marilyn thornhill x fem reader

fools rush in

You're late.

Like, late late.

You thought stopping at the Weathervane to get Marilyn and you warm drinks for the hike to the cave would be a good idea, but as you tuck your jacket further around you as you bounce on your toes impatiently, now it's seeming like a mistake.

The weekends are fucking busy, and the machine's broken again, electing a chorus of groans from others in the line as you wait. Okay, you think dejectedly. Tea in a flask it is, then.

You flinch at the hiss of the steamer malfunctioning, and suddenly you want to be anywhere but here; so you turn to leave and rush out the door to the freezing air, overwhelmed at the tiny bell ringing over your head. You head in the direction of one of the forest trails Marilyn told you to meet at, shoving your hands into your pockets at the icy wind. You grimace when your boots splash a puddle of dirty rainwater up your jeans.

Ever since the other night, ever since the guilt made its home in your sternum about Rowan, your body has felt like a live wire of emotion.

You don't know how to deal with the knowledge of what you did, and even though Marilyn keeps reassuring you and keeps being there for you, it didn't stop the nightmare you had last night seeping into your mind.

After the night of the Rave'n, Miss Thornhill gave you her number, said if you needed anything, anything at all, to call her or text her. You did, and you think her calming and gentle voice over the phone is now ingrained into the very make up of your psyche. She told you everything would be okay, in that tone that has you untethered, and you started to believe it.

But it hasn't washed the guilt away, it's as heavy as stones in your stomach.

Before you can stay any longer on those thoughts, you're bought out of it at an old Mercedes pulling up next to you. The engine revs, making you startle slightly back from the curb.

"Hey!"

You stop, squinting your eyes slightly in confusion as the passenger seat window rolls down. And to your confusion, Tyler Gaplin smiles back up to you, leaning over the console of his car. But he seems slightly panicked, his smile comes out as more of a wince.

You smile nervously back, pressing your lips together politely. You think of Marilyn's warning, and you clear your throat of the worry. "Hey?"

"I'm really sorry to stop you like this," He starts, "But have you seen a small, brown dog around?" Tyler rushes out, and now you can tell by the way he pants that he's truly concerned. "His name is Elvis and he escaped; I can't find him anywhere."

"Oh," You say, genuine sympathy soaking your words. You step forwards to lean down into the car window to answer. "I haven't, I'm so sorry. Has it been long?"

Tyler looks out to the road, swallowing thickly at the thought that his puppy could be hurt. "I don't know, I only realised this morning. He could be anywhere." His throat bobs, and you soften at how he seems genuinely worried.

"Hey," You say comfortingly. "He'll be okay." You can't imagine losing something so close to you like a pet, so you throw caution to the wind. You fold your arms at a cold, ominous gust of Autumn air that blows past you. "Do you need help looking?"

Tyler's shoulders untense at your words, looking to you for reassurance. "Really? Are you sure?" He breathes out, grinning in gratitude when you smile back and shrug. "That would be amazing. Thank you."

He leans over, unlocking the passenger door and throwing a jacket and papers on the floor that was on the seat. "Sorry about the mess, uh, just-"

You smile politely, sitting down when it's clear. "It's okay. Where is Elvis likely to go?"