ᴍᴜʟᴛɪғᴀɴᴅᴏᴍ ɪᴍᴀɢɪɴᴇ | ᴏʟᴅ ᴀɴᴅ ɴᴇᴡ ғɪᴄs ғʀᴏᴍ ᴍʏ ɴᴏᴛᴇs

A Little Pressure (Arthur Morgan x male! reader)

Summary: Massageeee uiiiiii

Warning: ARTURO MORGANA, i love him, he's my pookie, love, fluff, relaxing, Arthur is good at massage, grumpy reader.

based on this request, tq!

As usual, I'm sorry if there are any wrong sentences or typos or grammatical mistakes, please forgive me and again English is not my first language, so I try to improve my language and writing in this way.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

You didn't mean to groan that loud when you sat down.
It just kind of happened.

One minute, you were hauling chopped wood from the wagon to the firepit, then hauling Pearson's endless crates back to the pantry, then fixing the chicken coop after one of the damn birds got stuck in the wire again.

Now?

Now your whole back felt like a kicked-in barn wall, and your arms were two sacks of grain stuffed into a human shape.

You collapsed onto your bedroll outside the Belle manor porch with a loud, drawn-out sigh that sounded like the soul leaving your body.

And Arthur, of course, chose that moment to round the corner.

"...You dyin', or you just dramatic?"

You cracked one eye open and gave him your most tired glare. "Can it be both?"

He snorted and walked over, crouching down beside you. "Heard you were Pearson's pack mule today."

You groaned again. "That man collects more useless junk than a grave robber."

Arthur reached out and poked your shoulder. You winced.

"God. You're stiff as a corpse."

"Thanks for the imagery."

"I'm just sayin'." He poked again. "Bet you're late."

You sighed. "I'm always late."

Arthur tilted his head, looking oddly thoughtful.

“…Turn over.”

You blinked. "What?"

"Turn. Over."

You hesitated. "Why?"

Arthur just gave you a look and rolled up his sleeves. "'Cause I'm about to be real nice to you, dumbass. Now move."

You obeyed, grumbling, and flopped onto your stomach. Your shirt was sticking to your skin with sweat and dirt, but you didn't have the energy to care.

Then Arthur sat beside you. And placed his hands on your shoulders.

They were warm.

Rough, calloused, work-worn — but warm.

And gentle.

He started slowly, pressing his thumbs in between your shoulder blades.

You let out a small, helpless noise.

Arthur chuckled. "Damn. That bad?"

You muffled your face in the blanket. "I think I saw heaven for a second."

His thumbs moved lower, finding a knot near your spine and working it loose.

"Bet you don't stretch worth a damn," he muttered.

"I do! ...Sometimes."

He grunted like he didn't believe you.

You sank into the feeling — his hands moving slowly and firmly, thumbs kneading deep into the sore places no one ever bothered to touch. He worked methodically, up and down your back, pausing when you twitched or gasped, easing tension from the cords of your neck to the small of your back.

"You know," you mumbled, eyes half-lidded, "this is dangerously close to foreplay."

Arthur let out a breathy laugh, not missing a beat.

"Well, I figure you deserve a little somethin' for all your sufferin'."

"Oh yeah?" You hummed, the vibration tingling down your chest. "What, and this isn't just some secret fantasy you've been harborin'? Gettin' your hands on me under the stars?"

Arthur leaned down, lips brushing your ear.

"Wouldn't be the worst fantasy I've had."

Your breath caught.

But just when you were about to turn over and kiss the smirk off his face, Arthur gave one painfully precise press to a knot in your shoulder that made you wheeze like an old bellows.

"Payback," he muttered.

"Asshole."

"You love me."

You sighed — more content than angry now.

"…Yeah. I do."

By the time he finished, the stars were fully out. Camp was quiet. And your body, for the first time in days, didn't feel like a sack of rocks.

Arthur stretched out beside you, arms behind his head, eyes on the sky.

"You feel better?" he asked quietly.

You turned towards him, brushing your knee against his.

"Much," you said. "Think I might owe you somethin'."

"Oh yeah?"

"Mhm. You ever let me return the favor, Morgan, I swear — I'll make you see God."

Arthur chuckled low in his chest.

"I'll hold you to that."

And under the stars, warm and loose and wrapped in a kind of quiet affection that didn't need words — you believed him.