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First thing people know about me, I’m tall. Second thing, I’m a twin. Third thing, I’m a pain in your fucking ass. If you’re not giving a hundred shits at rest or in high water, I will hammer you.
ok, at least he’s self aware 😭
Becoming that kid’s bodyguard was a bright spot in my life. Not because I could see more of the world, but because I still had a hand in protecting someone else’s. It’s what fuels me. I’m strong to protect the soft.
No matter where my boots land, I’m meant to fight for something.
Farrow Redford Keene looks between a swashbuckling pirate and a fucking guitarist in a rock band.
The main reason why I’m still here is… Jane. I didn’t want to give up on her. I didn’t want to quit on her. I care too much about her well-being and safety, and she needs real stability.
It’s my job to make her life safe. It’s not my job to imagine tasting her words against my tongue while I push deep inside—don’t. Don’t.
oh he wants her so bad
She’s perceptive. Especially when her whole attention is on you. It’s like you’re the center of the fucking universe. Like now. I’m undeservingly the focal point in her blue irises.
Bulked muscles stretch the sleeves of his gray button-down, fabric rolled to his forearms, and a few popped buttons show off his firm chest and natural hair.
nahhh he knows wtf he’s doing
I possess the unfortunate inability to run away from my own mortification.
Thatcher is like a sacred text. I’m tempted to rush through the pages, but something has compelled me to draw out each line, each word. Reading so slowly and carefully so as to never miss a syllable. So a single book, a single person, could last me forever.
I won’t devalue her achievements just to find value in myself. My mom is brilliant and beautiful. And so am I. Just in my own way.
I’m not a sad little cub about to be eaten. I’m a motherfucking lion.
And after he greeted me, these were the first words I ever uttered to him: “I’m seventeen—I mean, I’m Jane.” Six years later and he’s still one of the few people who tongue-tie me.
Out of everyone in my family, I’m closest to Moffy. Thinking of losing him, thinking of life without him by my side clenches my stomach and wells my eyes—because him and me, it’s all I’ve known. Moffy is a part of me.
He knows where I want to go without any doubt. He always seems to understand where I crave to be and what I need.
“You take care of that famous girl, you hear? What’s her name?” “Jane,” Thatcher says, nearly cradling the one syllable like he’s protecting all four letters from harm.
I think I’m a pretty plain person. Too quiet, too serious, I’ve been told. But she appreciates even the simplest things I say.
All the normally frizzed strands of her hair are erased, and her freckles are gone. The fucking jackass who did this—they shrunk her nose and moved her eyes closer together. Naturally, one of her blue eyes is round, the other oval, and they’re the same size in this picture. Her features more symmetrical and even. I’m going to fucking kill him.
he’s already down horrendous, I love it
Men who are quick to criticize my physical appearance. I’m not pretty enough. Not busty enough. Not full-assed enough. And I have too wide of hips. Too big of a stomach. But after much consideration, I’ve learned to love my body. Because it’s mine and there is only one of me.
I am chubby. But I love my belly rolls, and I adore my love handles and my flat pancake-like ass that’s dimpled with cellulite. The more I love myself, the more I feel a warm, invisible hug wrap around my body.
She smiles brightly at something that I can’t see. Maybe the phone in Maximoff’s hand. I shouldn’t want to be that phone. I shouldn’t want to be the receiver of Jane’s vibrant energy or any fucking thing that belongs to her mind or body, but I keep thinking, look at me.
It’s like I’m made of cinderblock, and almost no one possesses the right tools to chisel me open. Not even me, at times.
He’s vigilant, always a skilled set of hands, and constantly on guard, even if he’s cracking jokes, smiling, or lounging on furniture like the world isn’t on fire when it’s actually up in fucking flames.
Farrow drops his voice to a low, rough whisper. “Just don’t coddle me. Don’t kiss my ass as penance. Don’t fuck with my fiancé or Jane, and we won’t have a problem.”
farrowww😩
I ache to talk to him. To ask how he’s feeling. I ache to be closer, for his large hand to hover beside my arm or waist. I ache for so much between him and me that I shouldn’t welcome or invite.
“Just date Moretti,” Oscar suggests so suddenly, and the room explodes in two exclamations: “What?!” “Oscar?!”
FAKE DATING LFG
Thatcher. Thatcher. Thatcher. His name is a heartbeat in my head.
Whether I like it or not, I have to obey the rules. I can’t think about how her eyes dropped to my dick at the word boyfriend. I can’t think about how, if she weren’t a client, I would’ve already had her on the bed. Bare and wet and ready for me.
I throb harder. There is only one of Jane, no other person can be all of who she is, and anyone who harasses this girl might as well be tearing the wings off an angel. I’m honored that I get to be the one to keep her safe. She’s my duty. I also shouldn’t want to fuck an angel. She’s my client. Remember that.
I could just lean my head down. I could. But I don’t. In a swift, natural move, I cup the back of her thighs, and I hoist Jane up against my body—we’re eye-level, her legs instinctively spreading apart. Wrapping around my waist, gripping tight.
oh he is a slut for that
Do not bring her to the bed. Do not bring her to the fucking bed. Lip-locked, I walk towards the bed,
😭😭😭
“If I’m too heavy, you can set me down,” she says conversationally. “I don’t mind.” My chest tightens, and I narrow a stern look on Jane. “I could bench press you all night.”
nahhh he’s crazy, cause how tf are they justifying all this as just practice
“You’re meant to be in my arms, Jane.”
no way. he can’t be already saying stuff like this
She pulses against me and sets her laced fingers along the back of my neck. “I…um.” She shakes out her scrambled thoughts. “We’ll be experts in the art of fake-dating in no time. Don’t you think?”
I’m prepared for hell from Maximoff. If he still wants to punch me because I punched Farrow—I’d open my arms and let him. Hundred times over. He can even throw kicks in.
this is so cute to me idk
His smell, his touch, drives me to carnal places that I haven’t reached in forever with another man. But this is different than all those other times. It feels different. Maybe because it’s all pretend. Maybe because I know I’m safe.
“I want to put my cock in you.” I clench around his fingers. “I want you to.” Thatcher has a choice to make, and he does. “Fuck it.” He eyes me strongly. “I’m fucking you.”
DAMNN I did not think he would cave that easily
Most people find my constant chatter grating after a while, but he makes me feel so very desired. And safe. And terribly beautiful.
“It seems we are dreadfully tangled, you and I.” Couldn’t agree more.
But all I wanted from them was sex. I felt like I was using them too, and I chose these guys purposefully knowing I’d never fall for them. It was easier that way.
He’s safety, the forceful gravity that grounds me, that helps stop me from rattling sideways inside a world that tries and tries to shake me.
“I want to know all about you, but I can’t ask fast enough—and when I think about you, I wonder what your hands have held. What your eyes have seen.” My pulse has skyrocketed, but I keep speaking. “What your ears have heard and where your feet have landed.”
her 5 minutes after saying the attraction was only physical
“I want you to take as long as you need,” I tell her, not breaking our gazes. “I’ll still be here beside you at the end of everything.”
When I’m working, I’m thinking about protecting Jane. When I’m not working, I’m thinking about having sex with Jane.
Farrow blows a bubble and pops it in his mouth. “Yeah, we’d have to get Donnelly to tattoo hypocrite on his ass.” If that’s what it took to make things right with him, I’d fucking do it.
they’re so cute. they just need to hug and make up fr
Mostly, I hate when we have to breakup, I won’t be able to call her beautiful. Not out loud. It’ll stay in my head. Like it always has before.
“You can’t fight them,” I say into a soft smile. His willingness to slay my enemies and any foe that has ever hurt me is so very attractive. “I can. Physically, I can.” His muscles are pulled into taut bands. I have no doubt, he could destroy most men.
“Christ, you’re beautiful.” Those words sting my eyes for a second. I usually don’t need to hear those words to feel them. Especially from a man. But sometimes, it’s so very nice to have it reaffirmed. It feels so wonderfully good to be called beautiful. Especially from him.
“Ensemble,” I tell him. Together. All four of my brothers repeat the word. And then Eliot grins, mischievous twinkle in his eye, and he says something I’ve heard him recite a thousand-and-one times. But tonight, it’s never felt truer. “‘Let me play the lion too…I will roar.’”
There aren’t many people that get off on other people’s happiness. Other people’s interests. Jane is that rare kind of person.
