GREAT AROUSALS (THARNTYPE ONE-SHOTS 18+)

Yours, Always - I

(A/N- how would you like a Tharn Type treat?)

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The mirror showed a version of me I didn't recognize — tailored formalwear hugging my body like a straightjacket, every piece chosen by someone else. My reflection stared back with hollow eyes, as if even it couldn't bear to look. I hated every second of the life I was living. I regretted the choices I had made. He had given me a chance to free myself but, I, like a naïve child chose my parents and kicked him out of my life.

Outside the bedroom door: laughter. The sound of glasses clinking. The voices of people celebrating a future I wanted no part of.

Inside: silence. Except for the sharp buzz in my head and the dull pressure behind my sternum that hadn't let up in days.

I wasn't marrying him.

I was being sold to him.

Short, broad, sweat-slicked palms always fidgeting with cufflinks and money clips. A voice that dripped sugar and control. He was repulsive — not just in looks, but in presence. He watched me like I was a possession. A reward. A trophy.

And my parents — they were the ones polishing me up for the shelf.

I'd said no.

Once. Twice. A dozen times.

It hadn't mattered. I hadn't explained why — because "no" should have been enough. But they heard it like a dying whimper, not a refusal. And now? Now the man I wouldn't touch with a ten-foot pole was downstairs, smiling through his teeth, laughing with my father.

What I hated even more were his three shadows, his minions — men who watched everything, like dogs waiting for a command. They were always nearby. Always alert.

One of them heard me once, when I slipped out onto the back patio, phone pressed to my ear, breath shaky. I thought I was alone. I wasn't.

I had said the word "fucking douchebag". Under my breath. Venom-laced.

they looked at me with gaze that didn't hide that they had heard.

The next morning, the air around me changed. Eyes followed me more. Footsteps echoed when I left rooms. The silence around me grew heavier.

I avoided them. I didn't apologize.

I wasn't sorry.

The suit they sent didn't fit — I made sure of it. I skipped meals deliberately. Let the suits hang looser. Enough that my mother whispered, "You'll look ill in the photos."

I smiled. Good.

I stopped answering when they called me by my name. I made them say it twice, every time.

The groom tried to play charming, smug with wealth and the kind of ego that thought desire could be bought. When he offered me gifts — watches, wallets, perfume I would never wear — I accepted every single one with a smile, and then left them in plain view in the trash.

He noticed.

I made sure of it.

I rolled up the sleeves and laced my boots instead of the shoes laid out for me. I didn't shave. I kept the rings off. I walked into rehearsals with chipped black nails and an eye-roll. People looked at me weird and I couldn't care less.

Rather I hoped he'd snap.

He didn't. He smiled. He said I was "charming."

I said nothing.