marilyn thornhill x fem reader

trust

 tw for dumbification, manipulation, consensual drugging (?) and a small warning for description of violence.

-

What happened the other week is almost, if not entirely, completely behind both you and Marilyn. If anything, the small fight and reconciliation has you so caught up in her that anything else around you pales in comparison.

The way you obeyed her like you did, how you swallowed her truth serum like a good girl, how she breathed into your mouth and into your very insides: "Fuck, I love you." has you on a high you've never felt before.

It's exactly how you felt after the night in the cave, if not fucking better; you want to be around her every second you can afford, in class you twirl your necklace around your finger and you keep tracing over this sketch of a love heart in the margin of your notebook, like your brain kept subconsciously wanting to give yourself over to her; again and again and again.

And yesterday Miss Thornhill noticed you doing it during her Botany class, distracted and biting your lip, finger tight around the gold chain. And if you looked up, you would have seen her devouring gaze, how her eyes flicked down to your neckline, then quickly back up again.

And while every other student was loud and busy labelling the dissected leaves of a larkspur that you already knew like the back of your hand, Marilyn rounded your desk at the back; and the hand she settled so gently at the small of your spine made you shiver. It made you squirm in your seat, letting go of your pen, breath stuck in your throat.

Because the other woman leant close, and her voice felt like honey down your insides, it felt like the most public, dangerous display of teasing you've ever felt when she spoke to you with a gentle furrow of her brow, that-

"Well, that's certainly not class work. Is it, sweet girl?"

And you blushed, heart beat dropping to your lower stomach. Marilyn took your pen in her left hand, and under the guise of correcting your work, the other woman put her initial inside the drawing and drew an arrow piercing it, along with two smaller hearts around it.

And fuck, you smiled so wide you had to bite your lip because you almost fucking giggled like some love sick school girl when Marilyn handed your pen back, throwing you a teasing wink.

You literally couldn't think of anything else for the rest of your day.

It feels like paradise, like a bloody honeymoon, that in-between sweet and dizzying space of the love sick phase everyone goes through.

But for you, it feels thicker, headier, so overwhelming it could borderline on unhealthy how you can't go a minute without thinking of her. How addicting the sweet drop and release is when she talks down to you, tells you what to do, what to say. And feeling like a burden never occurs to you, your neediness never shames you; because Marilyn looks to you like you were made for her, always telling you how good you are.

Good like swallowing her remedies, good like taking her strap, good like poisoning Tyler, good like telling her you love her against all reason, good like chaining yourself to the wall of a cave and begging for her.

Good like now, as you sit perched and content on the kitchen counter of her dorm, watching Miss Thornhill as she stands behind the stove with a brewing concoction between you.

She's wearing her work jumpsuit, but she's unbuttoned it to the waist and tied the arms around her hips.

Her work shirt underneath it has been unbuttoned low with how warm the room has gotten, sleeves rolled up as she works. She's so effortlessly attractive like this, and you've been so happy just to stare and take her in.