𐙚 ̊.𓂃˖˳·˖ ִֶָ ⋆🪻⋆ ִֶָ˖·˳˖𓂃 ִֶָ 𐙚 ̊

Arthur was a married man — to you. He loved you dearly. You were his pride and joy, the reason he was still on this earth. The two of you had met at a hotel. You used to be one of the bath assistants. He loved the way you washed him, almost instantly falling in love with the gentle touch of your hands grazing over his skin with such care.

He adored your nurturing nature. To him, you were a good woman — a good wife — and he made you into his. You saw him as a strong, loving, hard-working man. A perfect husband you helped shape with your devotion. When he brought you back to camp, they welcomed you with open arms.

Now, the two of you were sitting together at Horseshoe Overlook, right on the edge of camp. Your head rested on his shoulder, his arm wrapped loosely around your waist. He hummed softly — low and gravelly.

“You wanna go over to that lavender field, sweetheart?”

he asked, voice low, as his hand traced lazy patterns along your hip. You agreed to go with him to that beautiful field, full of vibrant purple blossoms. Boadicea trotted you both there, your arms loosely around Arthur’s waist, your cheek pressed gently to his upper back between his shoulder blades.

The deep red mare stopped in the middle of the field. Arthur dismounted first, then turned to look up at you, his bright eyes filled with nothing but love and tenderness. He placed his hands under your arms and helped you down gently. His gaze wandered down your dress before lifting back to your face with half-lidded affection.

He led you away from Boadicea, deeper into the field. It seemed he wanted something — something quiet and meaningful. Laying you down in the lavender, you were surrounded by their sweet scent, wrapped in a nest of soft petals. He hovered over you, his gaze heavy with love and desire.

Leaning down, he pressed his face between your neck and shoulder. One of his hands slipped beneath your dress and under your thigh, lifting it over his hip. His other hand reached the white ribbon tied around your thigh, his fingers grazing over the soft skin there before slowly untying it.

“My sweet darlin’… let me love you. Let me show you how much you mean to me — right here in these flowers, my dear…”

he whispered, his lips brushing over your cheek. He wanted you — needed you. You were everything to him. And here, in this field of lavender, he wanted to make this moment special.