MrsArthurMorgan7

Arthur thought about the day they’d named her. Bonnie had been sitting up in bed, tired but glowing, the baby bundled against her chest. —What would you call her? —she’d asked, voice soft. Arthur had shrugged, uncomfortable with the question, with the weight of it. —Don’t know much about names, Bonnie… but she deserves somethin’ better than what the world usually gives people. He’d looked down at the tiny face, at the wild dark hair already trying to escape the blanket, and the word had come quiet and certain. —Daisy sounds nice. Bonnie had laughed, gentle and fond. —You sure? There’s a whole lot of flowers out there, Arthur Morgan. He’d felt the heat rise in his face, the old embarrassment that came whenever feelings got too close to the surface. —Yeah… but you always liked those.

Fandom: Red Dead Redemption 2

Tags: Established Relationship, Brat-Taming, Discipline, Spanking, Praise Kink, Some Condescending Praise, Religious Imagery, Age Gap, Chubby Female Reader, Slight Body Insecurity, Breathplay, Rough Handling.

The ride back from Valentine had been conducted in a silence so heavy it felt like a physical weight pressing against your chest. The sun was dipping low over the Grizzlies, painting the sky in bruised purples and angry oranges—colors that matched Arthur’s mood perfectly.

You sat behind him on the horse, your arms wrapped around his thick waist, your cheek pressed against the rough leather of his jacket. Normally, you’d be humming a hymn or chatting his ear off about the price of eggs, but today, you kept her jaw locked tight. You could feel the tension in the muscles of his back, the way his frame remained rigid, refusing to lean into you. 

You had pushed him. You knew she had. It had started at the general store when you spent far too much time batting your eyelashes at the clerk just to see Arthur’s jaw tighten. It had escalated when you walked off alone toward the saloon after he’d specifically told her to wait by the hitching post. And it had culminated in you laughing off his stern warning in front of the town sheriff, making him look like a man who couldn't keep his own woman in line.

The second the door to their small, secluded cabin clicked shut behind them, the air went stale and charged. 

Arthur didn’t even take off his hat. He just stood there, his back to her, his shoulders rising and falling with heavy, deliberate breaths. You stood in the center of the room, her fingers nervously toyed with the silver cross hanging around your neck — It was a habit, a silent prayer for strength, or perhaps for mercy.

“Take it off,” Arthur said, his voice a low, gravelly rumble that vibrated in your marrow.

You blinked, your eyes wide and flickering under the lamplight. “Take… take what off, Arthur?”

He turned then, and the look in his eyes made your knees go weak. They weren’t the kind, weary eyes that usually looked at you with such tenderness. They were dark, hooded, and predatory. He looked like the outlaw the government was so scared of.

“The attitude. The dress. All of it,” he growled, stepping into your space. 

You instinctively took a step back, your boots scuffing against the floorboards. You felt the familiar prickle of defiance. You were a grown woman, independent and capable, even if you did have a soft spot for a man who smelled like tobacco and rain. 

“I don’t know what’s got your dander up,” you huffed, tossing your curls over your shoulder. I was just havin’ a bit of fun. You’re always so serious, Arthur Morgan. It’s enough to make a girl go stir-crazy.”

Arthur’s hand moved faster than you could track. Before you could finish your sentence, his palm landed flat against the wall beside her head with a loud crack. You flinched, your back hitting the wood. He loomed over you, his shadow swallowing you whole.

“Fun?” he repeated, the word sounding like a threat. “You call makin’ a fool out of me in front of half the county ‘fun’? You did the opposite of everythin’ I told you to. I told you to stay put, you ran off. I told you to keep your mouth shut, you chirped like a damn bluejay. You had your fun, doll? Out your system now?”

Your heart hammered against your ribs, the corset you wore beneath your floral dress feeling suddenly far too tight. You hated how your body betrayed you; you felt your cheeks go warm. You tried to look him in the eye, your gaze catching on the wrinkles under his eye, then drifting down to his mouth.

“I… I ain’t got a clue what you’re—”

The fight drained out of your voice the second his hand moved from the wall to your throat. He didn’t squeeze — Arthur would never hurt you — but the weight of his large, calloused palm resting there, his thumb grazing the underside of your jaw, was enough to steal your words. 

“’Pose I’ve been too nice to you,” he murmured, leaning down so his hot breath fanned over your ear. “I’ve been soft. Let you think you run this show. I’d oughta teach you a lesson on how a good girl conducts herself when she’s out with her man.”

You shook your head, a small, desperate movement. “I ain’t a girl to be handled, Arthur.”

“Tonight, you’re exactly that,” he countered. His hand tightened just a fraction, earning a gasp from you that tracked dangerously close to a whimper. “Still not listenin’. Still tryin’ to be the boss. You gonna say you’re sorry, or do I have to work it out of you?”

You bit your lip, your stubbornness warring with the heat pooling in your lower belly. You looked up at him, your eyes defiant. You didn't say a word.

Arthur let out a dark, dry chuckle that sent shivers down your spine. “Fine. We’ll do it the hard way. Turn around.”

“Arthur—”

“Turn. Around.” 

Reluctantly, you turned, your face pressed against the cool wood of the wall. You felt his presence behind you, massive and overwhelming. 

He reached out, his fingers fumbling with the tiny buttons at the back of your dress. He was surprisingly patient for a man in a rage, unfastening each one with a terrifying deliberateness. As the fabric loosened, he pulled the dress down over your shoulders, exposing the white chemise and the tightly laced corset beneath.

You let out a shaky breath, trying to pull your stomach in. you were acutely aware of your body — the soft curve of your hips, the weight of your breasts, the way the corset squeezed your waist to try and hide the "chubbiness" you were so certain made you less attractive. 

Arthur’s hands paused at your waist. He didn't pull the corset tighter; instead, he traced the line of your hip with his thumb, his touch unexpectedly reverent despite his anger. 

“You spend so much time tryin’ to hide yourself in these damn things,” he muttered, his voice dropping an octave. “Tryin’ to be small. Tryin’ to be quiet. But today? Today you wanted to be seen. You wanted everyone lookin’ at you.”

He leaned in, his lips brushing the shell of your ear. “Well, you got my attention now, darlin’. All of it.”

Suddenly, he gripped the back of your neck, forcing your head down slightly. “Now, you’re gonna tell me you were a brat. Say it.”

Your hands gripped the wall, your knuckles turning white. “I… I was just—”

“Say it,” he growled, his hand shifting from your neck to the small of your back, pressing your pelvis firmly against the wall. 

“I was a brat,” you whispered, her voice cracking. 

“Louder. And tell me what a brat deserves.”

You closed your eyes, the scent of him—leather, woodsmoke, and *man*—filling your senses. The religious girl in you screamed that this was a sin, that you should be praying for forgiveness. But the woman in you, the one who loved this rough, broken man more than life itself, was screaming for something else entirely.

“I was a brat, Arthur,” you said, your voice stronger now, laced with a desperate kind of honesty. “And I… I suppose I deserve a spankin’.”

You heard the sound of a belt buckle clinking—the most terrifying and exhilarating sound you ever heard.

“Good girl,” Arthur purred, the praise hitting you like a physical blow. “See? You can be obedient when you try. Now, hold onto that wall, doll. Don't you move an inch until I tell you I’m done with you. You’re gonna learn exactly who you belong to.”

You gripped the wood, your heart hammering a frantic rhythm against your ribs, the cross necklace dangling between your breasts as you waited for the first taste of your penance.

The leather belt didn’t come down immediately. Instead, Arthur used it to lift the hem of your skirts, bunching the heavy fabric up around your waist until your drawers and the tops of your stockings were exposed. Your breath hitched, your fingers digging into the rough-hewn logs of the cabin wall. You felt the cool air of the room hit your skin, followed closely by the radiating heat of Arthur’s body.

“Look at you,” Arthur murmured, his voice thick with a dark sort of satisfaction. “Covered in all this lace and bone, tryin’ to hide what God gave you. You think I don't see you? You think I don't know why you’re actin’ out?”

He reached around you, his large hand splaying flat over your stomach, feeling the way you tried to suck it in against the constraints of your corset. He clicked his tongue disparagingly.

“Stop that. I told you before, I like a woman with some meat on her bones. Makes you soft where a man needs it. But today, you weren’t actin’ like a woman. You were actin’ like a child seekin’ attention. So, I’m gonna give you exactly what you’re lookin’ for.”

The first strike of his open palm wasn’t a blow; it was a heavy, stinging slap across the meat of your ass. 

You let out a sharp yelp, your back arching instinctively. The sting was immediate, a blooming heat that radiated across your skin. It wasn't the pain that shocked you as much as the sheer authority behind it. 

“That’s for the general store,” Arthur counted, his voice calm, almost conversational.

Whack.

“That’s for the clerk.”

Whack

“And that’s for walkin’ away when I told you to stay.”

Your eyes watered, your nose pressing against the wood. You could smell the pine sap and the faint scent of old dust. “Arthur, please,” you whimpered, your pride finally beginning to crumble.

“Please what,baby? Please stop? Or please keep goin’ until you remember who you’re supposed to be listenin’ to?” He didn't wait for an answer. He rained down a steady rhythm of slaps, his hand heavy and unerring. He wasn't being cruel—there was a precision to it, a controlled discipline that made you feel entirely handled. 

You began to sob softly, your cheeks flushed a deep crimson, tears wetting the wood. Every time your body tried to recoil, his other hand, still resting firm on the back of your neck, kept you pinned. 

“You’re gettin’ so red for me, darlin’,” he praised, the words dripping with a condescending sweetness that made your heart race. “Such a pretty, colorful mess you’re makin’. Look at you, shakin’ like a leaf. Are you startin’ to feel sorry yet?”

“Yes,” you choked out, your voice muffled. “I’m sorry, Arthur. I’m so sorry.”

“I don’t believe you yet,” he whispered. He stepped back for a moment, and the sudden absence of his heat made you feel cold and abandoned. Then she heard the leather of his belt fold over in his hand. “You’ve been a real trial today, darlin’. A real test of my patience. And you know what the Bible says about those who spare the rod.”

Your eyes went wide. You looked over your shoulder, your eyes shimmering with a mix of fear and desperate wanting. The silver cross swung wildly from your neck, hitting your collarbone. “Arthur, please… I’ll be good. I’ll be a good girl.”

“You’ll be a good girl after I’ve finished tamin’ the brat out of you,” he corrected. 

He didn’t use the belt with the full force he’d use in a fight, but the leather had a bite that his palm lacked. The first crack against your thighs made your knees buckle. You would have fallen if he hadn't caught you by the waist, hauling you back up and over his thigh as he sat down on the heavy wooden bench by the table.

Now you were draped across him, your skirts tossed over your head, leaving you exposed and vulnerable in the center of their home. The indignity of it was overwhelming. She felt like a sinner at the altar, stripped of your pretenses.

“Count ‘em,” Arthur commanded, the belt hovering. “Every time you feel the leather, you tell me why you’re gettin’ it. If you lose track, we start over.”

Crack.

You gasped, your fingers scrabbling for purchase on his denim-clad leg. “One… for… for bein’ disrespectful.”

Crack.

“Two… for runnin’ off.” your voice was high and thinned by tears. 

“Good girl,” Arthur murmured, his hand stroking the small of your back in a brief, confusing moment of tenderness before the belt fell again. “See? You’re findin’ your manners. It’s a shame we had to go through all this just to get you to find your tongue.”

He continued until you reached ten, your voice a broken whisper of confessions. By the time he tossed the belt onto the table, you were a sobbing, trembling wreck. He pulled you up, tucking your head under his chin and wrapping his massive arms around you. He let you cry into his shirt, his fingers gently untangling the curls that had become a knotted mess during your struggle.

“There now,” he cooed, his voice returning to that low, rumbling barrette that usually soothed you to sleep. “The worst is over. You’ve been a brave little thing, haven’t you? Took your lickin’ like a lady.”

You clung to him, your fingers clutching the fabric of his waistcoat. The adrenaline was fading, leaving behind a heavy, pulsing ache in your lower body that was rapidly turning into something much more demanding.

Arthur pulled back just enough to look at you. He reached up, his thumb wiping a tear from the mole under your right eye. His expression softened, the darkness in his eyes shifting from anger to a smoldering, possessive heat.

“You learned your lesson?” he asked, his voice a low growl.

You nodded frantically, your cheeks still damp. “Yes, Arthur.”

“And who do you belong to?”

“You,” you whispered, your heart thudding against your ribs. “I belong to you.”

Arthur’s gaze dropped to your mouth, then down to the lace of your chemise, where your breath was coming in quick, shallow pants. “Well then. Since you’re bein’ so obedient now… I reckon it’s time I rewarded you for finally listenin’.”

He stood up, effortlessly lifting you into his arms. You let out a small squeak of surprise, wrapping your legs around his waist. As he carried you toward the bedroom, you felt the sting of your raw skin against his rough clothes, a delicious reminder of the price you paid—and the pleasure that was about to follow.

“I’m gonna see every inch of you tonight, sweet thing,” Arthur promised, his voice dark and promising. “No corsets. No hidin’. Just you and me. And you’re gonna be the best girl I’ve ever had. Understand?”

“Yes, Arthur,” you breathed, burying your face in his neck as he kicked the bedroom door shut. “Anything you want.”

This one is not requested, just been wanting to write something, and I miss my cowboy.

Regular 1899, nothing too fancy, and to be honest, I am writing from my brain as I go, no complete idea, just little ones.

Warnings: Slight NSFW wording, but no smut, Arthur being Arthur, probably some angst, maybe a little bit of violence and swearing, nothing too outragous, Arthur x Reader

@photo1030 @mrsarthurmorgan7 guys i swear I can still write

Sometimes, when you’re restless and can’t sleep, he’d fuck you. But when he’s too tired or lazy, he’d sneak his hand down your panties and strum you to sleep.

Tonight isn’t any different.

He’s spooning you from behind, your head resting on his bicep instead of the pillow. He has one arm draped over your waist, your legs intertwined. You hear his soft snores behind you, his breath fanning over your hair.

But you couldn’t get yourself to fall asleep for some reason. It has been over an hour of restless tossing and turning until he pulled you close. So, you whisper his name in the dark.

“Hm?” He asks sleepily, voice deeper than usual.

“Can’t sleep”

“Yeah? Why’s that?”

“Don’t know… can’t seem to fall asleep”

He leans in from behind, kissing your neck softly, then your shoulder. He pulls you closer, his chest firm against your back. He uses his free hand to run it up your body, cupping your tits over the old shirt you wear to sleep. His hands are big, rough, and feel divine on your body. When you melt against him, he takes it as an invitation to go on.

His hand travels back down, along the waistline of your sleep shorts. You wiggle your ass back a bit, pressing against him deliciously. You hear a huff of a laugh from behind you, and he bites your neck.

“So that’s what you needed huh? Sleep aid?”

You can’t help but giggle and nod, “please?”

He takes your leg, throwing it over his own behind you, to open you up for him. He slips his hand down your shorts and the roughness of his skin makes your skin tingle. He presses his fingers over your panties, feeling the wet spot there. “Look at ya… so wet already…”

He rubs your clit in tight circles over your panties, making your arch back against him. He finally slips his hand under your panties, making you let out a whiny sigh of relief. He groans as he feels your wetness soak his fingers, his thumb working your clit as his middle and ring finger rub against your entrance.

He finally pushes in, filling you in a way that you never could do on your own. He pumps them in and out slowly at first, stretching you out. He scissors them open, making your mouth fall slack.

“Oh god… yes…”

He curls them against that spongy area, your body something he has memorized by now. Your nails dig into his forearm, your toes curling at the sensation that courses through your body. His thumb resumes the circles on your clit and you whine softly. “You like that? Be a good girl and come.”

He doubles his efforts, his other arm wrapping around your waist to keep you in place. Your body burns, skin crawling as you get closer to the edge. You start grinding down on his hand as he fingers you, kissing your shoulder and neck. He nibbles on your earlobe, leaning in to whisper “that’s right, baby… let go for me”

And you do, a filthy sound leaving your parted lips as you fall apart. He feels your wetness drip down his hand to his wrist. He only pulls his fingers out when you start to mewl and close your legs. He takes his fingers to his mouth, sucking them clean with a satisfied hum. Then he grabs you by the jaw from behind, tilting your head back enough for him to kiss you. You taste yourself on his tongue, your eyes fluttering shut.