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razrbladekiss · 8 months

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Thirty-seven minutes | Tig Trager

A/N: this is just a shitty little angsty one shot, which i put together in like fifteen minutes. it's supposed to be helping me get back into the swing of things with writing, but it isn't! but anyway, here 'ya go!

WORD COUNT: 900 smth

PAIRING: tig trager x fem!reader

WARNINGS: angst, strong language. you're in your cunt era

Thirty-seven minutes ago, malevolence was rippling through your veins, surging through each and every artery like hot, molten lava drifting toward that village at the volcano’s edge.

You were mere seconds from an outburst, almost spattering your last morsel of equanimity when Clay’s pompous snarl reached the drums of your ears and all you saw was red.

Ripping the man limb from fucking limb would’ve been so gratifying, you thought. Causing him that same abundance of grief that he had inflicted upon you, making him hurt, was the one thing you could only wish to happen.

But slivering so deeply into Clay Morrow seemed borderline inconceivable. Because he was formidable, and tough, and you were yet to see him crumble under the wayward burdens bestowed upon him by his club.

Frankly, getting to him was simply impossible. And, if you could strike a chord within that phlegmatic prick, Tig wouldn’t even let you try.

It wasn’t worth it, he guaranteed that seeking revenge for the shit the SAMCRO President did to you—to the man that you love—wasn’t worth thinking about.

Because he might’ve made Tig dive head first into yet another ire-fueled, gun-wielding battle that could’ve ended a hell of a lot more bloody than what it did, but that was a part of this life.

You understood that. You understood what Tig’s life—his line of work—entailed, but it was tough. Coming to terms with it all—every last thing—was painful, and sometimes you wished that Clay didn’t depend on him so much.

But he did. And there was nothing that you could’ve done to change that, or put a stop to it. So you got along with it.

You got along with it until you couldn’t.

Ten minutes ago your face was reddening, rage dripping from every pore as you became privy to the events of the day. Eagerly—desperately—you awaited an explanation.

An explanation that never came.

An explanation that you needed, but one that you never got. And, for that, you were irrationally angry.

“I just hate that he’s got you wrapped around his little finger, Tig! It’s gonna get you seriously hurt one day!” You expressed your repugnance, stamping into the clubhouse.

Tig was hot on your heels.

“I’m sick of finding out through Jax, or Juice, that Clay has put you into yet another situation that you might not find your way out of—“

“Baby—“

“No! Don’t baby me, Alexander.” Pissed, you threw back at him as you stopped dead at the front door. “You’re not getting out of this by sweet-talking, or fucking me, like you always do.”

Being an authoritative figure suited you, he thought. Being put in his place by you was so sexy, he thought.

But you had also yelled at him—“humiliated” him—right in front of his club, and he was irked at your boldness.

The boldness that he lauded, of course, but the boldness that no old lady should’ve conveyed before the Sons Of Anarchy.

Because old ladies were supposed to be submissive. They were supposed to take orders, know their place, and abide by the rules set in place by the club.

That wasn’t your thing, however.

“I—I can’t take this anymore.” Frustrated, you retorted. “This fucking club—“

“Hey!” Tig yelled, pointing at you.

This unbending—frightening—look washed over his face, and for the first time ever, you felt yourself tremble underneath his gaze.

“Don’t talk shit about this fucking club!”

Your heart was pounding.

“I’m serious!” He barked, cornering you.

Tig was intimidating, everybody and their fucking dog knew that. Everybody knew what he did, or what he had the capability of doing.

But you weren’t scared of him.

Not anymore.

You puffed out your chest a little, refusing to be backed up against the wall. You walked a little closer to him. Two noses almost brushed against one another.

“And so am I.” You said, biting back tears. “I am so fucking serious about this—“

“About what?!” Tig was yelling again now.

He was so short tempered. But never with you.

Sucking in a deep breath, you began by saying “about how this club—more like fucking cult—is ruining our relationship that we have been trying so hard to rebuild!”

It was like a weight lifted, but it maimed him.

Because you hadn’t known Tig before the Sons, nor would you ever know that version of him. But he thought that you enjoyed him being part of such a tight brotherhood, a ready made family that supported the pair of you, not just him.

And there were benefits to Samcrow, there always were. But Tara had told you what it was like getting involved with them, and you chose to ignore the warning.

Until now.

“It’s like everything you do revolves around the club.” You say, as if it’s not the most obvious thing in the world. You take a step toward Tig, making him take a step backwards.

Fists clenched.

“We had something good, Tig. We really had a beautiful thing. But the Sons Of Anarchy have brainwashed you into thinking that, if you’re not here twenty four hours a fucking day, that some shit will happen and the club will crumble.”

He rolled his jaw.

“I promise you, nothing bad will happen if you take a day to spend time with your old lady—y’know, the woman you married.”

“You spend too much time with Tara—“

“And that’s such a bad thing?!” You hurled his way. “I spend my days in this shithole! I have no other fucking friends aside from the club and their wives, and it sucks! And now you’re mad at me for spending time with the only female in this gang that I can tolerate?!”

“Not a gang!”

“Oh, fuck off!” You stomp toward the front door, leaving a bitter taste in the mouth of your husband.

Tig couldn’t wrangle his composure. He couldn’t bring himself to go after you as your heels clicked along the uneven concrete, and you mithered to yourself about how worthless he was.

He didn’t care.

He couldn’t find a reason to care.

You disrespected his club, so he threw away the vows that he made to you.

Only temporarily, of course.

Because in thirty-seven minutes, he’ll be at your knees begging for forgiveness.

#tig trager #tig trager x reader #tig trager x you #sons of anarchy #sons of anarchy fic #sons of anarchy fandom #tig trager fanfiction #tig trager fic #sons of anarchy imagines

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razrbladekiss · 8 months

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TYRANTS | Masterlist (18+)

Summary: “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.

Warnings: violence, explicit sexual situations, drug and alcohol abuse, murder, mentions of depression, death, and all of the usual Sons of Anarchy shit. content warnings placed at the start of every chapter, please heed them. (*) indicates smut

Pairing: Tig Trager x Fem!OC

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˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥

chapter one — disclosure

chapter two — gutless

chapter three — presage

chapter four — peril

chapter five — consolation

chapter six — little lies

chapter seven — fix you

chapter eight — angels or devils

chapter nine — pleasure and pain (*)

chapter ten — misunderstood

chapter eleven — homecoming (*)

chapter twelve — ruby tuesday

chapter thirteen — 13 beaches (*)

chapter fourteen — hourglass (*)

chapter fifteen — old ghosts

chapter sixteen — into dust

chapter seventeen — crazy bitch (*)

chapter eighteen — tolerate it

#shameless self reblog

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razrbladekiss · 8 months

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TYRANTS | Chapter Eighteen - Tolerate It

WORD COUNT: 2.2k

WARNINGS: just some almost smut, strong language, jax and tig, the usual SOA shit. enjoy :)

And come morning, Tig's stomach was in knots.

It was a full-throated affliction. Like he had been struck with a machete, beaten and bludgeoned, left for dead in one of Charming's many arid backstreets as the perpetrator got away.

Only, the convoluted scenario that festered away inside of his brain was but a convoluted scenario. Something that he had spent hours curating, dwelling on while Isla had remained sound asleep and fastened to the left side of his chest, blissfully unaware of the way that her profession had rocked his entire fucking world.

He felt the walls of sanity collapse around him, the more he thought about what she had said. Like he was completely unable to uphold even a mask of lucidity, or something remotely reminiscent of calm.

And all he wanted to do was extrapolate his innermost thoughts to Isla, though he was certain she hadn't managed to cling to a single memory from the night before.

Partially because, had she recognized the weight of what she once blurted, she would have blushed her way through the morning and cringed all the way to the Clubhouse.

But she didn't do that. Any of that. And today, like most others, started with Isla in a very compromising position, and Tig's tongue anywhere but his own mouth.

"Don't be scared, baby. Ride it."

"But..." Isla shifted so that her legs were either side of Tig as she straddled him, feeling his cock hard beneath her. "But won't it hurt? Wouldn't you just rather regular sex—"

"Angel, listen to me." Calloused palms slid over her thighs, soothing gentle, concentric circles into the supple tan flesh that he couldn't seem to get enough of.

She was, objectively, perfect in every way.

"Isla." He said, watching her silently mull it over.

She let out a soft breath and nodded with a warm, completely comfortable smile. "I am. I'm listening."

Tig waited for a few moments, until her eyes had finally found his and her visible anguish had subsided, before making his next move.

"It's not gonna hurt me, alright?" He guaranteed, slowly veering himself down the bed until he was able to rest his head on the pillow that was once untouched. "If it hurt, I wouldn't have even suggested it."

"How do you know it's not gonna hurt? It's, like, my whole weight."

"I've done this before." Isla's eyebrow raised as he spoke, waiting for him to further build on his response. "Babe, seriously. Just sit on my face, and ride my tongue."

"Sit?"

He nodded.

"Like—like sit on your face? Don't you mean hover—"

"Stop." Irked, he plucked her from his lap and yanked her forward. Until she was situated atop his sternum.

Trembling.

"I said sit on my face. K? I don't mean hover. I don't mean holding off from putting your whole weight onto me. I said sit on my face, and ride my tongue. Now."

"Tig—"

"If you don't do it, I'm sure I can find another bitch with a crow tattoo that'd be more than happy to let me eat her pussy this morning—"

"Oh, wow." She cut him short, feeling her heart wrench inside of her chest.

It was a pain rooted in anger—fervor—as Isla saw nothing but a red hot rage. Blistering fury. Like the embers of resentment from last night hadn't quite burned out yet, and Tig's mindless riposte had ignited a fresh flicker of that same inimical passion.

And, truthfully, he didn't know why something so harsh had bled from his tongue in such a churlish manner. Because not even twenty-four hours ago he had professed his love for her, hadn't he?

Last night, while she was deluged in one of her most vulnerable states, Tig told her that he loved her and held her hair back as she threw up.

Idiot.

"That's all you really see me as, huh?" Isla spat, promptly peeling her frame away from him.

Like being stuck to Tig was the worst fucking thing she could've thought of.

"I'm just some bitch with a crow tattoo?" Affronted, she said. Isla slid off the bed and onto the freezing redwood floor of his dorm room. "If that's how you feel, then maybe you should go fuck Ima like Jax suggested—"

"Don't fucking do this, Isla!" He barked, sitting upright when she snatched her jeans from the ground. "Do not fucking go there. You know I can't stand that slut."

Indifferently, she shrugged.

As she shimmied back into her Levi's and fastened the zipper, Isla's focus was wholly laid upon trying to wrangle her boundless impenetrable thoughts before they began to sputter from her lips.

"I didn't mean to sound like such an asshole there, baby—"

She snorted.

Tig rubbed his lips together, watching her shrug on a crisp white bardot top with broderie anglaise detailing along the hem. He had to stifle a smile at the sight, actually.

"You can hate me all you want, but you know that I'm gonna have you speared on my cock when I get back from this run. 'Cus it always ends the same way."

"And you're so sure about that?" She said, fighting a stippling blush. "You're gonna be gone for, like, three days, Tig. That's plenty of time for me to think about what you just said."

"This is true." He nodded, getting out of bed. "But it's also plenty of time for you to think about how much groveling I can do to get back on your good side."

That unbelievably suggestive eyebrow raise had sent a scorching heat to her core. Isla's stomach flipped.

But she snapped herself out of it. Promptly remembering that he had, essentially, told her that he would have been willing to sleep with another woman when she didn't particularly feel like doing what he wanted.

And, once again, she glared at him like he made her sick.

"No amount of amazing sex is gonna make what you just said any better. You're gonna have to really fucking pull something outta the bag when you get home."

"Oh, trust me." He smirked. Wickedly. "I know exactly what I can pull outta my bag to impress you—"

"Don't." She held a finger up to silence him, grabbing her keys and sunglasses while he simply stayed grinning at her. "Just head out on this run, do what you've gotta do, keep yourself safe and your dick in your pants, and I'll see you when you roll back into Charming."

Tig smiled, bowing his head a little as he reached for his jeans.

"So, you'll be there when I get back?" He asked.

Isla nodded and slid on her black frames, hoping that her (kind of) better half didn't heed the way her lips began to contort into a small smile.

She pulled herself together and cleared her throat, nodding again.

"I'm always here when you lot get back." Tig opened his mouth to speak, but she silenced him once again. "I'm always here for my father and Jax."

And, with that, Isla wrenched the handle between her polished pink fingertips and pulled open the door. Leaving Tig absolutely dumbstruck as she sauntered away.

"Holy shit, man." He mumbled to himself, fighting with the slightly taught denim. "I love this woman."

—

"No fuckin' way." Jax snorted, flicking his cigarette butt to the ground. "No way am I gonna apologize to that—that psycho bitch. She tried to hit me—"

"She Did hit 'ya." Chibs corrected as he passed by, feeling Gemma's piercing glare burn holes into his silver hair. "Had it comin' though—"

"Fuck you."

Chibs chuckled, letting the left side of his lips curl upwards.

"Regardless of that." The matriarch said, side-eyeing the Scot. "You still provoked her, Jackson."

His eyes rolled.

"Now, I don't know what went on or what was said—'cus I wasn't there—but what I do know is that Isla is pissed off."

"When isn't she pissed off these days, ma?" He huffed out, plucking another Marlboro from the breast pocket of his kutte. "She's like a new person. Ever since..."

"Ever since Tara rocked up into Charming in those goddamn scrubs. I know." Gemma hissed, though managed to reign in any ill feeling she had for the doctor. "But can you blame her? She ran away from you and then came prancing back into your life like nothing happened."

"She didn't do that—"

"But, to Isla, it might look that way." Softly, she mentioned. "And because you don't make the effort to talk to your best friend anymore, she probably does feel like that's what's happening."

He was sick of this. Being dubbed the villain—the bad guy—for simply not having the time to converse with a woman that, truly, had no interest whatsoever in making small talk with him anymore.

Or, so he felt, anyway.

"The effort does work both ways, y'know?!" Jax snapped.

His mother was speechless.

Gemma's face fell while she tried to collect her thoughts, to compose even a hint of a response to such a riposte from the man that she made.

But now...Now it seemed as though his traits and attitude and just his demeanor had started to mirror Clay's, and Gemma was far from impressed that her impact had started to wear away from her son.

Turning into Clay was the very last thing that she wanted for John's boy.

"Christ, Jax. Now I can see why Isla avoids you like the goddamn plague." She asserted, taking a step back when she saw the blonde in question padding her way toward Chibs.

He'd never been so brash before. Not when it pertained to Isla Telford.

"Listen to me." Gemma grabbed at his arm, pulling him closer. "You either apologize to that girl and let this whole thing slide, or you keep her name out of your fucking mouth unless someone mentions her first. Got it?"

He scoffed, ignoring his mother's tight grip.

"She's not your kid, y'know that?"

"I know." Bluntly, she asserted, letting Jackson go. "But she's been more of a daughter to me than what you've been a son these last few years."

His face fell.

"Sort your shit out, Jax. Don't take it out on Isla."

Gemma turned on her heels and began walking toward Clay, ignoring the violent exhale of the man she had completely intentionally started to maim.

Much like how he hated being dubbed a villain, Jax Telled hated his mother turning against him...Choosing another's side.

But, it was Isla. And, to the club—to his mom—Isla couldn't do wrong.

She was perfect in their eyes. A complete angel. A gift from the Gods.

And he was absolutely fucking sick of it.

He was sick of her.

Jax didn't know exactly why he was so disgusted by the mere thought of his childhood best friend anymore, really. Because he didn't feel this way about Opie.

He didn't feel this way about all of the people he'd known the majority of his life.

But, right now, Isla boiled his fucking blood. The sight of her pissed him off more than he'd like to admit, and he hated it.

Resenting Chibs's daughter simply because his brain had trained him to, not so much down to a specific rhyme or reason.

And, really, if anybody should've despised a member of this "family", it should've been Isla loathing Jax.

He killed another man and forced that poor woman to dispose of his dead fucking body, no questions asked.

"Fuck this."

He grunted, throwing his roach to the ground and stamping it out with his sneaker. Jax sauntered over to the clubhouse.

"Isla!" He shouted out. Aggressively, actually.

Chibs lifted a brow, nodding toward the Vice President.

He thought it best to stick around. Just in case his daughter wanted to leather her comrade, more than anything else.

"Hey, Telford!" Jax yelled again, storming over to the duo. "You got something you wanna say to me?"

Isla had actually reached the end of her tether with the men of SAMCRO today. She was done.

She didn't fucking care. She didn't have it in her to care.

"Not particularly." She sighed. "But I suppose that you think I have, no?"

Jax glared at Chibs, but the Scot held it. He wasn't intimidated, nor was he particularly bothered. Much like his offspring.

"Alright." Isla rubbed her lips together. "Good luck for this ride, and I hope you don't crash and fucking die." She spat out, storming away toward the bar.

Isla turned around, walking backward for a second. "Good luck, dad. I'll see you later. Love you." She called.

Chibs blew her a kiss, she caught it, and continued stomping into the clubhouse.

He had raised a bitch, that was for sure. And everyone knew it.

"Isla--" Tig began.

"Fuck off." She barked. "Be safe today, but fuck off, seriously. I don't wanna talk to you, I don't wanna see you, and I really really don't wanna think about you until you roll back into Charming."

He nodded with a tight-lipped, stoic expression, and watched her hold back tears.

"I am really hurt, Tig. I think you know that."

"I know, baby, and I'm sorry--"

"If you were sorry then you wouldn't have said all that you fucking said." Despite her tone, she had managed to remain calm. "But it is what it is. And I'll be fine after we have this little bit of time apart."

He reached for her hand. "If that's what you need, then that's alright baby."

"Tig!" Clay yelled from the front door. "Come on, you jackass! We're not gonna make good time if you're yackin' here!"

"Yeah, I'm comin'!" He called back, not turning to see his superior. "I promise I'll be safe, but you gotta promise that you'll forgive me when I get back."

Isla stared at him blankly as he held her hand to his lips, and gave it a gentle peck.

"I don't expect you to forgive me right now. Just at some point. Okay?"

She nodded.

He dropped her hand, and kissed her cheek.

"See 'ya later, angel. Stay safe."

Isla nodded again. Smiling slightly. "You too. Make sure Jax is looked after."

"Will do."

Tig left her, making his way out of the bar and toward his bike.

There was nothing that Isla wanted more than to tell him that she loved him, but she couldn't. Not after this morning.

#tyrants <3 #tig trager #tig trager fanfiction #tig trager fic #sons of anarchy #sons of anarchy fic #sons of anarchy fandom #tig trager x oc #she’s back babyyyyy!!

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razrbladekiss · 9 months

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a moment for blondie

#jax teller #sons of anarchy #he’s so pretty #charlie hunnam #soa

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razrbladekiss · 1 year

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NSFW ALPHABET | Jax Teller

Author’s Note: obviously, as the title suggests, this is an NSFW alphabet. so it is very explicit. and, i mean this in the nicest way possible, but if you are under 18 years of age, don’t interact with this piece.

Pairing: Jax x Fem!Reader

A = aftercare (what they’re like after sex)

Oh, Jax is absolutely no stranger to taking care of his ladies after fucking the shit out of them. In my mind, he’d be the unassuming gentleman type when it comes to cleaning up and making sure you’re alright after spearing you on his cock.

But, in reality, I feel like it’d go a little more like..

You have sex

He throws a towel on your ass, or a shirt

And just as he’s about to lay next to you, quietly inciting another round, he gets a call on his burner and immediately throws on his kutte, getting back into business.

Sorry, gals.

B = body part (their favorite part of theirs and also their partner’s)

He loves his eyes, his ass, his arms, all ‘cus you do. His dick (and obvious fucking sex appeal) is what makes him such a hit with the ladies, but Jax definitely likes the fact he can charm a bitch with the most obvious twinkle in those cute little hues. Jerk.

C = cum (anything to do with cum, basically……)

Anywhere and everywhere, he loves it.

D = dirty secret (pretty self explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs)

LOVES it when he’s getting his dick sucked by you and you make cute little moans, or just any seductive sound while your lips are wrapped around him. It’s so hot, really.

He also finds it insanely hot when, after he cums, you trail a finger (or two) through the load wherever he spills it, and lick it clean off of your own skin. Like, it’s to die for.

E = experience (how experienced are they? do they know what they’re doing?)

Pfft. He knows what he’s doing. He even knows where the clit is.

Maybe.

F = favorite position (this goes without saying)

Missionary, he’s basic. He likes it when you’re fucking at the end of the bed, though, and there’s a mirror. So he can see himself.

G = goofy (are they more serious in the moment, or are they humorous?)

Definitely serious. Jax is hardly humorous as it is.

H = hair (how well groomed are they?)

OHHHH VERY WELL. His pubes are just as perfect as the hair on his head, I’m sorry.

I = intimacy (how are they during the moment, romantic aspect……)

Jax is so insanely romantic during sex it makes me want to kill myself. He’s so sensual, so close to you and soft, so gentle and fucking warm. He’s perfect, basically.

J = jack off (masturbation hc)

Loooook, like Tigger, he goes off on long runs! He’s bound to have become acquainted with his right hand over time. And, I mean, I’d totally rather him having a little wank than fucking another woman whilst away.

K = kink (one or more of their kinks)

He definitely has a breeding kink. Also definitely (like I am 10000000% sure about this one) has a daddy kink, and not just an occasional “oh, daddy” during sex, I’m telling you this man LOVES it when he’s referred to like that at any fucking time. This ain’t up for debate.

L = location (favorite places to have sex)

Literally anywhere he can get his hands on you, he does not care.

M = motivation (what turns them on, gets them going)

When you’re a little bit of a bitch, Jax likes that. He also finds it H O T if his lady is good with his sons, his family, and the fucking club. Like, that shit is his life. Jax adores the fact you take the time to appreciate and respect them, so he wants to (constantly) take the time to appreciate you.

N = NO (something they wouldn’t do, turn offs)

Jax would never let you peg him, sorry girly pops!

O = oral (preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc)

He definitely prefers receiving. To be honest, he strikes me as quite selfish in the bedroom, but he’d give head if he felt like it. He’s pretty good, too, but not as into it as he would be getting his dick sucked.

But, fuck ME! He would be so hot eating pussy, right? Imagine: those eyes looking up at you, just coaxing you to cum all over his tongue? Holy. Shit.

Anyway…

P = pace (are they fast and rough? slow and sensual?)

This one is wholly dependent on either of your moods, the time and place of which you’re fucking. By default, I’d like to think Jax takes his time pleasuring his girl.

Q = quickie (their opinions on quickies rather than proper sex, how often, etc)

Yeah, he likes quickies. Especially before church.

R = risk (are they game to experiment, do they take risks, etc)

Risky? Jax? Hell yeah. In the bedroom, however, this man likes to stick to what he knows will have you unravelling beneath him, writhing like a motherfucker.

S = stamina (how many rounds can they go for, how long do they last….)

Jax can go all night.

T = toy (do they own toys? do they use them? on a partner or themselves?)

Jax Teller’s only toy is his cock, be real!

U = unfair (how much they like to tease)

I’m gonna be so honest with you guys, Jax is probably a fucking tease in the bedroom (verbally, at least), but I feel like he’d so much rather getting down to business. Like fucking you silly is the only thing on that pretty little mind, and any charade or heckling of you will set him way back in his sex schedule.

V = volume (how loud they are, what noises they to make)

Pretty quiet, I’d say. He’s much more focused on making you scream his fucking name.

W = wild card (get a random headcanon for the character of your choice)

Ohh this one’s cute… But, to me, I think Jax secretly loves just holding you in those rare moments after sex that you guys don’t need to rush to get dressed again, or he doesn’t have to shoot out of the door on a call. It’s so intimate and perfect, and it reminds him that he really truly loves you, and that spending every little moment he can get with you alone is honestly his favourite thing.

X = x-ray (let’s see what’s going on in those pants)

Are we gonna be honest here? It’s huge! It’s so pretty and pink.

Y = yearning (how high is their sex drive?)

VERY FUCKING HIGH HE IS LIKE A BITCH IN HEAT.

Z = zzz (how quickly they fall asleep afterwards)

Sleep? Jax has never slept ever in his life.

#jax teller #jax teller x reader #jax teller x you #jax teller headcanon #jax teller fic #jax teller fanfiction #sons of anarchy #sons of anarchy fic #sons of anarchy fandom

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razrbladekiss · 2 years

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WE’RE BACK, BABY!

#it’s been a long fuckin time and sooo much has happened since i last posted but … i’m back #tyrants <3

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razrbladekiss · 2 years

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wow… y’all liked this one, huh? should i do one for jax, too?

NSFW ALPHABET | Tig Trager

Pairing: Tig x Fem!Reader

A = aftercare (what they’re like after sex)

he’s used to fucking around with hookers, so tig is definitely getting re-acquainted with the whole “sticking around after sex” thing. he does try, though. it takes him a while, but he eventually realizes what would be classed as “aftercare”, and he really makes an effort for you.

he’ll pull a SAMCRO shirt from one of the drawers in his dorm—either to clean you up, or for you to shimmy on over your head—and get back into bed with you. he’d shower with you, if that’s what you wanted. but, really, he’d just want to lay there with you. holding you close, and peppering the occasional kiss against the top of your head in between conversation.

and, like, he’d obviously tell you how fucking good the sex was. and try to get another round out of you. or two, maybe…

B = body part (their favorite part of theirs and also their partner’s)

his favorite body part? his cock. sure, he loves his hands. he loves to feel things brush over those rugged, calloused palms. he loves to grab, to tug and pull anything he can. loves to choke you during sex. but his thick cock is certainly what tig admires the most about himself. purely because of what it does to you…

on you, however, he loves your ass. loves to look at it, to touch and tug at it. loves to slap it in passing, in hopes of leaving a crimson mark. he hopes that people notice the red protruding from beneath your shorts. tigger loves tits, too. loves to squeeze and suck them, looooves it when they bounce in his face when you’re on top.

really, tig is an easy man to please. he loves every last inch of you.

C = cum (anything to do with cum, basically……)

tig trager is fucking disgusting, it’s no secret. he cums anywhere and everywhere, making sure to mark his territory like some rabid beast. he’s into cum eating too, for sure.

D = dirty secret (pretty self explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs)

he’s pretty openly gross, right? there’s hardly anything tig would hesitate to elucidate to his brothers or you, but there is one thing he likes to keep under wraps to make things…interesting.

tig trager absolutely adores it when you two would fuck in a more public place (e.g. the clubhouse bathroom, or the back of one of the vans), finishes inside of you, and then sends you on your way. it’s just the thought of his seed spilling from your cunt as you’re walking back to a place full to bursting point with his brothers. his cum trailing down your legs while you’re talking to clay, or jax, or juice—completely oblivious to what the two of you had just been doing.

it turns him on more than he’d like to admit.

E = experience (how experienced are they? do they know what they’re doing?)

do we even need to think about this one? it’s tig! he’s a whore. he’s been around the block more times than most of the guys, and it shows. he’s a great lay, and he certainly knows how to please his sexual partners.

F = favorite position (this goes without saying)

oh, it’s absolutely doggy style.

the man loves it when you take him from behind, writhing beneath his hold. when you raise your hips, grinding against him, tig all but loses his mind. and, of course if you’re into it, he’d take advantage of the angle and take a fistful of your hair to tug right from the root.

he’ll slap your ass, too. y’know, considering he wants to mark you as his own. and he loves the way you moan when he thrashes your already stifling skin.

G = goofy (are they more serious in the moment, or are they humorous?)

depends on the situation at hand. usually, he’s focused on getting you both off. but he might crack a joke, or make a strange passing comment, or even a weird face every so often.

H = hair (how well groomed are they?)

the hair on his head? obviously, it's very well groomed despite having a mind of its own at the best of times. his facial hair? eh. it depends on how he feels, but he’s usually got a little bit of something going on.

downstairs, however, his curls are just as unruly, though relatively neat and tidy. and, of course, the carpet certainly matches the drapes. just as dark, maybe even more so.

his chest is possibly the hairiest part of this man, though.

I = intimacy (how are they during the moment, romantic aspect……)

very. his hands are all over you, pulling, tugging, squeezing, caressing absolutely anything he can. his lips, too. they’ll ghost over your stomach, your chest and down to your breasts when he has you laying flat on your back.

when you’re in his lap, too, he’ll love to encircle your waist with his strong arms, and scatter kisses against your clavicle, before sucking on your tits.

J = jack off (masturbation hc)

he’s a very horny man, and he’d possibly die if he didn’t tug one out every so often. he has you, of course, but there are times where he’s away on long runs, or you aren’t there to (pardon the pun) lend a helping hand.

K = kink (one or more of their kinks)

he is into quite literally everything. but he especially enjoys it when you take a little bit of control over him. it doesn’t happen very often, but it’s always a fun time.

tig is also cool with knife play, gun play, he’d definitely have an affinity towards blood and possibly even fire. choking and spanking, too.

if you called him daddy, then tig would lose his fucking mind, too.

L = location (favorite places to have sex)

anywhere. his dorm, or just about anywhere in the clubhouse, anywhere that might get you two caught, the bathroom of every club or bar or restaurant that you two visit.

he’s even taken you on one of the picnic tables outside of the clubhouse.

M = motivation (what turns them on, gets them going)

absolutely anything. he’s horny 24/7. it does not take very much to get his blood pumping and dick hard.

N = NO (something they wouldn’t do, turn offs)

haha…tig doesn’t know what a turn off is. he is constantly turned on…

…unless you have dolls anywhere in the room.

O = oral (preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc)

like we’ve said, he’s used to hookers. traditionally, he’s the one that gets head. but tig’ll love to pin you to the bed, spread your legs, and lap at your pussy every once in a while. and he wouldn’t expect you to return the favor because seeing you get off—watching your release hit like a semi-truckload of bricks—is enough for him.

as for skill?…it’s tig…he’s fucking incredible at eating pussy.

P = pace (are they fast and rough? slow and sensual?)

it depends on the situation, the location, and whether you just want intimacy. by nature, he’s a pretty full on guy. but he’s adaptable. the fast and rough thing works for him, and you definitely enjoy that a little more than the slow and sensual. but, of course, there’ll come a time where you just wish to savor the moment, and tig is always down for that.

Q = quickie (their opinions on quickies rather than proper sex, how often, etc)

he really, really likes quickies—especially when you come to visit him at work, or attend parties and fights with him—but, with you, tig enjoys proper sex. purely because he can take his time, make you cum properly.

R = risk (are they game to experiment, do they take risks, etc)

he will do absolutely fucking anything. it’s tig. he has no shame, no morals, and hardly any boundaries. if you want to fuck him in the chapel, right atop that damn table, he’ll take you there. if you want him to hold his knife to your throat, or gun to your head—empty, of course—then he’ll do it.

there’s nothing he won’t do when it comes to his sexual escapades with you.

S = stamina (how many rounds can they go for, how long do they last….)

oh, he’ll go all night. again, quickies are cool and he’s totally into that, but he can and will last for hours. as long as you’re game to get fucked by tiggy until dawn, then so is he.

T = toy (do they own toys? do they use them? on a partner or themselves?)

he doesn’t own toys, but if you happen to have a few, he’s more than happy to utilize a vibrator or cock ring every once in a while. if it makes you happy, then he’d especially be down for using toys on you to give you that extra stimulation for a more fervent orgasm.

U = unfair (how much they like to tease)

he is a bastard. he’s definitely into edging, i can just sense it. tig loves to tease, particularly when you’re having sex after an argument, or when you’re acting a little brattier than you usually might—just to see how far he can push you.

V = volume (how loud they are, what noises they to make)

the man doesn’t give a fuck how loud he is. he grunts and groans, of course, but most of his noise comes in the form of praise for you, and the occasional slap against your ass, or the headboard hitting against the wall.

when you moan, he wants everyone to hear who’s in there fucking you. he’ll get rougher with you, urging you to scream or cry out in complete ecstasy until he’s certain the whole club knows that you’re in his dorm.

W = wild card (get a random headcanon for the character of your choice)

tig would literally die if you ever mentioned this to the guys, but he’s always had a thing for getting pegged. you’d tried it out once—after a little convincing—and he fell in love with it.

he enjoyed the feeling of it, for sure. it was so different, so nice to feel pleasure that wasn’t from getting his dick sucked or hammering into you.

but, really, what he enjoyed the most was the power that it gave you. used to being the dominating force in the relationship, tigger lauded the thrill of taking a back seat and letting you show to him just how much you liked to take control over your man. he thinks it’s so, so hot.

X = x-ray (let’s see what’s going on in those pants)

oh, it’s a lot. despite most sweet talking guys not living up to expectations below the belt, tig is most definitely an exception to the cause. he’s about six or seven inches, and it’s thick. like, almost painfully so.

Y = yearning (how high is their sex drive?)

despite not being in his prime anymore, tig’s sex drive is still remarkably high. he’ll throw you down, fuck you senseless, and demand another round. and another. until you’re both completely exhausted.

but it doesn’t take very long until he’s talking you into bed again, just desperate to fucking destroy your pussy.

Z = zzz (how quickly they fall asleep afterwards)

it’d depend on whether you are quick to fall asleep after you two finish. if you’re in the mood to talk for a while, take a shower, watch TV, or head out, then tig is happy to follow your lead. but if you feel like sleeping, then he’d lay there and trace circles over your back, or play with your hair, until you drift off. he’d do the same too, eventually.

#pretend i didn’t just say that because i’m strictly a tig girl #but like….. there’s something about that blonde bitch that i LOve

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razrbladekiss · 2 years

Text

holy fuck i am 🫣 sweating… this was insanely hot. y’all i urge you to read. like, now!!

A Beautiful Night in the Neighbourhood - Tig Trager x Reader

Pairing: Tig Trager x Reader

Warnings: Smut, swearing, pining... the whole sh-bang!

Summary: You decide to take Tig up on his oh so generous offer, kinda.

Note: I loved the dynamic with these two so had to add to the story. It's cliche, it's self indulgent. I love this curly headed mess.

It had been a number of weeks since Tig had joined you for dinner. You’d seen him quite a bit since then. Being neighbours you couldn’t really avoid him even if you had wanted to. You hadn’t taken him up on his offer of “breaking your dry spell” and he hadn’t mentioned it again.

You had tried to put the idea out of your mind, tried to forget it completely. But some nights were extra lonely and unfortunately, as sad as it was, your favourite battery-operated boyfriend didn’t always provide the heat you craved. Those were the nights you let your mind wander and your imagination run wild.

There was no time for that tonight however, you were busy slaving away in the kitchen, cooking up a storm for your son’s seventh birthday tomorrow. How the hell is that kid seven already? If you thought about it too hard you’d surely end up spilling a few tears, which is part of the reason why you didn’t mind Tig letting himself in, helping himself to a beer from your fridge and hovering around you in the kitchen like a God-damned pest.

“Tig, I swear to God if you swipe anymore cake batter I’ll choke you with it.” Alex was in bed hours ago. If he went to sleep early he wouldn’t have to wait as long for his party, your reasoning was more than enough to get him zooming to his bedroom.

“I take my job very seriously, Y/N,” he had made himself ‘chief taste tester’, “You could’ve had me as security. This is on you.”

That had been a conversation from earlier, “No one’s gonna try anything with a Son guarding the door,” “Tig, who the fuck is gonna try something at a seven year old’s birthday party?”

You pushed Tig away from the sweet treats that decorated the counter and set him the job of cutting the ingredients for the pizzas – yep, you were the mom that went all out for special occasions.

A little while passed and you soon found yourselves studying the cake you had just finished icing.

“Well… it’s not, not a motorbike.” The curly haired man offered. You let out a defeated laugh and dropped your forehead against Tig’s shoulder.

“That was harder than the video said it was gonna be.”

He wrapped his arm around you, lightly pulling you closer to press a kiss to your head while you ignored the twist of your stomach, “I’m kidding, doll, it looks great.”

“You’re so full of shit, Trager.” You giggled, pulling away.

The next day the party came and went in the blink of an eye and by the time the last kid had gone home, you were asleep on your feet.

Tig had made an appearance as promised to your son until he had been called away on ‘club shit’, but not before gifting Alex a water gun and leaving with a wink and a smirk. Naturally a water fight among the kids had followed, the parents becoming the victims caught in the crossfire.

You set about cleaning the mess in peace. Your sister had turned up from Lodi with your nephews in tow, and when it came time for them to head out, the three cousins begged and pleaded to let Alex stay with them for the night. You hadn’t been quick to agree, wanting to spend the evening with your son, but your sister worked some of her charm on you and before you knew it you were waving them off down the road.

You looked at what was left of the mess and sighed. There was a lot of food leftover, too much for you and Alex to take care of before it went bad, looks like Tig’s getting some leftovers.

Tig opened the door barely a second after you knocked, causing you to startle and almost drop the containers you were balancing in one arm, “Jesus, Tig. You waiting for me or something?’

“Sorry, doll. Saw you walking up from the window. Whatcha got there?” he reached forward to grab the containers and turned to walk back into his house. You rolled your eyes and followed.

“There was so much food leftover, no way me and the kid would get through it.”

He cracked open one of the containers he had sat on the bench and shot you a smile when he saw the variety of food inside, “I’m gonna put a ring on that finger one day.”

“Can’t wait.” You giggled.

“What? Don’t wanna marry me?” he stepped closer to you, his stupid smirk refusing to leave his face. You smirked right back, spotting his gaze flick down to your lips, back up to your eyes and to your lips again.

“Don’t think you could handle me, Trager.” You joked, stepping past him to grab the containers and get them in the fridge. When you turned back you found yourself looking directly at Tig’s chest, so close you could feel the heat radiating off him. You lifted your head and saw he was already staring down at you.

“I could handle you just fine, baby.” His voice was low, one hand raising to brush your hair behind your ear.

You found yourself holding your breath, waiting and wanting, “Tig-“

He cut you off by dipping his head and capturing your lips in a soft kiss, testing the waters.

When he pulled back he kept his hands at the back of your neck and looked down at you, but your gaze was only on his lips.

He was almost hesitant, bringing his lips to yours again. You had to admit that you were a bit hesitant yourself, not because you didn’t want it to happen, but because you hadn’t expected it to happen in the first place, and because you didn’t want to make a fool out of yourself if Tig suddenly pushed you away

But he didn’t push you away. Once he realized you weren’t pulling to get away from him, he pulled you impossibly closer and moved his lips gently against yours.

When his tongue lightly moved across your bottom lip is when you snapped back to reality and all but threw yourself at him. Your arms wound around his neck, one hand sneaky into his hair and you gripped it, making him grunt into your mouth.

It was messy, there was nothing delicate about his kiss anymore and you found yourself wanting more. His tongue fought yours as he moved one hand to your waist and squeezed. You jumped and let out a small squeal at the feeling causing Tig to pull back and stare at you, “You ticklish, doll?”

You shook your head quickly, humming out a mm-mm in protest and tried to pull him back to meet your eager lips. He happily obliged and gave you another wet kiss before squeezing at your waist again, “Tig!”

“You are so.” He was chuckling at you now as moved back to capture your mouth. The hand left your waist and slid down to grab a handful of your ass through your jeans, causing you to moan out against him.

“More.”

“More, baby?” his mouth moved from your lips, trailing kisses along your jaw before settling on a spot wear your neck met your shoulder, working at it until he was certain there’d be evidence of him tomorrow. Taking his reward in the form of your soft moans. And fuck, did he want to hear more of those.

You couldn’t believe how hot and bothered you were from only making out. You knew it had to do with more than just your dry spell, it was the man you were with, “I need you, Tig. Please.”

He pulled your hips flush against his and you could feel all of him through his jeans.

“You need me, baby?” He pulled back and leant his forehead against yours breathing heavily. “You sure you want this?”

You didn’t hesitate for a second, nodding against him, “Yes. Please.”

He gave you another heated kiss, murmuring against your lips, “Tell me, baby. Tell me what you want.”

“You.”

He hummed, “What do you want from me hmm?”

You stared at the floor mumbling to yourself.

“Can’t hear ya, doll. Look at me. What do you want?”

“Jesus Christ okay! Fuck me, Tig. Please just-“ he cut you off with a searing kiss, leaning down to grip your thighs as you jumped, wrapping your legs around his waist. The two of you hit into the wall a few times as he stumbled you to his bedroom blindly, refusing to disconnect your lips.

You fell against a soft bed and immediately shed your top, Tig taking this moment to take in the sight before him, “Fucking gorgeous.”

You smiled at him, grabbing at his collar and pulling him in for another kiss, unbuttoning his shirt as you did so.

He made quick work of discarding your jeans somewhere in the room, his following suit. Kissing you softly he trailed his down your stomach rubbing you gently over your underwear, causing you to moan out in relief, “Yeah, baby?”

You let out a small whine as he applied more pressure, nodding and trying to grind back against his hand.

Tig was achingly hard at this point, completely driven by how you responded to his touch, how much you wanted him. He moved to rid you of your bra and straight away his mouth went to your chest, biting softly. Your underwear was next to go. Tig let out a groan when he saw how wet you were for him, “Can I taste you, baby?”

Christ, if it had been a year since you last had sex, it must’ve been closer to two since someone last went down on you.

“Please, Tig.” And with that he pressed the first kiss of many to your core, moaning obscenely at the first taste.

Your moans were constant as you writhed against his mouth lapping at your clit, “Jesus… fuck, Tig.”

At one particular hard suck your hand flew to the back of his head and you tried to pull him closer, grinding as best you could against his face. Tig could feel your body tense up as he drew you closer to your peak.

“Taste so good, baby. You gonna cum for me, Y/N?” it was the first time he’d called you by your name that night and that way it sounded, God you could have it on repeat for a week.

Tig ran his tongue over you, again and again, finally deciding to take you over the edge and sealing his mouth around your clit and sucking.

“Yes Tig, please. So close. Gonna… uh!” The grip you had on his hair tightened remarkably and he let out a deep moan against your core, the vibrations are what got you to the finish line. You came with a loud cry, hips rocking against his mouth, riding the feeling as long as you could. His tongue kept going at your oversensitive nub until you were all whimpers and kicking at his shoulder, needing to catch your breath.

His lips left your core and he moved back up and in for another heated kiss, you could taste yourself on his tongue and fuck if it didn’t make the situation hotter.

He wrapped your legs around his waist and held you steady to grind his hips into yours, moaning at your naked heat through his boxers, “You feel how hard you make me, baby?”

You reached lower to tug his boxers down, wrapping your hand around his length, he let out a muffled fuck and thrust into your hand.

When he finally pushed into you were both lost in a world of pleasure. Thrusting, kissing, biting, you couldn’t keep up even if you tried. All you could do was grip his hair and lose yourself in the feeling. So this is what you had been missing? Damn.

Somehow, Tig knew exactly how make you feel what you wanted to feel, how to bring you to the brink and hold you there until he was well and ready. You could feel him everywhere. His hands, his mouth, reaching anywhere they could. His grunts pushed you further into bliss and you soon found yourself falling over the edge at high speed, unable to form coherent sentence. Tig groaned at the feeling and thrust harder, losing his rhythm as he now chased his own high.

He came with a broken moan, right in your ear and collapsed on your chest, completely out of breath.

You stayed in that position for what felt like forever, and for that time you just enjoyed the weight on top of you.

Tig placed a sweet kiss to your neck and then your jaw, pushing himself up slightly to capture your lips. You sighed into the kiss, content. He pulled back to rest his forehead against yours and gave you a smirk.

“You good, baby?”

You nodded your head lightly, nose brushing along his, “So good.”

His smirk widened to a smile, giving you another hard kiss before rolling off you and pulling you to his side, “Just so you know, now I’ve had you in my bed. There’s no getting rid of me.”

“Getting clingy already, Tiggy?” you teased, tracing shapes on his chest.

Tig barked out a laughed, pressing a kiss to your hairline, “You have no idea, baby.”

#tig trager x reader #sons of anarchy #tig trager #FUCK

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