"Don't go setting fires when there's nothing to burn."
A sick turn of events sees Isla Telford thrown in at the deep end, battling to govern the sudden pressures of all that her father's club decidedly bestow upon her.
˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥
Tig Trager x Fem!OC...
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Warnings: Smut, angst
No other conglomerate of words had managed to monopolize Tig's thoughts like that before. Not a single thing had the power to destroy whatever semblance of rationality that he might've managed to cling to the way that Isla's last profession had.
No other woman—no other person—could so effortlessly leave him with a feeling of longing, of desire, so fucking fervid that he couldn't string together a coherent idea. Or sentence, for that matter.
You're mine, Trager.
It was all that he could think about. The one and only item advancing through the frontal lobe of his somewhat disfigured brain, dominating all five of his fucking senses at once.
It was so facile, too. Like Isla had been waiting for the perfect moment to just say it and mean it.
She definitely meant it. He was certain that she wasn't just telling him what he wanted to hear because she wasn't like that. She wasn't docile, she didn't like to be told what to do or guided toward what to say.
Her words were her truth. The way that she felt. The things that she wanted.
And he supposed that was what made it all so hard to digest, then. Knowing that she felt something for him other than lust. A notion that wasn't wholly within the realms of prurience. Lecherousness.
It was something resembling a more carnal need. A desire for...permanence?
She wanted to label him as her own so that he would stick around. So that he would come to the realisation that he, too, wanted her as much as she did him.
Maybe even more.
Maybe she'd even dreamt about it, too. Maybe she was currently dreaming about a life of domesticity with Tig as she laid beside him—against him—and her fingers had mindlessly splayed over the tattoo on the left side of his chest.
Maybe Isla's stance on relationships, on settling down with somebody after so many failed love affairs, had been changed. Shifted into a position that she could really see a future with Tig.
Because that was how he had started to feel. After the very first night they spent together, when Isla managed to wrap him around her ring finger, Tig surmised that getting into something more substantial wasn't awful.
He really, really liked the idea of it.
Scratch that, actually. He loved the idea of it.
Being able to call such a wonderful, wholesome woman his old lady. Being able to love her, to care for and protect her from whatever evil would continue to ensue with this damn club.
Being able to show her off, was what excited him the most. Letting everybody know that she was his.
And it might've been too soon to conjure up such thoughts, too soon to even consider a step further than friends with benefits, but he didn't particularly care.
