#Mildred Hemmings

[thegoobiedoober]

Trixie Hoardswhip, AKA Mildred Hemmings AKA Thalia A. Faye

[ Poses as a Craftling, has not had the opportunity to sneak back to the Garage to see Lolly. ]

[ Wears a mask, something that's out of style. ]

[ Definitely remembers being killed by a hoardling ]

[ Her personal energy levels seem to fluctuate ]

Name: Trixie Hoardswhip Alias: Mildred Hemmings From: The Garage Financial Status: Somehow thriving???

Details: She hates the Hoard with her guts, a little hypocritical it seems, but do note that she has an almost crippling self-hatred. Trixie has tried to shed the Hoardswhip name to no avail. There are still those who recognize her from the hoard, so she had to get a disguise and fix herself up. She really wants to be a craftworlder again, and would give anything to be "normal" again. In the meantime, it's best to try and pretend that she still is. For now, she knows that she can say that she was cursed and survived being mangled, but who knows how long she can keep up that lie.

Trivia:

Prior to dying, she was Thalia, a student at ICK.

She was killed by one of the Hoard, and was so pissed about this that the memory of her death carried over to her husk.

The Duke almost killed her once, he still wants her dead. Or at least she thinks that. There's not much going on to confirm or deny that theory of hers.

The only hoardthing she actually liked was Lolly Hoardswallow. Trixie thinks that if she was the one who pulled her out, things wouldn't be so bad

[mllejacquesnoel]

Heckin wimby.

Wondercult meetup yesterday. I was meant to wear Wonder Card in ivory but alas, the hem circumference of the old ladder lace OP is a little on the small side, so I need to acquire a second for a properly satisfying remake. So instead I opted for Meta’s Wonder Silhouette, which I honestly don’t wear out enough. (Get it? Wonder + Meta?? I was still on theme okay.)

I’ll be in Japan from June 29th-August 15th. I’ve got a few things planned and booked but mostly I’ll be shopping and hopping around to cool cafes, museums, and so on. I’m very excited.

—

JSK is Meta; kumya is BtSSB; blouse is Sakurada Fawn; headbow is Café Society; socks are Sweet Mildred; shoes are Bodyline; parasol is Whale Island; accessories are Vivienne Westwood, Magical Mews, and handmade.

[cobra-shy]

My mother-in-law is four feet nine. Embracing her, I feel big, bestial, slightly disloyal; my own mother, now deceased, was also small. Otherwise they are not alike, except for an opinion that I dress badly and am emotionally obscure, which they would have shared. That I ought to be taken somewhere to “shop for clothes” is a hovering threat. Tonight my mother-in-law and I are doing the dishes. It is Christmas night. We are in Ohio. Her name is Verna. She washes, I dry. The dishtowel, my last year’s Christmas gift to her, is printed with cartoon cameos of Bloomsbury celebrities. Verna is telling stories about Mildred, her best friend, who died. Mildred taught me everything I know, she says. Mildred taught me how to entertain. I am half-listening, thinking back to drying dishes for my own mother. I recall silence, distemper, and impotence on my part. I really wanted to talk to her, or hear her talk to me. All the same, I stood beside her at the sink night after night, year after year, in a blaze of shame lest she ask me an inside question or blurt out some entrail of her own. Fear of entrails governed us. We both had neurotic bowels. And a kind of continuing unfounded rage. So when I say “wanted to talk” it’s not quite true. I never wanted it at the time. I wanted it before, I wanted it after, I want it now, I never wanted it at the time. At the time was always the wrong time, and I was in a rage. Are other families like this? I know I’m setting the bar high, but I cannot imagine it was ever the wrong time to talk in, say, Bloomsbury. But then here is Virginia Woolf (from “A Sketch of the Past”):

‘We are sealed vessels afloat upon what it is convenient to call reality; at some moments, without a reason, without an effort, the sealing matter cracks; in floods reality. . . .’

Was it Virginia Woolf who taught us to adore these floods of reality, without which we merely navigate a sea of convenience with other people? But here it is Christmas night in Ohio and a crack is beginning to show. I stand by my mother-in-law with a soggy dishtowel in hand, pondering the holiness of conversation. She is talking about her last glimpse of Mildred. A hospital room. Mildred, laid low by one of those cancers which kill you in a weekend, can no longer eat, is sucking on a piece of ice, has a tube up her nose, and when Verna leans over the bed to ask if there’s anything she can do, Mildred shoots her a look, moves the tube aside, and says, Verna, I’d give the world right now for one of your Martinis. The next day, Mildred is dead. My dishtowel by now a saturated oblong, I fold it in three, hoping for a new dry corner. So when did Mildred pass away? I ask, and Verna says, 1965. What is a mortal being? A wind, a dream, a shadow, the ancient Greek poets tell us, but I don’t say this to Verna. I merely repeat, 1965!, in disbelief.

From the other room comes the sound of TV. It’s a Christmas special about war—they’re interviewing a soldier from some Army, I think Israeli, whose assignment is to show up at sites where a woman or a child has been killed and plant weapons on the body. I wring out my towel. Everything I want from a mother is entrail-exhausting, rage-flooded, shocked-alive, and structured like a shriek. All I have the courage to ask of her is this convenience. We wipe down the counter. We hang up towel and sponge. When I was little I understood the world to be made of paper, and that everyone should step carefully or go through the paper. I wanted a notation for that, for the going-through. I thought, I still think, this notation is stored somewhere, above us in a sort of mist or secret layer. I never realized Verna had been carrying the ghost of Mildred at the front of her mind for fifty years, like impossible antlers. The judgments we bring to bear on one another are not very sound, are they? Now Verna is scrubbing at spots on the stove with the hem of her apron. Come on, let’s watch TV, I say. I brought a movie. It’s Lubitsch—you’ll like it. 

-- Anne Carson, “Trouble in Paradise”.

[theoriginallisab]

Check out this listing I just added to my Poshmark closet: Vintage 60s Mildred's of Hawaii Hostess Dress - Barkcloth - Size 8!.

[mariatellsstories]

The Traveling Soul

Is one's essence defined by the age of the body or their culture, economic status or gender? What are we without context time, gender and culture?

Tara's mother went through a metamorphosis. Mildred wore different costumes of the mind. Each costume was unique and from a different time in her life; drawing upon different life experiences. Alzheimer's disease has sponsored Mildred's time travel.

Tara remembers Mildred as being the soul provider of her family, thanklessly working two sometimes three jobs to make ends meet. Tara felt helpless as she observed her mother's life has turned upon its head. Mildred became completely dependent upon Tara for her basic survival needs.

Tara was painfully aware of her mother's constantly changing context of time, emotion and libido. The self Mildred had the most problem with was within the glare of the here and now. Although Tara felt relieved each time the mother she knew briefly return. But then ultimately, in Mildred's moments of lucidity, Tara would see her mother's face fill with angst with the awareness of her debilitating disease....like she had been transported inside someone else's nightmare. Tara experienced her mother's grief in waves. She saw Mildred's life's memories slip away one by one, like dissolving photographs forever irretrievable. Sometimes both of hem would quietly sit together for hours. Tara could almost feel her mother desperately trying to cling to the echoes and shadows her fading memories left behind.

One day, Tara went to the mall to buy a birthday present for a daughter of a friend of hers that was turning four. She spotted a Raggedy Ann in the front window Woolworths. Tara dodged and weaved her way through the store. She passed headless manikins, saleswomen spraying perfume in the air, and a herd of giggling teenagers. Tara managed to make it to the register to purchase the doll. It was only then that she noticed the signs everywhere announcing a closeout sale. (No wonder everyone is going nuts), she thought. Tara made a mad dash for the door that emptied her out on the sidewalk.

As Tara walked to the bus stop, Tara smiled at an idea that she thought was brilliant. She would give her mother a make over! Tara quickly made her way to the nearest cosmetic counter and bought some make up, lotions, sprays and hair styling artillery, all inspired by imagining Mildred's joyful and excited expression. Tara saw herself as a skillful surgeon, about to rescue her mother's libido.

When Tara arrived at her mother's door, she knocked for what seemed like fifteen minutes. Tara was always nervous about the possibility of confronting yet another unknown version of her mother. Tara's favorite version of Mildred was her at thirty-five. It was nostalgic yet it was more. It made Tara a wide-eyed innocent eight-year-old once again. At thirty-five her mother was a real dynamo. Back in her day, Mildred was a combination of Audrey Hepburn from "Breakfast at Tiffany's" and Elizabeth Taylor from "Butterfield 8"; a powerhouse of elegance.

When Tara was a little girl, she saw her mother as possessing all the secrets of womanhood..of life. Now, at forty-three, Tara talked to Mildred, frozen in time and realized there were no secrets to her greatness; this was merely experiencing her "essence". Her relationship with her mother was one that delt with variables of conscious mind and the psyches of one another set in a maze of time.

Mildred finally cracked the door open just enough to peer outside. She squinted at Tara like a mole struggling to see within the glaring sunlight. Tara entered the house. Her mother walked slowly back to the couch, stooped shouldered, head hanging in a quiet sadness except for her mumbling softly to herself. Tara watched her increasingly small frame as she sat down on the couch. Mildred's body seemed fragile and was dwarfed by the huge portrait of her twenty-two year old self that hung on the wall behind her; mocking her. In the painting, Mildred wore a stunning emerald green, floor length evening gown. It's Dracula-like collar stood high behind her neck. Her ivory, porcelain skin was set against the stark blackness of her hair. Now, as Mildred sat below her portrait, her gray skin looking washed out; blending into her dull gray lifeless hair. She wore a hair net with a few dangling bobby pins. Her pink terrycloth robe was faded, matted and stained.

Tara opened the windows as she always did. She often wondered whether she was trying to let the sunlight in or trying to let the dark out. Tara felt the thick malodorous funk of depression. She started to feel the musty darkness wrap around her throat. She sat down next to her mother and told Mildred about her makeover idea. Tara spoke, carefully not to be either insulting or condescending, She asked herself who she was really doing this for. She saw that her mother tried to appear pleased with her idea, however Tara thought her mother was just happy to have the company.

Tara started to remove the bobby pins from Mildred's hair. She asked her mother if she'd like to have a manicure. Mildred nodded. Like a zombie she stared at her feet that were nestled within two pink fuzzy slippers. Tara stood behind her and picked up the hand mirror and placed it in her hand. They both found their reflections. Mildred turned away; eyes wild and frantic. Tara gently removed her mother's hair net and started to brush her hair. Tara kept flashing back to when she was a child watching her mother skilled hand as she painstakingly put rollers in her black hair; every roller planned, every pin in place. But now her mother's hair reflected the absence of color from all of her.

Suddenly, Mildred bolted forward. She stood up and raced to the bags Tara had left by the door. Her body language had clued Tara in on a shift in psyche. Many mistakenly thought Mildred suffered from multiple personalities. Mildred's "personalities" were all her, just at different times in her life...different ages; multiple contexts.

With Mildred's back to Tara, she sat down on the worn carpeted floor. Tara watched her mother start to rock back and forth making a cooing sound. Tara rushed fearfully around to face her. Mildred cradled the Raggedy Ann doll with her eyes closed and smiling.

Suddenly, Mildred opened up her eyes, frowned and looked at Tara, "MINE!" , she protested. "This is MY dolly!". She put it under her robe.

"Mom! Are you O.K.?", Tara said, already realizing the absurdity of the question. Her mother slowly took out the doll and began to disrobe it, all the while keeping a very watchful eye on Tara. It finally sunk in that Mildred was herself at about five years old. Tara didn't know how to deal with it. But she smiled as she watched her mother and became aware of the irony. When Tara, herself was five, she wanted so badly for her mother to play with her.

"Do you like my dolly?", Mildred asked Tara.

"Yes. I know you are a great mommy too!", Tara told her.

Mildred giggled like a little imp. She took the brush from Tara's hands and asked if she could brush her hair. Mildred told Tara that "just yesterday" her mother had taught her how to braid hair.

Mildred brushed Tara's hair as she had done millions of times before but this time she was singing little girl songs all the while. Tara could see that although her mother was dependent and felt powerless most of the time, that afternoon, Tara realized that her mother was teaching her with tools that no other mother would have. She was teaching a lesson that transcended Alzheimer's disease; that transcended time. That afternoon Tara realized that she now had a unique opportunity to connect with another person's essence regardless of any specified context of mother/daughter. adult/child or decade in society. This exceeds the boundaries of the normal human-soul connection.

Tara felt that if she could be unselfish long enough to stop mourning her mother, that she would see that she was thinking too small. Mildred will no longer be defined by the restraints of age. Tara was in awe of the fact that she could know her mother as a seventy year old woman confronting her own mortality, a thirty-something emerging feminist of the 1960's, an awkward adolescent who's naivete knows no bounds of the 1940's, or a bright-eyed child of five; pure and un-jaded of the 1930's. Tara thought that fate had struck a deal with her mother....she was only allowed to have a glimpse at a memory if she surrendered to it with complete abandon.

[aloramarieboutique]

Check out this listing I just added to my Poshmark closet: ABLE The Skinny Mid Rise Skinny Distressed Jeans Mildred Wash.

[etarz]

Yabancı İsimleri Popüler 2023 Trendleri!

Yabancı isimleri konusunda merak edilenlere bu yazımızda yanıtlar verdik! Çağımızın küresel dili şüpheye yer bırakmayacak şekilde İngilizcedir. ABD, İngiltere, Avustralya gibi ülkelerin resmi dilidir. İngilizce öğrenimi için kimi zaman yabancı dilleri bilmeye ihtiyaç duyulmaktadır. Küresel dünyaya ayak uydurabilmek adına aileler zaman zaman çocuklarına yabancı dilde isim vermek isteyebilmektedir. Türkçe’de olduğu gibi İngilizcede de birbirinden güzel isimler mevcuttur. Sizlere bu paylaşımımızda anlamlarıyla birlikte yabancı kadın isimlerinden örnekler sunmaya çalışacağız. Kimi isimlerin dilimizdeki karşılığı benzer olmakla beraber, bazı isimlerde mana farklılığı görülmektedir. Yabancı İsimleri yazımızla yabancı isimler hakkında bilgi sahibi olabilirsiniz. Yabancı isimleri söz konusu olduğu zaman hem kadın hem erkek isimleri karşımıza çıkmaktadır.

Yabancı İsimleri

Yabancı Kadın İsimleri

Günümüzde anne ve babalar çocuklarının uluslararası geçerliliği olan isimler taşımasını istemektedir. Aynı zamanda İngilizce öğrenmek isteyenler kendilerine takma ad bulmak istediklerinde İngilizce isimleri keşfetmek istemektedir. İnternette yabancılarla tanışmak isterken söylenmesi kolay olduğu için İngilizce isimler revaçtadır. Yabancı kadın isimleri yazımızda sizler için en popüler yabancı kadın isimlerini listeledik. Kendinize veya çocuğunuza isim seçmeden önce içeriğimize göz atmak isteyebilirsiniz. Yabancı kadın isimleri söz konusu olduğu zaman karşımıza zarif detaylarla desteklenen isimler çıkmaktadır. Anne ismi Türkçemizde bizi doğuran ve yetiştiren kadın anlamındayken, İngilizcede tanrı tarafından tercih edilen manasındadır. Yazısal olarak Türkçedeki karşılığı ile aynı olmakla beraber, manasında farklılık göstermektedir.

Yabancı Kadın İsimleri Yasmin ismi Türkçedeki karşılığı ile Yasemindir. Fonetik ve anlamsal olarak benzerlik taşımaktadır. Yasemin adındaki çiçeğin İngilizce karşılığıdır. Zoe: Hayat. Helena: Yunanca parlayan ışık anlamı taşımaktadır. Iris: Gökkuşağı tanrıçası manasını taşımaktadır. Isabelle: Tanrının sözü anlamı taşımakta, İbranice kökenli yabancı kadın ismidir. Ivy: Latince kökenli şarap demektir. Janae: Tanrının cevabı. Katherine: Saf, masum. Layla: Türkçemizdeki Leyla isminin yabancı versiyonudur. Koyu, siyah demektir. Lottie: Küçük ve kadınsı. Lucy: Işık. Mabel: Sevgili. Margot: İnci. Maya: Büyük. Melody: Melodi, şarkı. Mia: Parlak, arkadaş canlısı. Mildred: Güçlü. Olivia: Zeytin Ağacı. Ophelia: Yardımsever kadın, yardımcı. Philomena: Güçlü sevgi, güçlü aşk. Phoebe: Parlak ve masum. Poppy: Kırmızı çiçek, gelincik. Primrose: Güllerin birincisi, çiçeklerin ilki. Rosalind: Minik gül parçası. Rosemary: Denizdeki çiğ tanesi. Sadie: Prenses kadın. Scarlett: Kırmızı kadın. Sienna: Kırmızı ve turuncu karışımı. Sophia: Bilgelik, bilgeli kadın. Summer: Yaz mevsimi, sıcak. Sylvia: Odun, orman. Valeria: Sağlıklı ve cesur kadın. Victory: Zafer ve fethetmek. Viola: Menekşe, menekşeye benzeyen kadın. Vivian: Hayat dolu kadın. Whitney: Beyaz renkteki bir ada. Willow: Söğüt ağacı ve bağımsızlık.

Yabancı Kız İsimleri

Yabancı Kız İsimleri

Bebek bekleyen annelin en tatlı telaşları da doğacak olan çocuklarına isim seçmektir. Bebeğinin İngilizce bir isim kullanmasını isteyen anneler özellikle yabancı kız isimleri hakkında meraklı arayış içindedir. Yabancı Kız İsimleri başlığımız altında sizler için yurtdışı ve ülkemizde gittikçe popüler hale gelen yabancı kız isimlerini anlamlarıyla birlikte listeledik. İşte Yabancı isimleri hakkında örnekler; Amber: Sarı renkteki değerli bir taş. April: Nisan ayında doğan kız çocuğu. Aria: Tanrının dişi aslanı. Aurelie: Fransızca kökenli, güneş anlamında. Belle: Fransızca anlamıyla güzel kadın. Blossom: Taze, ferah. Celine: Fransızca, cennet. Daisy: Papatya çiçeği, beyaz. Ella: Güzel peri kız. Eva: Hayat. Flora: Latince manasıyla çiçek. Georgia: Toprağın veya çiftliğin çalışanı. Kiera: Küçük siyah parça. Lotus: Nilüfer adındaki bir çiçek. Marilyn: Bebek için dilemek Nessa: Sert kadın. Opal: Değerli bir madeni taş. Ruby: Latince kökenli, değerli bir taş. Kırmızı renkli yakut. Saffron: Sarı renkli çiçek, safran adındaki değerli bir bitki. Sydney: Avustralya’da bir şehir veya ada. Xana: Altın renk saçlı kadın.

En Güzel Yabancı Kız İsimleri Hangileridir?

Kız bebeğinize eşi benzeri olmayan yabancı bir isim vermek istiyorsanız sizler için derlediğimiz listeye bakmanızı rica edeceğiz. Anlamları birbirinden güzel en güzel yabancı kız isimleri parçamızı sizlerin beğenisine sunmaktayız. Daha fazla vakit kaybetmeden değerli okurlarımıza İngilizce en güzel yabancı kız isimlerimiz yazımızın devamında yer veriyoruz. İşte Yabancı isimleri konusunda örnekler; Eloise: Sağlıklı, geniş. Hazel: Fındık ağacı, ela gözlü kadın. Wren: Minik kuş, serçe. Mae: Sert inci. Evelyn: Arzulanan, su veya ada. Audrey: Soylu ve güçlü kadın. Edith: Savaşta zengin olan. Madeline: Yüksek kule veya Magdala’dan olan kadın Ellie: Parlayan, ışık saçan kadın. Clover: Anahtar. Harper: Arp çalan kadın. Harlow: Taşlı tepe ya da orduya sahip tepe. Avery: Elflerin kural koyucusu. Emmeline: Çalışmak, iş. Lottie: Özgür kadın. Marigold: Altın gibi çiçek. Piper: Flüt çalan kadın. Birdie: Küçük kuş. Faye: Peri. Rue: Bitki veya pişmanlık. Lavender: Mor renkli bitki, lavanta. Pippa: Atları seven kadın. Rain: Yağmur. Dorothy: Tanrının hediyesi. Romilly: Romalı vatandaş, kadın. Lennon: Sevgili. Blake: Adil- saçlı kadın, siyah. Brooke: Küçük bir akıntı. Dove: Güvercin kuşu. Jenna: Beyaz gölge, beyaz dalga. Charlie: Özgür kadın. Taylor: Terzi Joy: Eğlence. Tamsin: İkiz. Andrea: Erkeksi ve güçlü. Ellen: Parlayan ışık. River: Nehir, akan su. Addison: Adem’in oğlu. Alexis: Savunan kadın. Harley: Uzun arazi. Farrah: Mutluluk. Pamela: Bal. Maven: Anlayabilen tek kişi. Moxie: agresif derecede enerjik. Bellamy: İyi arkadaş. London: İngiltere’nin başkenti, Londra. Yabancı Kız İsimleri Seçerken Dikkat Edilecekler - Doğacak olan bebeğe anne baba tarafından isim seçilmesi son derece önemli bir görevdir. Bütün inançlara göre çocuğa konulan isimler önem arz etmektedir. Sizler için bebeğinize yabancı kız isimleri seçerken dikkat etmeniz birkaç önemli noktayı araştırdık ve bilginize sunduk. Anne ve babalar çocuklarına isim koyarken güzel anlama sahip isimler koymaya çalışmalıdır. - Özellikle kız çocuğa yabancı kız isimleri arasından seçim yapılmak isteniyorsa anlamını kontrol ederek isim seçmek son derece önemlidir. Eğer çocuğun anadili dışında yabancı dilde bir isim seçilecekse anlamı iyice araştırılmalıdır. Kötü anlama sahip ya da küçültücü isimler koymadan kaçınılmalıdır. Yabancı isimleri konusunda bir karar verirken, detaylı bir araştırma yapmak gerekmektedir. Çocuğa koyulacak isimde dikkat edilmesi gereken bir diğer unsurda, çocuk ismin enerjisini taşıyacağı için iyi enerjiye sahip isimler konulmalıdır. İsim ve soy isminin fonetik olarak hoş gelmesi gereklidir. Uyumlu olup olmadığını kontrol edebilmek için, kız bebeğinize koymak istediğiniz ismi ve soy ismini sesli şekilde tekrar edebilirsiniz.

Yabancı Kız İsimleri Seçerken Dikkat Edilecekler Yabancı kız isimleri arasından seçim yapacaksanız, ileriki dönemlerde zorluk yaşamamak adına telaffuzu zor olmayan, kolay söylenebilen isimler arasından seçmenizi tavsiye ederiz. Çünkü isim kolay kolay değiştirilen bilgilerimiz arasında değildir. Yabancı kız isimleri arasında kullanım bakımından uniseks isimler mevcuttur. İlerleyen zamanlarda hitap konusunda problem yaşamamak adına uniseks isimlerden kaçınmak isteyebilirsiniz. Yabancı isimleri konusunda bir karar verirken, kapsamlı bir araştırma yapmalısınız! İlginizi Çekebilir; Yabancı Kız İsimleri Nelerdir? 10'lar İsim! İsmin anlamı son derece önem taşımaktadır. Yabancı kız isimleri arasından bir isim seçecekseniz anadilinizde aynı kelimenin küçültücü bir anlamı olmadığını iyi araştırmanız gerekmektedir.  Yabancı kız isimleri arasında yer alan ve günümüzde tüm dünyada popüler olan isimleri seçtiğiniz taktirde çocuğunuz ilerleyen yaşlarda kolaylıkla ismini kullanabilecektir. Popüler olmayan yabancı kız isimleri arasından seçtiğiniz taktirde telaffuz konusunda yanlış anlamalar yaşayabilirsiniz. Read the full article

[cabensonsgirly]

👼Now you're mine, but what do I do with you, girl. I'll take your heart to kick around as a toy. {The danger is I'm dangerous, and I might just tear you apart} (Mildred Ratched) [NSFW]👼

Mildred Ratched x Reader

👼Wordcount: ?👼

👼Content: EXTREMELY DUBIOUS CONSENT, drugging, bondage, strap-on, scenario, abuse of power, mentions of war.👼

👼Nurse Ratched had helped you to bed after you became oh so tired after your cup of tea. She waits until she's certain you're fast asleep before she slips into her fantasy.👼

"It's okay, sweetheart, get some sleep. There we go, good girl," she says softly, waiting for your breathing to even out before she extracts her hand from yours. She goes over to your bedroom vanity and opens the canvas roll she had put there earlier, running her fingers along the contents until she finds the leather straps. Mildred picks them up and goes over to you once more, "You are a patient at the hospital, you were admitted there because you had a breakdown after the horrors you saw while you were a nurse on the front line" she says quietly, moving your hands to above your head she then attaches the straps, making sure they're secure before moving down to your feet.

"You seldom sleep well on your own, the images of wounded and dying soldiers plaguing your dreams, making you thrash in bed," she secures your feet to the corners of the bed, "so I, the ever considerate Head Nurse, give you a sedative so you can have a peaceful sleep. Still securing you to the bed because upon waking you often act irrationally." She goes back over to the vanity, looking at you through the reflection in the mirror, "The nights you sleep peacefully I hear you begging for my attention, you mightn't make a sound, but I can see it in your face and the way your body reacts to my touch."

She picks up the small container and returns to the bed where she reaches up under her knee-length skirt, hooking her fingers under the hem of her panties before pulling them down. "The other nurses know not to disturb you in the evening because of how distressed you become that they're interruptung your time with me. Only I can give you what you want, save you from the horrors of your past." She climbs onto the bed, kneeling above your thighs, her hands hitching your dress up past your waist before she moves down so she can kiss and bite your inner thigh, "I never leave a mark on your fragile skin for it reminds you of your time at war, the bruises you'd get from soldiers who would grip you tight in fear."

Mildred sucks lightly closer to the hem of your panties, careful to not do it for too long least it leave a mark. She pulls your panties down so she can run her tongue through you, moaning at the taste, "I warm you up, a private addiction I have to how sinful you taste. Were anyone to find out about this, how your nurse laps at your cunt like a kitten with cream, I fear I would join you in this retched place."

She spreads your lips apart with two of her fingers, the tip of her tongue swirling around your clit before she takes it between her lips, sucking the sensitive bud into her mouth. The sounds leaving you are soft, can easily be mistaken to that which people make during sleep instead of those of carnal pleasure. Soon your slick coats her lips and chin, signalling to her that you were ready.

Mildred pulls away, sitting back on her haunches she picks the container up, squirting some of the liquid into the palm of her hand before stroking the toy between her legs, "The first night of your stay you wouldn't calm down until I took you with this toy, it was an unconventional method but it worked. That's why I am the Head Nurse and no one else." She moves herself, resting a hand on the bed by your head while the other guides the tip of the strap to your dripping heat, "In the rare moments you are calm, you beg for me to take you, but I can't because it wouldn't be appropriate. I wonder if you act up on purpose so I drug you and fuck you like I am now because you are addicted to this just as much as I."

Mildred bottoms out in one thrust, her breath catching as she feels it bump against her clit and the other end move inside her. She starts rocking her hips into you, pulling more noises from you, "I never give you release for it helps you forget the torment, the- the anguish that controls you." She was close already, her core having been dripping since she first saw the effects of the sedative kick in earlier this evening. The way it hit the right spot within her made her move harder, the sensation making the coil build, "You beg and- fuck- plead for me to let you cum, but you're just the patient" she bites her lip slightly, forcing the moan to stay inside her mouth, "and- and I'm the nurse. The Head Nurse of Lucia."

Mildred moves her hand to wrap around your throat, revelling in how good you look like this, "I give orders, I give mercy, not you. I- I kn- I know what is good for my patients." Her grip tightens briefly, her hips snapping harder and faster against you, the sound of skin on skin, the slick coming from you filling the room as well as her laboured breathing and the noises you made in your drug enduced sleep. "You're just a tormented ex-nurse. Y- Yo- You can't do anything fo- for yourself," she pants out, her movements becoming sloppy as the coil snaps, her orgasm washing over her, dropping her head to rest next to yours on your pillow. "That's why- why you ask for me. That's why you only lis- listen to me. I'm- I'm the Head Nurse."

She slows down before pulling out of you, moving off the bed on shaky legs, she picks up the container then back over to the vanity. She picks up a cloth and wipes the toy before removing it, her hand gripping the edge of the vanity to stop her knees from giving out. Mildred puts the toy back on the canvas as well as the container, "You have no memory of the events that transpired during your night of sleep. All you know is that when you wake up you have an ache between your thighs that no matter what cannot be satiated." She pulls her underwear back up then goes over to you to remove the leather straps, "You ask for my help, but I cannot help with this issue during the day least I lose my job." She pulls your underwear back up, "Just rest now, my poor ex-nurse. I will be back in the morning to check on you."

Mildred packs her things up then leaves, locking the door with a key she got cut before going to her car. She gets in, "You only thank me for what I do whilst you're awake, I tell you it is no issue. I'm just happy to help, especially someone who has suffered so greatly" before driving off.

[ecclais-fouoras]

"YOU ARE THE START OF SOMETHING NEW."

Mildred x reader

Straight up smut bitches

⚠️Mention of sexual trauma

Mildred seductively sank to her knees while she reached for the treasure you were hiding in your trousers. Hands fumbling with the fabric trying to get her fingers to unbuckle your belt, her eyes fixated on her goal.

"You know you could just ask darling"

You said as your hands found hers to calm her movements, "I'm sorry... I thought.. I was sure I'd get it but I'm not too familiar with this mechanism"

"It's okay Mildred"

You stroked the space underneath her wrist and began to open your belt for her, the second she heard that familiar click her Fingers were on your buttons, back to her urging ministrations.

As soon as she was done the pants fell and her hand reached out to hold the strap-on you were wearing on top of your underwear.

She had been sensitive to how you always seemed to balance an over masculine act by a sort of feminine thing, like a reminder that what she was doing was still with a woman. A gentle caress, a soft word, a high pitched moan, or even just the way your eyes seemed to shine with pride and admiration when she was underneath you taking the rubber length, or sitting on your lap while you guided your strap inside her, never fast and dry like some other men had done in the

Somehow you were mindful of what she had experience with men. Today, the softness of the laced panties you were wearing was enough to ground her, telling her that although there was a dick attached to you it was still yours to control.

There had been time when this intimacy would have been rejected, before when you were both exploring with these aspects of your sexuality, Mildred had laughed and hurled at the own thought of you taking her the way a men would, she had mumbled something about not going to go back to having sex like she did with men now that she was coming to terms with her lesbianism.

But eventually, your patience and love showed her that she was safe, that the way you wanted to dominate her was nothing vile, non-consentiual, or predatorus. That you would only ever explore that if being submissive was something she would want, and that you would never press for anything like men had before, when they shoved themselves inside her, their calloused, and tough hands, handling her like she was nothing but a sac of potatoes, only ever needing her body and barely interested in anything else then emptying their balls.

She still tastes them on her tongue, fells them inside her body, stretching and breaking her. She remembers their faces and voices too well, the images vivid in her mind, at night she'll have the same nightmares.

Sometimes when she gains back her consciousness, she'll find herself curled up in your arms, seeking your warmth, your safety, the way your hands never feel  dangerous rough, or careless, the way they always seem to touch her skin with the most tenderness.

She discovered touch when she met you, startling at first when she didn't know it could be harmless, and even sweetz but eventually the more your gentle caresses fell upon her skin the more she grew thirsty for that affection. And when the grip of her darkness wouldn't completely let go of her in the morning, her body sweaty and her nightgown riddled up, you would always sooth her back to calmness, rubbing her back, gently easing down the hem of the fabric to cover her again completely, your soft words making her forget about the sharp insults and harsh slaps she received, the men who threw her on their bed and tore her underwear, how their fingers seemed to burn her skin when they gripped and touched at her skin.

She was barely 11 when her body started appealing obscene men, her foster father had commented on how her breasts were slowly growing, and had kneaded her thigh with his hand.

there was also Edmund, and what they were forced to do in front of these people.

Oh how she despised them, their prying eyes on her young figure, laughing and clapping as the layer of clothes fell on the floor, grunting while Edmund used his mouth on her, or she on him.

Surely if you knew were hers had been you'd never kiss it again, look at her like the dirty thing she is.

And then there was all the horrible sex she had with men, when she was convincing herself this is how being intimate was supposed to feel. Like when she was with that oskshdke he had slammed her against the door before even asking what was her name, she'd tell him to wait a little but he was to quick at removing her nurse uniform and sinking her to the floor, 'you know what to do nurse bitch' unfortunately for her she did know, how every men that had come across her had had the same behavior. So just like she had been taught she swallowed her pride, shut the voices in her head telling her to get away from this, no Mildred, this is how women and men have sex, you're supposed to enjoy how he wants it, he is, it's the way it has to be. Stay on your knees and be the slut you always are.

Her mind had been reckless and cruel to her since she was little, it was the only right way to protect herself, and she knew it.

"Honey ?... Where are you right now ?" She felt your hand on her cheek, lifting her head just to look into your eyes, always so warm, waiting for her to come back to you.

"I..I sorry .. I'm...I"

"It's okay sweetheart, take your time, I'm right here with you"

You didn't move in fear of straddling her, so instead you bent down and placed a kiss on her forehead, "whenever you're ready"

"I am...i just got lost in my thoughts for a minute"

"Okay baby...good or bad ones ?"

"..not...I.. "

"Alright I got it"

You slowly tries pulling her back up.

"no wait ?!"

"What is it baby ? What do you need"

"Can we.. can you just kiss me ?"

"From here ?"

"Yes...please"

You captured her lips with yours, at first feather light, not wanting to add any toughness, but your hands lacing the back of her neck and cradling her shoulders, while hers held onto your forearms sweetly. You pulled back when air became rare.

"I love you Mildred with all my soul"

"I love you too y/n, with what's left of it"

You continues making out passionately, Mildred getting bolder with each passing seconds until she urged you to take off your top, and was met yet again by a lacy green bra that covered your chest.

"...oh...It's my favorite"

"I know that's exactly why I put it on baby.."

Your fingers laced her dress straps, gently pulling them down her shoulders

"Can I take this off ?"

She nodded before breathing out a delicate yet eager 'yes'.

You took your time uncovering her breasts from the sweet orange dress she was in, delighted to see the braless milky skin as you went down, her boobs bouncing a little as it passed upon them.

"You look so amazing my darling, you make me..goodness...so aroused right now"

You captured her mouth in a kiss again, steady and slow first. To show her this love was genuine. Then a little bit hungrier, she moaned against your palms when you kneaded her chest. And then again as you dragged your finger around her skin, completely missing her nipple on cue, the feather light touch making her whine and plead for more. She rubbed her thighs together at the lack of attention, the movement not going unoticed by you, the way her pale legs peeked from underneath her dress, how she sat on her heals naked from except for where her discarded dress bunched up at her hips.

Her hands found the forgotten member between your legs, one look into her eyes and you're doubts fell, she still reassured " I'm okay. I want to do this..."

"Just know it's okay if you don't... I won't be disappointed or anything, I love you"

"I know but it's turning me on to think about you wanting to have me like that, you do right ?"

"Oh god yes... You have no idea how much I wanna fuck your mouth when you look so hot right now" she felt her own clit throbbing at your words.

She began licking the strap sensually, her hand pushing and pulling it against you, you gathered her hair in your hands, fingers rubbing her scalp, the mix of gentle touch and dominanting grip made her body vibrate with want. When you had started to do this you had insisted Mildred let you wear a smaller one, so it would be more comfortable for her "I don't care about the size it's what I have you do that turns me on" you had said. She knows that even now she could ask for a smaller one if she needed it, but with time came practice and eventually you grew sizes.

As she got the toy more wet she started gently easing it into her mouth, this process wasn't necessarily hard because she knew you wouldn't push it further, that you would wait patiently for her to accommodate to you. She got more confident and began bobbing her head on the toy, "you look so hot like this princess". Her saliva was dripping down and coaxing the strap as your hand guided her movements, your eyes fixated on it disappearing and reappearing from her mouth, moaning at the sight. You noticed her eyes were closed as she sucked off the strap her hands at the base of it pushing it towards your hips.

"Look at me when you do that"

Her eyes opened and found yours, looking up slightly shy. "Oh don't... Like you're any inocent here sucking my dick"

As things progressed she went a bit harder and faster. Your grip tightening in her hair, and your hips slightly jerking forward,

After a while you pulled out of her mouth while you held her hair back  "such a good girl for me" your other hand wondered down to grab her boobs. She moaned as you finally rolled her nipples between your fingers, slowly making your way down to kiss her, and playfully nibble her earlobe.  You whispered "You really should suck me off more often" she moaned again, her arousal could be smelled from where you were standing.

You took of the wet toy  before finding a vibrator for Mildred who was begging to make a move "don't move Mildred I want you spread out on your knees for me"

She heavily nodded before she heard you "you have words speak up darling"

"Yes please y/n"

"There you go sweet thing"

You went back to her and attached the device to her hips, not yet angling it to her clit but just on the side of her inner thigh, her hips bucked in search of more friction.

"P..Please....I'm so wet fuck me"

It slipped out of her and she immediately regretted it, worried she had scared you, you read her face and reassured her.

"It's okay baby, you're not gonna scare me so easily, is that what you call me when you think about me fucking you hard ?"

Her head went up and down in agreement

"Speak up Mildred"

"Yes"

"Be patient will you, I'll give you what you want soon"

Your hands spread her thighs wider, and your fingers played with her folds.

You circled her bundle before while you kissed her neck, and set the toy to a high frequency on her clit.

Your hands squeezed her hips while you got back on your feet in front of her.

Your palm found her chin and you held her face while she grinded on the toy, "I want you to look at me when you cum"

She kept rocking her hips as waves of pleasure hit her. Her moans filling the room,

Your name falling from her lips, as she was getting closer to release. Your fingers caressing her skin as you looked down on her "F..FUCK! Y/n...I I'm gonna...C..cum"

"Go ahead darling"

"Oh god ! Huuhh y/n !" She screamed as she tumbled over the edge, her body tensing, back arch before she started convulsing in pleasure, the afterwaves of her pleasure hitting her.

"There you are my sweet girl"

You detached the toy, and cradled Mildred in your arms, resting her against the mattress.

When you got up to get some wipes to clean her up she tensed, thinking maybe you were leaving her right after sex like many people had done to her.

"Don't worry baby I'm just getting something to clean you up before bed"

You spoke knowing she was beginning to worry.

You retrieved back to the room, gently tapping her legs to signal her that she could open her legs which she did, she gently shuddered, still sensitive after her recent orgasm.

You got ready for bed and joined Mildred, cuddled with her, your fingers playing with her hair and hand resting on her hipbone whispering sweet words to one another.

[witcher-and-his-bard-archive]

Geralt x Eskel | 14.7k  || header by the loveliest @petrificustotaluss​ <3

Geralt is in the middle of bottling a pain elixir for Mildred down the road when there's a frantic knock at his door. Frowning in the direction of the sound, he corks the bottle and rises from his seat, crossing to open the door. A young girl - Geralt recognizes her as the blacksmith's apprentice - is bent over, hands on her knees, and panting on his doorstep. She looks worried and when Geralt crouches down she looks up at him with big, glossy eyes.

"He's hurt," she pants and Geralt isn't sure who she's referring to. It's a farming village, someone is always hurt.

"Who," he asks gently and Gretka just looks at him.

"Eskel," she says and it feels like a dagger being plunged through Geralt's heart. It takes everything in him to keep his breathing even as he reaches out to rest a hand on her shoulder.

"Where is he?" he asks, "Is he okay?"

"They're bringing him here. The boys from the farm."

"Okay," he says gently, still trying to slow the hammering of his heart, "why don't you run along home and I'll go meet them."

Gretka nods and gives Geralt one last pleading look before straightening up and pulling away. She only takes a couple of steps before turning back to him, fidgeting with the hem of her apron.

"You'll take good care of him, right?"

"Of course."

Geralt doesn't know what he can do. Without knowing what happened, he can't promise anything, but he will do the best he can. Eskel is a friend and one of the kindest people Geralt knows, he has to be able to do something.

When Gretka is out of sight, Geralt pushes himself up on shaky legs, takes a deep breath, and makes his way out of the garden and down the path to meet up with the entourage. He doesn't make it far before he spots them, John the farmer and his three sons, and they've got Eskel between them on a stretcher. Geralt tries not to let it bother him, but even seeing him from a distance makes his chest tight.

As soon as the men reach him, everything moves far too quickly. Geralt is giving them directions and they move surprisingly fast for carrying a man as large as Eskel between them. Eskel himself is awake and Geralt does his best to give him a once-over on the way back to his hut. Immediately, he sees burn marks in his clothes, holes of varying sizes where the fabric was singed and he fears to see the skin beneath. A good portion of one trouser leg has been lost already and Eskel's leg is red and blotchy. Burns, at least, he knows how to deal with; he only hopes it's nothing more serious than that.

When they reach the hut, Geralt hurries in ahead of the others, seeking out a tonic for pain relief. He'd rather Eskel was unconscious for all of it, but that will have to come later; he still needs to talk to him about his injuries. So for now a simple painkiller will have to do. He finds one that's not too strong and hopes it will be strong enough.

He directs the men to lay Eskel on his bed and he hurries into the bedroom after them, sitting on the edge of the bed next to him. He thanks the men and sends them on their way. He'll have to remember to repay them somehow, but he has other things to worry about now.

Eskel groans where he lies, and Geralt reaches out, his hand hovering just above Eskel's thigh. He doesn't dare touch him because he doesn't know how bad it is, but he wants to comfort him somehow.

"Hey," he says gently, "I'm here. Tell me what happened?"

"Fuckin' goat," Eskel mumbles and Geralt immediately scans his body for signs of bruising or puncture wounds. "Was making coal and she came up and tried to get right into the fire pit, had to pull her out of the way. Dog next door spotted her and started barking-" he groans and shifts in place, wincing, "-spooked her and when she pulled away I lost my footing-"

"Shit," Geralt mutters. He can imagine well enough what happened next. Eskel huffs a laugh, immediately followed by another groan of pain. "Shh, just relax. Where is it worst?"

"I think my leg?" Eskel says, "but my arm's not great either." He sounds much more concerned about the latter and Geralt realizes with a start that it's his left arm, his dominant arm that's worse for wear. Eskel moves to demonstrate and Geralt presses a hand to his chest instinctively.

"It's okay," he says quickly before realizing he's now leaning right over him. "I'll look you over." He only belatedly realizes he's still holding the bottle of pain tonic in his other hand and he pauses. "Sorry, I should have- It's easier for me if you're unconscious when I look you over, but I need to undress you first." He can feel his cheeks flush already and he hates it, but if Eskel notices, he doesn't mention it.

"Do what you gotta, doesn't bother me any."

"If you'd rather be awake I can give you this for the pain-"

"Geralt," Eskel interrupts, "you're not some stranger passing through town, I trust you."

Oh. Geralt's heart clenches and it takes him far too long to recover from that.

"Okay," he says softly, "wait here-" he realizes what he's saying at once and stops, shutting his eyes and dropping his chin. "I'll be right back with the sedative."

Geralt slips from the room and back into his kitchen, pressing his hands to the table and dropping his head. He's an idiot. Eskel is injured - badly - and here he is barely keeping his shit together. He gives himself exactly ten seconds to sulk and panic a little bit about having Eskel in his home and then he replaces the painkiller on the shelf and pulls down a bottle of sedative.

He measures it out carefully, though with shaky hands, and pours it into a cup that will be easier to drink from. He takes it into the bedroom and sets it on the side table, pulling up a stool for himself so he doesn't jostle Eskel any more than is necessary.

"It's fast acting," he explains, "you'll be asleep in a matter of minutes."

"For how long?"

"A couple of hours? Unless your body needs the sleep, then maybe longer." Eskel nods lightly and reaches up automatically when Geralt lifts the cup off the side table. "Hey," he whispers, "it's okay, let me."

He presses the cup to Eskel's lips, tipping it up so he can drink it. He hates seeing him like this, helpless and obviously in a great amount of pain, but he tells himself it will be fine. Eskel will sleep soon and Geralt can do what he can for the wounds.

Almost as soon as he's finished drinking, Eskel's eyelids flutter and he lets them drop shut. Geralt waits until he hears the sound of his breath evening out, then finally sets the cup down. He hadn't realized how tightly he'd been holding it until he lets go. His gaze lands on Eskel again, looking over him, and he swallows hard.

Pushing all his other feelings aside, Geralt gets to work. He starts with the belt around Eskel's waist, undoing it and gently pulling it out from under him to set it aside. Next comes the apron - slightly more difficult because Geralt has to empty the pockets first before he can turn him over to untie it, and Eskel's pockets are full of shit. Everything from nails to rags to dried fruit for the goat winds up in a pile on the end of the bed and Geralt smiles to himself as he thinks about it, imagines Eskel feeding treats to lil' bleater even when she's a pest.

Once he's got the apron set aside, Geralt falters. Shirt or trousers next and he can't bring himself to do either. But he's a professional, he can do this. He's done it dozens of times before. But stripping Eskel out of his clothes is not the same as the alderman or the seamstress down the road. Geralt swallows hard and resigns himself to a not insignificant amount of embarrassment as he leans over to unbutton Eskel's shirt.

The buttons end halfway down his chest and thick dark hair appears where his shirt now sits open. Geralt pretends not to notice and reaches down to unbutton Eskel's trousers, making it as easy as possible to pull his shirt loose where it's still partially tucked in. He winces in sympathy as he pulls the shirt over his head, revealing red, splotchy skin on the better half of his chest and stomach. It only goes partway around his side, so Geralt isn't too worried about rolling him over, but he will have to check.

First, he gets Eskel's trousers undone all the way and tugs them down his thighs, shocked to find he's wearing nothing between them. He steadfastly ignores Eskel's cock where it rests against his hip and makes a mental note to find him something to wear if he's going to be here longer than the night. Which, judging by the state of him, he will be.

Once Eskel is fully nude, Geralt inspects the burns more closely and they're worse than he thought. But when he turns him over, they don't reach his back, which means lying in bed will still be comfortable enough. Geralt leaves him for a moment, returning with cold water to rinse the burns and a salve for the burns that will both help with the pain and start the healing process.

He starts with the water, soaking cloths and laying them over the damaged skin, replacing each when they begin to warm up. He keeps it up for close to half an hour until Eskel's skin is no longer hot to the touch and then, once he's dry, he starts with the salve.

Geralt fidgets when he can't get the lid off and eventually has to stop and collect himself before continuing. This time, he gets the lid off without trouble and begins applying the salve.

Eskel shifts in his sleep and it takes all of Geralt's strength not to reach out to settle him. He realizes belatedly that he'll need bandages for him and wants to immediately get up to collect some, but he knows he should finish this first. He's just antsy, struggling to sit still and keep from climbing up onto the bed with Eskel. He takes his time applying salve and once he's satisfied with his work, leaves to collect bandages.

Nearly Eskel's entire front has some sort of damage and Geralt winces as he wraps his wounds, starting with his legs and working his way up. When he's done, he sits at the side of the bed for a moment, barely resisting the urge to reach down and brush his fingers along Eskel's cheek. His face is pinched up, even in sleep and Geralt can only hope the salve will act quickly, helping to relieve some of the pain, if only temporarily.

While Eskel is sleeping, Geralt keeps himself occupied. He brews teas to help with the pain and ensures he has enough salve to re-bandage Eskel's wounds tomorrow. He makes sure he has enough food in the house and calls out for supplies he's missing. It's not often he has someone else in the house with him and he doesn't want to leave Eskel alone like this.

But once he's sure his supplies are in order and fresh salve and bandages are prepared for the morning, Geralt doesn't know what to do with himself. He tries to read, but he can't focus on the words and when he cleans, he finds himself sweeping the same bit of floor four times because his mind keeps going back to Eskel lying in his bed. Although that, at least, gives him something to keep him occupied for a little while.

Geralt pulls all his winter blankets and extra pillows from the cupboard, making himself up a bed on the floor next to his own bed. He doesn't want to be far from Eskel, but he doesn't want to risk hurting him by sharing the bed. Once that's seen to, he makes his own supper and extra for Eskel if he wakes before the morning, then goes out to collect his laundry from the morning's wash.

While he's out in the yard, three separate people stop him to ask about Eskel. Geralt tells them all the same thing; he's fine, but he needs to rest and he'll be in bed for at least a couple of days. He appreciates their concern and he knows Eskel would too, but he'd rather keep to himself right now. He's not the one injured, but he's still feeling rather raw and overwhelmed by the whole situation.

It's a well-kept secret that Geralt has always been fond of Eskel, more so maybe than is good for him. They both grew up together in town, playing in the woods and the creek as boys and later attending the same festivals with the other children their age. They had at some point been mistaken for brothers, only as Eskel got older, he got bulkier while Geralt remained thin but strong. As children, Geralt had had a crush on the other boy and like so many other things growing up, it had never entirely gone away.

He drops a shirt thinking about it and as he ducks down, spots a red tulip growing next to the fence. Appropriate, he thinks. Tulips mean passion, a declaration of love, and he can't help but pluck it from its spot and bring it inside with him. He puts his laundry away and takes the flower into the bedroom with him, intending to put it in a cup to brighten up the room a little, but when he sees Eskel again, he sighs and drops onto the stool.

As he looks over Eskel again, his modesty preserved by a blanket pulled up over his waist, he smiles sadly. Leaning over, he slips the flower into Eskel's hair, tucking it behind his ear and brushing the hair from his forehead.

Eskel is still asleep when night falls and Geralt doesn't want to wake him. He takes the extra food he prepared and sets it on the side table with a cup of water. If Eskel wakes in the middle of the night, they'll be there for him, even if it might be difficult for him to move.

Geralt then settles himself in his makeshift bed and shuts his eyes. Then opens them again, listening to the sound of Eskel's breath. He rolls onto his back and stares at the ceiling, pulls his blankets up tighter against his shoulders, rolls back onto his side. Nothing he does makes it easier to sleep. His mind races with thoughts of Eskel's suffering, hoping he won't wake until the morning and Geralt will be there to care for him. He thinks about him into the early hours of the morning and then, finally, falls asleep once he's made himself a plan for the morning.

When Geralt wakes, he can't have been asleep for more than a few hours. He pulls himself up off the floor, groaning at the way his joints creak and his muscles groan at him from sleeping on the hard floor. He'd be much happier to have slept on the sofa in the main room or on the bed, but he'd rather be closer to Eskel, though not close enough to risk hurting him.

He goes about his morning routine, cooking breakfast and disposing of the supper Eskel never ate. He puts it in a bucket for the pigs next door and proceeds to get something hot ready for Eskel in its place. He's glad, on one hand, that Eskel is still asleep, but on the other, he's worried that he's still asleep.

It's certainly not the tonic anymore, but he must have been exhausted, from his injuries or just because he works so damn hard. Geralt gets breakfast and a glass of water together and takes them into the room. He sits on the edge of the bed to prepare Eskel's salve and bandages and behind him, the bed shifts.

"Hey," Geralt whispers, turning to face a very frowny and somewhat confused Eskel. "Don't get up, you're hurt."

"I- Geralt?"

"You were brought to me yesterday afternoon, do you remember?"

"Mm, I remember falling in the coals and… yeah. Yeah, I remember coming here. You took care of me."

"It's my job," Geralt says simply, but he can feel the heat rise in his cheeks. It's not his job and they both know it.

"Coulda sent for a doctor."

"You needed immediate attention, I was happy to help. How are you feeling now?"

"Sore. Stiff. How bad is it?"

"Bad," Geralt says simply. He doesn't want to it and he knows Eskel doesn't want that either. "You'll need to rest a couple of days. You're… more than welcome to say here."

"Geralt, I couldn't-"

"You can, you will. I have more than enough space."

"Geralt-"

"I made breakfast," Geralt interrupts, "please, eat. There's water as well and I'll have to check your burns after you eat."

Eskel relents at the scent of food and Geralt is more than happy to have him eat it. He helps Eskel into a sitting position, propping pillows up against the frame of the bed to make him more comfortable. Eskel's right arm is better off than his left, so he's fully capable of eating on his own; Geralt could just leave him to it and give him a bit of privacy, but he can't bring himself to get up.

He keeps his hands to himself, even when Eskel fumbles the first couple of times because he's not sure how much Eskel would allow. He was still pretty out of it when he arrived yesterday, not that Geralt could blame him for that. He sits and waits and when Eskel is finished eating, he drinks the entirety of his water and settles back into bed.

"Sure you don't mind me staying?" Eskel asks.

"Of course not, stop worrying." Geralt gathers up the salve and bandages and sits on the edge of the bed. It's only when he pulls the blanket down to see Eskel's stomach that he remembers he's completely naked beneath the covers and he draws back.

"Do you-" Geralt lowers his eyes, "I could find you some clothes," he suggests, "I could bandage you up well enough if you wanted a pair of trousers."

"'S fine," Eskel mumbles, "wouldn't be the first time, anyway."

Geralt nearly chokes. He knows Eskel's only referring to the times they would swim in the river together as boys, but it feels very different when he's lying naked in Geralt's bed. He's not sure exactly how to go about it with tact, so Geralt just pulls the blankets away all at once and tucks them under themselves to the side. He carefully controls his line of sight as he moves to strip the bandages away.

Some of them have bled through, only a little, but it makes him nervous. He peels the bandages back and is relieved to find the wounds themselves don't look any worse than yesterday. He breathes a sigh of relief and Eskel snorts just faintly.

"I'm more resilient than you give me credit for," he mumbles. Geralt's instinct is to hit him gently, for being so careless about his own health, but he has no intention of proving himself a hypocrite. If Eskel is so blase about it, someone has to take care of him.

Once the bandages have all been removed, Geralt takes them away to be disposed of and finds a clean washcloth. He fills a basin with cool water and returns to the bed, setting the basin on the stool within arm's reach. Eskel has shifted so he's further down the bed now, easier for Geralt to reach, but his legs are spread just so that they draw his attention and Geralt has to try very hard not to look.

He chastises himself for it silently. Eskel is injured and the last thing he needs is his friend gawking at him because he's naked. Forcing the thoughts from his head, Geralt wets the cloth and wrings out the excess water.

Eskel shudders at the first touch of the cloth, winces as Geralt dabs it against the burn on his calf, but he doesn't complain even once. When Geralt is finished cleaning the wounds on his legs, he dampens the cloth again, wiping it along Eskel's unharmed skin. He gets a much better reaction to that.

"If you're too hot I can open the windows in here," Geralt offers. "It's stuffy anyway. In a couple of days, you should be healed well enough for a bath, I can fill it with cool water for you. I know it's hot in the summer."

Eskel just hums appreciatively and when Geralt pulls away to take the water and replace it, Eskel grabs his wrist.

"Thank you," he says, "truly, Geralt I know this is above and beyond your responsibilities. I know we haven't been as close as we used to be. So thank you."

"You don't have to thank me," Geralt mumbles, but he doesn't move, not until Eskel's hand slips away from his wrist. "I'll be right back with fresh water."

His cheeks are hot and he feels warmer than he should be so early in the morning, but his skin tingles where Eskel's fingers touched him and it doesn't take a genius to figure it out. So when he goes to collect fresh water, he splashes some of it on his face to cool down and to calm himself. Eskel is just a friend and he's doing him a favour because he's hurt and he can't do it himself. This isn't anything more than that.

He takes the water back and finishes cleaning Eskel's wounds as quickly as possible. To fill the time and keep his mind occupied, he asks about Eskel's work. He's always been fascinated by smithing, everything from the tiny little hinges that he makes for chests up to the frames that are used to build carts. On occasion, Eskel has tried his hand at swordsmithing and he was damned good at it from what Geralt heard. They'd offered him a position in the king's employ, but Eskel had wanted to remain in town, live a simpler life. Geralt, at least, was glad for that.

When Eskel is clean and dry again, Geralt helps him to his feet and finds him a robe to wrap around his shoulders. It's loose but soft and shouldn't hurt when it brushes against the burns. Not at least, as much as any other clothing Geralt could offer him. Eskel walks around a little awkwardly and pauses when he turns back to the bed. He bends a little awkwardly and picks up a crushed tulip from the pillow covering.

"Must have fallen into the bed," he mumbles, turning back to Geralt. "I must have crushed it in my sleep, I'm sorry." He says it with such sincerity that Geralt doesn't have the heart to tell him it was never not in the bed.

"It's fine," he says simply, his heart hammering in his chest. "There are plenty in the garden." Eskel offers him a smile and sets the broken flower back down on the side table.

"I have to water outside," Geralt says, "the sun won't be good for your burns, but I won't be long. Make yourself at home."

He leaves before Eskel can respond because he's still trying to figure out what possessed him to put a flower in Eskel's hair last night. It was silly and pointless and he could have gotten caught and then maybe Eskel would ask to go home. And Geralt likes being able to provide something for him, even if he doesn't like the circumstances surrounding it.

He takes his time out in the garden, both enjoying the sun and fresh air and giving Eskel some time to himself, even if only a few minutes. When he goes back in, Eskel's sitting on the edge of his bed, just watching out the window.

"In a couple of days, your skin should be healed enough to go back out in the sun," Geralt offers. Eskel hums but doesn't say anything and Geralt is surprised to find he doesn't seem particularly sad as he would have expected.

"Do you want to lie down again? I'll put more salve on your burns."

Eskel nods and shrugs carefully out of the robe, hanging it over the end of the bed before lying down obediently. He lies with his legs spread, just wide enough for Geralt to be able to reach between to wrap the bandage around and he should be thankful that he doesn't have to ask, but all he can think about is crawling between those thighs.

He realizes he has bigger problems when he pulls the little box of salve out. He has to get right up close between Eskel's legs to ensure he reaches the extent of the injuries and that means being very close to his cock. Last night Eskel was asleep so it didn't matter and this morning, Geralt was able to avoid touching too closely, but there's no getting out of it now.

But Geralt reminds himself that he's a professional and that Eskel needs this to get better, so he takes a deep breath and gets to work. Eskel's skin is soft beneath his hands, surprisingly so, and Geralt finds his hands wandering. He spreads salve on the wounds, still struggling not to pull back when Eskel winces. And maybe it's as an apology, that he runs his hand under his calf just gently.

But when Eskel sighs happily - the first pleasant sound Geralt's heard out of him - and settles against the bed, it's all the encouragement he needs. Gerlt doesn't let himself get sidetracked from his job, but he drags his fingers along Eskel's unblemished skin, soothing even as he continues to tend to his wounds. Maybe he gets a little carried away, captivated by the smoothness of Eskel's skin under his hands, but Eskel doesn't seem to mind, so Geralt doesn't think anything of it.

Until he moves up to the burns on Eskel's thighs and finds him… hard. Something hot and insistent swirls in Geralt's gut, but he adamantly tamps it down, refuses to acknowledge it. He smooths his palm up the outside of Eskel's thigh, brushing his thumb against his skin before reaching for the salve again. At the first press of the cream to his skin, Eskel's cock twitches, although Geralt tries very hard not to notice it.

"Sorry," Eskel mumbles, a breath of a moan in his voice, "your hands are soft, feels nice."

"It's fine," Geralt whispers, "I shouldn't have." And although he wants to continue touching, he returns to his work but keeps his hands to himself.

When he's finished, he slides off the bed. His heart is still beating too quickly and his own trousers are a little too snug, but he ignores it and pointedly keeps his gaze on Eskel's face.

"I have to go out," he says, "I have a friend who's a mage at the edge of town, I need to get something from her, it'll help."

"The edge of the village?" Eskel asks, "that's pretty far."

"I'll be back before nightfall," Geralt promises.

It's not really that far, Geralt thinks as he leaves the house, it's only half an hour each way - barely anything in comparison to how far he has to travel for some of the herbs he can't grow at home.

The trip, which should take less than two hours, winds up taking three. It's not uncommon that Geralt and Mara get caught up talking about new remedies or new ways to mix herbs, but it just so happens that she has been developing a potent burn remedy. And while Geralt is always interested in new potions - especially those above his own ability - but something that can help Eskel is even more intriguing.

Geralt leaves with a basket of foreign herbs, two bottles of the burn remedy, and a warning that the latter is potent and need only be given in small doses. Geralt makes a mental note of that and hurries back home, having already delayed longer than he should.

When he arrives home, Eskel is in the kitchen and Geralt frowns at him for being out of bed until he realizes there's a simple supper waiting for him on the table. He still wants to chastise Eskel for not taking care of himself properly, but his heart clenches at the thought of him getting up and preparing food for him and there's something about Eskel wearing his robe that scrambles his brain. He settles for a gentle you should be in bedwith me."

"Oh."

He's not sure what to say to that. Geralt doesn't remember the last time he shared a bed with anyone for anything other than sex and even then, that was too long ago to be worth remembering.

"I don't want to hurt you," he says because it's easier than admitting he's nervous about sharing a bed because of his feelings for the other man.

"You won't, please Geralt I hate to think of you sleeping down there on the floor."

"Only if you're sure," Geralt says, against his better judgement.

"Completely. Get up here."

Geralt relents and stumbles over to the bed in the dark, climbing up over the end of the bed and keeping close to the wall so he doesn't jostle Eskel. He lays flat on his back, arms crossed over his stomach and focuses very hard on not breathing too loudly or too quickly. But Eskel shuffles over, presses right up against his side and hums.

"'S warmer with you here," he says and Geralt feels awful. He should have asked if he was warm enough.

"If you're cold, I can get more blankets- I didn't think-"

"Hush," Eskel chuckles, "I'm fine. It's always nicer to have someone else in your bed."

Geralt can feel the flush creep all the way up his neck and into his cheeks, but he doesn't dare say anything. It is, he decides, nicer having someone else in your bed, but these are not the circumstances under which he would choose to share a bed. But the heat from Eskel's arm against his own spreads through him and he lets himself relax into the mattress, more focused on Eskel's body next to him than the quickness of his own breath.

When Geralt wakes, it's with his nose pressed into Eskel's neck and a heavy arm around his shoulder. For a moment he's blissfully unaware that he's actually away, happy to remain in his dreamlike state. But when Eskel moves his arm, he seethes with pain and everything comes back to Geralt very abruptly.

He slips out from under Eskel's arms, apologizing profusely, barely aware of Eskel's constant answering stream of reassurances. It's not until they're fully disentangled and Geralt is climbing back out of bed that he remembers Eskel is naked.

It takes everything in him not to run away, but Eskel needs him, so he stays. He's so flustered he almost forgets about the burn remedy, what with bandaging Eskel's wounds and cleaning them again. But he does remember and Eskel swallows it with a grimace.

"Unpleasant?" Geralt asks.

"Disgusting."

"I'm sorry. You should only need to take it a couple of times. It will help you heal faster and I should have you home within the week."

It's only the second day, but as he says the words, Geralt feels a certain sadness to be sending Eskel off home already. He likes having him around and will be disappointed the first morning he wakes and doesn't have someone to care for. But he's glad Eskel is getting better, or will be.

The morning passes quickly, but there's a lingering embarrassment that follows him into the afternoon and early evening. Geralt has been trying to focus on his work - just because Eskel is injured and in his house doesn't mean he's allowed to fall behind on his other orders - but it's hard.

It's summer, so it's hot and Eskel is always shoving the blankets down during the day, pushing them off his chest so they settle just below his hips and Geralt is having a very hard time keeping his eyes to himself. But every time he glances over, Eskel is stretching or smiling back at him and it's very hard to concentrate on even the most basic remedies when he's under Eskel's gaze.

By the time they're ready for bed, Geralt has gotten a little work done and has settled enough that when Eskel calls him over to bed, he doesn't complain. He crawls up under the covers, making sure to stay on his own side, this time.

This time, when the morning comes, Geralt is still on his own side of the bed and he manages to slip out before Eskel wakes. He slips out of the room to collect water for a bath, splashing some of it on his face to wake him up, and by the time Eskel wakes up, Geralt has the bath mostly ready for him.

He takes care in unwrapping the bandages on his chest and wiping away the excess salve from the wounds but already they're starting to look better. Geralt can't be sure if it's his own work or the burn remedy from Mara, but he's happy to see Eskel moving around more comfortably. Still, Geralt is careful with him.

He pulls the sheets down carefully and nearly chokes when he realizes Eskel is half-hard. Feels nice. The words echo in his mind and Geralt forcefully shoves them away along with the stirring heat in his gut. He shouldn't be thinking things like this about Eskel, he certainly shouldn't be thinking about them when Eskel is hurt. So he helps him out of bed and wraps an arm around his waist, pointedly ignoring the way Eskel's cock bounces when he stands up, and helps him get into the bath.

The cold water, Geralt thinks, should ease his arousal, but it doesn't.

Eskel settles in the bath with a hum, stretching his arms up to rest on the edges of the tub. For the most part, Geralt uses his hands to wash him, scooping clean water onto his skin and rubbing gently with his fingertips. He has a special soap he's used before for greater wounds and it doesn't seem to sting Eskel at all, but he's still careful with it, rubbing it onto his hands to apply it, just in case.

And Eskel hums under his touch, head dropped back over the edge of the tub, eyes closed. He's enjoying this, Geralt realizes, which is... probably a good thing. It's better than him being in pain, anyway. But as Geralt's hands slip lower, he becomes increasingly aware of Eskel's erection and he knows he shouldn't even think about it, but his fingers twitch against Eskel's skin, eager to touch and stroke.

He restrains himself, but only barely and when Eskel's hips shift to get comfortable, Geralt nearly forgets himself. And when he gets to his thighs, slipping between them to ensure the last of the salve is washed away, Eskel lets out a soft, shuddering moan. Geralt grits his teeth against it and continues, despite his own growing arousal. He barely survives the bath, and he has to keep behind Eskel as he helps him back out of it and wraps him in a sheet because there's no way Eskel won't realize just how it's affected him otherwise.

Eskel gets settled on the bed as soon as he's dry enough, lying with the sheet around him, but not covering him. His cock sits heavy against his hip and Geralt curses himself for how much he focuses on it. Yes, it's been a long time since he's been with someone, but Eskel needs him to help him, he doesn't need Geralt lusting over him while he's barely in good enough condition to get up and walk around on his own. He shuts his eyes, takes a deep breath, and gets to work.

But Eskel is tense under his hands this morning, and while he does his best to be soothing, nothing seems to work. Geralt has apologized three times before he realizes what the problem is and then he feels like an idiot because it's been staring him in the face this whole time.

"Are you alright?" he asks, "it's starting to look uncomfortable." He gestures vaguely toward Eskel's cock where it's swollen and twitching against his hip.

"'S fine. My caretaker would just be upset with me if I tried to do anything about it, anyway. Gotta relax, can't be overworking myself." He chuckles lightly and Geralt would swear he catches a wink as he scoffs at him.

"Sure?"

"Geralt, it's not the first time, you're just-" he takes a slow, measured breath as if to emphasize his point, "-very good with your hands."

Geralt wants to say that he has to be, that it's part of his job, but he doesn't trust his voice, so he takes Eskel's reassurance for what it is. But he's barely put his hands on him again before Eskel is pulling in shuddering breaths and moaning softly as Geralt's palm slides up the inside of his thigh. It's distracting to say the last and Geralt's own cock stirs in his trousers. He doesn't think it through very long before offering to help.

"I could… take care of it for you," he offers quietly, "so you don't overwork yourself. I don't want you to be uncomfortable."

"Yeah?" Eskel asks and Geralt finds himself nodding, far more enthusiastic about touching Eskel's cock than he should be. "As long as you don't mind."

Geralt barely resists licking his lips as he glances at Eskel's cock and assures him that he doesn't mind at all. It's part of his healing, after all.

He slips off the bed to retrieve a bottle of oil and then comes back to sit on Eskel's other side. He slicks his hand up and tries not to think too much about what he's doing. The first touch has Eskel shuddering though and it's increasingly difficult for Geralt to keep his own body under control.

He winds his fingers around him and they don't quite touch. Eskel seems oblivious to his internal struggle and Geralt reminds himself this is not for him. As much as he wants this, it's for Eskel. So he gets to work quickly, wrapping around the base of him and stroking up to the head. To start, he's slow, almost clinical about it, as he would be if he needed to force an erection to examine a patient. But he doesn't have to force anything with Eskel, and before long his hips are shifting, pushing into the touch and Geralt speeds up.

He lets his thumb rub over the head of Eskel's cock, watches the way it pushes through the tunnel of his fist and he barely holds back a groan himself. He wants this to be more. He wants to be able to straddle his hips and kiss him while he touches him, to be able to slip his fingers down and find out if Eskel is amenable to being touched elsewhere. The thoughts bounce around in his head and it makes it hard for him to just keep his hand on his dick. Especially when he rubs under the head and Eskel lets out a low moan, pushing into the touch.

Geralt would do anything to hear that sound again, even if it means embarrassing himself when he's the one who comes out of this with an erection. He gets one hand on Eskel's hip - to steady him, he tells himself - and brushes his thumb against the skin. Eskel makes soft little noises under him and Geralt starts to pick up on what he likes.

Firstly, he likes to be squeezed hard, Geralt almost pulls a whimper out of him when he clenches his fist around the base and pulls all the way up, keeping pressure around him. And when he plays with the head, running the pad of his thumb along the slit and just beneath. But when he goes quickly, jerking only the top couple of inches, Eskel writhes in the sheets. And Geralt knows he shouldn't let him. It's not bad for his burns, most of which being on his front, but it's not good either. Though the sight is something Geralt will remember until the day he dies.

He licks his lips, biting down on the bottom one, and stops abruptly, squeezing the head in his hand. Eskel swallows hard and rolls his head back.

"Geralt," he groans, "fuck, that's good." Geralt doesn't dare respond. His own cock is aching beneath him and his throat is dry. "'m close."

At that, Geralt groans aloud and one big hand comes down to settle on his shoulder. He works him quicker, pushing him closer to that edge and then realizes with a jolt that Eskel is going to come all over himself and he doesn't know what to do about that. In a moment of panic, he ducks down, taking the head of his cock in his mouth.

Eskel bucks and whines and then both hands are in his hair, tugging as he winds his fingers through it.

"Oh fuck- Geralt, yes." The words encourage him and Geralt takes him deeper, pushing as far as he can take it as Eskel mumbles above him. Somewhere amongst the slurry or words, he imagines he hears wanna touch you, but passes it off as a figment of his imagination prompted by how badly he wants to touch himself.

He shifts his position so his cock presses against the bed with every forward thrust and he's pushing his luck because he could easily come like this, even though he's holding himself back. He winds his tongue around Eskel's cock before dragging it up the underside and pressing into the sensitive spot below the head. Eskel groans above him, pressing Geralt's head down lightly and Geralt is more than happy to let him take control. If he lets Eskel call the shots, he can't be held accountable. He's helping out a friend in need, is all.

His own cock jerks under him and he rocks his hips into the bed with a groan, but Eskels thrusts pick up, quicker and harder than before, effectively distracting Geralt from his own need. Eskel moans his name as he comes and it's like a bolt of lightning through Geralt's entire body as he tries to keep his mouth on him. He swallows everything down, pulling up to suck at the head to be sure.

Eskel's eyelids flutter shut and he slumps back against the bed, breathing hard. His hands remain in Geralt's hair for a moment, tangling gently before Geralt rises up and he lets go.

"I-" Geralt starts, but then Eskel's eyes open and he's reaching for him. Geralt shakes his head and pulls away. "You don't need to. I'm fine. I.. have to go get the bandages, I'll be right back."

He barely manages to get out of the room before cursing silently. He leans against the wall, hands clenched at his sides. This was a stupid idea. He should have known he couldn't get out without being affected by it himself. Geralt shuts his eyes and focuses on anything else, walks himself through the remainder of Eskel's care for the afternoon, and once the heat searing through him fades a little, he goes to collect the bandages and returns to the bedroom.

Eskel just looks up at him as he approaches, still slightly foggy from his orgasm and when he smiles Geralt sighs and plops down a little too hard on the end of the bed.

"I'm sorry," Eskel says, "I didn't mean to push, you just- I thought you'd want me to reciprocate."

"You're injured," Geralt says, "and I couldn't ask that of you." He turns away, grabbing the salve from the shelf. Neither of them says anything else as Geralt returns to cleaning his wounds properly.

When he's finished, he's still wondering if he didn't make a mistake and Eskel is right on the edge of falling asleep, so he leaves him alone in the room and sets himself to work for a little while. It's not until well past noon that he realizes he hasn't been out in the garden at all today.

He heads out and tends to the plants, but he can't keep his thoughts from Eskel, from the way he moved under his hands and the way he moaned his name. He doesn't know how he's going to continue on with Eskel in his house after this.

But the following morning when he checks his wounds, everything goes smoothly and some of the smaller burns have already started healing around the edges. Geralt makes a mental note to talk to his Mara and ask about the recipe because it seems to be working wonders. Once Eskel is bandaged up again, Geralt finds him some clothes to wear and Eskel accompanies him out into the garden.

His skin is still sensitive, so Geralt finds a spot in the shade and lays out a blanket for him to sit on while he goes about tending to the garden. Eskel chats quietly to him, petting the neighbour's cat when it comes to see what's happening, and it all feels disturbingly domestic and Gerlt isn't quite sure what to do with that thought.

He continues on with his work, poking at the edges of a fantasy where Eskel comes home to him every night and Geralt continues to care for him. He lets himself get carried away with it, scoping out the best place in the garden to build a pen for the goat; she's well-behaved (most of the time) but not enough to be allowed free reign in his garden. She's already cost Eskel days of work, she doesn't need to cause problems for Geralt's business as well.

But there's a section in the backyard that he keeps for fall plants and they could be moved to the front yard easily enough if he brought some of the herbs inside to grow in his-

He's abruptly pulled from his thoughts by a hand on his shoulder and he spins around to see Eskel standing behind him, smiling at him.

"Sorry," he says quietly, "didn't mean to startle you, you seemed very caught up in your thoughts."

"Mm," Geralt agrees, "just thinking about reorganizing the garden, bringing some of the herbs inside."

"I could help," Eskel offers and Geralt huffs a soft laugh, ignoring the heat creeping up the back of his neck.

"I don't think I'll have to, it was just a thought. How are you feeling?" he asks, quickly changing the topic before Eskel can add anything more.

"Better. I got up to walk around a little and I found these growing just down the road. To replace the one I crushed."

"That was for you," Geralt says weakly.

"Oh. I thought," he says a little bashfully, "they'd look nice in your hair." Eskel holds up the white flower, reaching up to slip it behind Geralt's ear. But Geralt jerks away unintentionally when he sees the flower.

"What's wrong?" Eskel asks, withdrawing.

"Nothing, it's just those - Gardenia - it means secret love."

Eskel's cheeks darken just slightly and Geral's heart does a little flip-flop at the sight. It's a very good look on him.

"Keep it anyway," Eskel says, reaching back up again. He pushes Geralt's hair back and tucks the flower behind his ear, smiling at his work. "Maybe you could tell me more about them so next time I can find you something more… appropriate."

Geralt's heart sinks a little but Eskel is still smiling so softly at him and the thought of telling him about his plants is exciting, so he pushes the bad feeling away and smiles in return. They spend the next hour going back through the whole garden while Eskel listens patiently to Geralt's explanation of the plants - what their meaning is, what they're used for.

Eskel listens and takes in everything Geralt tells him and Geralt has never loved him more than he does right now, standing out in the middle of his garden explaining how to make a potion to cure headaches.

By the time dinner rolls around, Eskel is getting sore again, so he heads inside while Geralt finishes up with the garden. He heads in when he's finished to find potatoes and carrots already cut for stew and Eskel sitting at the table in the corner waiting for him. He stays while Geralt makes dinner, talks to him while he cooks and Geralt wants to keep him forever, but he also wants him to leave because he knows he can't keep him.

Tonight, when they ready themselves for bed, Geralt doesn't hesitate to climb in next to Eskel, basking in the warmth that radiates off of him. He remembers nights when they were boys, camping out under the sky and pretending to be adventurers, knights. They would curl up together when it got too cold and he wishes he hadn't taken those times for granted. He'd give anything now to be able to cuddle up close to him and breathe in the comforting, still-familiar scent of him.

He lays quiet for a while in the dark, listening to every little hitch in Eske's breath, every groan when he moves wrong. He wants to reach out to him, to comfort him in any way he can, but without knowing how much would be welcome, he decides against it altogether.

But at some point during the night, Eskel shifts in his sleep, turning to lie on his side and Geralt wakes up with his head tucked under Eskel's chin and strong arms holding him. He wakes before the sunrise, letting himself enjoy the comfort of Eskel's body against his own, but as the sun streams in through the window, he disentangles himself and heads into the kitchen to make breakfast.

Without even checking, he knows Eskel's burns are healing quickly. He knows today will probably be the last he wakes up with Eskel in his bed and his heart is heavy as he prepares food for them. He tries not to think of their upcoming parting, knows that Eskel lives just down the road and they will still see each other, but Geralt will still miss him.

It's only been a few days, but he's been happy with Eskel here, even if he's spent most of the time trying to distance himself from him. He takes the food into the bedroom where Eskel is just sitting up and they eat quietly, but he can feel how badly Eskel wants to say something. Likely, he wants to know what's wrong and Geralt will inevitably lie about it, make up something about the house being too quiet without him around. But it doesn't matter what he says, because there's still a chance that Eskel's burns need treatment and if they do, he'll be staying a little longer.

Geralt doesn't hope for it, but he wouldn't be disappointed by it either.

He is disappointed upon unravelling Eskel's bandages, to find that most of the small buns have diminished to marks on the skin and when he touches them, Eskel confirms there's no pain. The worst of them are still red and uncomfortable, but they no longer inhibit his movement and Geralt barely holds back a sigh at the realization that Eskel is perfectly well enough to go home. And if that's the case, he'd rather do it sooner than later.

"You'll be happy to know they're healing quickly," Geralt says, rebandaging only the worst of the burns. "The remedy I got from the mage had worked wonders, but there's still some discolouration." The scars are lighter than Eskel's tanned skin, but Eskel just shrugs it off as he looks down at himself.

"I've got dozens of scars, a few more won't hurt."

"Suppose not," Geralt hums, tying off the last bandage around Eskel's thigh. He lets his hand slip, running down his inner thigh to rest on his knee. "They're healed well enough now that you'll be able to go home today."

He doesn't want Eskel to leave, not at all, but there doesn't seem to be much of a choice. Because Eskel no longer needs him, so there's no good reason for him to stay. Geralt sighs as he pulls away, but if Eskel notices, he doesn't mention it. Eskel watches him and Geralt almost thinks he looks disappointed (his own feelings getting away with him, he tells himself) but before he has a chance to do anything about it there's a knock at the door.

Geralt gets up to answer it, offering Eskel a half-smile as he goes. He doesn't want to seem down, but he's not looking forward to being alone in his little hut again, especially not after sharing a bed with Eskel for the last few nights. But when he opens the door, it seems Eskel will certainly be leaving him.

John, the farmer and Eskel's closest neighbour, is standing in front of him with a goat in his arms and she's squirming and bleating loudly. Geralt's surprised he didn't hear it before.

"Please tell me he's in good enough shape to come home," John says and gives Geralt a pleading look. "I don't mind looking after the goat, it's just she's… well, she's a demon to put it frankly."

Geralt opens his mouth to reply, but there's a huff of a laugh from behind him and he turns to find Eskel coming up behind him, pulling a shirt over his head. The goat squirms so hard John has to put her down and he's barely bent over before she's leaping from his arms and trotting over to Eskel, still shrieking loudly.

"Sorry," Eskel smiles, "she's attached." He bends down, running a hand along her back and sighs. "Guess that means we're heading home then, hm? Thank you, John," he adds lifting his head again. "I'll bring her home."

"I'll be heading home then," John says and once he's gone, Geralt shuts the door and turns to look at the goat, now happily lying on the floor and nibbling at one of his rugs.

Eskel is gone, but he returns a moment later with his boots, mostly unharmed by the accident.

"Well, I guess this is it. You can have your house back," Eskel smiles but the expression doesn't quite reach his eyes and Geralt desperately wants to tell him he doesn't want his house back. He wants to tell him he'll make space for the goat and he'll find somewhere for Eskel to sleep if he doesn't want to continue sharing and he-

"Thank you, Geralt, for everything. And don't tell me you'd do it for anyone, because we both know that's not true." He reaches out, resting a hand on Geralt's shoulder and his thumb just brushes against Geralt's neck. "I'll see you."

And just like that, Eskel is gone, heading out the door and back to his own home. Realistically, he just lives down the road, but he's never felt so far away and Geralt isn't quite sure what to do with himself. It's only been a few days but he's grown used to having Eskel around and he's not sure what he's going to do now without him.

He could go after him, tell him he doesn't want him to go, but what if Eskel does want to go home? What if all the little things Geralt has thought were hesitation were really something else? He doesn't want to risk his friendship with Eskel on a guess, so he lets him go and resigns himself to his chores.

The day passes slowly, but it's fine until Geralt turns in to go to bed. The room is still set up to care for someone and Geralt quickly makes the decision to tidy up before bed; it's one thing to come to bed missing someone, but it's a whole other to start your day that way. But clearing away the medicines and bandages doesn't help, because when he crawls into bed it smells like Eskel and Geralt can't help but press his face into the pillow, inhaling deeply.

He's not sure how it happened, or even when it happened, that his friendship with Eskel shifted into something more, something greedy and wanting, but he's never felt this way about anyone else. A part of him wishes it was anyone but Eskel.

For two days, Geralt's life returns to normal, for the most part. He's plagued by thoughts of Eskel and the memory of him in his bed, of his scent and his smile. But he gets through as he always has, reminding himself that it's better to have Eskel as a friend than not at all.

Then, on the third evening, since Eskel left, Geralt is in the kitchen boiling water for a tonic for the boy down the road when there's a knock on the door. Geralt sets the pot aside and pushes the grate up to keep the sparks in and crosses to the door wondering who could possibly want him so late. Another emergency, he supposes.

He's preparing himself for another sick child or an accident on the farm, but when he opens the door, Eskel is standing in front of him, a bouquet of flowers clutched in one hand. He smiles sheepishly and Geralt forgets for a second that he's supposed to greet visitors because he looks so shy.

"Eskel," he says and the confusion in his voice prompts a soft laugh from the other man.

"Can I come in?"

"Oh-" Geralt steps out of the way, eyeing the bouquet as Eskel slips past him.

To anyone unlearned in the meaning of flowers, it looks a little like a jumbled mess, but Geralt can tell there's a theme. Longing. Love. Hope. He knows the meanings of each one of those flowers and realizes with a start that it's a floral confession of love. His heart clenches to wonder who Eskel means to confess to, but he suspects he wants Geralt's help with the flowers and Geralt only wants the best for him.

Eskel shuts the door behind him and holds the bouquet in front of him, looking down at it as if ensuring it's good enough. Geralt is about to tell him it is, that the flowers are a little aesthetically jumbled, but that their meaning is clear when Eskel holds it up to him.

"I'm not very good with words," he says, reaching back to rub the back of his neck, "and you're not very good at picking up on things, but I thought this might be a little clearer."

"Eskel-?"

"I got the idea when you were telling me about your garden and I have a friend who knows about flowers. She helped me pick the right ones because I wanted it to be perfect."

Everything clicks into place at once and Geralt realizes he's been holding his breath. Slowly, he lets it out and considers very carefully what he wants to say before mumbling, "they're for me?"

Eskel nods and Geralt leans in, kissing him without thinking. He pulls back as soon as he realizes what he's done, but Eskel's already got a hand on his waist and he draws him back again, kissing him softly but firmly. Geralt shifts against him, giving in with a soft sigh and wrapping his arms around Eskel's neck. Gently, Eskel lays the flowers down on the table and puts his other hand on Geralt's waist, holding him against him as he kisses him.

It's soft, softer than anyone has ever kissed him before, but there's an urgency behind it, a desperation that speaks of years of longing. Eskel's hands slip up under his shirt and Geralt hums against his lips, parting his own to deepen the kiss as Eskel pulls him closer. For a few, glorious moments, Geralt knows nothing but Eskel's mouth against his own, his hands on his skin, and when they break apart, he finds it hard to breathe.

"I should see how you're healing," Geralt breathes and Eskel grins at him, tipping forward to press a brief kiss to his lips.

"Mm, of course," he agrees, tugging his shirt out of his trousers and pulling it up over his head. It falls to the floor unneeded and Eskel gets his hands back on Geralt's waist, guiding him back toward the bedroom, the implications of which are too much for him to think about right now.

Eskel sits himself down on the bed and Geralt crosses to stand between his knees, looking down at him. He runs his fingers over the discoloured skin, now nearly completely healed, and makes a note to ask Mara about her potion. But Eskel grows impatient with him quickly and in only a few minutes, Geralt finds himself tugged down into Eskel's lap.

"'M fine," he says softly, "thanks to you." He kisses Geralt's cheek, his jaw, his neck.

"Not me," Geralt hums, tipping his head back to give Eskel better access to his neck. "Mara made the potion."

"Mmm, but you got it for me. You cared for me. You loved me." Geralt starts at that, pulling back to look at Eskel. Almost immediately there's a hand on his cheek, rough but gentle. "Hey," Eskel whispers, "I love you, too. Have for a long time."

"I love you," Geralt breathes and the words feel foreign on his tongue, like somebody else is using his voice. He never expected to say those words out loud, much less to have Eskel smiling back at him.

Eskel kisses him again, soft and slow, and Geralt lets himself melt into it. He slips forward, straddling his lap and smiling against his mouth. Abruptly, he's hauled up and Eskel readjusts them so he can lie back against the pillows, pulling Geralt down on top of him.

It doesn't strike him until Eskel's hands are working their way under his shirt again, that he's allowed to touch, that Eskel wants him to, if past experiences are anything to judge by. He breaks the kiss, nosing at Eskel's neck before kissing down to his collarbone. He traces his fingertips along the edges of Eskel's scars, kissing the paler skin with reverence. Geralt pours all of his love into the soft kisses, everything he's wanted to say for years and felt he was unable and as Eskel's hands slip into his hair, he hums softly against the skin.

Eskel moans softly under him, pressing up into each kiss and winding his fingers between Geralt's against his hip. He holds him close even as Geralt dips lower, following the burn marks down to Eskel's stomach and the waistband of his trousers. He only detangles their fingers to get Eskel's trousers undone and once they're off and out of the way, Eskel reaches for him again. Geralt gives a little squeeze of his hand, a reassurance mostly meant for himself as he shifts down the bed and settles himself between Eskel's thighs.

He slides his free arm around Eskel's thigh, tipping his face to kiss along the line of the burn. His left leg is better off than his right, but Geralt picks out every little mark, kissing them individually as he makes his way down. Above him, Eskel groans and Geralt can feel his arousal in every little shift of his hips, of his legs, in the way his fingers clench around his own. There's a peace that washes over him knowing that this is what Eskel wants too; out of all the people he's met in his life, Geralt is the one he wants and it feels something like relief.

Geralt continues, diverting from his task to kiss Eskel's thighs, nipping at the soft skin and running his tongue over it. Eskel moans softly, spreading his legs and then he's reaching down, tugging Geralt's shirt up over his head. Eskel's fingers brush along his shoulders and the side of his neck, soft and tentative, and he lets Geralt linger for a while longer before hauling him up so they're chest-to-chest.

He kisses him again, harder this time and as Geralt shifts to get comfortable, he can feel the hard line of Eskel's cock against his stomach. His own cock twitches in his trousers.

"Gods," Eskel whispers, running his thumb over Geralt's lip, "you have no idea how badly I want you, how tempting it was with you sleeping right beside me." He rests his hands on Geralt's hips, slipping down over the swell of his ass and guides his hips forward, rocking up against him.

"Tell me," Geralt mumbles, "what you wanted."

"Mm," Eskel hums, "you looked so soft and sweet next to me, I just wanted to touch you, to get you hard. I wanted to roll you onto your side and slip up behind you. I'd take such good care of you, fuck you so well, sweetheart."

"Please," Geralt whispers, but he's breathless and the word comes out broken. Eskel doesn't need to be asked twice.

He rolls them over, shifting onto his knees over Geralt to fumble with the ties of Geralt's trousers before shoving a hand inside and wrapping around his cock. Geralt's already half-hard but it doesn't take much to bring him to full hardness with Eskel's mouth hot and demanding against his own and a strong, calloused hand stroking him.

Eskel nips at his lips and Geralt shifts, pressing his hips up and pushing between Eskel's fingers. He rolls his hips and fucks into Eskel's hand, moaning against his lips as Eskel's fingers slip lower on his prick until he's wrapped around the base of him and tracing the vein on the underside with his thumb. When he finally slips up again, he rings his fingers just beneath the head of Geralt's cock, squeezing tightly around him.

He lets Geralt fuck his fingers and Geralt wraps his arms around his neck, happy enough to have Eskel's hands on him. But it gets too restrictive, his trousers are in the way and he wants to spread his legs, to fuck up properly. Eskel seems to notice and he pulls off of Geralt's cock to rid him of them.

As soon as Geralt's fully naked, Eskel presses in close right up against his side. He traces his fingertips down the length of Geralt's cock, his lips hovering just above Geralt's and then, as Eskel's fingers slip down to cup his balls, Geralt groans and Eskel smiles.

"Mm, good?" he asks and Geralt nods, whining softly as Eskel's fingertips press into the sensitive flesh. He rocks into the touch and Eskel's lips drag across his jaw and up to his ear, nibbling at the lobe and nosing behind it.

"You're so beautiful," Eskel whispers, "I love you." He kisses behind his ear, moving down Geralt's neck to nibble at his shoulder. "I want to make you feel good."

Geralt shuts his eyes as Eskel's mouth finds his own again and then Eskel's fingers are slipping down, pressing back behind his balls and teasing at his hole. He shudders and Eskel's free arms lips under his neck, wrapping around so his fingers brush across his jaw.

"Okay?" he asks and Geralt nods, sliding a hand into his hair.

"Please, Eskel, I-"

"Shh," he whispers, "I know love, I've got you."

He presses further and Geralt opens to him, spreading his legs and shifting to give Eskel better access. He wants him, wants this and it still doesn't feel real that he's allowed to have it. But Eskel is soft against him, even his fingers, calloused and rough feel gentle on his face and Geralt tips his head to the side, kissing his fingertips.

Eskel holds him, rubs over his hole, whispering against Geralt's ear. He's only half listening, but it doesn't matter what he's saying because it's Eskel. Geralt just likes the sound of his voice, regardless of the words, so deep and rough yet somehow still soft. He shuts his eyes and focuses on Eskel's voice, on his hands, moaning and pressing back onto Eskel's fingers.

"Eskel," he breathes, "please, I want you."

"I know. Where's the oil?"

Geralt groans. The oil is back where it belongs, tucked away in his cabinet in the other room and Geralt regrets ever putting it away. Reluctantly, he pulls out of Eskel's arms and climbs off the bed. Eskel hums appreciatively as he crosses the room and Geralt smiles to himself. He can feel eyes on him all the way out of the room and even as he ducks into the kitchen, careful to avoid the windows.

When he turns back, oil in hand, Eskel is leaning up on one elbow, watching him with a soft smile on his face.

"What?" Geralt asks.

"You're so beautiful, do you know that? You were always the best looking of us but you really got pretty."

"Shut up," Geralt mumbles, but when he reaches the edge of the bed, Eskel reaches up around the back of his neck and tugs him into a brief kiss.

"'M serious. You're so fucking gorgeous, Geralt." He kisses him again, tugging him closer and Geralt climbs onto the bed, deepening the kiss as Eskel moans softly against him. This time, Geralt ignores his words, despite the heat that spreads through his chest, kissing him deeply instead.

Eskel rearranges them with ease, maneuvering Geralt onto his back again and pressing up against his side. Immediately, he reaches down, stroking him slowly without breaking the kiss. He takes the bottle of oil from Geralt and pops the cork, spilling it over his fingers. He wraps around Geralt's cock, stroking right up to the head and rubbing his thumb beneath the head before slipping back down again.

Geralt moans as Eskel's fingers slip down between his legs, pressing back against his hole. He's less patient this time, pressing against him and pushing inside just a little before withdrawing. Eskel's fingers are thick and stretch with every press and Geralt drops his head back against his chest with a groan.

"You okay?" Eskel asks and Geralt nods.

"'S good."

"Good," Eskel leans in, lips brushing against his earlobe as he whispers, "I want you to come on my fingers before I fuck you." Geralt groans, but then Eskel's pressing into him again and he turns his face into Eskel's neck, breathing against his skin. "There you go, sweetheart, just lay back and let me make you feel good. You took care of me, now it's my turn."

Geralt wants to tell him that there's a huge difference between this and that, but Eskel pushes deeper and the protest dies on his lips. Eskel kisses the groan from his lips as he presses a second finger into him and Gerlt rocks enthusiastically back onto him. Eskel is incredibly good with his hands, pressing in and stretching him, and Geralt is breathless where he leans against him, groaning against his lips.

Eskel is above him, behind him, all around, mumbling soft words into his hair and against his lips and Geralt has never felt so wanted in his life. He shudders and lets out a soft little moan as Eskel presses a third finger against his rim and tips his head back.

"Eskel," he groans, "please, come on."

"Not gonna rush, sweetheart, don't wanna hurt you."

Geralt groans. He's seen Eskel's cock, gotten up close and personal with it and has been dying for a chance to get it inside him. He doesn't want to wait, he wants Eskel to fuck him. But as much as he rocks down or squeezes around him, Eskel isn't letting up. He adds a third finger and Geralt bites down on his bottom lip to keep from moaning out loud.

"Don't have to be quiet for me," Eskel hums, "I like hearing you."

"Fuck."

"Mmm, that's right." Eskel presses his nose into his ear, nibbling at the skin of his neck. "Tell me how it feels, Geralt."

"Good," he mumbles, "but I want you."

"You've got me. Always."

Eskel gives a good couple of thrusts, then presses in with just two fingers, seeking out that spot inside him and rubbing against it. Geralt squirms against him, writhing as Eskel plays with him and then he withdraws altogether.

"Roll over," he whispers, nudging Geralt with his knee. Geralt turns onto his front and he's still settling when Eskel climbs over him, kissing his neck and pushing the hair aside.

He moves down Geralt's back, kissing a line down his spine and sucking at the skin. It sends shivers through him and Geralt can't help but rock his hips down, grinding against the mattress as Eskel's hand drops to hold his hips. He huffs a soft laugh against Geralt's lower back and then he's moving lower, one hand slipping between his cheeks and pressing back in.

Geralt buries his face in the pillow, gathering it under his face and moaning into it as Eskel fucks him with his fingers again. He's quick and hard but somehow still gentle, lips sliding softly over his skin until Eskel's thrusts slow and his mouth moves to join in.

The first press of Eskel's tongue against his rim has Geralt pulling up on his knees, thighs spread to give him better access and Eskel huffs against him. He slides a hand down Geralt's thigh, steadying him as he pulls his fingers out, and licks over the stretched muscle.

"Think you can come like this instead?" he asks and Geralt nods. He's sure of it.

His cock is already leaking steadily onto the sheets, hard and aching, and every press of Eskel's tongue sends him rocking forward, eager for any sort of friction. And when those thick fingers wrap around him again, Geralt could cry. He rocks forward immediately, rutting into the tunnel of Eskel's hand and pressing back against his tongue.

Then Eskel pushes in and Geralt cries out into the pillow. Rough stubbles scratches against his cheeks, a stark contrast to the slick smoothness of Eskel's tongue pressing inside and he's mindless as pleasure sparks through him. Geralt whimpers and rocks back, overwhelmed by so much sensation, until his hips stutter, unable to move fast enough to keep up with the need. But Eskel pulls him up, gripping around the base of his cock and thrusting in with his tongue.

Geralt whimpers, unable to do anything other than take what Eskel is offering. His legs shake under him, the coil of heat in his gut tightening until he almost can't stand it. He's so close, he just needs a little more. Eskel wants him to come like this and Geralt wants to, wants to shatter apart under his hands, and have Eskel put him back together again afterward. He whines and bucks, vaguely aware of Eskel rising up to cover him then Eskel strokes him again, slow and steady and he pushes him over the edge.

"That's it, sweetheart, fuck, you look pretty like this."

Geralt fists his hands in the pillow, hips jerking abortively as he spills all over his sheets. Eskel moves again, continuing to stroke him as he comes and then he's pulling away, readjusting to get an arm around his waist as Geralt's legs nearly give out on him.

"Fuck," he whines and Eskel guides him down against the mattress, humming softly against his skin.

"Yeah," Eskel agrees. He runs his hands up Geralt's back, slowly lowering himself over him until they're pressed chest to back and Geralt can feel Eskel's breath against his skin.

"Mm," Geralt mumbles, "you didn't come. Want you to fuck me." Geralt pushes his hips up and Eskel slides his hands up, letting his full weight rest on Geralt and twining their fingers together. He shifts his hips so his cock fits perfectly against Geralt's ass, pushing between his cheeks with each little movement.

"Just like this?"

"Yeah. Wanna feel you." He loves the weight of Eskel's body against him and he wants to make him come, and he wants to keep as close to him as he can.

"Tell me if it's too much," Eskel hums and then he's pulling one hand away, reaching down to adjust himself. Geralt holds his breath as the head of Eskel's cock presses against him and then he's pushing in, stretching him impossibly further and filling him up. He pauses before he's fully seated and Geralt shifts his hips, wiggling encouragingly.

"Don't wanna hurt you," Eskel mumbles and he sounds breathless already.

"You won't." Geralt can already hear the rebuttal, so he pushes his hips back, pushing all the way onto him, and Eskel drops his head between his shoulder blades.

"Fuck," he whines and Geralt just hums and tips his head to kiss Eskel's fingers where they're wrapped around his own.

Eskel gives a short roll of his hips, testing Geralt's readiness and pushes right up against his prostate. Geralt whines and his cock stirs beneath him where it presses into the bedding. It's sensitive, but it feels good and Geralt exaggerates the motion when Eskel thrusts into him again.

He keeps an even pace to start, slow enough not to hurt him, despite Geralt's assurances that he won't, but quick enough to keep him happy. And gods, he could stay like this for hours, pressed against the mattress as Eskel fucks into him. It feels like a dream, one of those he thought could never possibly come true, and yet with every thrust, Eskel mumbles against his skin, kisses him, holds him close against him. And Geralt didn't think he'd be able to come again, but his cock swells again, needy and wanting beneath him.

Then Eskel is shifting behind him, rising up to his knees and pulling Geralt up into his lap with him. He slips a hand around his chest, tweaking his nipples and sliding down his stomach. His fingers brush the base of his cock and Eskel hesitates before slipping down further, following the curve of his cock.

"Mmm, you're hard again," he hums, burying his face in Geralt's neck. "You want to come again, sweetheart?" Geralt doesn't respond, but Eskel's fingers are already wrapping around him again, stroking him in time with his thrusts and Geralt couldn't stop him even if he wanted to.

He settles his hands back on the bed, leaning back against Eskel's chest and turning to kiss him. The angel is awkward, but he catches his lips, groaning as Eskel takes the opportunity to slide his free hand up the inside of Geralt's thigh. He's already worked up and the faint brush is overwhelming.

He squirms under Eskel's fingers, but they just drag further up, teasing around Eskel's cock where it breaches him.

"Please," Geralt whispers and he's not even sure what he's asking for, but then Eskel presses one finger alongside his cock and Geralt's eyes roll back in his head. He's vaguely aware that he's mumbling, asking him for more, asking him to come, and Eskel holds him against his chest, kissing his shoulders and his neck.

"Come on," he whispers, "come for me, Geralt."

It doesn't take much after that, with Eske's hand around him and one pressing into him before he's coming again, a choked-off moan on his lips. Both of Eskel's hands leave him as he rides it out, wrapping around his middle.

Eskel fucks him quick and hard, panting against Geralt's ear.

"Love you," he mumbles, "gods, Geralt, you're so beautiful, so good for me-"

Eskel comes with Geralt's name on his lips, pressing his forehead against his shoulder and burying himself deep inside him. He shudders as he comes, hips twitching, and Geralt reaches a hand back to wrap around his neck.

For a moment they sit together, panting, and then Eskel flops to the side, pulling Geralt down with him. Geralt shifts to get comfortable, letting Eskel pull him up against his side so he can rest his head on his chest. The sheets are damp with sweat and come, but Geralt has never been so comfortable as he is in Eskel's arms.

"Could I stay?" Eskel hums, nosing into his hair.

"Of course," Geralt smiles, "as long as you want."

"Still got Lil' Bleater to get home to eventually, but I don't want to leave tonight."

"Could put a goat pen in the back corner of the garden," Geralt yawns, "there's lots of space if we move the fall plants to where the herbs are." Eskel pushes himself up, looking down at him.

"Geralt?" he asks tentatively, "are you- are you asking me to move in with you?"

"I- if it's not too much trouble going back and forth to the forge?" he reaches up, running a hand through Eskel's hair. "I didn't realize how much I'd miss you until you were gone again. I don't want you to leave again."

"You might get sick of me," he teases but his lips curl up in a smile and he smooths his hand across Geralt's stomach.

"I doubt it, it's been thirty years and I'm not sick of you yet."

"Thirty-" he starts but cuts himself off. "Yeah, okay. Guess we'll be building in the morning then, hm?"

"No," Geralt hums, tugging Eskel against him and curling back against his side. "Tomorrow we're moving plants, then we can build a goat pen."

six months later

For months, Geralt has been blissfully happy. He didn't think he'd ever get to be like this, but having Eskel living with him has been everything he could hope for and then some. They've even gotten another goat to keep Lil' Bleater occupied and Eskel has been talking about breeding them and selling goats. It's not a well-thought-out plan, but Geralt entertains it because Eskel's ideas usually turn out well for them and he wants Eskel to be as happy as he is.

But recently Eskel has been distant. He's always busy at the forge making something for someone, but lately, he's been spending more and more time there, coming home long after Geralt is asleep and leaving almost immediately after they wake up. And Geralt has his own business to attend to, so he tries not to let it bother him too much, but he can't help wondering.

Maybe Eskel is tired of spending so much time together, maybe he needs a break. On bad days, Geralt will wonder if there's someone else, but Eskel always comes home smelling of coal and singed hair, and that helps to settle Geralt's worries.

Then one morning he wakes up and Eskel isn't in bed at all. His side of the bed is still untouched from the night before and his first thought is that something happened to him again. Geralt rolls out of bed, fumbling to get dressed as he stumbles into the kitchen and out onto the road.

The forge isn't far, and he makes good time, running half the way in his rush to ensure Eskel is okay. And when he arrives, he shoves the door open to find… Eskel is fine. He's leaning over a table at the back of the shop and when he hears Geralt he turns to look at him.

He looks… fine and Geralt feels like an idiot for rushing up here. He's breathless, leaning in the doorway and Eskel smiles when he sees him, crossing the shop.

"What are you doing here?" he asks, ducking down to kiss him briefly, "and in my shirt, no less?" Geralt looks down to find he is, indeed, wearing Eskel's shirt and he shrugs.

"You didn't come home last night, I was worried something had happened to you." The smile fades from Eskel's face and he shuts his eyes.

"Shit," he mumbles, "I'm sorry Geralt, I got carried away. I didn't mean to worry you." He takes Geralt's hands in his own, bringing them close to his face and kissing his knuckles. "I've been working on something special, something important. I thought it was too early, but maybe,-" he shrugs and smiles, "do you want to come see?"

Geralt nods and Eskel leads him back to the table at the back of the room. There doesn't seem to be anything there, but Eskel picks up a small velvet bag and opens it, tipping the contents into his palm. From here, Geralt can't tell what it is, but as Eskel gets closer, he realizes it's a ring.

"Can I-?" he asks, reaching out a hand and when Eskel nods, he picks it up and inspects it. It's beautifully crafted, delicate flowers inlaid in the band, honeysuckle, he thinks, everlasting bonds, happiness - a wedding ring, most likely. "It's beautiful."

"It's for you," Eskel says and Geralt's heart stops for a moment. "If you'll have it. If you'll have me."

"Eskel-"

"Just… you have made me happier than I've ever been, Geralt and I can't imagine spending the rest of my life without you. Marry me?"

"Yes," Geralt says before the rest of him can catch up. He doesn't even have a chance to think before Eskel is surging forward and scooping him up into his arms.

He kisses him softly, slowly, only pulling back to take the ring from Geralt's hand. He slips it onto his finger and slips his fingers between Geralt's, tipping forward to kiss him again. There's a weight to the ring, but it feels like comfort, like that first time Eskel touched him. Geralt smiles against his lips, bringing his free hand up to slip through Eskel's hair.

He can't believe that a year ago, he was silently pining over this man and now he's looking forward to spending the rest of his life with him.

[grilledcheeseandguavajelly]

“Somewhere Just Beyond My Reach, There’s Someone Reaching Back For Me” -- Wilhemina Venable x Mildred Ratched

Mildred Ratched already owns my heart. That’s just the sad truth. She shares the space with Venable now. Which means that I’m left thinking of the two of them together almost constantly. And eventually it got too loud and I had to write it. 

Please bear with me, the show hasn’t even dropped a trailer yet so this is just me having fun with the little I know about Nurse Ratched (and the little I am hoping for gathered from promo pictures/teasers). Also, I wrote it in maybe two days, so I apologize in advance for any typos.

Words: ~13,500

Warnings: None? I’m hesitant to say none on a fic with ~these women~, but yeah I think that’s where we are right now. Just a bit of smut (shhhh) 

~I really hope you all enjoy this one, it’s probably a bit different than everyone was expecting, but I couldn’t resist. Alright, LET’S DO THIS~

Wilhemina’s fingers twitched on her cane, thumb rubbing reflexively against the handle as she watched the line in front of her. Stagnant. And she had been waiting for almost twenty minutes. 

She was just starting to lose her patience, especially with the man she was behind. Too tall, smelling of cigarettes. The future of her day pressed against her, the knowledge that she was going to be faced with hundreds of these men, large and consuming and throwing too much ego around. 

This convention was entirely men, as far as she could see. And as she looked around, took in their shining shoes and their notebooks and their stares, she shifted, setting her posture on her cane and standing up a bit straighter. 

Until heels clicked through the room, tapping steadily and coming to a halt just behind her. 

And Wilhemina realized that they hadn’t been staring at her. 

Soft muttering, a huff, and then Wilhemina turned, her curiosity peaked. 

Her eyes landed on a woman, entirely too perfect for her own good, from the way her hat sat at an impeccable angle to the way her feet crossed smoothly, one in front of the other, as she dug through her purse. 

A second later, her mouth pursed into a thin line as she pulled out a neatly folded stack of papers. And as she looked up, straightening, her eyes met Wilhemina’s. 

A small smirk played over her lips, no doubt at the realization that Wilhemina had been staring at her. And all Wilhemina could think to do in the moment was pop her brow, quirking her head. 

Composure. Self-preservation.

A long moment where Wilhemina let herself look her up and down, take in her quartered sleeves, peter-pan collar, the row of thick buttons that ran a perfect line down to a flared skirt. And black, velvet gloves to match. 

And then she found her voice.

“I was under the impression that I would be the only woman speaking here today.” 

And this woman, so impeccably dressed, so impeccably put together, had the nerve to pop her brow right back. 

“Well,” she countered quickly, tipping her shoulders back. “One should never assume.” 

And this time, Wilhemina couldn’t help the smirk that pulled at her lips. She offered her free hand, tapping her cane as she spoke. “Wilhemina Venable. It’s a pleasure to meet you.” 

And to her surprise, the woman took it, gloved hand warm in Wilhemina’s grip. 

“Mildred Ratched,” she replied smoothly, eyes hot as a smile curved her lips. 

Wilhemina couldn’t help but shift as she shook the woman’s hand, some sort of victory, of smugness, folding into her from the power radiating through this simple gesture. Her nose twitched and then Mildred’s hand was falling away, finding the strap of her small purse and rubbing at it absently as she pulled her composure back around her. 

She watched Mildred’s eyes flick past her, and then immediately around the room. Watched the slight shake in her breath as she undoubtedly realized what Wilhemina had only moments before. It really was all men here, save the two of them. 

“What are you lecturing on?” Wilhemina asked, pleased when Mildred’s eyes snapped back to her. 

“Psychological advances made through study of post-trauma triggers and observances in the field of action.”

Wilhemina hummed, her fingers tightening on her cane as the implication of what the woman said settled around her. “You helped during the war?”

A smug look crossed Mildred’s face, but she morphed it into a passive smile. “Helped might be an understatement.” 

There was a long moment as Wilhemina realized that Mildred was probably entirely capable of handling herself around so many men. Commanding so many men. And then the woman spoke again. 

“And you?” 

Wilhemina swallowed, tapping her cane as she set her shoulders against inevitable backlash that always came when she admitted to never helping with the war efforts. 

“No.”

To her surprise, Mildred only chuckled. Shook her head. “I meant what are you lecturing on.”

She set her jaw, fingers twitching at her error. Her mistake. But Mildred hadn’t scolded her. Hadn’t judged. She was only curious. So polite. So focused. 

“I’m simply posing the question of technology versus consciousness. And somehow, I have a feeling that these men will not like it.”

A small laugh from Mildred, and then something settled over her that looked almost uncomfortable, an uneasiness radiating off of her like a wave. 

Wilhemina quirked a brow. “Perhaps you’re not fond of it either, Ms. Ratched?” 

But Mildred shook her head. “Nurse,” she corrected. “And it’s not that. It’s simply...” 

Her eyes pulled over the men surrounding them. Staring at them. Undoubtedly murmuring about them as they walked. Always together. Always in pairs. 

Mildred fingered the strap of her purse, teeth scraping over her bottom lip for a fraction of a second before she schooled her features.

Wilhemina let her eyes run over her once more, top to bottom and back again. The language of her movements, scribbled down in books on how to cover yourself from the world. How to block everyone out and set yourself atop the pyramid of society. 

“Well, Nurse Ratched,” Wilhemina tried, smirking as she tapped her cane once more. “Order on the outside does wonders to keep the chaos safely on the inside.” 

And then those eyes, those brown, piercing eyes, viciously slicing through Wilhemina. She knew that look, that shock. She had seen right through her. Exposed her, clear as day. Mildred was vulnerable. Mildred was broken. 

Mildred was just like her. 

~~~ 

There was an expression on Wilhemina’s face that Mildred couldn’t read. And try as she might, eyes searching and picking apart the minuscule eyebrow quirks and eyes narrowing and lips twitching, she was completely lost. 

And nothing set her more on edge.

Mildred had always been able to read everyone. It was her first priority. Get a feel for them, dig down into them. Find the thing that makes them tick and spin it on its head to stay on top. 

But Wilhemina had some sort of wall around her. Something that fuzzed out Mildred’s mind and kept her pulled in tight. A magnet against a metal strip. 

A soft, “I look forward to hearing you speak,” and then Wilhemina was turning away, stepping forward in line and giving her name to the man sat at the table just in front of them. 

She watched as Wilhemina handed over her papers, shoulders askew and tapping her cane. Impatiently, Mildred realized. And she schooled her features as she recognized the difference between this tap and the way it had clicked when they were speaking. Absently, an extension of herself. 

And then, with an irritated smile, Wilhemina was checked in and moving aside, fingers flexing on her cane as she sauntered past the table. 

Mildred watched Wilhemina walk away, handing her papers to the man before her. And her eyes stayed locked on Wilhemina as she paused just before she fell out of sight, turning mid-step. 

“Name?” the man asked, pulling Mildred’s attention from the smirk that sliced across her face. 

She took a deep breath, voice perfectly even as she replied. And as he sifted through files and documentation, Mildred let herself look up again. Wilhemina was gone. 

She shoved the pang of sadness aside, straightening out the hem of her glove and shifting her purse further up her arm. And only after clearing the woman from her mind and focusing back on the man before her, did she notice how careless he was being. 

“Excuse me,” she tried, voice suddenly firm. Still impeccably soft. “You’re wrinkling the edge of my papers.” Mildred indicated to the corner of the page, where the man’s arm was pressing a nice crease into the side of her registration documents. Her fingers twitched on the strap of her purse as she composed herself. 

“They’re just papers,” the man said, offering her a small smile as he finished scribbling. 

“They’re just things, Mildred. You don’t need things.”

“Daddy, please. Not mommy’s necklace.”

“You don’t deserve it. You haven’t been a good girl.”

Mildred pressed her mouth into a thin line, taking a deep breath against her father’s voice in her head. 

“They’re my papers,” she said firmly, pressing her hand into the table and leaning forward. “And good manners would indicate you having respect for others’ things. Would it not?”

The man’s smile fractured, and Mildred almost smirked as she watched him gulp. He straightened out the corner of her papers, handing them back to her. 

“Apologies, Nurse Ratched. Your first lecture is in room 42 B, just down the hall on the right.”

“There’s a good boy,” she drawled, pulling the papers from his fingers and frowning at the line down the edge. “And you’re going to be more careful with everyone else’s belongings, yes?”

“Yes, Nurse Ratched.” 

And then she was walking away, that nice little bubble of satisfaction wedging into her heart. 

~~~ 

“Eyes up.” 

Mildred’s voice rang out through the hall, and Wilhemina was shocked at how her heart leapt at the tone of it. So commanding. So dominating. 

“Our boys sacrificed their lives on these battlefields for us. The absolute least we can do is pay attention and listen and learn, to further the pursuit of medicine that they gave their lives for. Is that not correct?”

“I don’t think they sacrificed their lives for medicine, Nurse Ratched.” 

And Wilhemina smiled at the fire that licked over her eyes, watching the way her hands splayed out on her podium. The way she straightened out her neck as her eyes bored into the boy who had interrupted her. 

“What is your name?” she asked calmly. Too calmly.

“Jimmy,” he replied smoothly, and Wilhemina’s fingers itched at the smug look on his face. She could barely see him, sitting impeccably still in her seat and tracking him with her eyes. But she knew that tone of voice. She knew that type of man. 

“Well, James,” Mildred continued, stepping around her podium and crossing her legs as she folded her hands neatly in front of her. “They may not have gone to war with the intention of furthering medicine. But they did go to war with the intention of saving lives. And how we use these lessons that they have taught us, intentional or not, could change the course of humanity as we know it. So would we not be remiss to waste such a hefty sacrifice? Do we not owe it to our boys to take as much as we can from the lives they gave so freely?”

And the sound that followed as Mildred looked over the men, eyes tracking them sharply as her expression morphed from perfectly concerned to smooth and kind, made Wilhemina’s heart pound. Because you could hear a pin drop. And never in her life had she ever come across another woman who had the same affect that she did on a group of men. Another woman who was so commanding. And so impeccably composed. 

~~~ 

Wilhemina’s cane tapped with her words, punctuating points and emphasizing the way her eyes would narrow at questions. 

“So, are you saying that we could make robots, Ms. Venable? Like…from the movies?”

A few laughs threaded out through the room and Mildred shifted in her seat, nose twitching at the innate possessiveness that pooled in her chest. 

But as she looked up at Wilhemina, vision blurring, just so, her cane slammed against the wood. Mildred had to bite her lip to keep from smiling at the way the men jumped in their seats. 

“If you were listening, Mr. Brannard, you would understand that not only is it a possibility, my colleagues and I have already accomplished it.” 

Her eyes narrowed, and Mildred hated the way that even that small act of dominance made her heart pound. 

Wilhemina pursed her lips, tilting her head and tutting softly. Condescendingly. “Or are you too naive to imagine that something this advanced could be achieved so soon? By a woman?”

The boy stuttered, looking to the man beside him for help. But he was head down in his papers, scratching out notes. 

Mildred took a deep breath, eyes falling back to Ms. Venable as she stalked around the podium. Slow. Practiced. She was making them wait, and she knew they would. 

And suddenly, just like that, in a moment — Mildred was addicted to her. 

~~~ 

The door shut behind Wilhemina and she let herself sigh, leaning onto her cane as her eyes fell closed. There was something about being surrounded by men, constantly, their eyes on her as she spoke, that always made her feel dirty. And it was exhausting, having to keep her steel walls up when Mildred was sitting in the back of the room watching her with so much intensity that she should have caught fire. 

It was sad when the only place that she could get a moment to breathe was the ladies’ room. 

That moment ended quicker than she would have liked, the squeak of the door opening forcing her to stand straighter on her cane and busy herself in the mirror. 

Strong. Unaffected. 

Heels clicked as Wilhemina wiped at the corner of her mouth, flicking off the smallest speck of stray lipstick. She waited for the woman to lock herself in a stall so that she could make a clean exit. But to her surprise, the footsteps stopped just short of her. And when Wilhemina threw a hot look over her shoulder at the intrusion, she was almost impressed. 

“Hello, dear.”

Wilhemina popped her brow, a small smirk making her lips twitch. “Ms. Ratched.”

“Nurse,” she corrected, tipping her chin up as her eyes lit from behind. 

“Mildred.”

A pause, Mildred’s gaze falling down Wilhemina’s form. “What are you doing?”

“Well I was intending to use the restroom,” Wilhemina replied, smoothing a hand down her skirt as she turned to face the woman. 

Mildred’s eyes were calculating, twitching almost imperceptibly at the corner. “Unacceptable.”

Wilhemina scoffed. “And why might that be?”

“You’re scheduled to speak again in ten minutes. You should be prepping your presentation in five.”

She gestured to the space around them, head tilting challengingly. “Hence why I’m using the restroom now.”

A beat. Mildred stared at her, fingers slipping on the strap of her purse. And Wilhemina had only spoken to this woman once, but she had watched her for almost three hours, and then another two during her own lecture. She knew why her fingers twitched. She could read her like a book. 

So she took a step forward, tapping her cane out in front of her and leaning on it, just enough to get in Mildred’s space. 

“Did you miss me, Millie?” Venable breathed, eyes flicking over Mildred’s face. And she didn’t miss the way the other woman’s breath hitched, body stiffening. “Were you hoping to get me all to yourself for a few minutes?”

Mildred cleared her throat, straightening. “And if I was?”

A smirk. 

“Do you have plans for dinner?”

~~~ 

Mildred had had plans for dinner. Of course she had. Very rarely did her schedule slip away from her, especially so when she was in a strange city around strange people. 

But somehow, for some reason, she had changed her plans. For a woman.

Slap. “Disgusting, stupid whore. Is this who you want to become? Disgrace. Pull yourself together.”

Pull yourself together. 

Wilhemina set the plate down before her and Mildred shifted in her seat, smoothing her already impeccably placed napkin on her lap. 

And only when she finally pulled her eyes off of Wilhemina, sitting down opposite her at the table and propping her cane against the wood, did she realize that this woman was an incredible chef. 

The dish was colorful, sausage swimming in pasta and decorated with fresh herbs. She comforted herself in the knowledge that she was eating better here than she would have been at the restaurant where she had reserved a table. 

A logical decision. 

They ate in silence for a few moments, Mildred fighting the shaking of her hands and trying to come up with a halfway decent conversation starter. But Wilhemina beat her to it. 

“Tell me about the war,” she said softly as she twisted her fork in the pasta, looking up at Mildred with such blatant curiosity and innocence that she couldn’t say no. Couldn’t bear to shove that wall up and bark at her and throw out her usual excuses. 

Which is how she found herself, almost an hour later, plate nearly empty as she covered her mouth with her fingers, swallowing around a bite that was just a fraction too large. 

“No no,” she corrected, taking a sip of water. “It wasn’t the bombs that were distracting. It wasn’t the gunfire. It was the screaming.”

Something flashed in Wilhemina’s eyes and Mildred stuttered, almost convinced she was about to smile. Almost convinced she was about to cry. 

“It was constant,” she continued, fingers playing over her fork as the memories flooded back into her mind. The smell of it, the sound. “Poor boys, too young to be fighting. And they never stopped. They never stopped screaming. Eventually you learn to tune it out. You have to. If you focus on them, if you let yourself hear it, everything else breaks away. You have to block it out. Or you lose the order of your surgical tent.” 

Wilhemina nodded, swallowing. “Seems impossible.” 

But Mildred shook her head again, shocking herself at how forward she was being. At how the words were spilling from her lips. Like she had known this woman for hundreds of years. 

She was almost certain that she had, the way Wilhemina’s eyes pierced straight through her every time their gazes met. 

“Logic and responsibility. That’s the key.” 

And to her surprise, Wilhemina laughed. A full, pretty sound that was too raspy for her own good. 

Mildred flushed, taking a long sip of water as Wilhemina spoke. 

“No, no. Rules. Clear lines and boundaries. A straight right and a firm wrong. It’s the only way to keep them all in line.” 

“You’re wrong,” Mildred stated, matter of fact. And when Wilhemina rose from her seat, she almost flinched. 

But she only stalked over, a smirk slicing across her face as she collected Mildred’s plate and walked it over to the sink. 

Cool. Calculated. Every one of Wilhemina’s actions had an equal, opposite reaction. They stalked around each other in perfect circles, and halfway through the dance Mildred’s mind was absolutely spinning. This time, she didn’t have a justification. Didn’t have follow-up. She was losing her grip. 

The silence was deafening, exacerbated by the tapping of Wilhemina’s heels and the clattering of tableware against porcelain. 

And then, just like that, she was back, pulling out the chair directly next to Mildred and settling down into it. 

“Most people don’t get the privilege of telling me I’m wrong.” 

Her voice had lowered, dangerous and sharp, a snake bite. And Mildred couldn’t help but dig her teeth into her bottom lip. Because this woman was so perfect, and so beautiful, and so intelligent. Sitting before her like it was nothing. Like the heat in Mildred’s cheeks wasn’t creeping down into her fingers and making them itch. 

Her eyes flicked down to Wilhemina’s lips before she could help herself, and her fingers dug into her skirt as she watched Wilhemina flick her tongue over them. Wetting them. So slick. So perfectly shaped. 

And then Wilhemina’s hand covered hers, skin soft and smooth and tender against Mildred’s. 

She looked back into Wilhemina’s eyes, suddenly dark, suddenly entirely too intense. She wasn’t prepared for this. She wasn’t ready. She wanted this more than anything she had ever wanted before in her life. 

And she silently thanked whatever gods lay above her for getting her through the war and straight to this moment. Because her entire life would be worth living if Wilhemina would just— 

Wilhemina leaned forward, and that was all it took. Just the slightest tilt of her chin. Mildred hadn’t realized how close they had gotten. But then Wilhemina’s mouth was on hers, so firm and yet so, so delicate. 

She let her eyes fall closed, let herself sigh into the feel of it. The feel of her. Turned her hand and threaded their fingers together and squeezed because this was all she had wanted. Since the moment that fire-red hair had turned and she had looked up into those deep, brown eyes.

Wilhemina pulled away before Mildred was ready to let go, and she couldn’t help the half-whine that lodged itself in her throat. That she tried so desperately to swallow down. 

“Better?” Wilhemina teased, pressing their foreheads together.

She let out a shaky breath, thumbing at Wilhemina’s knuckles. “Infinitely.” 

There was a long moment of silence, and Mildred was almost getting accustomed to these spaces, these gaps between their communication where they just let their feelings hang between them. Let their hearts speak without words getting in the way. 

Mildred swallowed, licking her lips slowly as she looked up into Wilhemina’s eyes. 

“What are the rules now, Ms. Venable?”

Wilhemina hummed, nudging their noses together as her eyes flicked down to Mildred’s lips again. “You relax and let me take care of you.” 

A wobbling breath, and Mildred wet her lips again, hands trembling as she leaned into Wilhemina. So close to what she wanted. So close. “And if I say no?”

Wilhemina smirked, hand coming up to Mildred’s throat before moving to brush delicately over her cheek instead. And when she spoke again, her eyes were lidded and she breathed the words almost directly into Mildred’s mouth. 

“Now where’s the logic in that, Nurse Ratched?” 

~~~ 

Mildred toed off her shoes. Delicately. Carefully. And Wilhemina watched in awe of the woman before her. Perfectly pristine. 

She always strove for perfection. Perfectly presented to the world, perfectly protected. Perfectly hidden. And she had thought she almost had it. But now, watching Mildred, she realized that perfection was far out of her grip. Not when it looked like this. 

Wilhemina wasn’t perfectly presented, not compared to the way Mildred took care with every tiny pleat and line and cuff. Down to the perfectly straight earrings. Down to the parallel lines of her stockings that ran up the back of her calves. And Wilhemina certainly wasn’t perfectly protected when Mildred looked at her like that, eyes wide and lips pink as she slowly, purposefully started picking down the buttons on her shirt. 

Wilhemina was only and solely perfectly exposed, her heart entirely too vulnerable around a woman that she knew would protect it. Around a part of her that she didn’t know had existed until it had tapped its way up behind her in line and pulled the zipper on the curtain over her heart. 

She couldn’t stop watching Mildred. Not when she let her shirt fall to the floor. Not when she unbuttoned the top of her skirt and tugged at the zip, shimmying out of it and letting it pool around her ankles, leaving her in nothing but a thin, silk slip and black pantyhose. 

And then she bunched up her slip and rolled them down, Venable’s eyes tracking the way that perfectly straight line up her calf crumpled as she went, bending and morphing as Mildred let her walls down. Let her in. Let Wilhemina see her for who she really was beneath all of that perfection and obsession and compulsivity. 

Suddenly it was too much, and Wilhemina simply couldn’t sit on the edge of the bed watching anymore. She needed to touch. She needed all of Mildred pressed against all of her. Every inch. Every piece. 

Wilhemina walked up behind her, wrapping her hands around her stomach and pressing a soft kiss to her shoulder before resting her chin there. 

“Do you have any idea how beautiful you are?”

Mildred turned, a smile flickering over her lips. She had been so serious when she was undressing, her mouth pulled into a line, eyes flicking between Wilhemina behind her and the mirror before her, her hands pulling over herself to smooth everything down, make sure her hair was still curling down her back, making sure her pins were all in place. But now she looked lighter. Now she looked like she had at the table, open and soft and pliant. 

“Show me,” Mildred whispered, and Wilhemina pressed another kiss to her shoulder before shifting her in front of the mirror. Her hands found the pins still holding her hair up, pulling them out slowly as she nipped and bit her way up Mildred’s neck, sucking just a bit to hard at the crook of her jaw. 

And Wilhemina couldn’t help but smile as Mildred sighed, her hand reaching up behind her and twisting through Wilhemina’s hair. 

Mildred knew when Wilhemina got the last pin out, shaking her hair out and fluffing it almost immediately. And then she turned in Wilhemina’s arms, pressing a soft kiss to her cheek as she reached around and pulled the tie from her own hair. 

It fell in heaps around her shoulders, and Mildred giggled softly. 

Wilhemina’s brow popped, sarcasm pushing through as a weak attempt at self-preservation. “Is something the matter?” 

But Mildred only laughed, shaking her head and running her fingers through Wilhemina’s hair. 

“Cinnamon sugar,” she murmured, twisting her finger through a lock and admiring it. And Wilhemina felt herself flush against her will. 

“I’m almost certain our hair is the same color,” she tried, fingers twitching on Mildred’s waist. 

Frustrated. Exposed. Worshipped. 

Mildred only shook her head, leaning forward. She hesitated for a brief moment before pressing a soft kiss to Wilhemina’s lips. And suddenly Wilhemina didn’t care if she was giggling or teasing or playing with her hair. As long as she was here. As long as she kept doing that. 

“You’re awfully sweet for someone who is supposed to be so intimidating, Ms. Venable.”

Wilhemina scoffed, rolling her eyes before Mildred grabbed at her chin, raking her eyes over her and making a shiver run down her spine. 

“Why don’t you take all of that purple off for me, cinnamon? Hm?”

And Wilhemina hated how deeply she flushed, the nickname getting under her skin like it shouldn’t have. But this was Mildred. And somehow, she knew exactly what Wilhemina wanted to hear before she realized it herself. 

It only took a few moments, untying the top of her shirt, pulling it up over her head. Sliding out of her skirt, peeling her gloves off. And Mildred watched her the entire time, eyes hot as they followed her fingers. 

She held out her hands as Wilhemina stepped out of her shoes, keeping her steady. Making sure she didn’t wobble. 

And this time, for the first time, Wilhemina completely forgot to feel exposed. She forgot to feel embarrassed about her back. She forgot to warn Mildred. 

But when Mildred kissed her again, this time a bit harder and a bit deeper, fingers wrapping up around Wilhemina’s neck and sliding down over her shoulders, over her spine, nothing happened. 

She didn’t flinch. She didn’t recoil. She didn’t even gasp. She just kept kissing her and kissing her and kissing her, until Wilhemina’s thighs hit the mattress. 

Mildred pulled back, breaking the kiss as her teeth dug into her lip, fingers rubbing together absently. Just like they had over her purse. Over her fork. 

Wilhemina gave her a small nod, tentatively grabbing for her wrists and guiding them to her stomach. 

She didn’t miss the way Mildred’s fingers flexed before she touched her, didn’t miss the glint in her eye as she hesitantly, delicately, grabbed Mina’s waist and pushed her down into the bed. 

And the way she touched her, warm palms pressing against Wilhemina’s sides before pulling away almost immediately, and then replacing them in an instant. This time firm. This time sure. This time pushing Wilhemina onto her back and smoothing up her stomach so that nails were pricking at the very bottom of her bra. 

Mildred crawled over her, pressing a singular, wet kiss just below Wilhemina’s jaw. 

“Millie,” Wilhemina breathed, squirming under her. 

“My name is Mildred,” she corrected, and Wilhemina let herself smirk, catching the way Mildred hardened and taking the opportunity to flip the switch yet again. 

She hooked a leg over Mildred’s hip, pushing her and flipping them and bracing herself above her. 

Mildred gasped, a soft whine pushing out of her as she was slammed back into the mattress. Wilhemina leaned down, nudging their noses together before flicking her tongue out and licking the tip of her nose. 

“What are you afraid of, Millie?” Wilhemina breathed, hands sliding slowly up her sides before locking over her ribs and pinning her to the bed. “Is someone losing control?” 

She couldn’t help but smirk at her own joke, amplified by the way Mildred’s eyes widened and hardened. 

“No. It’s just—“ 

Wilhemina bit down on her collarbone, cutting her off as she squirmed beneath her. She hummed, pushing her further into the bed. 

“Oh no? So you’re fine then, right?”

And after a second’s hesitation she nodded again, hands coming up to smooth out her hair as her eyes bored into Wilhemina’s. 

The word “yes” left Mildred’s mouth, but Wilhemina had already seen it in her face. The screaming. The need to dominate. The need to be dominated. The want. 

“Millie,” Wilhemina sing-songed, bending down to press a kiss to her cheek. She wasn’t surprised it was warm, the flush already clouding her perfect, porcelain skin. She was surprised that it was scorched, Mildred’s teeth dug into her bottom lip as she watched Wilhemina carefully. 

“Let go, darling,” she murmured, nails scraping lightly down Mildred’s sides. “Let me be in charge of you for once, yeah? Let those pretty little walls down. I won’t hurt you. I promise.” 

~~~ 

Wilhemina kept saying it. That stupid little nickname. Over and over. She wouldn’t stop, and Mildred couldn’t think. And it was making her furious in the absolute best way. 

She was losing control. She had always been so careful. She had always tried her absolute best. But somehow, tonight, she could feel it slipping through her fingers with every kiss, with every gasp, with every moan. 

And she was okay. 

Her world wasn’t crumbling. Mildred was surviving. And to her surprise, the world seemed to actually sort itself in those small moments, the fractions of seconds where Wilhemina panted that little nickname and Mildred’s body responded of its own accord. Mildred was thriving, Mildred was being loved. Mildred was finally living. 

And so she let go. 

She twisted her fingers in the sheets, Wilhemina’s name falling off her tongue as she arched into her. 

Wilhemina hummed, a nice, satisfied sound, and then she was kissing down her neck, fingers scratching up under her slip, up the inside of her thighs. 

Mildred should have wanted to pull away. She should have wanted to clamp her thighs shut and pull her slip down and shove herself up against the headboard. But to her surprise her thighs fell open, and before she knew what she was doing she was lifting her hips off the mattress and reaching down, tugging her slip up over her thighs, up past her stomach. 

Wilhemina pulled off of her, for a split second, and Mildred froze. But then she wrapped her hand around Mildred’s and pulled her forward, pulled her up, kissing her temple as she helped slide the slip up over her head. Threw it on the floor. 

And then Mildred was completely exposed. Completely vulnerable. Her hands came up to cover herself instinctively, suddenly too cold and too naked without the heat of Wilhemina’s mouth on her neck. 

But she was right there, threading their fingers together and pulling her hands back down into her lap. 

“It’s okay. I’m right here,” she cooed, and something deflated inside of Mildred. She let out a long breath, squeezing Wilhemina’s hands as she swallowed. And then, in a desperate attempt to gain some kind of control back, no matter how futile, she tried something. 

“Touch me, Mina.” 

She watched the other woman gasp. Let pride fill her at the pure smile that made tears prick in Wilhemina’s eyes. Traced her thumb over the back of Wilhemina’s hand. 

“Mina,” she tried again, suddenly feeling more comfortable with this intimacy. Because now they were both exposed. Equal. Again. Just like they should be. 

Wilhemina lunged forward, mouth hot and hungry as she pushed Mildred back against the mattress. And her hands. Her hands. Everywhere, all at once. Like she was trying to memorize the shape of her. Like she needed to touch her or she would disappear. And Mildred understood. Because she had that same ache, the same need within her. If her fingers weren’t on Wilhemina, pulling her tighter to her, pulling her closer, she was absolutely certain that she would vibrate and explode into a billion atoms, right there in the middle of the room. 

It suddenly turned so desperate, Mildred just about to beg for Wihemina’s fingers, for more when she felt them brush against her, cold against the heat burning between her thighs. 

Wilhemina pulled back, just so, just enough to look her in the eyes. And Mildred pushed all of her emotion, all of her want through, nodding frantically. 

“Please—“

But no sooner had she opened her mouth than Wilhemina’s fingers pushed inside of her, filling that space there perfectly and making Mildred finally feel like she was whole. 

Wilhemina smirked, and Mildred let out a soft “oh” at the unfamiliarity of it all. The comfort. And then she was moving and Mildred was moving, hips rolling down against Wilhemina’s wrist as she curled her fingers and sped up. 

And before she knew what was happening, that heat was building in her stomach, toes curling where her heel dug into Wilhemina’s back. She didn’t know how she had gotten like this, one leg thrown over her shoulder, a hand in Mina’s hair as she pressed kisses to the inside of her thighs while her fingers pumped slowly, gently, intently. 

It seemed dirty. It seemed wrong. And Mildred couldn’t have cared less. All she could fathom was that little knot of control, holding onto it as it vibrated, threatened to explode. Gripping into it with her teeth if she had to, clinging to it until that exact moment, the perfect—

It snapped, Mildred scrambling to find purchase on something as she fell through the galaxy Wilhemina had built around her. She knew her mouth was moving. She knew she was probably whining for Wilhemina. But she couldn’t hear anything. Not over Mina’s voice against her skin. 

“Yes. That’s it. Perfect. Let go. I’m right here. I’ve got you. You’re safe.” 

It took too long for her body to come back to her, for her to regain her grip on reality and grab at some sort of control again. 

But as she opened her eyes on Wilhemina between her thighs, brow pushed up as the most beautiful, genuine smile graced her mouth, her perfect mouth, Mildred decided that right now, just for this one moment, she didn’t want control back. She wanted to just be. 

“Kiss me,” she breathed, and Wilhemina was right there, mouth pushing insistently against hers. And when Mildred tasted something tangy, something sharp and spicy and unfamiliar, she realized with a start that Mina must have put her mouth on her at some point. 

She hadn’t even realized. Hadn’t registered. 

She had given herself over completely into Mina’s mercy, and she had never felt so happy. So light. So utterly and completely protected. 

A small shuffle, sheets being rucked down, and then Wilhemina was sitting up against the headboard, and Mildred was right there, curling into her side and pressing herself in as close as she could. 

She smiled as Wilhemina’s arms wrapped around her waist. Almost possessively. 

They laid like that for a moment, Mina’s fingers tracing over her side as silence fell down upon the room, all remnants of Mildred’s screams dissolving into air. And then she finally, finally got her feet back under her.

“I want to take care of you,” Mildred said softly, pressing a kiss just over Wilhemina’s heart. But to her surprise, Wilhemina only shook her head. 

Lips against her temple, and then she spoke. “Not tonight, beautiful. We both need to be up early tomorrow.” 

Mildred wanted to say that she didn’t care. She wanted to argue and protest and throw something until Mina listened and let her feel her. All of her. 

But somewhere in the back of her mind she recognized that she would have to deal with those same men tomorrow, lecturing and commanding and spending too much of her energy trying to keep herself in control. So she nodded. Because they needed sleep if they were going to survive. 

“Tomorrow,” she sighed, looking up at Mina with eager eyes. And Wilhemina smiled, pressing another kiss to her temple. 

“Tomorrow.”

She curled further into Wilhemina, letting her hands wander just a bit further than they should have, suddenly feeling so entitled to this woman. She had permission to do whatever she liked to her. Just not quite yet. 

Wilhemina hummed, pressing one last kiss to the top of Mildred’s head, and then time slowed and the air grew thick as she started to move. 

Mildred felt her shift, turning just so and pulling an arm from around her waist as she reached for the lamp by the bed. 

“Don’t turn off the light, please. Daddy, please.”

“Why, are you afraid of monsters?”

A nod.

“Oh honey, the only monster you have to be afraid of is standing right here.” 

A sickening grin.

"You’re a big girl—“

“I’m not—“

“—you can handle this. Besides. Nothing is going to get you... As long as you don’t make a sound.”

Tears welled in Mildred’s eyes as she watched Wilhemina’s fingers inch closer. And how was she supposed to tell her about this? How was she supposed to explain that this one, tiny thing was her absolute weakness? She almost didn’t. Almost made it. But just as fingers brushed against the lamp, the hair on the back of her neck stood up and she tasted something bitter, bristling. 

Time sped up all at once then, Mildred clawing at Wilhemina’s hand and wrapping her fingers tight around her wrist to stop her. 

“Wait—“ she tried, but it came out broken and wrinkled.

Wilhemina froze, looking down at her. “Is everything okay?”

And Mildred couldn’t help the tears then, sniffing as they blurred her vision and letting her fingers fall from Wilhemina’s arm. 

“Please don’t turn it off just yet,” she tried, and she scolded herself for how weak she sounded. 

Unacceptable. Pull yourself together. 

Something crossed Wilhemina’s face that she couldn’t read, and her heart dug down deep in her chest as she braced herself. 

But then Wilhemina softened, brows raising, just so, as she stroked her thumb over Mildred’s side. A smirk pulled at her lips and she quirked her head. 

“My my, Nurse Ratched. Is someone afraid of the dark?” 

And the way she said it, almost laughing, simultaneously made Mildred feel like a child being scolded and a woman being loved. 

It was a blessing that she had used her title. It had given Mildred that shock to her system to jolt her out of her vulnerable state, building her walls back up as quickly as she could as she formed the searing negation on her tongue. 

Of course not. You’re mistaken. Don’t be ridiculous. 

But she couldn’t land on one that felt quite right. Because lying didn’t feel quite right. And Mildred told herself, assured herself, that it was only because she hadn’t thought of the perfect logical theorem to support her argument. She wasn’t prepared to have this conversation. Once she found one, she would be back in control and she could right her world back on its feet. And one time, maybe this time, they could turn the light off. 

She hadn’t realized how long she had been silent until she felt Wilhemina press a kiss to her hair. Mildred was still staring her down, nose twitching as Wilhemina’s eyes searched her face. 

A deep breath, a hard swallow. And then she nodded. 

And there it was. That was it. The most open and vulnerable and exposed she had ever been with another person in her life. 

And Wilhemina, her Mina, took it in stride, simply humming before threading fingers through Mildred’s curls and pulling her up closer so that she could pepper soft kisses across her face. 

“Oh, Millie,” she whispered, and Mildred was shocked to find a gentle smile on her lips. 

“It’s childish, I know.”

She shook her head, fingers playing over the edge of her face. “Not to me.” 

“You can turn it off once I’m asleep. I just—“

“No. If you prefer it on, we leave it on.” Wilhemina hooked a finger under her chin, tipping it up. “That’s that.”

A sniff. A shaky breath. “Are you certain...?”

“Anything for you.”

And that night, when Mildred closed her eyes and steadied her breathing and melted into the warmth of her lover, she somehow, some way, felt like she had finally found her way home. 

~~~ 

“That’s it, just like that.”

Wilhemina cooed, smirking as Mildred whined and rolled her hips down her thigh. A soft gasp, and Wilhemina tightened her hand in her hair, forcing her head back to expose more of her neck. 

“Oh my, Ms. Ratched,” she tried softly, ignoring the way her mouth watered at the sight of her muscles pulling taunt. The way she swallowed. 

“Millie,” Mildred gasped, letting out a small cry as Wilhemina latched her mouth to her neck. 

She hummed as she nodded, relishing the taste of her when she was unraveling like this. Sticky, hot. So different from that sharp, sweet, clean taste when she was still dressed and still protected and still in charge. 

“You’re learning.”

Mildred scoffed beneath her, and Wilhemina had a split second to brace herself before nails were raking up her thighs and up her lower back, Mildred’s hands splaying out and holding her close. 

“And you’re going too slow.”

Wilhemina was flipped before she knew what was happening, gasping as Mildred grabbed her shoulders and shoved her down in to the mattress. Hard. 

“Millie—“

But Mildred cut her off, pressing a chaste kiss to her cheek. And when she pulled back she was smiling. Sickly sweet. 

“Besides, I thought we had an agreement that I could take care of you tonight, yes?”

Wilhemina’s brow furrowed, the need to top Mildred too intense for her to think of anything else. Until Mildred spoke again, her voice threading through the air, slicing through Wilhemina’s need like a knife. 

“Unless you were planning on breaking the rules, Ms. Venable?”

And now it was Wilhemina’s turn to smile, laughing sarcastically as Mildred pinched at her sides until she squirmed. 

“Mina,” she corrected over a giggle, biting down on her lip to keep from completely losing herself. 

Mildred smirked, cocking her head as she repeated Wilhemina’s words back to her. 

“You’re learning.” 

“Shut up and fuck me.”

Mildred quirked a brow. “Language.”

But Wilhemina was too desperate, reaching for her hands and pushing them down over her hips. 

“Now, Millie.”

And when Mildred smirked, nails pricking into Wilhemina’s tender skin there, something caught in Wilhemina’s chest. 

Her eyes were razor sharp, lips twitching from a smirk to a smile, back and forth and back and forth. And just when Wilhemina was starting to think she looked almost sickening, she spoke, leaning down and pressing their foreheads together. Just out of reach. Just a bit too far. 

“Oh now now, cinnamon. You know better than to rush me. I’m in charge tonight. That was the agreement. And I decide when you get my fingers. Understood?”

And Mina found herself nodding. 

She was rewarded with a delicate kiss to her lips. Not nearly deep enough and entirely too sweet. 

“Just so long as we’re both on the same page.” A moment, a breath spent staring into those predatory eyes. “Now why don’t you spread those pretty legs for me, hm?” 

~~~ 

Mildred combed her fingers through Wilhemina’s hair, laid out so beautifully across her, head in her lap, fingers tracing the bones of her ankles. 

Intimacy entangled.

“What did they do..?” Mildred breathed, running her fingers delicately over the morphed skin. A fleeting touch. 

Wilhemina drew a slow breath. Calculated. Shaking. “First it was the brace. Screwed in. Stretched.”

“And the appointments for the table?” Mildred asked, her own breath starting to tremble at the idea. 

Wilhemina nodded. “Yes.”

“How old were you?”

“Seven,” Wilhemina said softly, gasping as Mildred’s fingers tucked under a soft piece of her spine, bumping along the gaps in her vertebrae. 

“And it hurt.”

It wasn’t a question. She knew it had hurt. Especially on someone so young. So pliant and vulnerable. 

But Wilhemina didn’t answer, instead plowing ahead. “And then the surgery when I was thirteen.” 

Mildred flinched, the images flashing through her mind. She had seen the slides. She knew what they did. Sliced tendons and ligaments. And there was rarely any progress. 

“It didn’t work.” 

Again, not a question. And this time, as Wilhemina shook her head no, Mildred found what she was looking for. The scars from the screws. Spaced evenly apart, marred by scars from the surgery. Exactly where they should be. 

Wilhemina’s breaths stuttered as Mildred’s fingers slid over them, and she found her own breath speeding up at the thought of this woman on a table. So small. So scared. So cold. 

“And the tethers?” Mildred asked, running through the typical steps in her head. Trying to remember what she had learned in her training. 

But to her surprise, Wilhemina shook her head. She was panting now, and Mildred could feel her chest tightening in response as she trailed her fingers further down, where the spine corrected and compensated and bulged in the opposite direction. 

“Electroshock therapy.”

Wilhemina had barely spoken, barely whispered. But Mildred heard her, completely and solely focused on this poor, fragile, broken thing beneath her. And she couldn’t help the way her heart lodged in her throat. 

“W-Why?” she asked softly, her thumb brushing absently over a particularly bad scar. 

Wilhemina took a deep breath, fingers flexing in the sheets. “There was a time where they thought it would help. A misalignment of the neurotransmitters firing. Especially with younger patients. I was already through puberty. It wouldn’t have made a difference. But I was broken. They were desperate. I was the shame—“

“—shame of your family,” Mildred finished for her. And she surprised herself when a tear fell onto her cheek. A quick swipe of her thumb and it was gone, and she leaned down and pressed a small kiss at the very top of Wilhemina’s spine. “You’re not the only one.” 

Wilhemina shifted in her lap, fingers tracing Mildred’s knee as her breaths pulled long and shaky. As they slowed. 

Mildred closed her eyes, centering herself. “Did they do the final surgery? With the pins and the staples?” 

And she hated herself for how clinical it sounded when she asked. She wanted to be vulnerable. Wanted to be softer. For her. 

For her. 

But Wilhemina didn’t seem to mind, only shaking her head and sighing, her eyes fluttering closed. “I was pushed out of the house after the shock therapy didn’t work. And by the time I had earned enough of my own money to pay for the surgery, I was too old. It was too late.”

“It’s never too late,” Mildred tried, the motto ringing through her head. 

“But it was,” Wilhemina replied, her voice low and raspy. “Even if it would have worked, I was already an adult. I was already... who I was. And I didn’t know who I was without my disability. Without my cane. Without my past and my pain and my perseverance. I’m not myself without this. And I can’t fully be myself with it.”

Mildred hummed, shaking her head softly. Because she knew. Of course she knew. The more she spoke to Wilhemina, the more she was convinced that they were the same person. The same soul, split between two bodies. With the same wants and needs and desires. 

Her fingers skimmed down Wilhemina’s spine for what felt like the hundredth time, and suddenly she had this all-consuming need to memorize the exact shape of it. The exact way that it bulged and twisted and dipped. The exact way that this faulty thing kept this woman up and held her on her feet. 

Another kiss. A sigh. And then, fingers shaking as they pulled through Wilhemina’s hair, brushing it back from her face. 

“I know exactly what you mean.” 

“Stay with me,” Wilhemina breathed, pressing a soft kiss to the inside of Mildred’s thigh. And Mildred’s fingers stuttered in her hair as another tear fell, unbidden, onto her cheek. 

Because she wanted to. She was pulled tight to this woman, an anomaly of existence, the very piece of her that she had always felt was missing, that she had always been searching for. 

But she could never be so irresponsible to leave her home and leave her work and settle in with a woman that she had only known for two days. 

“Stupid, idiotic girl. Stupid, stupid, stupid.”

Could she? 

~~~ 

She had said no. And Wilhemina had broken right there, exposed and entirely too vulnerable, in her lap. 

She had cried herself to sleep that night, curled against Mildred as she cooed and shushed her and stroked delicate fingers through her hair. 

And when she woke in the morning, filled with the smell of Mildred and the feel of Mildred and the taste of Mildred still on her tongue, everything seemed a bit grey. 

They made breakfast, speaking politely and laughing occasionally. Always broken, always half-formed. Got dressed and ready for the day, separately. Dolled themselves up in different types of armor—pantyhose, gloves, skirts, glasses. 

And then Mildred left. 

And then, she came back. 

It was like the universe couldn’t fathom them being apart, a rip torn through their plane of existence when Mildred boarded her train and went back home, clear across the country. 

Wilhemina hadn’t gone with her to the station, but she could feel when she left the city, when she left the state. It was a series of ties being broken, strings snapping in her chest as each one was pulled to breaking and eventually gave out. 

Except the last one. The one that left a buzzing in Wilhemina’s ear, a ringing every time her cane tapped down that sounded so awfully close to the way Mildred sighed just as she was about to orgasm. The way she hummed, barely audible, when they kissed. 

That tie remained. And one day, almost three months later, it got hotter. 

Wilhemina had been making dinner, listening to the television drone on as she stirred her pasta in the pot, when her chest warmed. It was so sudden and so all-consuming that she almost dropped her tongs, Mildred’s name pounding through her head on a loop. 

She had known what was coming before it did. She could sense her presence. Could practically see her smoothing down her skirt and running a finger over the brim of her hat as she walked up Wilhemina’s drive. 

But the knock on the door — soft, three times — had still made Wilhemina jump, a lump of emotion lodging in her throat as she grabbed for her cane and walked slowly to the front door. 

She knew it was her. Deep down, she knew it in her soul. They were tied together, whether Wilhemina liked it or not. But there was still that tiny, nagging voice in the back of her mind that told her not to get her hopes up. That wishing only led to disappointment. 

Until she opened the door, heart pounding, and saw Mildred Ratched standing perfectly straight on her doorstep, a singular suitcase in hand. 

“Millie,” Wilhemina breathed, like she needed confirmation. Like she was seeing a ghost. 

Mildred swallowed, the smallest of smiles pushing at her lips. 

“I was transferred to an institution not far from here,” she said softly, pointing absently behind her before ducking her head against her blush. 

But Wilhemina caught it. She caught everything with this masterpiece. 

“I couldn’t stand the thought of living in this city and...” She cleared her throat, fingers fidgeting with the handle of her suitcase. “And being apart from you.”

And just as Wilhemina glanced past her at the taxi sitting idle in the street, Mildred looked up, eyes glassy and almost vibrating with emotion. 

“Does your offer still stand?”

Wilhemina had to physically bite the inside of her cheek to keep tears from her eyes, her fingers itching and playing on the top of her cane accordingly. 

“Are the rest of your bags in the taxi?” Wilhemina asked, trying not to focus on the way Mildred’s chin was trembling. Trying not to hear the pounding in her head to kiss her. 

Mildred nodded, and then Wilhemina was moving past her. A gloved hand skimmed over Wilhemina’s shoulder as she passed, just fleeting enough to be a tap.

“I haven’t paid the driver yet, I—“

But Wilhemina turned, and the angle was exactly like the first time she had walked past her in that stuffy university. But this time, the setting sun was glinting off of Mildred’s hair and there was a hope in her eyes, an intimacy that had Wilhemina’s hand tightening on her cane to keep her balance. 

“You go inside,” she started, swallowing against the dryness in her throat. “Make yourself comfortable, set your things down. I’ll retrieve the rest of your bags and take care of the cab fare.” 

It’s the least I can do, for him bringing you back to me.

Not even five minutes later, Mildred’s luggage was stacked in the foyer and the cab was driving away as Wilhemina stalked back up the short walk to her door. 

She had expected Mildred to be sitting at the dining table, or putting her things in the bedroom. But to her surprise, when she closed the door, locked it safely behind her, and turned, Mildred was standing in the middle of her entryway, still holding tight to her suitcase and watching Wilhemina with sharp eyes. 

Wilhemina tapped her cane, swallowing, and she didn’t miss the way Mildred’s eyes flicked to it. 

And then, just like that, Mildred dropped her suitcase and practically ran to Wilhemina, gloved hands pulling her face down, pulling their mouths together.

Wilhemina let herself moan, tears instantly pricking her eyes at the memory of how good this felt. How right. And then Mildred’s hands were on her waist and she was pushing her back against the door. Hard. 

“I missed you so much, Mina,” she breathed between kisses, peppering them over Wilhemina’s cheeks and down her jaw. 

And then the tears did fall, because she had missed Mildred, too. So, incredibly much. More than she would have missed the air she breathed, the food she ate. More than she had ever missed anyone or anything in her entire life. 

Her soul had been ripped from her, torn away and shipped off across the country. And now it was back, and with every kiss, they sewed themselves back together. 

Stitch by stitch. Piece by piece. 

~~~ 

She crowned herself with her nurse’s hat, pinning her hair back carefully around it and buttoning it up in the back. Wilhemina watched her. Watched the way she stood a bit straighter. Watched the way her feet came together and she shifted her weight, perfectly even. Perfectly level. 

Wilhemina walked over, drawn to her like a magnet. And her cane clicked as she went, tapping down beside her and forcing a smirk to curl Mildred’s lips as she glanced at Wilhemina in the mirror. 

She walked right up to her, snaking an arm around her waist and pulling Mildred back against her chest as her mouth found her ear. 

“You look impeccable, darling.”

Mildred quirked a brow, eyes like daggers as they bored into Wilhemina from the mirror. She hummed. 

“Almost good enough to eat.” Wilhemina pressed a kiss to her jaw, letting her eyes rake over Mildred’s perfect neck, the way it quivered as she swallowed, the shine of her hair pulled up in impeccable fashion just above her collar. She fingered the fabric there, letting her nails scrape over the soft skin just below her ear. 

“Why don’t you take a bite, hm?” Mildred’s voice caught as Wilhemina’s nail pricked against her pulse point, and when she spoke again it was low, raspy. Dangerous. “See what happens.”

Wilhemina growled, leaning forward and tugging her earlobe between her teeth. She pulled Mildred flush against her, hand splaying out on her stomach. And Mildred gasped as her fingers found Wilhemina’s thigh, nails piercing the fabric. Wilhemina felt her swallow down a moan, tense, stutter. And then there was a long breath and a shaky sigh, and the nails in Wilhemina’s leg retracted as Mildred pulled away. 

“I can’t be late for my first day of work, dear.” 

She brushed down her dress, straightening out that perfectly pinned crown and putting the finishing touches on her hair. 

And then, before Wilhemina could blink, Mildred wrapped her slender fingers around her tie and pulled her forward, dragging her out of the bedroom and through the house to the front door. 

A disapproving tap of her cane, a small frown, and then Mildred had her purse and pressed a soft kiss to Wilhemina’s cheek, skirting out the door with a dark, “See you tonight, cinnamon.” 

And she almost felt like it was a threat. 

~~~ 

Wilhemina had never known love. 

She had told Mildred flat out over dinner one night when traumas and pasts and fears were all laid bare on the table. 

Mildred was different. She had known it and lost it. Seen people shattered beyond repair because of it. And she had put up those brick and mortar walls around her heart so that she couldn’t feel that kind of sadness ever again. 

Yet somehow, every night that she came home to Wilhemina’s arms and her small smile and her absolute and complete honesty, she felt those walls start to fall. Little by little, brick by brick. And every morning when she awoke in her lover’s arms, after breakfasts shared and dressed zipped and buttoned, she had to rebuild it. Fortify herself for the world that lay just outside their door. The evil of it. The hurt. 

It became all-consuming, this uneasy thought of love. It permeated every minute of her waking day, and haunted her dreams like some sort of cruel, intangible thing. But she always woke in Wilhemina’s arms. Safe and protected and entirely too vulnerable. 

And one day, one tiny day that should have been absolutely nothing, Mildred was so consumed with the inkling of possibility of falling entirely too hard in love with Wilhemina, and what that meant for her future in this world, that she lost herself. Faltered, for a moment. Had to do up the buttons of her uniform twice before getting them to align. And forgot her lunch as she grabbed her purse and walked out the door. 

~~~ 

It wasn’t unusual for Mildred to leave for work before Wilhemina did. It wasn’t unusual that she left for work before Wilhemina was even awake and out of bed. 

At first it had scared Wilhemina, waking up alone and cold in a bed that had been so comforting and warm just hours before. Abandoned. Forgotten. 

But Mildred had only been in the kitchen, cracking her eggs with such precision that Wilhemina had almost decided right then and there never to touch another egg again. 

It just so happened that Mildred’s mornings got earlier just as Wilhemina’s nights got longer, the flex and pull of their schedules only crossing at certain points. A whirlwind of a double helix in flux. 

Those days, Mildred would slip out of bed so quietly that Wilhemina wouldn’t even notice, usually awoken by the inevitable cold of an empty bed, rather than some sound from the bathroom or clattering from the kitchen. 

Today had been no different. Today had been routine. Until Wilhemina opened the refrigerator almost three hours after Mildred had gone, only to find her lunch sitting packed and abandoned on the second shelf. 

It wasn’t even a thought, the decision to take it to her. Just an action. The institution was on her way to work — well, almost on her way — and Wilhemina was already running early. It was nothing. 

Until it wasn’t. 

Wilhemina picked through the patients that crowded the common room, pursing her lips against the disgusted expression that was forming against her will. She stepped carefully, cane tapping lightly as she watched where she was going. The facility was impeccable, but this space, so unlike the hall, belonged to the patients. Not the nurses. Blankets were left forgotten on the ground, and shoes had been kicked off. And Wilhemina was just uncomfortable enough to worry about losing her footing. 

She made it all the way to the other side of the room, coming up on a window like a sanctuary, before she realized that Mildred wasn’t here. 

But just as the thought crossed her mind and she leaned forward to peer outside, Wilhemina heard her. 

It was easy enough. The rooms were lavish, but mostly tile, and Mildred’s voice tended to carry, no matter how soft. But right now, it was hard. Harder than Wilhemina had ever heard it. 

“I don’t care if he won’t take it, he needs it. If he doesn’t take his medicine, then not only will it put everyone else here at risk, but how soon can we expect them all to start refusing their medication? They need it, Betsy. They don’t know what is good for them. We know what is best.”

Wilhemina turned from the window, Mildred’s lunch clutched between gloved fingers. And Mildred must have noticed the movement, because she looked up. But just as Wilhemina let her guard down and offered a small smile, fingers twitching in a half wave, Mildred’s face melted, something like humiliation flushing through her perfect complexion as she marched straight to Wilhemina. 

Shit. 

“What on earth do you think you’re doing here?” Mildred whispered, gripping her fingers into Wilhemina’s elbow and pulling her back across the room to the nurse’s station. 

“You forgot your lunch,” Wilhemina tried, keeping her voice down. Because somehow this was what wasn’t allowed. This was what was compromising. 

A lunch. 

Mildred’s humiliation shifted to horror, glancing for maybe the first time down at Wilhemina’s hands. 

“You can’t be serious.” 

“I don’t understand what the issue is, Nurse Ratched.” Wilhemina made sure to drag out her title. Just a bit too loud. Because she couldn’t seriously be upset with her for trying to be kind. For trying to do the right thing. She couldn’t possibly— 

Mildred’s eyes narrowed before she glanced behind her. And when she spoke, it was through gritted teeth. 

“Go set that down over there.” She indicated to a desk in the corner of the room. “And then go back to work before you screw something else up.”

A flat laugh fell out of Wilhemina almost before she could help it, fingers tightening on the bagged lunch. And before she knew what she was doing, she had shoved it into Mildred’s hands, leaning in impossibly close as she growled.

“Go set it down yourself.” She tapped her cane, too hard. Too loud. A few of the patients covered their ears. “You can be certain that this is the last time I ever do you any favors. Do you understand?”

Mildred’s nostrils flared, and her fingers twitched over the bag. “I didn’t ask for your help.”

And then Wilhemina straightened, nose twitching as she quirked her brow. “And let’s hope you never need it again.”

And then she was gone, breezing past Mildred before she said something else and the tears sticking in Wilhemina’s throat pushed up and fell. 

She heard the bag crunch as she hit her cane on the floor, propelling herself forward, one step after the other, closer and closer to the exit. And she hated the way she hoped for Mildred’s voice to ring out, to call her back. 

She almost looked back over her shoulder, a moment of weakness that she couldn’t afford. So she ducked her head instead, plowing ahead and storming down the hallway. Out the doors. All the way down the stairs to the street. 

She fumed in the taxi, fumed all the way to her desk. Fumed for the next nine and a half hours that she sat at work, fingers picking at her typewriter as she swiveled back and forth in her chair, digging and twisting her cane into the weak wood floors as she ran over arguments and words to spit at her Mildred. Her Mildred. Nurse Ratched. 

They weren’t the same woman. But neither was she. How could she be? 

By the time Jefferson came to get her, going over final plans for the next day and collecting her paperwork, she had dug a nice little dent into the floor. 

Small, deep. A bullet hole kneaded slowly and steadily. Just like the one Mildred’s words had worn into her heart. 

~~~ 

“You wouldn’t like it if I showed up at your place of work without warning, would you?” Mildred’s voice was steady, arms crossed over her chest. 

“Don’t—“ 

“Would you?” 

Wilhemina’s cane hit the ground. “Stop that. Don’t treat me like you treat them. Don’t talk to me like that.”

“Like what? I’m just asking a simple question. The answer is either yes, or no.”

“Mildred, stop shrinking me.”

“You think I’m trying to control you?”

“No,” Wilhemina growled, stalking over to her as the last of her patience wore through. “I know you’re trying to control me. And you know that that’s not how this relationship works.” 

She bent over Mildred, practically panting, and Mildred was shocked when a pang of regret shot through her. But then something hardened, because no. Wilhemina didn’t get to win this one. She had come to her office out of the blue. Could have exposed them. Put them both in danger. 

Because Mildred had been careless. Forgotten her lunch. All for being so consumed with the idea of—

Mildred tipped her chin up, eyes hard as they met Wilhemina’s fiery ones. She stood her ground. 

“Apologize.”

Wilhemina set her jaw. “No.”

She leaned up on her toes, leveling their height. “Apologize.”

Wilhemina shook her head slowly, eyes narrowing as her nose twitched. As her jaw set. 

And then there were hands on Mildred’s shoulders and Wilhemina’s mouth was on hers, hard and fast and furious as she pushed her back, back, back, slamming her hard against the wall. 

“Fuck,” Mildred hissed, and then Mina broke from her, mouth on her ear as she purred. 

“Language.” 

She scoffed, shoving at her, needing her off of her so that she could breathe. Think. Because when her hands were on her like this, and she was breathing like this, quick and ragged and right behind her ear, Mildred’s mind only comprehended one thing. 

“Mina,” she tried, nails digging in as Wilhemina pulled her off the wall for a split second, only to throw her back against it again. She cried out, something hard knotting over her heart. 

So this was how it was going to be? Fine. 

Mildred lunged forward, kissing Wilhemina sloppily, desperately. Any way she could hold on to some semblance of control. 

And she gasped, just as Mildred knew she would. So she took the opening, gripping hard into her waist and pushing her off, before her nails raked down Wilhemina’s arm and her fingers closed around her wrist. 

Mildred pulled, yanking Wilhemina after her, across the living room, around the sofa. Down the short hallway, pulling harder every time Wilhemina tried to plant her feet. Until she threw her into the bedroom, Mina practically spinning around and pinning Mildred against the wall, the door jam digging into her spine. 

She cried out, hands flying to Wilhemina’s shoulders. Clawing at her. Grappling for something to hold her down and hold her steady so she could get her advantage back. 

“You’re so fucking infuriating,” Wilhemina growled, biting hard on Mildred’s neck. But no. She didn’t get to win. 

So she pushed, hard, and sent Mina stumbling back. And Mildred was right there, stalking after her and shoving again, and this time, when Wilhemina stumbled, she landed hard on the bed. 

Mildred was over her in seconds, panting as she crushed her mouth back against Wilhemina’s, tongues fighting as their teeth clashed. Her fingers found buttons and she yanked, the rip cutting through the room. 

She didn’t even wait for Wilhemina to shrug the shirt off, fingers already dug into the waistband of her skirt and rucking it down, down, down. 

She got it down around her ankles, but as she braced herself on Mina’s knees and pulled herself back up, Wilhemina’s hand found her chin, pulling her in for a bruising kiss and holding her firm as her free hand flicked open the buttons on her shirt, one by one, so fast it should have been impossible. 

“Get your shirt off,” Mildred panted, hands scrambling to find purchase on Mina as she crawled up on the bed and straddled her. 

But Mina pulled back, a smirk like death making her eyes go black. 

“Ladies first.” 

And that was the last straw. Mildred’s patience had already been tested from the ordeal this morning, amplified by the unexpectedness of Wilhemina showing up at her work. That stupid, thoughtful way she brought her the forgotten lunch. The tiny wave. Like she cared. Like she—

Mildred growled, practically a scream as she grabbed Wilhemina’s shoulders and shoved her down until she was swallowed by the mattress. Splayed a hand out over her chest to keep her pinned. Keep her down. 

She could feel Mina’s heart hammering, could feel how fast she was panting. Gasping. 

Nails clawed at her arm, dragging down as Mildred cried out. There would be blood soon. She knew that feeling. 

But then Wilhemina pulled her hand from her chest, twining their fingers hard and pressing hot, wet, quick kisses down over the already reddening marks. Yanked her fingers back. Licked. Right over her palm. 

Mildred moaned, the feeling going straight to her core, and then her hands were in Wilhemina’s hair and she was pulling her neck taunt to get better access. So she could bite and suck and mark her for everyone to see. 

She sat up on her knees, gaining leverage. And Mina’s hands were on her ass in an instant, kneading. Hard. 

“Logic would imply that I shouldn’t let you touch me until you apologize,” Mildred managed, back to base form as she leaned into Mina’s hands. As she moaned into her neck. 

Her teeth dug into a particularly sensitive spot, pinching the already flushed skin. And just as Mina gasped, just as she thought she’d won, Mina’s hands fell to her thighs, the world spun, and she was on her back. And Mina’s hand was wrapped tight around her throat. 

“No more talking,” she growled, her free hand scraping roughly down Mildred’s stomach, under the band of her skirt, and straight between her thighs. 

“Fuck, Mina,” Mildred gasped, the words melting into a groan as her thumb slid over her underwear. 

Wilhemina shoved her further into the bed, fingers tightening. And Mildred’s vision blurred at the edges as she gasped for breath. 

Perfect. Delicious. Exactly what she wanted. 

No talking. Only feeling. Only Wilhemina. 

But then Mina spoke, voice hot by her ear. 

“I said no talking. I don’t want another word out of you until you’re ready to apologize.”

She pushed her underwear aside on the last word, slipping two fingers easily inside. Mildred cried out, hands grabbing for the arm braced on her throat and holding on tight as her hips started rocking of their own accord. 

“Apologize for what,” she panted, eyes screwing shut as Mina curled her fingers. 

A flat laugh. A squeeze to her throat. Heat pooling between her thighs. 

“For making an entire scene just because I brought you your lunch. Because I took time out of my day to make sure you were taken care of.”

Mildred was slammed back into the mattress again. 

“What does your logic say about that, Nurse Ratched?”

There were tears pricking at Mildred’s eyes now, because she wouldn’t break. She wouldn’t. But Wilhemina’s fingers picked up their pace, and then her mouth was on hers, and Mildred knew exactly what was coming. 

Mina bit down on her lip. Hard. Yanked at it, pulling until Mildred whimpered. 

“Apologize,” she growled, fingers twisting and curling and nails pricking against Mildred’s throat. 

Mildred barely had the competence to shake her head no, but she managed it. Because as loud as her body was screaming with a need for more, for so much more of this woman, her brain wouldn’t let her. 

The rational part of Mildred’s brain kept the words stuck down in her throat, pounding that she didn’t need to say them. That this wasn’t her fault. That she had only been protecting herself. But the sentimental part kept pushing them back up again, harder and harder the longer Mildred stared at Wilhemina, eyes dark and predatory and so filled with hurt. 

“I’m not letting you come until you apologize,” Wilhemina scolded, nails scratching over Mildred’s throat as her fingers moved faster, harder. Her thumb brushed over her clit. 

Mildred sobbed, entire body vibrating with the beg for release. 

It almost felt like she was choking, the way she was swallowing the words down, only for them to get stuck again. Suffocate her. 

Wilhemina shook her head softly, holding Mildred’s eye contact like a lifeline as the smallest smile graced her lips. An angel above her. Salvation. 

And that was it. Mildred broke for the millionth time with this woman, relinquishing control. 

Letting go. 

Her orgasm hit her without Mina’s permission, shaking through her body and sending lightning down her spine. And the words were pulled from her just before her vision went black, hands twisting on Mina’s arm and toes curling hard in the sheets. 

“I lo-ove you.” 

She didn’t realize that she hadn’t apologized, the wrong words coming out of her, until she blinked her vision back and saw Wilhemina’s wide eyes, clarity piercing through whatever hurt and determination had been there just moments before. 

And then Mildred realized why the words had burned so hot in her throat. It wasn’t an apology. It was the truth. The reason. The explanation of why she had behaved the way she did and why she had lashed out. Why she had felt so scared and vulnerable that she couldn’t emotionally handle seeing Wilhemina somewhere she didn’t expect her. 

She wanted to apologize then, wanted to take them back. Because she had let herself slip. Again. And all it seemed to be doing was causing more trouble. She wasn’t tampering anything down, she was spinning the world further and further out of control. Unthreading her reality and watching the picture unravel before her eyes. 

“How do you always seem to mess everything up?”

“I-I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to—“

“Everything you touch turns to dust. How is that even possible? You should win some sort of prize for screwing this many things up. I swear.”

Wilhemina’s hand over hers brought her back, the air deathly still as Mildred’s voice rang off the walls. Over and over and over. 

She met Wilhemina’s eyes, heart still hammering in her chest as she fought to regulate her breathing. To calm herself down. It had always been so easy. Why was it so difficult now? 

“Does that scare you...?” Mina asked softly, shifting over her as her gaze burned through Mildred. 

Before she knew what she was doing, she nodded. Because it did. She did.

And Wilhemina matched her, nodding in time. “It scares me, too.” 

At that she did apologize, a soft “I’m sorry” falling from her lips in a last desperate attempt to calm the situation. To salvage the last piece of anything. To pull control back down over herself. 

But Wilhemina only shook her head, a softness in her eyes that Mildred had never seen before. 

“Don’t apologize.” 

And then that heavy silence. So familiar. So comfortable. Give their souls space. Let them figure it out. 

The words would come when they were ready. 

Wilhemina sniffed, tracing her thumb over Mildred’s cheek. “Do you remember when I told you that I had never known love?” 

And Mildred nodded again, finding herself unable to do anything else with the way Mina was staring at her. Eyes glittering. Galaxies. 

“I’m not sure that’s true anymore,” she whispered, gaze falling to Mildred’s mouth. Across the ages and spaces and miles between them. It could only have been inches now. “I don’t think it’s been true for a while.” 

Mildred let the words swim around her, furnishing her sanctuary here, pressed into a bed underneath Wilhemina. Locked in orbit, pulled in tight and unable to do anything but stare. 

She startled as a tear fell onto her cheek, swiping at it quickly as she sniffed. Came back to the present. The room fell back into place. 

And then her world, her life, her eternity, her Wilhemina kissed her. 

“My beautiful Millie,” she murmured, kissing her until she couldn’t breathe. Until the world swam again, this time for a completely different reason, happiness and joy threading through her and pouring like stardust in her veins. 

“Yours.” 

~~~ 

“Shall we?” 

Mildred threaded her arm through Wilhemina’s, pushing her hair up and letting her fingers ghost over the rim of her hat. 

“I’d love nothing more, Ms. Venable.” 

And the way that they walked together, their steps perfectly in time, Wilhemina’s cane tapping as she moved forward steadily, one foot after the other, matched with Mildred’s calculated walk, the way her feet barely crossed and she was almost pigeon-toed, like she was strutting down a runway. 

It should have been illegal, just after the war. It should have been frowned upon. But the power that flowed off of them when they were arm in arm like this, the way Mildred’s heart swelled and her chin tipped up and she managed to physically look down on everyone in her path, had people scattering like rats as their heels clicked along the tile. 

And the entire night, everyone at Wilhemina’s office party steered more than clear of them. Hushed whispers behind their backs had Wilhemina’s hands skirting just a bit too far down Mildred’s hips as she took small sips of her champagne, setting her gloved fingers itching and her thighs pressing together under her perfectly asymmetrical skirt. 

And Mildred made it a point to turn her head, just so, and whisper in Wilhemina’s ear whenever she was mid-conversation with her coworkers. Sometimes it was nothing. Sometimes it was filthy. 

But either way, she knew just the breath on Wilhemina’s ear was enough to make her pulse run a bit quicker. 

And sure enough, before dinner was even served, Wilhemina had made some sort of excuse and the two of them were running from the taxi, through the rain, and huddling together on the porch as Mina dug for her key. 

That night was her favorite night. 

Both of them soaked to the bone, sharing over-poured glasses of wine, half-dressed and drying out in front of the fireplace. 

And when Wilhemina gave her that smile, that particularly fond smile where her cheeks pushed up and her eyes softened, Mildred pushed her tongue into her cheek, fighting her own grin. 

They kissed until the fire burnt out, embers barely flickering in the black room. And just as the last of the light died, Mildred and Wilhemina sticky and naked and curled together on the floor, Wilhemina made to get up. 

Mildred’s hand on her arm stopped her, and she snuggled further against her to keep her still. 

“No light tonight,” she said softly. And she meant it. 

She wasn’t frightened. Not now. Not anymore. 

“Millie?” 

And Mildred let herself smile as she nodded. Because she had never been more certain of anything than she was of loving Wilhemina in this moment, and of letting herself be loved in return. Letting herself go. 

The world wasn’t logical. The world wasn’t ordered. Not when it came to her. Wilhemina had come in and spun her right out of control. And she kept doing it. Over and over again. Like it was a game. 

Maybe it was. 

And as Mildred leaned forward, capturing Mina’s lips in a languid kiss and humming contentedly, she realized that she was absolutely fine losing, if it meant that she got to have this. 

Tag List: @shineestark​ @duchessfics​ @darling-dontforgetme​ @midnight-lestrange​ @nerdaroo​ @thatgirlintheleatherjacket​

[ratchedspeach]

PROMPT: “Gwendolyn's thoughts the first time she saw Mildred?” - @classy-rachael

She reminds Gwendolyn of a child playing dress up in her mother’s closet. In her meekness, the cerulean fabric of her nurse’s uniform swallows her whole. Her relative plainness is shrouded in a coat of blood red lipstick. The color feels out of place on her pale complexion and pinched expression. Her facaded heir of sternness and cool confidence is undermined by the way she holds her arms across her stomach, or chews on the inside of her cheek. Gwendolyn understands her, because she has been her.

She’s certainly gay - of that there is no doubt. She’s not sure how she can be certain, only that it’s fact. Gwendolyn has always dated enough closeted women in her day to know exactly what they look like. Perhaps it’s in the desolatatiom creased into her forehead, or the way she sways back on her heels whenever a man looms too close, or perhaps it’s the way she flicks her gaze towards Gwendolyn - the only other woman in the group - like she’s longing to be seen as anything other than a passive object of desire. Even so, she would sooner take Mildred under her arm, like a bird protecting its hatchling, than she would make a move.

Gwendolyn can feel her brooding glare on her throughout the duration of the governor’s tour, but every time she turns to counter it, Mildred is nowhere to be seen.

It’s when she watches her assert herself over the well-being of the priest that starts to estimate Mildred. Her cheeks grow red when she yells at Betsy to keep her hands off of her, and Gwendolyn understands that it’s because she’s raised her voice in front of the onlookers. She barks out orders like a drill sergeant, and proceeds guide whatever is stuck in his throat spilling onto the carpet.

Governor Wilburn pulls her up by the shoulders when it’s over, shakes her as he spews acelades at her, his foul breath hits her square in the face. She stares at him in a daze, like a ragdoll, like she’s not really listening. When he finally let’s go, she’s trembling faintly. People funnel out of the room as Wilburn starts listing commands. Gwendolyn knows she should be in toe with him, but she holds her ground, pen poised on her notepad. Mildred stares at nothing, eyes wide and pale as death. She shakes her head, sucking in a sharp breath through her nose. Her eyes flick to Gwendolyn so fast she almost misses it, and she stalks off.

“Please don’t put your hand on me like that.” The words sound foreign on her after the assertion she had exuded mere moments before. There’s a fortitude to it that moves Gwendolyn more than anything she had shouted, an absolution to her tone which makes her lips part. Mildred doesn’t smile for the camera, opting instead to look through the lense with a thin expression. Gwendolyn stares blatantly, the fingers of her left hand fidgeting with the hem of her jacket. A heavy blush creeps up her neck and swells across her her cheekbones when Mildred meets her gaze. Gwendolyn can’t bring herself to look away, fearful of missing a single moment of her anomalous existence.

[eyebeastposts]

Patreon Prompt 104

Weekly Prompts Available for $5 and up Patrons  

Prompt: A Milf cougar’s night of passion takes a strange turn as she’s turned into a femboy.

  “How naughty,” Mildred said, leading on the latest boy toy she had taken from the local college. Her mature body was on full display with her button down shirt around her heaving chest and the mini-skirt around her childbearing hips. Fixing her glasses and twirling her pigtails she brought him over to the bedroom for the grand finale of her little game. All she needed now was to undress.

  Mildred’s big moment hit a snag as she felt the amulet around her neck. The artifact was supposed to take away some signs of her aging. She had been warned by the mystic that sold it to her to never take it off, less its powers be distorted. Unwilling to allows such a trifling matter to get in the way of her evening’s plans, she tossed off the jewelry without a second thought.

  As Mildred began to unbutton her dress shirt, she and her partner watched her heaving bosom dissolve into a flat chest. The loss of her shapely rear made it match the slenderness of her arms and legs. Glancing over at her mirror, she saw her features become softer, the rumors of the amulet’s age regressing abilities becoming more than just a myth. A soft voice left her lips as she beheld the other gift given to her by the amulet in the form of a sizable cock peeking out of from between her legs to lift up the hem of her skirt.

  Going back and forth between his modified figure and raging erection, Mildred made the educated guess that he was barely of legal age. The fact wasn’t lost on his partner, the young man looking over the femboy in front of him in undersized clothing. Always adaptable, Mildred leaned back on the bed with his member on full display. A few winks and soft words were all it took to get Mildred’s partner open to a different kind of sexual encounter.

[tcm]

Nice Guys Finish Last...DEAD Last By Theresa Brown

SHE: “How much do I owe you?” 

HE: “Oh, I’ll send you a bill.” 

SHE: “Got the name?” 

HE: “Prentiss. Nora Prentiss.” 

SHE: “Don’t forget.” 

HE: “I won’t.” 

SHE: “By the way, you were very patient with me. You may not have noticed, but I was a little fresh.” 

HE: “I noticed.” 

SHE: “I don’t know why, but it’s something about you. Next time I’ll be polite.” 

HE: “It’s fine. Next time my bill won’t be so large.” 

And with this verbal foreplay, we’re off to the races in Vincent Sherman’s 1947 film noir: NORA PRENTISS (’47). Now, if I may, I’ll beg to differ with the TCM description of this movie:

“An ambitious singer ruins a doctor’s life.” - TCM

See, it’s all about perspective. She doesn’t ruin his life. I would say the movie is about the unraveling of a married man who lacks the courage to ask for a divorce.

This ‘Marital Noir’, as I like to call it, starts with the typical trope of film noir: flashback and voice-over. Everything is a fait accompli with flashbacks in movies as a vehicle to see HOW we got here. We have your average American married man: a staid predictable doctor with a wife, two kids, a house and car. You can set your watch by him. His wife, like so many in film noir, doesn’t pick up the red flag when he asks to go away together for a romantic weekend. She’s busy tending the house and their social obligations. He’s ripe for the picking, though he doesn’t know it or seek it. He accidentally “meets cute” a woman who is hit by a car. He tends to minor bruises on her leg (and brother, what legs), but there’s no life-threatening injuries. Banter in film noir usually leads to trouble.

The “ambitious singer” of the description is played by one of my classic film favorites: the sultry Ann Sheridan. Her character’s not very ambitious, if you ask me; works in an upscale honky-tonk. She wants what ev’ry girl wants—marriage, a white picket fence—but she’s not giving him the hard-court press to achieve this. She thinks the good doctor will go about it honestly to get their relationship to the next level. She’s rather patient though it is running thin. It’s the doctor who can’t get it together. This is late 1940s Sheridan, still packing a wallop with her copper-voice—the better to throw a wise crack—beautiful mane of hair and most importantly, her easy, natural screen acting. She has been a mainstay of the Warner Bros. studio since the ‘30's and is finally getting chances to carry a picture as the decade ends. But for someone playing the eponymous title character...this isn’t really her story. It’s his. Surprise, surprise.

If you know PITFALL ('48) or DOUBLE INDEMNITY ('44), THE UNFAITHFUL ('47), THE POSTMAN ALWAYS RINGS TWICE ('46), THE STRANGE LOVE OF MARTHA IVERS ('46), among other marital noirs, you know the apple cart is turned over when one has an affair; things are hidden...fear of discovery is rampant. Well it goes completely and utterly off the rails with what happens to our male lead. The apple cart is smashed and mangled. Don’t worry...NO SPOILERS!

Letting all that ‘oomph’ go to waste with his hemming and hawing and stalling and hiding is actor Kent Smith in the best role of his career. He usually plays rather undynamic, vanilla schmoes supporting the movie’s main leading man; but here he IS the lead and goes through quite a metamorphosis. This unprepossessing, soft-spoken guy becomes jealous, possessive and violent. He begins to drink. He fears being seen together compounding his fear of losing Sheridan. He can’t or won’t look for work. He makes excuses. He’s alone in his hotel all day while Sheridan works at a nightclub. He makes disastrous, fate-altering decisions. It must have been the chance of his career to play this man. You may know Smith from CAT PEOPLE ('42), THE CURSE OF THE CAT PEOPLE ('44), THE FOUNTAINHEAD ('49), THE DAMNED DON’T CRY ('50) or THE SPIRAL STAIRCASE ('46). He’s been around and had a career well into the 1970s. He does a great job in this. You might even feel sorry for him. Almost.

There are more stalwart characters from the Warner Bros. stable who also appear in this movie: Bruce Bennett (MILDRED PIERCE ['45] and DARK PASSAGE ['47]); Robert Alda (RHAPSODY IN BLUE ['45] and THE BEAST WITH FIVE FINGERS ['46]); the great character actress Rosemary DeCamp, who can do anything; AND John Ridgely, who seems to have been in every movie ever made and known to mankind. NORA PRENTISS is directed by Vincent Sherman. Now people usually associate George Cukor as a “woman’s director” in a slightly sniping way, but with veteran director Sherman known around town AS a ladies’ man, his being a “woman’s director” takes on a different meaning. Look over his filmography and you can see he worked with the Queens of WB on several occasions: Bette Davis, Joan Crawford, Ida Lupino and now Sheridan. And what can I say about the great composer Franz Waxman? Love him. I literally wait the entire movie just to hear the last 30 seconds of Waxman’s score before the credits, a beautiful melancholic dirge.

I highly recommend you watch NORA PRENTISS. It is a taut, tight film noir. We watch a man wrap himself in his web of lies and once entangled, he unravels badly, crashing headfirst into the heart of darkness.

[theotherbloodfart]

A Christmas Present for @leahtheclownofdistruction123 💜💜💜 hope you like 💜💜💜💜💜 part 2 will be nastY

Playing With Bob Gray Pt 1

Leah runs her finger tips down the front of her pleated skirt, smoothing the material here as she watches the scene before her. A strong man. A massive mountain of sweating flesh, straining and groaning as he hoists the massive circular atlas stone over his shoulder. Crumbled white powder dusts from his hands as they slide along the surface. He is a little frightening with the intensity of his facial expressions as he projects this supreme effort. 

Leah turns from the scene to take in the rest of the circus. At least what she can see from where she stands. There is so much to see. So many things to take in. 

It is July in 1912, a bustling productive year in Derry history. Ripe with historical importance. The nation has only just begun to get over the reeling blow of the sinking of the Titanic. Wireless communication has begun to open the farthest reaches of the globe to the rest of the world. Thru the power of steel and steam and the bustle of industry it seems as if humanity has reached the peak of its existence. 

But none of this enters Leah's mind. She is solely focused on the cacophony of noise and color which seems to explode and twist before her very eyes. Everything she could have ever imagined, as well as some things she's sure she could never imagine, are simply strolling by her.

There are dwarves! She's never seen one before! Dressed in bright colors and tossing flowers and sweets, they skip by her. And there! Not 20 feet from her, a weazened man leading a trundling kangaroo on a leash. The creature appears careworn and bored. And upon its front paws are tied a pair of boxing gloves. Leah's eyes are saucers as she watches them walk into a small tent with a painting of a man boxing a kangaroo on the side. At first, she feels tempted to follow, but yet even more noise and movement catches her attention and she turns.

This fresh sight is a little more horrifying than the last. It is a man. Giggling and dancing. His sleeves rolled up above his elbows. Leah watches as he pulls an 18 inch long sharp pin from an oversized pin cushion suspended from a stick that an assistant is carrying. His eyes meet hers and he slows, an intense and maniacal smile splitting his features. He takes the pin and runs its sleek cylindrical form thru the flame of a nearby torch. Then curls his tongue around it and slides the pin along the appendage, the heat from the metal causing steam to rise as well as causing hissing crackling noises. His eyes never leave hers as he then takes this pin and inserts it into one of his naked forearms. All the way thru, bringing his arm across his face so that he might gaze at her from around the protruding point of the pin on the opposite side of his arm. Gasping she turns and flees as fast as propriety will allow her.

She feels herself growing a bit disoriented and overstimulated as she walks quickly, head low, just trying to get away from the human pin cushion. Losing track of time, she doesn't notice that the stands and tents and throngs of people are growing thinner. She's nearing the edge of the entire affair. 

Stopping to lean against the side of a wagon, she gasps at the tightness of her shirt The heat of a mid July sinking sun causes the garment to feel even more constricting as well as causing little beads of perspiration to form on her skin. The air is hot and stagnant. The scents of exotic animal feces and circus foods are stifling within her flaring nostrils. 

A motion in her peripheral vision makes her lift her head. It is a clown. A clown! She has never seen a clown either! At least not in any other way aside from drawings and circus posters. This one is just as brilliant as any artwork. Bright red hair circles his bald head. His costume flares triumphantly around him in a yellow cascade of pluming silk. The silk around his arms is lined with purple and green stripes. And he's smoking a fat cigar, the great purplish puffs of smoke curling up his white cheeks and red circular nose. The garish black lines over his eyes are relaxed. He looks so very bored. 

Leah is still a little disturbed from the human pin cushion so the vision of this human that does not look human brings that discomfort back full force. She freezes, hoping the clown will not notice her. 

And he doesn't. Taking one last suck off the brown cylinder, he crushes the burning end against the side of a wagon, effectively stubbing it out, and stalks off out of Leah's vision. 

It is now that Leah notices all the wagons. Parked discreetly at the periphery of the circus, they go unnoticed by most of the patrons. Holding things like beds and supplies, they are the spine and bones of this place. 

Leah reads the painted side of the wagon that the clown had been leaning against. 

MILDRED THE ONE TON WOMAN

And below that a painted caricature of a morbidly obese woman laying in repose and suggestively licking her fingers. Leah feels a blush creep up her neck to paint her cheeks a delicate pink which mingles with the flush from the heat. She chooses not to think of what that clown must have been doing near that wagon.

She finds that each wagon has a painting of its inhabitants on the side. One for the dwarves. One for the wolf girl. One for the jugglers. She even sees the wagon for that awful human pin cushion.

But it is the wagon set furthest back that truly catches her eye and holds its attention. Upon it is the ghostly face of a clown. But the face paint is even more disturbing than the clown she'd seen earlier. Twin lines cut up over his cheeks and thru his eyes. The clown wears a large buck toothed smile. And the ornate words are very commanding in sparkling gold paint.

PENNYWISE THE DANCING CLOWN

The afternoon light is now beginning to fade into evening. And in the lower light, Leah can see the soft glow of lantern light coming from the open door of this wagon.. As she approaches she passes a sign nailed onto the side of another wagon.

No visitors beyond this point. 

Feeling curious and naughty, Leah turns her head in all directions. Slowly looking to see if anyone is watching. The lateness of the hour means that a lot of the guests are leaving. Or at least this is what she assumes as, although she can hear the sounds of people beyond the wagons, not a living soul greets her vision here. She leans over and slowly removes each of her leather shoes, careful to be as quiet as possible. Then she tip toes over the dry brown grass towards the beacon of light which is that open doorway. 

Her first sight, as she gazes into the door, is disappointing at first. There appears to be no one here. It is a good sized wagon. And she can see a large bed over in the far corner. And there is a rack of clothing in the middle of the wagon that impedes her vision of the rest of that side. Soft music floats up from a gramophone next to the very door she is peeking thru. 

She is nearly ready to turn and scamper back to the throngs of people when she hears a sound coming from the other side of the clothing rack. Like a hard object clicking against a table top. And….. Humming! There is someone humming back there! The voice is raspy and out of tune, but soft enough to explain why she'd not heard it at first over the music. 

She should leave. She needs to leave. She knows she should not be here. And as she places her sock clad toes upon the first step leading into the wagon, her heart thunders with the adrenaline only a precocious person, who knows they are being mischievous, can produce. Excitement bubbles thru her very finger tips as she enters the wagon. The air is strangely much cooler in here than it is outside. She had expected it to be stifling and enclosed and hot.

She pads as quietly as she can, around the clothing rack and, dropping into a very unladylike crouch, peeks her head stealthily around the last piece of clothing between herself and her quarry. What she sees makes her mouth go dry. 

It's a very broad set of shoulders. Naked and tapering into a slender waist. A thin sheen of sweat makes the skin on the man's back glisten. A few stray droplets accumulate to trail down into the hem of his trousers. His suspenders crease the flesh bilaterally down his back. He's hunched over, concentrating on whatever is on the table before him. 

As he sits up, rocking back slightly on the stool he is sitting upon, his face becomes visible in the mirror before him. Leah's blood turns to nervous ice in her veins. If he looks. If he merely stops focusing solely on what he's doing. If she so much as flinches. He will see her, crouching there, peeping with a blush upon his flesh like some wanton wild animal. What had she been THINKING sneaking in here like this??? This is the very most improper behavior she can possibly think of! Still, she must not move. Must hold perfectly still and watch this scene unfold.

She focuses on the slightly blurred reflection of the man's face. And heat returns to her blood. And not ONLY her blood. He has the most piercing blue eyes she has ever seen. His brow is very prominent, lending a severity to his features that she's never seen before.  Buck teeth rest on a lush lower lip underneath his nose. His jaw line is angled and sharp. He looks dangerous and devilish. And he's a very large man. And strong based off the lean muscle roping and bunching upon his back as his arms move. He appears to be mixing something that she cannot see.

This doesn't remain a mystery for long, as the man brings a short thick brush to his face and spreads a thick white line of paint from his wide forehead, around his temple, and then down his cheek to his chin. His mouth widens, stretching his lips over his teeth, distorting his humming even more, as he uses the brush to begin working the paint over that side of his face.

It is at this point that, her shoes, hanging forgotten till this moment from her hooked forefinger and middle finger, begin to slip from her grasp. Instinctively, her palm curls and she yanks her hand to her chest, wrapping her other arm around both shoes. She looks back up to the man, fully expecting to have been caught. But he's still working face paint under his eye. That was close! Too close! Leah takes in those broad shoulders one last time, shivering underneath her dress from something other than cold. Then slowly backs away around the clothes rack. She feels relief wash over her as she realizes she's no longer in his vision. All she's gotta do is just tip toe back over to that door and then she's a free bird.

Time seems to slow to a horrifying crawl, as she watches the door begin to swing closed. The thing opens towards the interior of the wagon so Leah can clearly see that no mortal hand is closing it. Throwing caution to the wind, she stands and full on sprints towards the shrinking line of twilight sky visible around the edges of the closing door. She knows the very moment that she will not make it. Electric bolts of numbing terror shoot thru her limbs. Her mouth widens, teeth bared, in a silent scream of sheer horror. Her lungs wheeze from an extra jolt of adrenaline laced energy. But it is to no avail. And she knows this. Even before the click of the handle into the door frame announces that she's closed in, she instinctively knows that It will be locked. 

And as her hands fumble with the knob and feel no turning nor give, she feels the first fearful tears leave her eyes.

And then a raspy voice rings out behind her.

"Hello Leah. Come to play with ole Bob Gray?" 

Leah turns, her hands flailing behind her. One still struggling uselessly to turn the doorknob. The other raking nails against the solid wood grains of the door, her shoes clattering to the floor and very much forgotten. Her body stands upon tip toes, leaning back, as if instinctively trying to use her weight to somehow break thru the door. 

And there before her, so tall that even at this distance of several feet she must crane her head, stands the man who had been sitting in front of a mirror applying paint to his face mere moments ago. His back is hunched slightly as if his very being is being restrained from pouncing on her. He's rubbing his long thin hands together as if he's preparing to experience some sort of victory. His lower lip droops obscenely as he grins at her. A thin line of spittle runs from this lip, as if he is slavering at the scent of a sumptuous feast. His brows are creased even further over those haunting eagle like eyes. In this moment, he does not look entirely HUMAN.

"I'm so sorry!" Leah stammers. "I….. I didn't mean to intrude. I was just curious. I'll leave right away. I promise!" 

With each quivering word, the man's….. Bob's…….. Drooling too wide smile grows ever more wide. Baring more and more crooked teeth. He's now rubbing his hands so tightly that Leah can hear popping sounds arising from his knuckles. 

"Oh. You're not going anywhere Leah. Not yet. We haven't even begun to play." His voice is something between a hiss and a growl, and spittle flies upon the 'play'. Leah openly gasps as he jerks a large foot forward, taking a step towards her. He's hunching even more now, and it's quite obvious that he's preparing to spring if she tries to get around him. But why even try? Without a way out of the door behind her, there's really nowhere to go. 

Still, Leah simply cannot stand by. Her skin is alight with electric adrenaline. She takes a small step to the right, testing him. Bob responds by tilting his head at her and advancing another step. His grin is so wide now that it shall surely split his face in 2. She feigns another step to the right before attempting to actually go left. Her very blood is screaming although her lips emit only desperate panting. 

She doesn't get far. She feels his hand around her wrist, cold and vice like. So large that her own hand is engulfed. The door knob strikes her back as Bob shoves her into the door, making her cry out. Keeping his hand around her wrist, he pulls it above her head, bringing his large body flush with hers. She can feel the lean iron like musculature of him thru her clothes. Can feel her clothes sticking to the sweat upon him. She reaches up, pressing her free palm against his chest to try to push him away. A cracking hyena like laugh erupts from him as he snatches up this free hand and pulls it effortlessly up to its twin. He uses only one hand to trap her smaller hands there. Using his free hand, he cups her face and pushes it upward so that her eyes meet his own. 

"Oh but you're a pretty one, Leah. Let me introduce myself properly. Name's Robert Gray. Friends call me Bobby." 

[sinemacoment]

Üç Billboard Ebbing Çıkışı

Adaleti arayan bir anne

Amerika Missouri eyaletinin Ebbing kasabasında vahşice öldürülen Angela’nın katili daha bulunamamıştır. Anne Mildred Hayes (Frances McDormand) radikal bir karar alır ve uzun zamandır boş kalan bilbordlara kızının katillerinin neden hala bulunamadığını sorgulayan yazılar astırır.  Şerif William Willoughby’ı töhmet altında bırakacak olan bu billboardlar kasabanın sorunu haline gelir. Kasaba sakinleri Anne Hayes’e cephe alacaktır. Yüreği parçalanmış yaralı bir annenin adalet arayışının dramatize edilmeden, gerçeğe yakın bir üslupla işlenmesi filmi izlemeye değer kılmıştır.

Martin McDonagh, sinema dünyasının merdivenlerini yavaş yavaş çıkan bir isim. İlk uzun metrajlı yapımı olan In Bruges ve daha sonra çektiği Yedi Psikopot’la adından söz ettirmişti. 3. uzun metrajı olan Üç Billboard Ebbing Çıkışı filmi ile kariyerinin zirvesine çıktı.  McDonagh, sağlam bir senaryo ile karşımıza kült bir film çıkartıyor. Neden kült film dedim, çünkü bu sağlam senaryo ve yönetmenin muhteşem sinema öngörüsü bunu mümkün kılmıştır.

Dramatik bir konuyu hiç sıkmadan, bükmeden, melankolinin dibine vurmadan, mesajı kara mizah yoluyla bizlere muhteşem bir sinematografi ile aktaran film takdiri hak ediyor. Hatta konusu dram olan filmimiz bizi güldürecek öğeleri de eksik etmiyor. Acılı bir annenin neler yapabileceğini gösteren bu yapım, izleyicide karma karışık duygular uyandırıyor. Bize bu duyguyu yaşattıran McDonagh ‘ın tiyatro geçmişi bunda etkili oluyor. İzleyiciyi çok iyi yorumlayan yönetmen ‘yüze vurumcu tiyatro tekniğini’ (in-yer-face theatre) sekanslarda çok iyi işliyor. Bazı sahnelerde seyircinin yüzünde, zihninde patlayan, şok etmeyi amaçlayan, bunun için gerektiğinde çok sert sahnelerden kaçınmayan, suç kavramı üzerine yoğunlaşan bu teknik ile gerçekliği daha etkili sunuyor. Aslında basit bir teknik gibi görünse de bunu filme aktarmak hiç o kadar kolay olmuyor.

Filmin en dikkat çekici unsurlarından biri de oyuncular. Özellikle Frances McDormand ve Sam Rockwell performanslarıyla alkışı hak ediyor. Yan karakterlerde izlediğimiz oyunculardan Woody Harrelson’ın ilk perdedeki performansı usta oyucuya saygımızı bir kez daha artırdı. Hem McDormand’ın hem de Rockwell’in filmdeki performansları ile Oscar ödülü aldıklarını da belirtmek gerekir. Frances McDormand “En İyi Kadın Oyuncu” ödülünü alırken, Sam Rockwell “En İyi Yardımcı Erkek Oyuncu” kategorisinde ödül kazanıyor. Kadın oyuncu McDormand gerçekten muhteşem bir oyunculukla şu an sinema sektöründe bulunan bütün oyunculara ders verir nitelikte bir iş çıkarmış oldu. 1997 senesinde Fargo filmi ile Oscar’ı kucaklayan McDormand 21 yıl aradan sonra tekrar bu ödülü evine götürüyor.

Carter Burwell ismine değinmeden geçmek istemiyorum. Fargo filminin müziklerini yapan Burwell burada da mükemmel bir işe imza atıyor. Kulaklarımızın pasını silen güzel tema müzikleri ile filmi bir tık yukarı taşıyor.

Sonuç itibarıyla filmde, kara mizah öğelerini barından ve farklı bir sinema diline sahip, izleyiciyi şaşırtan, hem hüzünlendiren, hem de güldüren ve bugünlerde Amerika’da yine yükselen ırkçılık, homofobi gibi konular hiç korkulmadan cesurca bir yaklaşımla sergileniyor.

Editör Puanı: 10/8.5

Yapım Yılı: 2018 Hasılat: 159 Milyon Dolar