Flower Husbands Fanart Novels & Stories

“My past is already a mess. My love life’s just as complicated.” “You fought with Dixal, didn’t you?” Mariel asked, watching her refill the glass without pause. “That arrogant man!” Flora Amorburst out. “He plays with every woman’s heart. Two of them nearly clawed each other’s hair out in his office! And guess whose hand he was holding while they fought?” She was about to gulp another when someone caught her wrist—firm, unyielding. “Hey, I’m not done drinking!” she protested, turning toward Anton.

Just his eyes burning into mine. He was for a fourteen year old. I let him into my life, he held on the bumpy ride. I put up my first flower on the wall that day, next to a butterfly. It was a rose.

"Dylan, I'm fine. It is important that you show the third princess, who is a valued guest in our kingdom, that you do not disregard her." Rose gave Miren a sideways glance. She held the fan in the palm of her hand while she played it, and the crimson feathers made light contact with her fair skin. Red, when placed against a white background, not only looks stunning but also can make people shiver when they look at it.

I smile, and she nods, tugging me towards the bed, I let her lay me down, and she falls asleep in my hands. I stay awake for hours, knowing nothing would remain the same with Rose's presence in my life, I am having a baby. _____ "Caspian." I pick his call. Caspian De Martel has been my bestfriend for twenty six years. We were made of the same cloth, the same ruthlessness and detemination, this is why I have tolerated his presence in my life so long. "Open up, I have been horning." He says, then hangs up.

I told myself this was tactically interesting and nothing else. By day seven I had stopped telling myself that. On day eight Ruby brought oats with strawberries arranged on top with a care that was its own form of hostility, and stood watching me from the doorway while I considered the tray with the expression of someone who was genuinely sorry to cause inconvenience. "I'm so sorry," I said warmly. "Strawberries give me hives. And the oats look like they've been waiting a while. I don't want to trouble you with something I won't be able to eat."

Isn’t this the reason why he’s in the hospital right now? She scrolled her message boxes when she found FlowerMan’s latest message. The one that she ignored last time. ‘Managed to grow some roses. Once ready for cutting, I will send them to you’ Huh! She felt her heart thumped. What if FlowerMan is the same as PenisMan? But when she looked at their previous conversation, she didn’t think so. Maybe he’s just trying to be friendly. She furrowed her eyebrows and bit her lips thinking what to reply when she noticed Daniel looking intently at her.

Then he pretended looking at the displayed heathers on a basket. “Come on, son,” Arth heard the old woman, the owner of the flower stand. “Buy this pretty girl of yours some beautiful flowers,” she whispered from behind. Arth’s lips parted, stealing a glance at Alice who was busy looking at the other flowers. Then he quickly waved his hand in front of him. “No, uh … she’s not my girl, nanny,” he whispered back. “Oh, so you’re still not together?” the old woman said. “Well, you give her these and confess now.” She handed out three blue roses. “These roses will bring you the best luck you can get.”

Ariande asked looking at Xander as he pulled his attires. " Nope." " I am telling you now that you look handsome and hot." Ariande said while approaching him. She began to move her hands all over his chest. " Strong arms, chest and neck, well defined abs,soft hair, delicious lips." She continued her description and paused. She looked into his eyes " what a beautiful eyes you have." "Hold on, Ariande. Are you indirectly saying that you need me tonight?" He asked and she nodded her head. "Also can't I compliment my husband's handsome physique anymore?"

When there’s finally a lull in drink orders, I walk over to Cassandra. “Hey, Cass, can I ask you something?” “Sure you can,” she says while wiping down the bar. “You love plants and gardening and all that jazz; could you tell me what flower this is?” I ask, pulling out my phone and showing her a picture of the flowers Jartre sent me. She glances at the picture and smiles, “Oh, those are beautiful! Those are called aster. Did someone give those to you?” “My boyfriend did,” I say, beam with pride, even though calling Jartre my boyfriend feels weird.