-DSMP & QSMP Oneshots-

~Petals Dipped In Blood (A)~

(Hanahaki AU) (Quackbur)

TW: graphic, even disgusting description of blood; vomiting :) 

Requested by: nomomidontdodrugs

Wilbur's POV:

The taste of iron,

The touch of petals,

The fall of blossoms,

The gorgeous drops of colorful petals and dark red blood.

Shunned from love,

from light,

And snuffed from life.

Dropped from friends,

Left by family.

Thorns prickling at my throat,

Scratching and grabbing,

Making me feel like I can't breathe

I can't breathe

I can't breathe

I can't... breathe?

When will the breath of fresh air come?

All I get is blood clots in my throat.

Vomiting, crying, and slowly dying

Because of the one I love?

They don't love me.

Why would they?

There's nothing special about me.

Nothing.

-Mother Duck (me)

- - -

He had a gorgeous face. And a generally adorable and amazing personality. Hanging out with him was awesome. It was always fun to just... relax with him. Rest my head on his shoulder and just... chill.

I sighed, closing my eyes. His cologne was strong and musky. It fit him. He was looking up at the sky. We were both were supposed to be star gazing. It wasn't a date. No, we were just hanging out. Of course. I didn't even like him. He was... just a really cool friend.

He, of course, was Alex, or by friends, known as Quackity. Raven black hair, chocolate brown eyes, a mocha like skin color, and a shining white smile. I mean who wouldn't like him. Not me obviously. But.. who wouldn't?

His personality wasn't half bad either. He was kind, pleasant, and really funny. He liked to make little jokes here and there. About work, old friends,  and certain topics we brought up in friendly conversation.

I opened my eyes, looking up at him. He was mindlessly staring up at the midnight sky. His eyes glowed in the night, a slight white gleam seen as a highlight on his pupils. He was humming a forgotten song. It sounded familiar but not amicable. His dark hair wisps covering his face slightly. He'd always talked about cutting it, getting a trim but I'd always reassured him that it wasn't necessary. His hair was pretty. I think I envied him. He was always praised for his looks, and rightly so. Of course his eyes you could swim in for hours, if  you liked feeling melting, hot chocolate on your skin. His skin was probably soft, lightly freckled, and very inviting. And his lips...

God.

I don't like him.

Do I?

Quackity looks back down at me, no longer humming. He smiles.
Yep, I like him. I definitely like him.
He leans down, slowly getting closer to me. His face came near, showing more detail in his face. His eyes shifting down to my lips. My breathing quickly picked up as he came closer. I was panicking. Did he like me back?

. . . 

Nope. He didn't.

Because immediately after that, I woke up. All just a dream.
I swore. My stomach ached badly. I gripped my stomach, gasping. This, I think, was the worst stomach ache I have ever had. Something poked the back of my throat. Shit.

I was going to vomit. I got up and ran to my bathroom. Pushing open the door, I scrambled over to the toilet. When I opened my mouth, I had a pickling feeling that I would be there for a while.

. . .

The toilet was red. All I saw was red. I bent over, my hands on the toilet seat. I was vomiting blood. God, why?

It was deep. The blood was chunky. It was... colorful. Blue and yellow petals decorated my blood. Accompanying them were sharp, piercing... thorns. Pickling dazzlingly as they dancing out of my throat. Rough and unapologetically, they plopped into the bowl. It stung horribly. I could feel the thorns ripping out my stomach, one thorn by one. My face was covered in sticky blood. The blood contained torn roses, not at all blunt thorns, pieces of my stomach tissue, and just more blood.

I sat on my knees, gripping tightly on the toilet. I was crying desperately. Salty tears mixed with blood and a broken heart wasn't a pretty smell. Why was this happening to me?
My phone rang.

The ringing echoed. My head pained. I muffled my sobs, getting up and hobbling over to my bureau, where my phone was. I bit my lip looking at the phone number.
Alex.

I hiccupped. Gasping as I coughed up petals covered in blood. I hastily stumbled over to my sink, vomiting again, once over.

The Hanahaki Disease.

That was what I had. Had in past tense. I had Hanahaki disease for 3 days straight. Sitting at that toilet, crying in pain, for three days. I hadn't eaten. I hadn't spoken to anyone. I couldn't. People came to my bathroom door around day two but I couldn't answer. My dad, some friends, and even...

A small knock was heard from the door as I cried on the bathroom floor. (relatable)

"Hey, Wilbur?" I coughed, looking up at the door. Blood covered my hands, chest, and face. I licked my dry, bloody lips.

"Q?" I managed to squeak from my soar throat. It hurt badly.

Quackity made a couple surprised noises on his side of the door. "How are you man? We're all worried. You haven't been answering my calls... you've been in here for three days now. What's wrong?"

Thorn and prickles climbed up my throat as I crawled closer to the door. I let out a cry of anguish, letting out a gargled sound. I coughed, blood splattered flower petals everywhere. I screamed.

The thorns grew bigger and thicker, as my blood grew thinner. My head felt like it was about to explode.

"God! Wilbur are you...?! GUYS, COME HERE QUICK! I THINK SOMETHING'S WRONG! Wilbur, don't worry, everything is going to be-"

darkness.

- - -

Words: 927

A/N: Hello! I don't know if this was the best... I hope you enjoyed either way! Probably will redo when I get better at writing Hanahaki stuff.