marilyn thornhill x fem reader

the rave'n

"Oh my god, dude, where did I put my eyeliner?!"

Yoko rushes past you, in a flurry of vampiric stress that has you snorting from your position on her bed.

Most of the night, and getting ready for the Rave'n, has gone exactly like this; you've been dressed and ready for 15 minutes now, but your best friend has been zipping around your dorm faster than humanly possible and over analysing each object she dresses herself in.

Shaking your head, you send Yoko a supportive smile as she holds up two ties – one black and the other a light purple, with a nervous and tense expression.

"Okay." She says, "Fuck the eyeliner. Which one, Mystique?"

Yoko's new nickname for you makes you roll your eyes fondly. Ever since she found out you finally shifted, it's been a mix of overwhelming support and dumb nicknames stemmed from famous shape shifters in marvel comics. X-Men is her latest forte, (you admit, it's better than yesterday's beast boy she called you.)

"Uh," You uselessly say, biting your lip in thought. You gesture to one randomly. "Black?"

Yoko sends you a look that you wince at. "This was a test. You failed."

You laugh, watching as Yoko decides on the light purple to go with her lilac pant suit.

You know she's just nervous because Divina said yes to being her date, and you know you'd be the same if you were in her shoes. The thought has you thinking of Marilyn, and it's enough for that pit of nervousness to skyrocket into your throat.

She's going to be there, and besides that weird, non-coffee date you went on, it'll be the first time you've seen her in a setting you're entirely unused to. And she'll be pretty, and gorgeous, and so out of your league you'll feel like grabbing her hand and hauling her away like an idiot, just so you can kiss her and remind yourself what you have is real.

And somehow, by a divine twist of fate, a soft knock is at your dorm door and reality materialises your thoughts right in front of you.

"Come in!" Yoko calls out, attention on tying her tie correctly.

And leaning back on your palms, you immediately straighten up as Miss Thornhill enters with a polite smile to both of you. Her eyes catch yours, and you see, for a split second, how her gaze drinks you in. All of you. And you've never felt so seen as you flush, avoiding her gaze and shyly smiling back.

Marilyn steps fully in, hands clasped in front of her and smiling warmly. God, you were right. She looks so beautiful that your breath hitches.

And your hearts beating.

And your chest hurts.

Because you realise you love her.

And it's the most simple and mundane time to realise it. It's not like the movies, you realise, it's not explosive and all consuming; it's Marilyn in your dorm in a white dress and black nails and high heels and you realising that for however scared love makes you, it never feels like that with her.

You feel warm, like the look she's drowning you in. It feels like the first sweet bite of fruit, like the changing of a season, like the shift in how she looked at you when the both of you first tipped into something new.

It feels like sharing something unknown, like you found out the secret to loving before the great poets did and you want to selfishly keep it to yourself.

You don't know what comes over you, but you want her attention, to keep looking at you like that.

You cross your legs at the knee, and it makes the slit up your thigh rise even higher, and you watch as Marilyn parts her lips about to speak, how she stutters ever so lightly at catching the movement and has to collect herself in this moment of distraction.