi volunteered on coming this time, despite his sickness. Two undead actually turned out to be thirty and the once quiet supermarket turned into a chase through the streets.

They can't go back to base, they'll lead the horde to the others and Tomura won't be able to run. They have to go somewhere else, get out of sight of these corpses. The undead are slower in the snow, but they are too, and damn it, Shuichi is so tired. He wishes this quirk fading bullshit would take his brumating instincts away right about now, that would be convenient.

“Over there,” Dabi's voice is strained from the cold and running, and Spinner following the line Dabi's finger points. The invisible line Shuichi traces in the air leads a distance away, but it's to an apartment building.

“Usually got fire escapes.. If we can lure them into the halls, get 'em packed inside, we can get into a room and climb out through a window.” The pyro's voice fades halfway through his explanation, but Shuichi gets the gist of it.

“Alright, let's hurry,” he nods, speeding up and boosting Dabi along through this deep snow by grabbing his arm and dragging him alongside him.

Shuichi can't feel his toes, or his fingers…or his snout much either. If he had regular skin he's sure he'd be red all over, instead his green has just grown dark and gross in color. His legs burn from this thick snow, making his bones and scales frigid, ready to break if he bumps them wrong. Dabi doesn't look like he's fairing much better, the guy has always looked like he's staving no matter how much he ate, those thin legs look like they'll snap off if he stomps too hard.

The door opens to the main building, it's cold inside, of course, but it's better than the wet chill outside, which is an immediate relief to his senses. But they can't stop, if the horde doesn't follow them inside they might circle the building…they need to get back before dark or else the others might come looking for them.

“Upstairs—” Dabi starts to say, but his voice cracks on the “A” and his throat violently disagrees with that feeling, sending Dabi coughing, hacking. Shuichi flinches in sympathy, that sounds bad, painful.

He has to push Dabi forward instead, get him to hurry up towards the steps. Frostbitten rotting hands grab at the already open front doors, the wood aching under the grasp, and a few undead shuffle through on twisted ankles. It's not all of them, though. He needs to lure them all in, get them congested in this tight space so he can buy enough time for them to barricade the room they pick and climb out down the escape ladder.

Shuichi reaches out to his side and unsheathes one of his knives from the holster and brings it to the railing, starting to move up the steps backwards and bang the blade on the metal, the sound echoing in the space. Come here, come here… He hates to do this to one of his knives but Shuichi is best with blades and he doesn't think he has enough time to reach into his backpack and grab something else.

“Yeah, yeah— Hungry? Cmon!!” He has to clear his throat to keep from hacking up a fur ball like Dabi just was. He glances back occasionally, making sure he doesn't trip on his way up and Dabi isn't in the way… But Dabi's hardly moving from the top of the steps, still cradling his throat like there's something stuck in it.

He looks straight ahead again, watching as the horde files in and starts following him up the stairs, clumsy enough that they trip but not so effectively it stops all of them. When one falls, another just climbs over, and Shuichi is not interested in getting his ankles grabbed.

He reaches the top and grabs Dabi by the arm, rushing to the nearest door and trying the handle. When it doesn't budge he moves on, trying the next and the next. Dabi's gone quiet, not coughing anymore, but he's not breathing right. Shuichi doesn't have time to stop and help, he can do something when they find a door that will open.

The zombies are getting to the top of the steps already, they can't keep going from door to door, Shuichi thinks he's going to have to break a door down at this rate, but when his hand twists the next doorknob and it opens, relief floods him. He unceremoniously shoves Dabi inside first then rushes in after, slamming the door shut and quickly flicking the locks.

They're inside, they're safe. Dabi's quiet.

Shuichi turns his head, Dabi's slumped against the wall, on the verge of collapsing, not even coughing anymore, but his shoulders are shaking. He can see Dabi's hand on his chest, clenching his jacket in his left hand with a harsh grip that would be white knuckled if not for the burns over them. Fuck.

“Hey, hey— Breathe,” Shuichi leaves the door, his hands finding Dabi's shoulders straightening him up. His eyes dart between Dabi's neck and mouth, trying to figure out how exactly Dabi's choking. Then he notices it, wet, red, on his two toned lips. God, he's not sure what to do when someone is choking on their own blood.