#ms. venable x nurse ratched

[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​

[saviorinsilk]

WIP sneak peek please!?😁😁

This is probably my favourite WIP currently. It feels like a blessing to be able to write it and I haven’t gotten this feeling so quite some time. I’ve had this idea for at least 2 years but it was nothing more than the basic idea. Until last week. So without further or due; here is a sneak peak for All Good Girls Go To Hell.

All Good Girls Go To Hell

There were no words exchanged between the two, then suddenly a harsh smack rang through the large dining hall. Megan shrieked as she stumbled backwards into the dining table behind her. Your jaw tensed, heat travelling deep in your core as the image of what Ms. Venable’s face must have looked like at that moment burned into your eyelids. 

Mere moments past before Megan’s red face was pressed against the now messy table, all Ms. Venable’s care for the cutlery items now abandoned. Plates and forks clattered to the ground as Ms. Venable began brutally smacking her hand across Megan’s bare ass. She had easy access, given everyone in the room except for Ms. Venable, Nurse Ratched and the other teachers, were completely naked. 

Ms. Venable showed absolutely no mercy, winding up each of her blows with a wide swing of her arm. Each and every attack felt like fire against Megan’s ass and her hands desperately shot back, attempting to protect her abused skin. She failed miserably, of course, instead, her wrists received a harsh slap and her hands became anchored to her back by Ms. Venable’s free hand. 

You still hadn’t removed your eyes from the ground, but you had opened them, the hardwood floors out of focus as you reminded inside your head. You could no longer feel your body, the strain that had once ached through your arms, no longer an annoyance. All you could concentrate on was the obscene sounds coming from mere inches from your position on the ground. Your lips remained partially gaped, your breathing fast and your heart beating so hard you could see the tops of your round breasts jiggling with every beat.

You wanted to lift your head, to be a good girl and watch the punishment as every submissive was meant to but you couldn’t reason with the part of you that was terrified of how you would react if your eyes met the scene unfolding in front of you. After all, this was a teaching moment and one in which Ms. Venable definitely did not intend to miss out on.

💖Tumblr Tag List💖

@marilynroselleprentiss

@misssofiacatherinepaulson

@queencocoakimmie

@lathraios

@goblinscum420

@pinkey629

@make--your--life--spectacular

@whatiziz

@natasha-danvers

@marvelfansince08love  

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@x-gay-horror-x

[grilledcheeseandguavajelly]

Okay but these Ginger Wives were MADE for each other

[grilledcheeseandguavajelly]

Mildred Ratched x Wilhemina Venable -- Hair Headcanons

(That no one asked for) 

This was initially part of the big Ratched x Venable fic, but as I adjusted it and moved things around, I found that it didn’t quite fit. So I thought I would post it as headcanons instead!

~Enjoy, my little peaches 😉~

Tag List: @thatgirlintheleatherjacket @shineestark @duchessfics @darling-dontforgetme @midnight-lestrange @nerdaroo @pradababey (and @welshdragonrawr because it’s Mildred and they’re legally obligated to listen to me rant about her)

Neither of them noticed when it happened. How it happened. But they grew a bit older. 

Just a smidge. 

And as the stories shared grew shorter and more meaningful, as they learned to read each other’s minds and know each other through actions over words, the rest of the world became infinitely more dangerous. 

Every time they stepped outside their door, there was a greater risk that someone was going to get between them. Tear them off of one another and cane them down to submission. 

Each day made them more vulnerable. Each night strengthened that bond. So, little by little, piece by piece, each woman helped the other refortify herself against the possibility of hurt. 

It didn’t matter how long the dresses were. It didn’t matter that gloves were pulled on and stockings got thicker. What mattered was that when they looked in the mirror, they were always pristine. 

And their hair was their armor. 

It didn’t start so tight. 

When they had first met, Mildred had pulled her hair out of the way and twisted it back at the top, letting her natural curls fall over her shoulders and bounce lightly as she walked. 

Then, once she got the job at the institution, it shifted to something a bit tighter, Wilhemina pinning up those loose curls and keeping them out of the way. A nice, modified chignon just below her collar. 

“Quite becoming.” 

Mildred hummed, weighing the knot. “I’d say so.”

But days went by, and weeks went by, and little by little, her hair was pulled even tighter. 

Wilhemina was a whiz with a comb and some pins, and Mildred always loved taking an extra moment in the morning to see the art she had created. 

But there was one morning, when Wilhemina smirked even before she was finished, Mildred watching her carefully from the mirror at the vanity. And when she turned, admiring the back of it, she noticed the tiny rose curls twisted into her usual style. 

She wanted to kiss Wilhemina, to thank her properly. But something about her hair like this, everything settled into place — Her life was balanced. Home and work. And this hair, this simple, elegant, perfect hair, separated the two. 

She wasn’t Millie in that mirror. She was Nurse Ratched. And she felt like she could conquer anything. 

Wilhemina’s had evolved in quite the same way. 

The days of pulling her hair up and twisting it out of her face, half up, half down, were over. 

A few months in, right when Mildred’s hair had started to change, Wilhemina had noticed what the power of that did to the other woman. 

And so she had asked for a taste herself, sitting in the vanity chair and letting Mildred tease it up into two flawless sections, pulling it back tight into a high ponytail and twisting it into a singular barrel curl down her back. 

Everyone had noticed her that day. Everyone’s eyes had widened and then fallen away as she passed by. And while insecurity usually would have clouded her judgement, this time, this time, Wilhemina had no doubt it was because she was exuding power. 

Something changed, in those little moments sat across her vanity. Something settled deep in her chest with the way Mildred’s fingers combed through her hair, her soft words of praise and admiration drawing a hard, firm line to separate them from the dangers of the outside world. Building a wall. 

And after Wilhemina had gotten a taste, she realized that she needed more. What came to be her signature ponytail morphed into something entirely different and suddenly so familiar.

It was the day after she had picked those little rosebuds into Mildred’s hair, twisting the curls so carefully she could have cried. And instead of pulling her hair into a tight ponytail that morning, Mildred’s hands on her shoulders stopped her. 

“I want you to try something different,” she said as she took the comb from Wilhemina’s hands. “I want you to know what this kind of power feels like.”

And then she had it teased up again, but split entirely down the middle, combing it from the sides and pulling it tight into two French rolls, meeting in the middle and joined neatly at the nape of her neck. Held impeccably with pins and hairspray. 

When she was finished, Wilhemina’s hands gripped into the wood of the vanity. Because this was it. And she could feel it. And she understood. 

It was perfect, smooth as silk and pinned up tightly. Two sister curls, reminiscent of her barrel curl but so much more controlled. And the front still looked the same. Wilhemina still recognized herself. But when she looked in the mirror, her chin was sharper and her cheekbones were harder. 

And Wilhemina didn’t miss the way Mildred left a few pieces free at the nape of her neck, her baby hairs combed down out of the way, so that she would still have something to twist her fingers into when they kissed. 

Mildred smirking behind her set it in stone. 

“Ravishing,” Mildred murmured, fingers tightening on her shoulders. 

Wilhemina tapped her cane in response, a sickly smile pulling at her lips. 

Hardened. Protected. Safe. 

The good thing about having a partner style your hair every morning is that they know the most effective way to undo it when you get home every night. 

Mildred had memorized every stroke of hairspray, fingers always raking through and softening it in seconds. 

Wilhemina never missed a pin, spinning those perfect little twists around her fingers and popping them right out of place. 

And then they were on each other, no time wasted as sloppy, messy, controlling kisses — slamming against the wall and grabbing by the shirt — slowed into something delicate and soft. Their daytime selves, their protected selves, literally pulled away as armor was discarded. 

By the time both of their perfect updos were tugged free, the stresses and the pressures of the day were usually diffused. 

They would sit calmly over dinner, always touching, always sneaking small caresses in the safety of their sanctuary, discussing whatever was left pricking at their minds. 

And one would inevitably wind up twirling strands of the other’s hair around their fingers with the knowledge that they would be able to use it to a completely different advantage once they fell into bed. 

[grilledcheeseandguavajelly]

Even Tumblr ships the ginger wives

[duchessfics]

THIS FIC.

Listen—I don’t know if y’all have gotten the memo, but Ratched comes out tomorrow 😂 BUT BEFORE YOU EVEN WATCH THE SHOW YOU NEED TO READ THIS. I’m telling you class is in session and your teacher just assigned you some fucking homework. 😝

When I say poetry in motion, that does not give this fic justice. 😫 The descriptions, dialogue, characterization of both Mildred and Wilhemina is incredible. Seeing pictures and videos of Ratched have been great, but do you know what has me excited to see this show? THIS FIC.

I wasn’t nearly as stoked to see Mildred Ratched until @grilledcheeseandguavajelly posted this and let me tell you—Ryan Murphy has some big shoes to fill after reading that. Like—I don’t know how he’s gonna follow it up 🤷‍♀️ Just spitting facts.

Just please for the love of god read this, read it again, read it one more time 😂 I promise you will LOVE it 100%.

“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~

Keep reading

[grilledcheeseandguavajelly]

Okay, normally I don’t reblog comments on my fics (because I’m an awkward potato and it always makes me feel a bit narcissistic) but this is just. Daisy. I don’t even have words to express how GRATEFUL and FLATTERED and HONORED I am that you took the time to write this out and post it, let alone the compliments you just laid upon me. I have no words. I have. NO WORDS. Thank you 🥺🥰💕

“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~

Keep reading