A/N: at no point did i know where this was going, and umm yeah. but a long awaited part two that i hope gets y’all to feel something <3
Flowers started arriving for you two days into your hospital stay. Every day, 8am. Sometimes it was pink and abundant peonies, sometimes sweet and small bouquets filled with lilacs and baby’s breath between. You didn’t know who they were from, but the little notes held poems that lifted your mood for the rest of the day. They helped you forget, for a little while at least, the reason you were in the hospital.
Your mind couldn’t help wandering back to that night. When you found out your long-term boyfriend had fallen for someone else, one of his coworkers. It was like a bucket of ice cold water had been dumped on you. And then came the aftermath.
The tearful confrontation in the car after the party, calling up your friend to stay with her, the shortly thereafter admission to the hospital when you could hardly function. You still refused to get the surgery that would save your shortening life, despite everything you still treasured the near two years you spent with the man that still held your heart in the palm of his hand.
A knock on the door brought you from your misery; it was one of your day nurses, the one that usually brought up your flowers. Today was a mixture of sunflowers, yellow roses, and delphinium. A soft smile tugged your muscles as you took them in, holding them up for a deep smell as you received them.
“You have quite the admirer,” Amy said, relieved that the flowers lifted your mood so much. Most Hanahaki Disease patients withered away in their beds, refusing the life saving surgery and passing away in their sleep from broken hearts and torn lungs.
You hummed. While the flowers were indeed lovely, it still confused you to no end who was sending them. Your friend every day reaffirmed that Jaemin had no idea you were even in the hospital, so it couldn’t be him. You didn’t want it to be anyway, it would just make you more miserable.
“What’s the note today?” Amy asked, peering over the top of the bouquet. You opened the card, silently reading over it first, furrowing your brows more and more.
‘I hope this isn’t out of line, but can I buy you a drink? To replace the one I spilled that night’
-M
“Oh, a hint!” Amy exclaimed after you read it aloud. “So you do know the one sending the flowers.”
You tilted your head. “Not really. Not personally anyway. I think I do know who it is though…” you trailed.
“So? Are you gonna agree to it?”
You lifted a shoulder. “Even if I wanted to, how would I let him know?”
Amy hummed. “Maybe let the flower shop know. They keep track of regular customers, and it seems like he picks the flowers out himself rather than ordering online.”
The next day another bouquet came, but the note was back to the usual poem. There wasn’t any theme to them, like they were selected as if they were his favorites. They were all lovely, as any form of art held a special place in your heart.
You brought up the request first thing when your friend came by for her daily visit. She thought the same as Amy, that you knew him, until you told her about the small incident at the party that night. You thought back on his behavior. He had been very kind, and he had been concerned about your appearance even back then. You wonder if he knew Jaemin.
Regardless, you figured that if you were gonna die in a couple months anyway, what was the harm in meeting ‘M’? So you sent an email to the flower shop with your message, and waited.
The next day, your flowers were late. Amy didn’t bring them in, and every time she came to check on you it was the same. Around noon, a knock let you know it was lunch time. Except, the door opened to a bouquet, behind which fluffy dark brown hair half covered dark brown eyes. It was weird seeing someone again that you’ve only met briefly before. A tentative smile greeted you, to which a corner of your own mouth couldn’t help quirking up with in response. That, and the flowers that made you smile no matter what.
“Hello again,” his deep voice filled the quiet space.
“Hello,” you murmured. You couldn’t take your eyes off his as he walked slowly up to your bedside. You motioned at the chair nearby so he could sit, at the same time he held the flower— daisies, carnations, yellow roses— out to you. The bouquet hit your hand with a hollow sound, as ‘M’ stuttered out an apology.
“O-Oh my gosh I’m so sorry! He-here these are for you.” You watched in fascination as his ears grew a deep red and his eyes fell to your scratchy hospital blanket in embarrassment.
A hand flew to cover your mouth as you giggled. But when he looked back up at you, you cleared your throat and averted your eyes. “Sorry, I don’t mean to laugh at you.”
The silence was a little awkward as neither of you were sure what to say while you stared lovingly down at the flowers. But then he seemed to start. “Oh. My name is Mark by the way. I… hope you don’t mind I brought the flowers myself this time. Or that I’ve been sending them at all,” Mark chuckled nervously, rubbing the back of his neck with his now free hand.
“No I… I like them,” you whispered. “They’ve all been so lovely. Thank you. For sending them. Although I’ll admit I’m not sure why you’ve been doing it.”
Another blush lightly dusted the tops of his ears as Mark shifted subtlety in the chair. “I don’t really know myself, I just thought you were so pretty that night, and then I found out what was going on with your…. boyfriend,” he winced. “I have a friend that works here and while I was visiting him I happened to see you walking the hall with a nurse. The next day I walked by a flower shop and just thought you might like some flowers.” Mark shrugged. “That’s basically it. I hope you didn’t find them creepy, I didn’t really think that far ahead.”
You shook your head. “No, they were lovely. And besides, even if you were a stalker, it’s not like i’ll be here much longer.”
Mark shook his head hard. “Don’t think like that, you’ve still got a while, you don’t know how things might change.”
Your sad smile stabbed Mark through the chest. He wanted to hear your laugh again instead. He scrambled to change the subject. His whole purpose was to make you happy, not remind you of the situation. “I know I offered a drink, but i brought lunch instead. Hope that’s okay?”
On time, your stomach grumbled and you covered it with your hand, and a lightly embarrassing laugh. “That would be fantastic actually. What did you bring? Hospital food isn’t that bad but I’ve been deprived of a real meal for so long.”
Mark started coming every few days at lunch, until it turned into nearly every day. You could tell which days it was gonna be because he brought the flowers himself when he did. They still had poems in the card, and he started sharing with you which books they came from. Quite a few of them had been on your TBR list.
Some days he brought lunch with him, and others he ate the hospital’s food with you. Amy was all too happy to bring up two plates of food those days, and made sure you knew with the wink she sent you when Mark wasn’t looking. You just scoffed and waved her off. The amount of flowers you coughed up hourly hadn’t gone down a bit so you didn’t understand her excitement.
But you did feel better.
You found yourself being cheery for longer, and you even started considering the surgery. Jaemin wasn’t the only good thing the world had. And you were still 100 percent convinced he hadn’t hurt you on purpose. It wasn’t in his nature, never would be. Sometimes you wondered how he was doing, if he might have gotten the disease too after you left. You weren’t sure if you could hold feelings for two people at once, or if the stronger one determined if you got the disease or not. Maybe there was a study on it, but maybe you’d feel better not knowing. Despite it all, you didn’t want him to feel the pain you were going through.
“Do you not have anything else to do during your lunch break?” you asked Mark one day. He’d brought spaghetti from the Italian place you’d wanted to go to for months and months, and it was divine.
“Did… you not want me to come by anymore?” Mark asked carefully. He was avidly staring at his food.
“No! It’s not that at all,” you admitted looking down at your own plate, before looking back at him. All you could see was his brown hair. “It’s just… do you really want to spend all this time with me, when I… when I might not be here by the end of the year?” you asked around the lump in your throat.
You startled as Mark shot to his feet, setting his food aside quickly. You opened your mouth but nothing came out, watching as he walked briskly out the door, shocked by his display. You stared at the closed door, your bottom lip wobbling. Head hung, a tear dripped from your eye onto your food. A loose fist wiped at your tears in shock, hand shaky as you tried to wipe the offending water away.
Your knees came up against your chest as you laid your head down, upset at yourself for upsetting Mark. You hadn’t meant to, you just forgot to bite your tongue sometimes. Now he might not come back.
The creaking door brought your teary eyes up, widened in surprise as Mark walked back inside, his eyes downcast. “Sorry for running out so suddenly, I just- Oh my god why are you crying,” Mark exclaimed, horror written across his face.
A muffled sob escaped from behind your hand but you didn’t take your eyes off him as he rushed to your side, taking your face in his hands. Thumbs wiped the tears from under your eyes as he checked you over before crushing you to his chest. Your arms wrapped tightly around him, as if scared he would leave again.
“I’m so sorry,” he whispered into your hair. “I didn’t mean to make you cry, I’m so sorry, I just needed to step outside for a minute,” he frantically explained. “I don’t like hearing you talk like your life is a candle about to go out, and I needed to get some fresh air. I’m so sorry Yn.”
You felt every word against your hair, his hold tightening around you every time a cry escaped your body.Eventually your tears subsided into hiccups, but he kept holding you and stroking your back.
You gasped and pulled away as much as you could in his strong hold when you became aware of how much time had gone by, your head turning to the clock with difficulty. Definitely past the time he should’ve left by now. “You’re late for work!” you cried.
Mark turned to the clock as well, standing silently for a long moment before he shrugged.
“They can do without me for the rest of the day. I’m this late anyway. Look, your food is cold. Are you still hungry? I can have the nurses heat it up,” he offered. The plate and Mark were out the door before you could protest, leaving you more confused than before he’d come back.
When Mark returned, he was kinda quiet, lost in his own thoughts. But you still wanted his company so you didn’t say anything about it. When it came time for your afternoon walk outside, he accompanied you. There was a small garden outside the building that you liked to walk through. The benches half in the sun and half in the shade were your favorite places to spend your time.
A little while into your time outside, Mark loosened up a bit again and started reenacting a Shakespeare skit he’d seen recently while you giggled and clapped your hands. He promised to take you to a play some time in the future, and you found yourself agreeing to go with little hesitation.
The days continued on. Mark spent every lunch with you now, and he’d even met your friend a couple times. Together, the three of you planned a date with your doctors for your surgery. It was a big step, a huge one. Jaemin had once been the entire focus of your life, still was to the extent of your disease. But you had things to look forward to now. You’d never seen Romeo and Juliet in person, and one afternoon as you opened the card to read the day’s poem, a pair of tickets fell into your lap. Your mouth fell open as you looked down at them, unexpected tears gathering in the corner of your eyes.
“I tried to pick a date later in the year so you’ll be recovered but… I hope it’s okay,” Mark said tentatively.
Your lips turned into a pout from uncontrolled emotion. “I love it. Thank you Mark.” You pulled him into a hug, the bouquet and tickets on your lap between you. You laughed as you pulled back to wipe your tears away. “I cant believe I’ll get to go with you. I’m so excited!“
Mark grinned at you as you chattered on about the clips you’d seen on the internet, and what part you thought would be your favorite. You had your favorite moment from reading the story, but seeing it in person was bound to bring out different emotions for different scenes.
Harsh coughing interrupted your thoughts, looking over to find Mark practically doubled over. “Oh my gosh are you okay?” you exclaimed, swinging your legs off the bed to reach over to him.
Mark held up a hand, nodding even as he continued coughing. “Fine, I just need a glass of water,” he wheezed, stumbling out the door. He returned a few minutes later with a sheen of sweat.
“Do you need to see a doctor?” you asked worriedly.
Mark shook his head. “I think it’s just my allergies.” You furrowed your brows but you let it be for the time being. Eventually the whole incident left your brain, especially as your surgery date drew closer and closer.
The day of, Mark showed up with a bouquet of roses. Your face split into a bright smile, a warm feeling spreading through your chest.
Mark watched as your face lit up, his chest feeling light as air for the first time in weeks. Even with the surgery cap on your head you looked as beautiful as ever. The first time he laid eyes on you he thought you an angel, and he swore you got prettier every day, inside and out.
It was no wonder he’d fallen for you.
The relief he felt when you agreed to get the surgery was beyond words. It wasn’t that he thought you’d never love him back without the surgery. He just wanted you to live life without a broken heart once again, and enjoy it. He wanted you to live a long and happy life. And if by the hopeful chance you’d fall for him too… well who was he to complain?
So he kept his own flowers a secret, hiding the way his throat burned when he talked, making jokes that his bladder was small when you realized he left to the bathroom often. He’d kept it quiet for half the time he’d known you, and he could continue to do so for the rest of his life if he had to.
Mark promised to hold your roses for you while you went into surgery, assuring you he’d be waiting for you when you woke up.
Those three hours went swiftly by, so distracted was he on seeing you again he didn’t even cough up his daffodils. In fact, he hadn’t at all that day. He turned that realization over and over in his mind, until the doors opening caught his attention. He rose on leaden legs.
“She’s doing great,” the doctor smiled. “She should be conscious in the next half hour or so, if you’d like to wait for her in the room.”
Mark heard the words, but he wasn’t listening. Blood rushed through his ears as he walked the familiar hall to your room, quietly turning the handle to the door. You lay motionless on the bed, hair combed gently to the sides of your face. Mark’s hand trembled as he brushed a strand off your cheek. As his fingertip stroked your skin, he felt a flower rising up his throat. He stumbled into your bathroom, tears burning the corners of his eyes as he retched up daffodils.
Mark remained knelt by the toilet until the onslaught of flowers ceased. He fell back to rest against the cabinet, an arm over his lifted knee. The bouquet of roses sat an arms reach away, and a tear slid down his cheek. Mark remained that way for a while until he brought himself up on shaky legs to sit by your bedside where he held your hand until your eyes fluttered open.
Mark sat up straighter, the words ‘please let me be wrong, please let me be wrong’ a broken record in his mind. Your eyes found his, and he strained hard to see the spark your eyes always held when he walked into your room with lunch.
His stomach dropped and he felt the clawing of flowers in his throat again, as you uttered your first words.
I little while ago I made a hanahaki disease rant post and I now bring you my second edition except it’s more a question/disscution post:
Do you think it would be possible to get hanahaki disease multiple times? Does the disease count for every kind of unrequited relationship a person will ever be in? Because if so, and adding to that in most fanfics this disease has been with humanity for a long ass time, wouldn’t humans eventually evolve to being able to still live with it plaguing them? Eventually, wouldn’t it just cause most people to reject to idea of socializing if they have a family history of catching this disease?
I think a lot of people forget how hanahaki disease would work. Like, it’s a disease you get because of unrequited love right? So like, why do people always write stories with it where it’s not unrequited, the other person just has yet to admit their feelings.
Like, unrequited love means the other person doesn’t love you like that.
I want to see fucking long slow burns involving this where the character suffering from it has to try and get the other character to fall in love with them.
Also, why does it have like such a short window to kill you? Like, if to get rid of it the other person has to love you, why would it take so little time to just make you do the not alive?
I do want to say though; the idea of getting the flowers removed medically through surgery but the backlash is not being able to ever have romantic feelings for that one person ever again is fucking, *mwah* chefs kiss!
Today is a good day to remind people that “unrequited love will kill me so love me else I’ll die” is only one take among many others on the Hanahaki trope and not what it inherently is
“TheHanahaki Disease is an illness born from one-sided love, where the patient throws up and coughs up flower petals when they suffer from one-sided love.”
Pairing: Dean x F!Reader. Other Characters: Sam, Castiel and Rowena
Word Count:7216
Warnings: Mild show-level violence, best friends to lovers, idiots in love, mutual pining, some angst, but a happy ending (I promise)
Summary: Dean and the Reader first met when she was filling in for Bobby Singer over the “FBI” phone line. The two become best friends, though everyone around them knows they mean more than that to each other. They’re just too damned stubborn to admit it. During a hunt involving a witch, the Reader gets hit with an unusual curse that threatens her life. Will Dean take that leap and tell the Reader how he feels, or will he lose her forever?
My three least favorite words in the world, you inwardly groaned as you put down your book and closed your eyes. “What did you find, Sam?” you asked.
“Case in Rock Springs, Montana,” he replied. “There have been a rash of seemingly routine deaths, but the medical examiner reported strange results after performing the autopsies. Opened up the chest on one of the victims and it was full of flowers. Another one had flowers and even a few roots had started to grow,” Sam finished.
You scrunched up your nose at the information. “Ewww, that sounds rather painful,” you remarked. With your book forgotten for the near future, you sighed. “Guess we’d better tell Dean then,” you muttered.
At that moment, Dean appeared at the top of the spiral staircase, having just exited the bunker garage. As he trudged down to the lower level, he was wiping motor oil residue off of a socket wrench. He approached the Map Table and pulled out a chair to have a seat. “What’s all the hubbub, Bub?” he asked, grinning at you before sitting down.
God, he just looks somasculinetoday, been working on the Impala all this time. Calloused, work-worn fingers, broad palms. What you wouldn’t give for them to roam freely over your body, through your hair, under your–
“I’ll let Sam explain, he’s the one who found the case,” you deferred. While Sam shared the particulars of the case, you headed to your room to pack for the trip to Rock Springs, Montana. You had to get away from Dean and those hypnotic, olive orbs of his before you said or did something you might regret.
*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*
Life with the Winchesters was never boring, because there was always something going on. Anything from “the world is ending tomorrow and we’re the only ones who can stop it” to “we get to go bust some ghosts”. Lately it seemed like the monsters were taking a bit of a break, but you should’ve known that wouldn’t last long.
You first met the Winchesters through Bobby Singer, one of your parents’ old friends from their hunting days. Since the age of nine, your parents made sure you had the proper training to be a hunter, but they preferred that you not hunt alone. When they were killed on a vamp hunt, you had no one and nowhere else to go, so you turned up on Bobby’s doorstep and never really left.
Bobby held the same philosophy as your parents about solo hunting, thus you started out as his research assistant. Soon that expanded to you making sure he was taking care of himself, eating decent meals.
One day, Bobby had to help Rufus with an emergency situation that came up, and he asked you to keep an eye on the phones. He had already given you an identity to use for each law enforcement agency the Winchesters used when on a case.
You were in the middle of slicing apples for a pie when the FBI phone rang. You answered the phone as Deputy Director of Operations, Agent Stanwyk. It was a small-town sheriff’s deputy that wanted to validate Sam and Dean’s credentials. You assured the man that these were your two top agents, and that you wouldn’t have sent them out to investigate if they weren’t the best.
After the deputy was satisfied with your explanation, he didn’t disconnect, but handed the phone to someone else and walked away. A deep voice on the other end muttered, “Thanks Bobby, this guy was really bustin’ our chops.” When you heard him mistake you for Bobby, you giggled. “Who is this?” the voice demanded.
You giggled again, then quickly cleared your throat a couple of times to regain your composure and gave him your real name. “Relax Dean, Bobby told me you might call. He’s out with Rufus, taking care of some ‘emergency thing’. Could be anything with those two,” you grumbled. “All I know is that he told me to watch the phones and that he’d be back after helping Rufus. Then he raced out the door and took off in his truck, kicking up gravel as he left,” you explained.
Dean gave you a rundown on the situation and estimated that he and Sam should be able to wrap up the case in a day or two. He said he wanted to stop by Bobby’s on their way home, and that he was looking forward to meeting you in person. He seemed even more enthusiastic when you told him you had been making an apple pie when he called.
True to his word, the boys stopped by Bobby’s house on the way back to the bunker. When you opened the door to greet your guests, you were stunned by the two gorgeous men on the porch. Sam was a bit taller than Dean, with shaggy chestnut hair and hazel eyes that would cause any woman to melt on the spot just by looking in them.
Any woman except you, though, because all of a sudden, your favorite color was green. Multiple shades of it, depending on Dean’s mood, whether laser-focused on a case or sparkling with mischief. His broad chest and muscular arms completely filled whatever T-shirt, Henley or flannel he had on. And don’t get you started on those sexy bow legs, clad in denim that only got better on the way up his body.
When Bobby died, you moved into your own room in the bunker, one just down from Dean’s but on the other side of the hall. Most of your time was spent researching cases, only going out in the field when it was absolutely necessary. You patched up the injuries, prepared the meals, took care of the laundry and soothed the nightmares.
Somewhere along the way, you developed feelings for Dean, even though you were sure they would never be returned. You admired how fiercely he cared for his family and friends–people he would do anything for, even at the expense of himself. He was a fearsome hunter, known as a legend in the hunting community, but it was a title he did not appear to accept.
But Dean was also a bit of a ladies’ man, which is why you decided to focus on being his best friend and sometimes his confidante. You didn’t want to be another notch on the bedpost, his belt or anywhere else he might keep track. What you wanted was a forever life with Dean, regardless of how long that might be. However, you knew that Dean didn’t do things that way, so you continued to push your feelings aside, convinced he would never see you in that light.
*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*
You finished putting the last of your clothes in your duffel bag, then went to your private bathroom for your toiletries. There was a garment bag in your closet in which you kept your Fed threads, so you made sure to take it with you. It was possible that Sam and Dean might need you to talk to the victims’ families, or to ask around town about the victims.
Dean passed by your door with his bag slung over his shoulder. He wanted to see how much more packing you needed to do before he took his bag upstairs. Your door was partially open and he could swear he heard you singing as you moved about your room.
Crazy For thinking that my love could hold you I’m crazy for trying and crazy for crying And I’m crazy for loving you
“'Crazy’ is right. I’d be crazy to think he’d ever be in love with me,” you muttered to yourself.
Wonder who she’s talking about, Dean mused. He knocked on the partially open door to get your attention. His heart skipped a beat when you turned and smiled at him. “Ready to go, sweetheart?” he asked.
You zipped up your duffel bag then grabbed the garment bag with your Fed threads in it and draped it over your arm. “As I’ll ever be,” you smiled, and Dean couldn’t help but smile in return. He held out his hand, but you held fast to your duffel bag. “I’ve got it, Dean,” you assured him.
“I know you do, but let me help. C'mon, please?” he pouted.
You rolled your eyes playfully then relented and handed over your duffel bag. Dean started for the stairs again, but after a couple of steps, he turned back to face you, his hand held out. “Dean, I can handle my other bag, I promise,” you chuckled.
Dean took the two steps back and took your free hand in his. “Ready?” he asked softly. You nodded, unable to speak at the moment. With a gentle tug on your hand, you walked together up the stairs.
Once in the garage, Dean loaded your duffel and garment bags into the Impala’s trunk. Sam was already situated in the front passenger side, as usual. You made yourself comfortable in the back, slipping off your shoes and stretching out across the leather seat. Dean turned the key in the ignition and you heard the familiar rumble of the Impala’s powerful engine. He backed out of the garage and headed down the highway towards Rock Springs, Montana.
*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*
Your book lay open on your lap, but your gaze was straight ahead, out the rear driver’s side window. The written word on the pages were currently incapable of keeping your attention. Finally, you gave up and replaced your bookmark to save the page, then closed your book. Your eyelids became heavier and harder to keep open, until they eventually stayed closed.
Dean glanced back at you through the rear-view mirror and noted that you had fallen asleep in the back seat. A gentle smile tugged at the corners of his mouth at how peaceful you looked. He knew how hard you worked to keep the bunker running efficiently, and he was happy to see you relaxed.
His mind drifted back to when he was just outside your door while you were packing your bag. You were singing the song, “Crazy”, one of your mother’s favorite songs. You’d muttered to yourself about how it was crazy to think someone would ever be in love with you. If you only knew how Dean thought it was the least crazy thing in the world for that to be true. All because of how he felt about you.
Ever since he talked to you over Bobby’s FBI line that first time, he was a goner, head over heels for you. Meeting you in person had firmly sealed the deal, never mind the apple pie factor. When Bobby returned to the house, Dean paid attention to how the two of you interacted with each other. Dean knew about what had happened to your parents. It was clear that Bobby was the father you were missing, and you were the daughter he never had but would’ve wanted.
To Dean, you were his light, the one guiding him out of the darkness. Someone to chase away the nightmares, return them to their box so that he could fall asleep again. Whenever he woke up screaming from some nightly horror show in his mind, you were there to put him back together.
You held him in your arms, assured him he was safe and that it was only a nightmare. Eventually, he would drift off to sleep, only to wake up without you beside him. Oh, how he wanted that to change. Once, just once, he wanted to open his eyes in the morning to see and caress your beautiful face. Someday, he promised himself.
*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*
“So, what do we think it is?” you asked. The three of you had spent the most of the day meeting and conducting interviews. Sam and Dean met with the medical examiner who originally discovered the anomaly. After some lunch, you accompanied Sam and Dean to interview the family and friends of the victims.
Now, you were all back in the motel. Sam was in the bathroom, so it was just you and Dean in the room. “Some kind of cursed object maybe? Just hope it’s not–” Dean started, but was interrupted by Sam.
“A witch. The victims were all seen entering and leaving a particular cottage just on the edge of town, but no one knows why. The only other thing they have in common was that none of them were in any kind of relationship, they were all single,” Sam explained.
“Freakin’ witches,” Dean muttered.
Later that evening
You carefully crept up the steps of the back porch to the isolated cottage, your weapon filled with witch-killing bullets. If you’d had more time, you would’ve liked to take the time to admire the wide variety of flowers surrounding the cabin. Unfortunately for the witch, you were on a quest to take her down and prevent any additional victims.
Sam and Dean going through the front door, trying to cut off any potential escape routes. You tiptoed down the hall, nudging open any partially open doors with your .380 handgun. As you continued your search, you faintly heard a woman’s voice chanting in Latin. You checked over your shoulder to see that Sam and Dean had caught up to you.
“I’ll go in first, you guys cover me, okay?” you whispered. Before either of them could protest, you were slowly pushing open the door. In the room, you saw the witch dropping ingredients into a bowl sitting on a table in front of her. Ancient symbols were drawn into the surface of the table, suggesting she was already at work on her next victim.
“Ah! I see you got my message,” she sang with glee. “I was hoping you would show up,” she added.
You raised your weapon and took aim at the witch. “Just stop what you’re doing, put everything down. We know you’re behind the latest string of bodies, and it all ends here,” you declared.
Into the bowl she threw the last ingredient already in her hand, causing a cloud of smoke to shoot up from the table. She looked over your shoulder to see Sam and Dean busting into the room from behind you. When she locked eyes with Dean, she gave you a know-it-all smirk, then resumed her chanting in Latin, only louder now.
By this time, the smoke had surrounded you, causing you to feel some tightness in your chest. Breathing normally was becoming more difficult as well. Dean raised his weapon and fired two witch-killing bullets, both hitting their mark and serving their purpose. Once she dropped to the floor, the constriction in your chest seemed to subside a bit, making it a little easier to breathe.
Dean rushed over to your side. “Sweetheart? Are you all right?” he asked. You were still trying to catch your breath, so all you could do was nod. Dean placed his hand on your back and started rubbing circles into it, trying to soothe you.
“I’m-(cough)-okay, I-(cough)-think,” you sputtered. “Let’s just-(cough)-get out of here.” While Sam finished the clean-up, you and Dean waited in the Impala. Worried glances were sent from Dean to you in the rear-view mirror until you playfully rolled your eyes at him. “I’m fine, Dean. Just a little shaken up by that witch.”
“She seemed to aim her curse at you, so we’ll have to keep an eye on you to see if you develop any symptoms. In the meantime, what do you say we celebrate tonight? Get some dinner, have a quick shower, then head for the bar in town, hmm?” Dean suggested.
And watch you go chasing after women, only to end up with someone else for the night? No, thank you, you thought to yourself. Instead you answered, “Dinner sounds good, but I think I’ll hang back in the room and get some sleep, Dean.”
“Come on, you can sleep in the car on the way home. I want a night out with my brother and my best friend. Please?” he implored.
*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*
Against your better judgment, you reluctantly gave in and said you’d go out. After dinner at the local burger joint, you ended up at the roadhouse on the edge of town. You and Sam grabbed a nearby table, while Dean went up to the bar to fetch some drinks.
“So, are you sure you’re feeling okay? No ill effects from earlier, other than the coughing?” Sam asked you.
“I appreciate your concern, but I’m fine, Sam. Besides, if the curse was going to do anything to me, it would’ve done it by now, right?” you reasoned.
“Maybe, maybe not. Witches’ curses are unpredictable, which is probably why Dean dislikes them so much,” Sam chuckled.
“Speaking of which, where is he? Is he having to brew the beer himself or–” you stopped when you noticed the scene unfolding at the bar. Dean was still there, waiting, but working his angle on a beautiful, ample-chested woman with long blonde hair. Sparks were definitely flying between them, and every once in a while, she would laugh and touch Dean’s arm or his chest.
For a moment, his gaze turned to where you and Sam were sitting and he locked eyes with you. The same tightness in your chest had returned, though with a little more pain this time. It was becoming more difficult to breathe, so you started coughing to clear your throat.
Sam noticed this and started to usher you to the door. “Wait for me outside, I’m going to tell Dean we’re going back to the motel,” he explained. You nodded, still in the middle of your coughing fit.
Right before going out the door, you turned and saw the brothers talking, then what looked like Dean saying goodbye to the blonde. Dammit, now I’ve ruined everything, you thought as you walked out of the bar and into the parking lot.
After one particular hard bout of coughing, you looked down into your hands and saw what appeared to be petals from a cherry blossom. That’s not supposed to happen, you froze in your tracks. You panicked when you heard Sam’s voice behind you, and shoved both your hands and the flower petals into the front pocket of your jeans.
*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*
“Seriously, Dean, you didn’t have to leave. We’re fine getting back to the motel by ourselves,” Sam muttered. “Just go back inside.”
Dean shook his head and walked over to you and gently wrapped his arm around your shoulders. “Come on, darlin’. Let’s get you back to the motel so we can get some sleep,” he soothed.
“’M sorry for ruining your night, Dean,” you rasped. “You don’t have to take care of me, I’ll be okay by myself. Besides, I have Sam,” you added.
“Pfft, you didn’t ruin anything. And what are best friends for, if not to take care of each other, hmm?” he asked as he opened the rear passenger door for you.
Best friends. The words almost felt like sandpaper in your mouth, because you wished for it to be so much more. But Dean didn’t see you like that, right? If he did, maybe he wouldn’t be cozying up to women who were basically your exact opposite. You had long ago resigned yourself to only reaching the “best friend” level, and decided that it would have to be enough.
You let out a deep sigh and let Dean guide you from the Impala and into the motel room. He waited while you changed into your pajamas, then got you settled under the covers. You rolled over onto your side and curled your arms into your chest. Since it was going to be a long drive home, you closed your eyes to tried to get some sleep.
After changing into his own comfier clothes, Dean slipped under the blankets next to you. He stayed in an upright position, his back resting on the headboard, with a couple of pillows behind him. He wasn’t ready to fall asleep quite yet, with the last bit of adrenaline running through him from what happened on the hunt.
Dean flicked through the limited number of channels on the TV before ultimately turning it off and settling in behind you. He rubbed his hand up and down your upper arm before snaking his arm around your waist and tugging you a little closer to his chest. The pajama shirt you were wearing had slipped down, exposing your shoulder. “Goodnight, sweetheart,” Dean murmured as he pressed his lips to your bare skin, then you both drifted off to sleep.
*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*
Over the next few weeks, you tried your best to keep your coughing to a minimum, at least around Sam and Dean. If you lapsed into a coughing fit while they were around, they would suggest for you to see a doctor, and each time, you brushed it off. Then you would go to the kitchen and make a big deal of brewing yourself a cup of tea with honey to settle your throat. Ever so discreetly, you would carefully hide any flower petals in the kitchen garbage can.
Unfortunately, the chest pains were getting a bit more intense. The flower petals were also changing and becoming more numerous with each change. At first it was one cherry blossom petal, then a couple of daisy petals. Next came two or three petals at a time from a gardenia. After eight weeks, you had moved into forget-me-not territory.
The forget-me-nots had you the most concerned. It led to many nights of little to no sleep, which contributed to the dark circles under your eyes. It wouldn’t be too long before you would reach serious sleep deprivation. You also wondered how many more days you’d be able to keep Sam and Dean’s curiosity at bay.
You knew each flower had a meaning, and you were determined to find what each one meant. The daisy represented purity and innocence, a loyal love. That made sense because there was no one else you saw having a life with except Dean.
Gardenias symbolized a secret love or crush. No deep meaning there, you thought. That’s exactly what’s going on here. He doesn’t know you love him, and you haven’t told him because he doesn’t think of you in those terms.
Forget-Me-Nots represented good memories and true love. This was especially accurate, since most of your best memories were with Dean. Nights spent watching movies in your room or the Dean Cave, or splitting a rack of 8-ball at the bar. Even just having a sandwich in the park or gazing at the stars from the hood of the Impala were moments you knew you’d treasure forever.
*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*
You were so focused on your research, that you didn’t realize Sam had entered the library until he pulled a chair out to sit. The noise made by the chair scraping across the floor nearly had you jumping out of your seat. You pressed your hand over your racing heart, trying to get it to calm down and not send you into a coughing fit.
“What are you reading about?” he asked.
“Oh, something about that last case with the witch has been bothering me. We never did figure out why the medical examiner found flowers growing in the victims’ chests,” you explained.
“Case is closed, you know. Probably just a random spell, designed to cause as much trouble as possible,” Sam replied, then leaned closer to you. “Are you sleeping okay?” he wondered.
“I’m fine, Sam. Haven’t even been coughing as much, though, or didn’t you notice?” you pointed out.
“The dark circles under your eyes tell a different story,” Sam countered, eyes narrowed. “Your sleepless nights….um….do they have anything to do with your feelings for Dean?” he asked.
“What?” you whispered. “Wha-wha-whatever gave you an idea like that?” you chuckled nervously.
“C'mon, I saw you that night at the bar, the one we went to after the witch hunt. Dean was talking to that blonde….and it’s not just that time, it’s all the times before that. I see how it upsets you when he’s with other women,” Sam remarked. And I know some about Dean’s feelings for you, too, he silently added.
“Sam, regardless of whatever it is you think you know, my feelings are not important. Dean’s my best friend, but I don’t have any say in his love life. Besides, I’d rather have him as my best friend than–” you took a deep breath to regain your composure. “Than end up with nothing because I was a fool and confessed my love,” you choked out.
When you stood up from your chair, a wave of dizziness crashed over you. If you hadn’t grabbed the back of your chair for support, you would’ve hit the floor. The chest pains and trouble breathing had returned, and you were thrown into a coughing fit. This time, you weren’t quick enough to hide the forget-me-not petals that came flying out of your mouth into your hand.
“Wha–what the hell was that?!?” Sam exclaimed.
“Nothing, Sam. I need some water, excuse me,” you stumbled out of the library as quickly as you could to prevent any more questions from Sam.
*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*
Dean walked into the library to see Sam staring at some flower petals laying on the table. “What’s going on? Where’d those flowers come from?” he asked.
Sam told him about your conversation, leaving out the part about your feelings for Dean. “All of a sudden, she was having trouble breathing and she was coughing again. Then these flew out of her mouth and into her hand,” Sam remarked.
Before Dean could respond, he and Sam heard a noise from the kitchen that sounded like a crash. They looked at each other and rushed off towards the source of the noise. When they got there, they saw pieces of a broken water glass. As their eyes followed the spreading puddle of water, they saw you laying on the floor, unconscious. In your outstretched hand were more forget-me-not petals, but a couple of them had drops of blood on them.
Dean rushed to your side and scooped you up in his arms, holding you to his chest. “Come on, sweetheart, wake up. Open your eyes, baby, please,” he implored. “C-CAS! CASTIEL, get down here, NOW! We need your help!” Dean roared.
With no response, Dean stood up with you still in his arms and raced towards the main living room. He gently laid your body on the couch, then pulled up a chair to sit next to you. When he took your hand in his, the familiar sound of ruffling feathers was soon heard behind him. “What seems to be the problem, Dean?” Cas asked.
Dean gestured to your form on the couch. “I-I don’t know what’s wrong with her. I n–I need–I need you to heal her, help her, get her to wake up. Please,” he stammered.
Cas put two fingers on your forehead and closed his eyes as he stretched out with his grace. Dean watched helplessly from his chair, waiting for you to wake up and give him a glimpse of your beautiful smile.
But nothing happened, so Cas tried again by pressing his fingers to your forehead once more. Cas’ eyes flew open and took on blue glow, a testament to the effort he was putting in to try and heal you. Dean heard a small whimper from you and saw your eyes scrunched up as if in pain. “All right, all right, stop Cas! Please Cas, let go, I think this is hurting her,” Dean remarked in defeat.
A puzzled look crossed Cas’ face as he immediately removed his hand. “Dean, it was not my intention to hurt her, please believe me,” Cas apologized. “She’s under the influence of some powerful magic.”
Dean held up his hand. “I know, man. I know you didn’t mean to cause her any more harm. I think the magic was fighting against you. The witch we fought a couple of months back must’ve really done a number on her,” he replied. “The curse has probably been gaining strength day by day since then. I guess you just got really good at hiding it, didn’t you darlin’,” he mused as he tenderly brushed the back of his hand on your cheek.
“Considering it was a witch who did this, shouldn’t we ask for a witch for something to counteract it?” Cas asked.
“I already called Rowena,” Sam interjected. “Not that I doubt your healing ability, Cas, but I thought, just in case,” he explained.
As if on cue, there was a knock on the bunker door. Sam ran up the steps two at a time to grant entrance to the visitor. “Hello, Samuel. So nice to see you again, dearie,” came the lilting voice of Rowena MacLeod. A petite woman with large, expressive eyes and long, wavy, scarlet tresses, piled high upon her head.
With a sharply audible gasp, you sat up on the couch and your eyes snapped open. You looked around the room to assess your situation, noticing that Cas and Rowena were present. Holding one hand over your heart, you desperately tried to catch your breath. “What happened?” you asked.
Dean gave a small tug on your hand, which drew your attention to his very relieved face. “You fainted in the kitchen, sweetheart. When you didn’t wake up right away, we called Cas, but he couldn’t heal you,” he explained. “He said you were under the influence of a powerful spell.”
“And that’s where I come in. I’m here to help you, dearie,” Rowena announced then turned to Sam, Dean and Cas. “Why don’t you boys run along, so we ladies can have a chat, hmm?”
Dean stood up while still holding your hand and peered into your eyes. “Fellas, let’s run into town for some supplies. We’ll get everything we need to make all your favorites for dinner,” he promised.
“Thank you, Dean,” you replied. “For taking care of me, I mean,” you added quickly.
“Anything for my best friend,” he responded, then leaned closer to you. “And maybe we’ll get some ice cream and all the goodies, hmm?” he whispered. His warm breath in your ear caused a shiver to run down your spine, and all you could do was nod in agreement. Before leaving, he pressed a lingering kiss to your temple. “Let’s go, fellas. We’ve got work to do,” he winked at you before heading up the stairs with Sam and Cas following behind.
*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*
“Phew! I thought they’d never leave!” Rowena commented. “Now, why don’t you tell me everything that’s happened in the last few months or so,” she coaxed.
You told her about the case with the witch from a couple of months ago, that when you burst into the room, she was working a spell. “I knew I’d been hit with magic, but Dean took care of her, so I thought whatever curse she put on me would’ve died with her,” you explained. “Guess not,” you muttered.
Rowena asked what changes you’d been going through, so you told her about your symptoms. “Let’s see, there’s the tightness in my chest, which leads to the trouble breathing, then my coughing fits,” you mentioned.
“Anythin’ else?” Rowena asked with a raised eyebrow.
You nervously twisted your hands in your lap. “Flowers. I’ve been coughing up flower petals,” you admitted softly. “First it was cherry blossoms, then daisies, gardenias and lately, it’s been forget-me-nots.”
Rowena stood up and began to pace back and forth. “What? What is it? Rowena!! If you know something, please tell me,” you begged.
She sat back down and turned so she was facing you. “I believe what you have is Hanahaki Disease,” she replied carefully.
“And that is….?” you prompted.
Rowena explained that Hanahaki Disease occurs when love is unrequited. “It causes the person in love to cough up flower petals, just as ye’ve been doin’ lately,” she began. “Seein’ the one you love in the arms of another….is probably one of the greatest pains there is, darlin’. The disease takes your emotional pain and makes it manifest as physical pain,” she explained.
You thought about that night at the bar, the one where Dean was flirting with that blonde, and how seeing it threw you into a coughing fit. “Oh my,” you whispered. “Can I be cured?” you asked.
“Yes, but it’s tricky,” she answered. “You can have the flowers surgically removed from your body,” she replied.
“Great, let’s do that,” you responded enthusiastically.
“But it comes with a price. By surgically removing the flowers, it also removes all of the love you had for the object of your affection,” she affirmed. “However, if you don’t have the surgery–”
“I’ll die,” you finished quietly. Rowena nodded. At that moment, the bunker door flew open, revealing Sam, Dean and Cas, fresh from their supply run. “Do me a favor, Rowena. Please don’t mention this to the boys. I need some time to decide what to do,” you pleaded.
“I don’t believe that’s wise! Something must be done now before it’s too late,” Rowena countered.
“Please, Rowena,” you begged, tears threatening.
Rowena took you into her arms in a rare show of affection. Even though she’d never admit it aloud, she had a sort of soft spot for you. It was the reason she’d dropped everything and headed to the bunker right away when Sam called her about you. “All right, dearie. All right. I won’t tell a soul,” she promised, then pulled back. “But you need to decide quickly before nothin’ can be done fer ye,” she warned.
To Rowena, you nodded and agreed to make a decision soon. “Thank you,” you whispered. You both stood up and met the boys at the bottom of the stairs. Dean flashed you one of his signature smiles, and for that brief moment, all was right with your world. “So, what are we making?” you asked brightly.
*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*
A few days later, you’re reading in your favorite chair, Sam is in the library on his laptop and Dean is watching a movie in the Dean Cave. Sam clears his throat, because he needed to have a conversation with you about your condition. “So, about these flowers,” he began.
You put your book down and turned your attention to Sam. “What about them?” you asked.
“Have you decided what you’re going to do about them?” he inquired.
Rowena. After replacing your bookmark, you closed your book and rose from your chair. You joined Sam at the library table and sat across from him. “No, I haven’t. Still considering my options,” you replied.
“What is there to consider?!? It’s a life or death decision we’re talking about here, there shouldn’t be any 'considering your options’!” he retorted angrily.
“Sam, I don’t think you understand. I’ve been in love with Dean for most of my time knowing him. Every day I’ve spent with him thus far has been an amazing experience. He’s my best friend, and as much as it pains me, it has to be enough. He’s taught me so many things about hunting, about myself. When he’s with me, he feels like he can let his walls down for awhile. If this disease takes me, then maybe that’s how it was meant to be. But for every second I have left, I’m going to spend it loving Dean,” you declared.
“I can’t believe you’re being so calm about this! You could have a life-saving surgery to get rid of all the flowers!” Sam exclaimed.
You put your hand on top of Sam’s and locked your tear-filled gaze on him. “I know, Sam. I know you’re scared for me, and your frustration with me is coming from a good place. The surgery would not only remove the flower problem, it would also remove any feelings of love I have for Dean. And I don’t want to live in a world where I don’t love Dean,” you choked out the last words. You patted Sam’s hand and got up from your chair to go to your room.
“Dammit! Can’t believe she’s being so stubborn about this!” Sam quietly growled.
“What are you talking about?” Dean was passing through the library on his way to the kitchen for more snacks.
Sam asked Dean if he’d talked to you lately, and Dean shook his head. Sam mentioned that he had some new information about what’s causing the flowers. Dean sat down and asked Sam what he knew. Sam explained about the Hanahaki Disease, the symptoms, why it’s affecting you, and the treatment options.
“So you’re saying, she could have the surgery and be alive, but she’s still not sure what she’s going to do yet?” Dean asked.
Sam nodded. “I tried to talk with her about it, but she’s so damned obstinate,” he muttered.
Dean chuckled. “Yeah, that’s one of the things I love about her,” he mused. “Maybe if I talk to her about it, she’ll listen to her best friend,” Dean suggested.
Sam threw his brother one of his most epic of bitch faces. “Dean, if you won’t be honest with her, at least be honest with yourself. She means more to you than your best friend, so why don’t you just admit it?” he retorted.
“Sammy, when I first saw her at Bobby’s, that was it, I knew she was gonna be someone special in my life. We’ve known each other for so long, been the best of friends. I’m scared of losing that connection if she doesn’t love me the way I love her. And I don’t want to live in a world where I don’t have her in my life,” Dean whispered the last part. He got up from his chair to head back towards the Dean Cave, his quest for snacks forgotten.
“Great, now there’s two idiots in love,” Sam grumbled as he dropped his head onto his arms. He was about to return to his laptop when he heard a crash from the direction of your room. He bolted out of his chair and got to your door a fraction of a second behind Dean.
Dean threw the door open and saw you clutching your chest and struggling to breathe. “I’m sorry,” you said between gasps for air. “Knocked something off my dresser–” (gasp) “–then I felt a sharp stab to my–” you tapped on your chest to finish the sentence.
“It’s okay, sweetheart, I’m here,” Dean soothed. “Cas, we need you, buddy. Please,” he begged.
Cas appeared in the doorway and took stock of the situation. “Dean, you know I can’t cure her, not with the magic taking more of a hold on her,” he reminded his friend.
“I know, but can you help with the pain, make it easier for her to breathe?” Dean implored.
“I can see if her body will let me put it into a more relaxed state, so she’s not struggling so much with the pain,” Cas offered. You nodded, and Dean helped you to lay down on your bed. Cas took your hand in his and as he murmured some words in Enochian, you felt your body finally relax. Your eyes closed, and breathing became a little easier, though still a bit shallow. At least you weren’t feeling as much pain.
“I came as soon as I could,” Rowena burst into the bunker. “I’ve been keeping tabs on our bonny lassie, waiting for her to make some sort of decision. I just hope it’s not too late now, as it seems to have advanced rather quickly since I was last here,” she remarked.
While Sam was bringing Cas and Rowena up to speed on your condition over the past week, Dean pulled up a chair next to your bed. He took one of your hands and sandwiched it between his larger ones. He leaned over and pressed a lingering kiss to your forehead and as he pulled away, a tear slid down his cheek.
“Oh, baby,” he whispered. “Please don’t leave me. I don’t know what I’d do without you, my best friend in the world,” he added then hung his head sheepishly, shaking it back and forth. “Oh, who am I kidding, Sam’s right. You’re so much more to me than my best friend. You’re my guiding light when times are at their darkest for me. After one of my nightmares, nothing else gives me that sense of safety except when I’m in your arms,” he affirmed.
Dean’s thumb traced random patterns on the back of your hand, then took a deep breath before continuing. “I know you may not feel the same, but if I don’t tell you how I feel, I’ll always be left wondering,” he gently cupped your cheek and gave you a watery smile. “I love you so much,” he blurted out, tears streaming down his face.
He waited for some sort of sign from you, and when none was immediately forthcoming, he stood up from his chair. Gently he tried to disengage his hand from yours, but you held fast, not wanting to let him go. “Dean?” you mumbled sleepily, your eyelids fluttering open. “Where are you going?” you asked.
With his free hand, Dean wiped the tears away, a smile growing on his face with each passing second. “I’m not going anywhere, my sweet girl,” he sat back down in his chair and took your hand in his again.
“Did you mean it? What you said about loving me?” you inquired with trepidation. You wanted so badly for this to be a spontaneous declaration of love to break the spell. If he only said it to try and cure you, it would likely put things back to square one again. “Did Sam tell you about how to break the curse?”
“All Sam told me is that to break the curse, the one who loves you has to declare that love to you. And yes, I meant every word of what I said, including the part where I said I love you,” Dean assured you. “Sweet darlin’, you’re everything to me, and have been for a long time. I was just too much of an idiot to not tell you sooner,” he remarked.
“Well, I guess we’re both idiots then, because I should’ve told you way before this. I love you too, Dean. Always have. Always will,” you whispered the last words.
Dean kept your hand in his and guided you to a sitting position on your bed. Then he moved his hand up to cradle your face and stroke your cheek with his thumb. “So beautiful,” he whispered before meshing his lips with yours.
The kiss started out as sweet and gentle, as your mouths moved in tandem. Then it grew in its intensity as you each felt the depth of emotion from the other, poured into the kiss. The longing for each other, the regrets at not saying something sooner, all of it came rushing out through the kiss. You’d kept your love for each other hidden for so long, that it was a relief for it all to finally be out in the open and to let it show.
After the kiss broke, you stayed huddled in each others’ arms, still getting used to the idea. Not long after, Sam, Cas and Rowena all poked their heads into your room to check on you. The sight that greeted them was enough to assure them that the flowers weren’t going to be a problem anymore.
“So, who’s hungry? Pizza maybe?” Sam asked.
You and Dean looked at each other. “I’m good with that, sounds great,” you answered as you traced your index finger along Dean’s strong jawline.
“All righty, and what about for you, Dean?” Sam questioned.
“You know me, Sammy, I’m not picky. Besides, whatever my girl wants, my girl gets,” Dean declared as he nuzzled your cheek and pecked your lips.
“So I’m your girl, huh?” you grinned and Dean nodded. “Sounds perfect to me, as long as I can call you my man. I love you, Dean,” you remarked.
“You can call me just about anything you want. I love you too, baby girl,” Dean replied.
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Ok so like, in this version of the hanahaki disease trope the only people who can see the petals you cough up are the people who KNOW about your crush. It’s not gonna kill you, it’s just really annoying when you’re choking on petals and spitting them up. Also in this version, it’s not just unrequited love, as long as you have a huge crush you dont wanna admit to anyone, the amount of flowers grow the more people know + the more you like the person and wont confess (the more unbearable it is to keep a secret). it will only stop when the one you like KNOWS and they end up seeing the flowers, but they don’t have to like you back, once you confess- the flowers will either rot if they dont return it or fly away if they like you back.
Charlie has this problem, he likes to say how much he doesn’t like Cameron, until one day he didn’t really mean it and a rose petal appeared on his tongue.
Neil was the first to see one of the petals because he noticed charlie was being EXTRA mean to cam one day. neil realized he was bluffing. when neil told charlie, he says “no wonder i’ve been coughing up more of these.”
The next to know is todd because, well, it was the same thing with neil except todd was also coughing up petals. when they both told each other they liked each other, the petals flew away and they became a thing. they’re trying to explain to charlie to just confess while the flowers arent a lot
Charlie doesnt listen. duh
Cameron’s being more insufferable to charlie, by that he means that cameron’s gotten unbearably more attractive. his nagging became endearing to charlie, his face and freckles became overwhelmingly beautiful. cameron’s presence made charlie falter in his insults.
knox, meeks, pitts immediately notice. for an academically upright guy as cameron, he didnt pick up on charlie’s change of demeanor AT ALL
Charlie and Cameron’s room was COVERED in petals and friends think this is getting out of hand. the whole class knows. it’s obvious. and they’re all just telling charlie to just confess. some guys were nice, making sure no one outs Charlie in front of cameron or the teachers. but it’s getting really hard to use the locker rooms and bathroom
Charlie doesnt want to confess, they wont work. Cameron wont like him because they’re so different. but that’s why he really likes cameron. he wont bullshit charlie when he’s being chaotic, he could ground him and tell him when to be better. charlie needs someone like cameron but cameron wont need or want him.
One day charlie gets into an accident, like he tripped and hit his head or something and he gets rushed to the ER.
when he wakes up cameron is there and there are still a shit ton of flowers anywhere. but when he coughed one more time, no petals came out. a few more coughs and huffs. nothing.
huh.
he must’ve gotten over cameron. he got kinda sad, but when he starts talking to cameron he’s so happy. he knows he still likes him.
little did charlie know that moments before that, cameron had been coughing up so many flowers, he’s been coughing flowers for years for charlie. he didnt want to admit it because charlie was out of his league, he was a nerd and charlie was charlie. amazing.
their room was filled with 10 times the amount of flowers than anyone else could imagine. these two have been blindly in love with each other for so long (at least cameron has)
when charlie was rushed to the ER, charlie’s room still getting petals everywhere because of coughing + unconscious charlie , neil complained that he only got into an accident because he slipped on a bunch of petals for cameron and immediately slapped his mouth shut. Cameron found out (stopping charlie from making petals). He suddenly saw all the petals covering all this friends.
Cameron may have been coughing up petals for years but charlie produced as much flowers in the span of months as cameron did in years. He likes cameron THAT much. (also how many people KNEW??)
Neil apologizes but Cameron blurts out he likes charlie too and then suddenly the petals in Neil’s view TRIPLED. “damn it– but hey at least yours are pink and not bright red like charlie’s. can you just.. confess to charlie? please? so this is over with”
so when cameron stayed with charlie, he was still coughing up flowers but this time they were multiplying, his crush– his love for charlie was getting stronger.
charlie wakes up, sees cameron and before he could confess, cameron tells him he likes him.
Suddenly the room was a mix of red and pink petals. charlie was in awe but immediately returns cameron’s confession.
they watched as their petals danced together in a mini tornado in the room before they dissipated.
In the myth, narcissus rejected the nymph echo, dooming himself to a fate of falling in love with his own reflection. in my interpretation, naru is both narcissus and echo. he cherishes his brother, his reflection, first and foremost but once he is faced with the matter of love—love for oneself or love for another—this creates a dilemma. he believes he must let go of gene before giving in to love.
Left at a standstill, naru has no choice but to question himself constantly, echoing his own thoughts to make sense out of everything. the accumulation of doubt and heartache leaves him with an incurable illness—the hanahaki disease.
Corpse Husband x Reader (Gender Neutral, They/Them Pronouns Used)
Warnings: Hanahaki Disease (Coughing/Throwing up flowers/flower petals), Melancholy of unrequited love, Mentions/References/Jokes about Death and Dying in the future, Swearing
Genre: Angst, Angsty Romance, Choose-you-own-ending, RPF (Real Person Fic)
Summary: Corpse is a victim of Hanahaki Disease as a result of his crush on a mystery somebody. Will we ever find out who they are? Will they find out about this curious predicament?
Requested by @sensaysstuff Hi dear! Thank you so much for the wonderful request! I’m so sorry it’s taken me so long to write and post it but here it is. It was my first time dabbling in this trope too so I apologize if I got anything incorrectly. Enjoy! Love, Vy ❤
It’s been a whole week, a whole week of my own lungs being my arch nemeses. I’m no stranger to being the victim of my body’s flaws and my organs’ short-comings, but man, this is next level brutal. It’s got a sort of punch-to-the gut humorous irony to it because, although it fucking sucks, it’s also the prettiest disease I’ve had to deal with. Hell, I’ve even started collecting the flowers, they look really pretty when you don’t know the context behind their presence on my dining table.
It first happened the night after a stream when I felt surprisingly tired, enough so to doze off to sleep. I did so with a smile even because the stream was so great and I had so much fun talking to my friends and playing with them as we usually do. Except, this time around we had involved alcohol in the fun so you can imagine the antics we were up to.
That being said, when I woke up barely an hour after having gone into lights-out mode with an overwhelming urge to throw up, I wasted no time chucking it up to the consumption of the three beers as I ran to the bathroom. And it’s not so unusual to have certain things that I’m usually tolerant of not land correctly a specific one time just to mess with me. Alcohol is up on that list but no matter how it lands, it’s never before made me chuck a flower out of my mouth.
Yes, a whole ass fucking flower.
Imagine how long I sat there looking at the toilet bowl which now had a flower floating in there like it was nobody’s business. I pinched and pinched at my arms to try and wake myself from whatever kind of fever dream this could’ve been but it was no use. I was as awake as I could be and had been turned into a flower producing machine.
Of course, the first thing I did once my legs unjelly-ed was google this puzzling phenomenon, hoping for something but not sure what. I don’t know what would’ve been a comforting diagnosis for a literal flower clawing its way out of my throat but whatever. At the very least, I found a diagnosis - Hanahaki Disease: an ailment that targets victims of unrequited love, causing them to cough or puke flowers till the object of their affection returns the same feelings. If that doesn’t happen on time, however, the victim is to be suffocated by an overflow of flowers in their lungs.
The thought I remember swimming through my head after rereading the damn explanation for the fiftieth fucking time is simple and straight to the point:
I’m gonna fucking die at the hands of fucking flowers….FLOWERS DON’T EVEN HAVE HANDS
What did I do next, you might be wondering. Don’t, because it’s pathetic. I sent the weirdest text a person could receive to the Amigops group chat.
Me: GUYS I HAVE HANAHAKI DISEASE I’M GONNA DIE
And just my luck, Toast was the only one up at that hour. He did have a logical reaction but still…
T: The fuck did you mix in that beer, man?
I left him on read.
* * * * *
Since then, I’ve gotten around to explaining it to my friends and even making it as far as getting them to believe it - even if some (read: Toast) still tease me about it. I’d say that’s headway and a half in comparison to how I thought things would go but the fact still remains - I’m a dead man walking.
“Corpse, why do you have to be so pessimistic?! How do you know the person doesn’t like you back?” Rae has tried comforting me time and time again.
“Cause I have this disease.“ It’s comical how simple the answer is.
“Ok…“ she clears her throat before correcting herself, “How do you know they won’t develop feelings for you in the future?“
“Cause they won’t. I just know, ok? Don’t ask me how.“ It’s gotten increasingly harder to be able to keep my bitterness at bay but I’m managing semi-nicely, thank you very much.
Oh and yeah, we’ve resorted to calling the object of my affection ‘this person’ because I’ve been more than adamant on keeping their identity a secret. There’s no way I’m handing Toast a gas can so he can pour it in the fire that is his teasing. He really doesn’t need any more material, I believe he’s got plenty to work with when you take into consideration my misery and agony.
“Look on the bright side: that bouquet is the most colorful thing in your entire apartment. You may die but the flowers breathe life into the living space. Isn’t that poetic?“ There he goes, without missing a beat. I know he’s not trying to be mean - if anything he attempts to knock as many laughs out of me as possible - so an eyeroll is the farthest he’s gotten on my anger meter.
“I’d say cruel. Or tragic.“ Sykkuno adds. He’s been very timid about the topic, frightened by the end I’ve foreseen and embraced by now.
“Life is one great big tragedy.“ Toast replies with a heavy accent that is inaccurate to whatever part of the world he was trying to accentuate.
“Jeez, what’s with all this melancholy?“
The voice comes from none of the four of us and a quick check of the participants list confirms that there’s a fifth party now present in the call. One I’d like for us to tiptoe around when it comes to the subject - Y/N.
“Toast just finally decided to catch up on some high school reading. He’s currently hung up on Shakespeare.“ Rae jumps in to mend the situation even though she doesn’t know my intention on keeping this a secret from Y/N. For all she knows they’re already aware of my ailment but bless her heart regardless.
The save actually catches me so off-guard with its creativity and humor that it sends me in a fit of laughter. One that transpires into a coughing fit, producing another flower.
“Oh God, Corpse, are you ok? That sounded rough?“ Y/N asks, concern evident in their voice.
I shake my head before I remember they can’t see me and hurry to answer verbally, “Yeah, no worries. I’m no stranger to a little coughing fit.“
“That was anything but little. Might wanna go to the hospital, buddy.“ They reply, causing me to cringe inwardly at both the thought of going to the hospital for this ridiculous and downright degrading disease and also the nickname they casually added at the end.
“Hey, what flower was it this time, Corpse?“ Toast teases, causing me to grit my teeth and bringing himself up on the annoyance scale.
“I told you they don’t change.“ I all but groan, burying my face in my hands.
“Ah, so you’re stuck coughing up orchids till doomsday come.“ He assesses casually as though he isn’t referring to my literal doomsday but ok.
“Wait, do you even like orchids?“ Sykkuno asks, a small but meaningful attempt at lightening up the situation.
“This kind, yeah. They’re a nice shade of blue, they’re pretty.“ I reply with a shrug, looking at the flower now prepped up on my desk as though it’s a suspect in some criminal case I’m trying to crack - my own murder, that is.
“Wait, wait, wait. Back up, all of you.“ Y/N, rightfully confused, interjects, “Corpse, you’re coughing up flowers?! The fuck kind of idiot do you guys take me as?“
Before I can jump to our defense, Rae beelines right to the point, “Look up Hanahaki disease, we’re really not making fun of you or anything. If anything we’re trying to figure out how to save Corpse’s life.“
Y/N’s end stays quiet for a bit, the silence only interrupted by the clicking of the keys of their keyboard until they finally speak, “Oh shit, this really is real….” For a moment their voice fades again as they mumble the words they read to themself, “It says here that he could get surgery and have it removed.”
“Yeah, this mule of a man simply cannot let go of whoever this person is, even to save his own life.“ Rae complains in her typical motherly way. Bless her heart once more, I know I’m frustrating the hell out of her by being so determined to avoid the surgical solution but I simply can’t let go of this feeling. Sure, it’s torture and inevitable demise but it’s made me more human in this life than anything ever has. It’s the first and only time I’ve felt so strongly for another person that it almost seems right for it to have this kind of consequences just as a small fucked-up reminder that I’m not allowed to love or be loved romantically. Well, fuck that rule, I’ll love till doomsday come, to phrase it in a Toast-y way.
“I love this person too much, ok?“ I reply defensively like I’ve done all the previous times they’ve confronted me on the topic.
“Who are they?“ Y/N doesn’t beat around the bush too much, “I’ll kick their ass into loving you.“
Goddamn that’s sad
Despite that thought, I manage to chuckle, “That I cannot tell you.”
“Ok, fine. Allow me to use my detective skills then.“ They clear their throat and snap their fingers before following that up with: “What kind of flower are you coughing up?“
“Dendrobium Orchids.“ I reply with a playful eyeroll, throwing my hands behind my head to get comfortable in my chair, knowing full well this investigation isn’t going anywhere. The flowers have no meaning, I specifically read that. They can come in all kinds, shapes, sizes and colors. “Blue, if that helps.“
“Whose favorite flower is that?“ Rae ponders semi-aloud.
“It doesn’t have a correlation with the object of my affection. Don’t look into a dead end.“ I sigh, suddenly feeling heavy-chested.
“It doesn’t matter if the flowers are randomized. Yours is repetitive and of a specific kind and color.“ She corrects me, clearly having done her own research on the disease.
“So we really need to find this orchid lover and get them to love you.“ Toast sums up like he’s come to the solution of a problem after hours or days of looking for it.
“Yes! It directly points to the person who your heart longs for!“ Rae, finally having someone in her corner, is obviously excited whereas I’m terrified.
What if they’re right?
Suddenly Y/N, who’s been eerily quiet for the past three minutes, speaks up, “Blue dendrobium orchids are my favorite flowers…“
Fuck, they’re right.
The silence that overcomes the call is deafening to the point that it forces me to remove my headset just to escape it but it follows me into the quiet of my recording room too.
So, to escape it properly I choose to teleport myself back to a time when this was all so much simpler. For example, that stream. The stream that occurred moments before this disaster took over my life.
And I specifically remember the moment I provoked it. The moment when I was still struggling to pull myself together after a joke Y/N had cracked. The moment the forbidden thought passed through my head:
God, I’m so fucking in love with them
I did this to myself, I know that by now. I just had to go and fall for someone I can’t have. Someone already taken. Someone who wouldn’t see me as anything more than a friend even if they weren’t already in a relationship.
At least I’ll die knowing that a small part of them remains in me - quite literally, their favorite flowers will continue growing in my lungs. I’ll make sure to use that last breath to say their name.
A/N: Choose your own ending, lovelies! Feel free to submit anything you come up with to me, I’d be delighted to read your follow-ups to this fic <3
