Random BNHA Oneshots

choking on an unknown love

A/n: Sooo, Hanahaki disease anyone?
Ngl, did not think I'd end up writing one of those types of fics, but here I am. On the MHA Amino, I had several agency prompts themed plants and disease, so naturally, settled on this because I would be able to combine a few. Kind of. I drew a picture and then wrote this. More of a focus on the holy shit flowers, which I did go more on than just the, they choke on flowers.

The character is Shoto Todoroki.

Yes, it is my art, please don't repost without credit.

Please enjoy and happy Spooktober!

Word Count: 1240

⊱⋅ ──────────── ⋅⊰

He was someone who did not know what love was.

What the feeling entailed, what it meant.

How it affected others, how it would affect him.

He was someone who did not know how it felt to be in love.

So he did not notice when it started.

It was slow, just small things. A single petal or leaf at a time. He'd find them lieing on his bed after waking up in the morning, falling out of his hair after brushing it. Though not sure where they could be coming from or why they were appearing, he didn't think much of it. It wasn't a problem to him and he didn't want to bother anyone about it.

So he just left it as is, continuing with his life as usual.

A short time passed after the occurrences of the bits of vegetation had begun when the flowers started to pop up, tiny blossoms piercing the surface of his skin.

The first one he saw was a small Forget-Me-Not, clinging to the back of his hand. He was startled upon noticing it, and began frantically shaking his hand in vain attempts to get it off. The flower held on, causing him to just yank it out.

A short, sharp pain accompanied by a small bit of blood and he was left holding the blue flower, it's petals dangling limply from his fingers.

He stared at it, at his hand, at the blood.

What should he do? Should he ask someone? Would they think he was crazy? Maybe he was just imagining things.
No.
The flower he held was very much real. But...
He could still easily get rid of them, he could deal with it himself.
So, well, if it got worse he would tell. For now, it wasn't worth the trouble.
He'd just brush them away.
He would be fine.

And so he was, for a short time at least.

But the flowers became bigger, appearing more frequent. They were breaking though his skin, their roots spreading throughout it's layers. Pulling them out left bigger wounds on his arm, pulling off patches of flesh as well.

He'd tried to hide it as long as he could, scared about what was happening and unsure what to do. A panicked response of maybe if I ignore it, it might go away.

Until that just didn't work anymore.

It had been late at night and he was woken up by a sharp pain, opening his eyes to see a large Camelia forcing its way out of his arm.

As he watched, the petals cut through his skin, splitting it open as the rest of the flower came through. He stared, the shock preventing him from processing the pain. He just looked in silence at the pink petals, that soft color so harshly contrasted by the red of his blood.

Before he could think it through, he sat upright, grabbing the delicate thing in his hand and yanking it.

Loud cries of pain filled the room, the house, and he was left gasping, crying as he held the mess of petals, roots, flesh, a bloody patch left on his arm where the flower once rested.