𝐆𝐨𝐝'𝐬 𝐏𝐫𝐨𝐭𝐚𝐠𝐨𝐧𝐢𝐬𝐭

𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐑𝐞𝐝 𝐋𝐞𝐝𝐠𝐞𝐫 ~ 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭’𝐬 𝐚 𝐥𝐨𝐭 𝐨𝐟 𝐠𝐞𝐭-𝐭𝐢𝐧’ 𝐛𝐢𝐠 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐛𝐫𝐢𝐭𝐜𝐡𝐞𝐬, 𝐬𝐮𝐠𝐚𝐫

Boothill ain’t a patient man. Never was. Never will be. And you? You’re runnin’ outta road.

It’s cute, really. That little game you play—batting your pretty lashes, gigglin’ at the dumbasses sniffin’ ‘round your skirts, lettin’ ‘em think they got a shot just to see him crack his knuckles, just to see his mouth twist ‘round his cigar in that way that tells you you’re pushin’ your damn luck.

Tonight, though? Tonight you fucked up.

His truck door slams, metal shudderin’ under his grip as he drags you inside. It reeks of tobacco, sweat, and gun oil—the smell of him, thick enough to choke on. Your back hits the seat. His hands don’t waste time.

“Where’d your damn manners go, huh?” Boothill’s voice is a slow, honeyed drawl, but there ain’t no warmth in it. His fingers—calloused, rough, heavy—hook under your skirt, yankin’ it up like he’s checkin’ his prize stock. “Runnin’ that smart mouth, makin’ them boys think they got somethin’ you ain’t already fuckin’ owned.”

“Get off—”

“Now, see,” he growls, leanin’ in, pressin’ that mean, stubbled mouth to your ear. “That ain’t how a good girl talks to her daddy.”

You hate him. You hate that word.

You hate how your body betrays you, a shudder crawlin’ up your spine when he shoves your panties aside, two thick fingers pushing in deep, testing, stretchin’. Your thighs clamp shut, useless against his strength.

“There she is,” Boothill croons, mockin’ the way your breath hitches. “Lil’ thing playin’ house with boys when she ain’t even ready for a real man.”

You thrash, but it don’t do nothin’. You ain’t stronger than him.

You ain’t faster than him.

And when he spits in his palm, slicks himself up, you damn sure ain’t got a way outta this.

His cock—big, mean, curved up thick ‘n heavy—presses to your entrance. He don’t ease in. He don’t give you time to adjust. He takes.

You cry out. He groans deep, head fallin’ back, savorin’ the way you split open for him. “Fuck, that’s tight.” Boothill laughs, low and smug, like he’s got the whole goddamn world sittin’ in his lap. “Shit, sugar. Shouldn’t’a teased me. Now I gotta remind ya who the fuck you belong to.”

He fucks you like he means to ruin you.

Big hands keep you pinned, his weight suffocatin’, his belt buckle diggin’ into your stomach with every brutal snap of his hips. His cock drives deep, claimin’ you from the inside out, fillin’ spaces that ain’t meant to fit a man like him.

You sob, you shake, you scratch at his chest, and it don’t do a damn thing ‘cept make him grin.

“Cry all ya want, girl. Ain’t no one hearin’ ya but me.”

His teeth catch your throat. His thrusts turn brutal.

You lose.

Official TAG LIST of “The Red Ledger”: @save4h , @rofkshinee , @songbirdgardensworld , @yanderedrabbles , @xileonaaaa , @neuvilletteswife4ever

Test-Phase TAG LIST of “The Red Ledger”: @imnotabot28 , @han11dh , @call-memissbrightside , @loserworld