marilyn thornhill x fem reader

candle

tw for emotional abuse (from readers parents) emotional manipulation and just. the most unhinged smut ive ever written. 

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You really don't mean for the next week to turn out like it does; to seep into you and bring your mood to a grinding, uncomfortable halt.

Maybe it's just solely the weather, because the snow and freezing cold has prevented you from being able to face all those memories of Rowan and head back to the cave with Marilyn like you so desperately crave – your mind torn on needing the answers, and needing the relief.

Maybe it's because your mother called you after you snuck back into your room after Marilyn's the other night, and you had to whisper shout back to her in the bathroom so Yoko didn't hear. Maybe it was because she made you cry again, and you could hear your fathers resigned sigh in the background, but who didn't step in to help.

They found out you finally succeeded in shifting from Principal Weems, a fact you confided in her not two days ago, and you felt this tiny, betrayed, sick feeling settle in your stomach at the other woman's actions.

And ever since, they've been hounding you, asking if you've gotten better or if you've mastered it (you haven't, because now, your body only responds to Marilyn, something so uncomfortably enticing you blush when you think about it) and being unfairly disappointed when you tell them time and time again; I'm focusing on finals and graduating, my shifting can wait.

Maybe it was because after your argument, as the line cut out, you've never felt such a deep seeded hurt swelling in your chest. It's been inside of you all day today, you haven't been able to relax at all this weekend from it, and as you walk to the library to get some studying done you think: I need Marilyn. I need her. I need to stop thinking about anything at all, just for a moment.

So you change your direction, tightening the corduroy jacket you wear around yourself. You stole it from Marilyn last night, her brown one, the one that smells like vanilla and the earth. It's this reminder, the fact she even allowed you to take it and wear it so publicly is bold, making you blush as you finally make it to the conservatory.

But just as you reach out to knock, you hear voices talking in rising volume on the other side. Furrowing your brows softly, you hesitate, but you distinctly hear Marilyn and Larissa through the wood, and something comes over you. You bite your lip, craning your neck and looking up and down the hall to check if anyone sees you. Most students have left for the weekend, so you gently put your ear up to the door and press against it, palm flat against the wood as you listen.

Your heart races at what you hear.

"She confided in you Principal Weems," Marilyn's voice rings out, outraged and disbelieving. She sounds downright angry; you haven't heard her like this since the Rave'n. "Her relationship with her parents is rocky at best, abusive at worst. And you thought to tell them about the one thing she trusted you with?"

Oh. You think, expression softening at Marilyn's protective words. They're talking about me?

"I only had her best interest at heart," Principal Weems replies, just as fiery as Marilyn. You hear Marilyn scoff, you can almost see in your mind how the red head would fold her arms and clench her jaw.

Larissa's voice then pitches to that tone she gets when defensive and antagonistic. "To accuse me of knowingly instigating more vitriol from her parents is ridiculous. They have a right to be updated on their daughter's progress, if not for support, then guidance."