Chapter 1: Elphaba Prologue: Train Ride to the Emerald City
Chapter Text
This is my first Gelphie fanfic and also first ABO story! I know there's not a lot of Omega Glinda stories but I thought this dynamic worked so well for this plot considering how powerful of a witch Elphaba is. Just a fair warning that this first chapter/prologue is light but the story is going to get really dark with the Wizard and Morrible using Glinda's Omega status against her and Elphaba in order to break both of them and keep them under their thumb. It's going to get worse before it gets better! Lots of dubious/non-con elements later on.
Hope you enjoy!
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ELPHABA PROLOGUE: TRAIN RIDE TO THE EMERALD CITY
The train rumbles beneath her, steady but unrelenting, as Elphaba presses herself against the cool glass of the window. Deep breaths in through her nose, out through her mouth. She can do this. The excitement should have been intoxicating—the grandeur of it all, the sheer weight of the moment. She is on her way to meet the Wizard, after all. To perform for him. To finally prove herself worthy.
And yet— everything feels too loud, too heavy.
The pressure of it all has been building since they left Shiz. Not just the pressure to impress the Wizard, to be good in the way her father had always demanded, but the people. The way they had gathered outside, craning to see her, whispering about her.
And then there was Fiyero.
His persistent attention, his insistence on standing close, the way his gaze lingered too long. It should have thrilled her. It should have made her heart stammer in her chest, left her feeling flustered, giddy—something.
Instead, it settled like a stone in her stomach.
She lets out a particularly deep sigh, pushing her braids back.
And then, there was Galinda. Or—Glinda, now, Elphaba supposes with a twitch of her lips as she thinks of the blonde’s over the top theatrics. Glinda sits against her on the bench, reading the Emerald City booklet she had gifted Elphaba excitedly, her fingers tracing the words carefully as she reads out loud about all the attractions to her roommate. She was practically vibrating with excitement, the way she always did when she was delighted by something.
Sure inviting her had been a last second, gametime decision, but it hadn’t added on to her stress at all. It alleviated some stress if anything.
Glinda’s presence undeniably soothes her now, much more than it did at the beginning of their dorming together. But these new feelings, these messy, confusifying feelings she’d been feeling for her roommate ever since the Ozdust, and even more strongly since a few days ago in Morrible’s office have, been constantly plaguing her mind.
You could’ve picked me, Glinda had said earnestly, her big, doe eyes staring, quietly pleading to be chosen by Elphaba. She had expected jealousy, expected Glinda’s usual dramatic protests about Fiyero. She had not expected this—she had not expected to be wanted back.
It had sparked a cozy warmth in her that was unfamiliar, and not entirely welcomed by her.
Not because she didn’t think Glinda was great — she was. But because Elphaba knew it was better not to want things you couldn’t have. And she has recently given up lying to herself about how much she wanted Glinda. She realized it slowly and then all at once - the way her roommate would walk around in the shortest, sheerest of undergarments and jump into her bed at night asking to talk or innocently sleep together. Or how Glinda would grab her hand excitedly, leaning in to her as they talked, kissing her cheek before parting at times. It affected Elphaba much more than she was willing to admit.
Wanting the first person who had shown her kindness, had treated her like a real friend, had stood up for her when her own sister wouldn’t - it felt wrong, like she was violating something sacred. It felt dirty to think and feel those things about her good friend.
But it went even deeper than that. Glinda made her feel things that cause Elphaba to feel immoral, at odds with herself. Things that made her hate herself. She distantly feels this consuming, visceral want break through - like a faded reflex that doesn’t feel like her own. And it makes her despise herself. Something deep in her bones, something unshakable, something she could only describe as feral. It’s everything she’s been taught to repress.
As an Alpha who presented early, she was taught by her father, a beta, that she was a true abomination - green, a girl, and an alpha - a true societal outcast combination. If her Alpha scent ever broke through on accident, he would scream at her to control herself, doubling her suppressants, shoving her true form away.
Alphas are callous, rough, entitled, brutish creatures, according to Frexspar, and female Alphas are hardly respected unless they adapt into society properly. She rarely agreed with her father but she agreed with him that she never wanted to be any of those things.
Alphas and omegas are rare, with the majority of citizens being betas. Normal. Not like her.
“Elphie? Have you positively heard a thing I’ve been saying?”
Glinda’s honeyed voice snaps Elphaba out of her thoughts as the green girl startles her gaze towards the blonde.
“Hm?” Elpahba hums with a sheepish smile. “I’m afraid not, my sweet.”
Glinda gives an impish smile, her dimples breaking through as she shifts closer to Elphaba.
“Something on your mind?”
“Nothing important,” Elphaba dismisses, which only seems to deflate Glinda.
“If there is, you can tell me,” Glinda prods again gently though she keeps a bit of space between them still.
Before Elphaba can say another word, another passenger, a tall, lanky gentleman, wanders up into their cabin mistakenly.
Glinda swivels her body to look at him behind her. Elphaba’s eyes narrow, stiffening immediately.
“Can we help you?” Glinda asks politely, her charming smile on full display.
“I’m sorry ma’am,” the man says tipping his hat, his eyes lingering too long on the blonde. “I think I’m in the wrong cabin.”
His gaze drags over her, slower this time, leering. “Or maybe I’m in the right cabin,” he says slyly.
Glinda tenses up. It’s subtle, but Elphaba sees it. The slight squaring of her shoulders. The shift in her breath. The practiced politeness sharpening at the edges.“I don’t believe so,” Glinda says lightly but her smile tightens. “But I’m sure you’ll find where you’re going if you just turn around.”
Elphaba grips the edge of her seat. Heat flares under her skin. The man doesn’t leave, continuing to stare. Her body reacts before she can even process it—leaning closer to Glinda, muscles tight, jaw clenched.
Something inside her—primal, instinctive—pulls. This heated, heavy feeling starts to bubble inside. Behave, she hears her father’s voice in her head.
The man flicks his gaze up, registering her for the first time. His smirk fades slightly before he turns on his heels, retreating down the stairs. His footsteps fade, but Elphaba cannot relax.
Something in her chest feels tight, a dull pressure coiling at the base of her spine. It isn’t fear. It isn’t even anger. It is something else, something thicker, pressing up against her ribs, heating at the edges. Her fingers curl against her lap, nails biting into her palms.
No. No, no—
She knows this feeling.
She has felt it before.
“Control yourself”, Frex had always hissed.
The air in the cabin changes. It’s thick now, cloying.
Glinda slowly turns back around, eyes blown wide, spine stiff. Her posture has changed slightly, lips parted, breathing shallow. Like she’s just realized something.
And then Elphaba realizes it too -
It’s her own scent. Flooding the room. Cedarwood, earthy, a tinge of spice.
Oh sweet Oz - Elphaba has only smelt her own scent once or twice before, before Frex shoved suppressant’s down her throat, effectively masking her status and all that came with it. But she’s on suppressants now, still, so, how? Why? —
A sharp, quiet gasp escape Glinda’s lips as she tilts her chin up slowly, locking eyes with Elphaba.
It occurs to Elphaba all at once - Glinda can smell her. She's affected. But the only reason Glinda would be this affected by her is if—
Suddenly, another scent hits Elphaba hard, overtaking her senses.
Sweet. But not the way Glinda’s perfume was sweet like faint roses—this was deeper, richer, overripe, like honey left too long in the heat. Something warm, something dangerous.
“Elphie?” Glinda asks, voice hoarse, pupils dilated. Her throat bobs as she swallows. “You’re…you’re an alpha.”
Elphaba nods, her own eyes wide. Her hands are clenched by her side, resisting the instinctual urge to reach out and touch Glinda. Her skin prickles. She can feel herself release more of her scent, flooding the air.
“And…you’re an omega.”
An Omega. Even rarer than an Alpha. Even rarer than her. And she had been sleeping beside her all this time.
That should have been impossible, it was too dangerous.
A fearful look crosses Glinda’s face at the statement, but it’s quickly replaced by something all together completely. A barely-there shudder ghosts through her, the kind most people wouldn’t notice. But Elphaba did. Glinda shifts, pressing her thighs together tightly, like a reflex. A slow breath escapes her.
Elphaba swallows thickly, her pulse thrumming in her throat. Glinda’s omega is reacting to her alpha. Glinda’s body recognizes her. And — Glinda likes it.
That sweet, rich scent floods Elphaba again and her stomach churns with want.
She watches as Glinda’s eyes flutter, her thighs shifting together unconsciously as she leans towards Elphaba as if entranced. Then, in a whisper, hoarse and dazed, Glinda murmurs, “You smell…so…”
A shudder rips through Glinda.
It snaps Elphaba back into herself like a whipcrack. Her stomach drops. The heat, the pull, the scent wrapping thick around them—it’s suffocating, it’s wrong. Glinda is feeling it. Not just noticing, but feeling. And it’s Elphaba’s fault for forcing it.
She shoves herself back, jerking away from where their bodies had nearly been touching. She forces her scent down, clamps down on everything threatening to break free inside of her.
The shift is immediate.
Glinda blinks, dazed, like she’s just come up for air. A soft, confused frown tugs at her lips.
Elphaba’s pulse hammers.
She can't let this happen. She won't let herself take advantage of Glinda. She won't lose control with her. The air around them feels emptier now, colder.
The silence stretches, thick and suffocating. Elphaba forces herself to breathe evenly, to steady her pulse, to keep her scent back down where it belongs. She can feel the absence of it, like an ache beneath her ribs.
Glinda stares at her, still looking dazed, pupils slightly too wide. She leans back dizzily into the bench. Elphaba’s lips part like she’s about to say something—something important, to address what it all means—but then her expression shifts. Hardens.
“Why didn’t you tell me?” Elphaba blurts before she can stop herself. Her voice comes out sharp, accusatory, and she hates herself for it the minute it leaves her mouth.
Glinda blinks owlishly, caught off guard. “Tell you what?”
“That you’re an—” Elphaba swallows, forcing the word out. “—an Omega.”
Glinda frowns, her brow furrowing like the question doesn’t make sense. “Me? You never told me you were an Alpha.”
“That’s different,” Elphaba says too quickly, regretting it instantly.
“How?”
Elphaba’s jaw tightens as she turns away. “There’s a reason unclaimed Omegas aren’t just walking around unprotected. It’s dangerous. You should be taking stronger suppressants.”
That gets a reaction. Glinda snaps to attention, spine straightening, her dark eyes flashing with something fierce and indignant.
Glinda’s expression twists—offended, disbelieving. She grabs Elphaba’s arm. “Excuse me?”
Elphaba doesn’t back down, glaring back as she gently pulls her arm away. Glinda’s mouth parts, offended. “You heard me.”
Glinda lets out an airy laugh of disbelief. “You’re saying I’m the problem here?’”
She crosses her arms, chin lifting. “Well, I am taking suppressants, Elphaba. You think I’m careless, that I just forgot? This has never happened to me before. How do you think I’ve survived out here undetected for this long? It’s dangerous, I wasn’t to tell anyone. ”
Elphaba stills. If both of them were taking suppressants, what the hell happened? Something is wrong—it’s not just Glinda. It’s her, too. She’s been on suppressants since she was 15. She’s never had a rut, never so much as thought about this part of herself because it was always locked down. She doesn’t even remember what it felt like before the suppressants dulled everything.
Glinda narrows her eyes. “What about you? Why aren’t yours working?”
Elphaba looks away, throat tight, pulse unsteady. “They do work. This has never happened to me before either.”
“Oh, do they?” Glinda’s voice is saccharine, mocking, her brows raising up. “Because it sure didn’t seem like it just now.”
Elphaba clenches her fists. She doesn’t have an answer.
“Oz, you really think this is my fault, don’t you?” Glinda scoffs, flipping her hair back indignantly. “Just cause I’m an omega? You think I should’ve told you? Warned you? What, should I have written it on my forehead for everyone to know? Put a target on my back?”
Elphaba shakes her head. “That’s not—”
But she watches Glinda get worked up, pulling farther back from her, waving her arms.
“This is not my fault… I was only…because you—”
She cuts off, lips pressing together, looking away. Elphaba’s stomach drops. She knows what Glinda was about to say.
You released your scent first.
You wanted me first.
Elphaba opens her mouth, then closes it again. She doesn’t have an answer. She can’t talk about want, not with her. They lock eyes, and whatever Glinda sees in Elphaba causes her to soften a bit. The blonde’s fingers fidget in her lap, her mouth pressing into a thin line. “I don’t understand,” she says softly, resigning. “This… shouldn’t have happened.”
Glinda exhales, running a hand through her curls. She looks unsettled, like something isn’t adding up in her head.
“Suppressants fail sometimes,” Elphaba mutters, more to herself than to Glinda. “Maybe yours are weaker than you thought. Or mine.”
Glinda frowns. She hesitates, her lips parting—like she wants to say something, to argue, something that lingers too long in the space between them. Then, she shakes her head. “I don’t think that’s it.”
Elphaba’s stomach clenches, having a feeling Glinda’s right.
“What else could it be?”
Glinda doesn’t answer. Just lets out a slow, measured breath, like she’s swallowing a thought she doesn’t want to speak.
Elphaba feels a sharp anxiety creeping up her spine. The fear of her genetics taking over, of losing control despite her finest efforts, claws at her.
She feels a light hand settle gently on her thigh, the blonde reaching out with a concerned look. Elphaba yanks away like she’s been burned, standing abruptly. Glinda flinches, a flicker of hurt flashing across her face, the way her fingers twitch where Elphaba was just sitting. But she recovers quickly, too quickly.
The green witch is spiraling, tense, rigid with barely contained energy as she paces. She doesn’t even realize she’s breathing too fast until—
The air shifts.
A new scent is introduced. It’s faint, so faint she might have imagined it. Warmth. Softness. Something light and familiar, something that presses against her sharp edges like hands smoothing over frayed fabric. Like the earlier sweetness, but much more muted. Calming. She feels it seep inside her, cooling her down just a bit.
She stiffens, pausing in place. Turns her head.
Glinda is watching her, brows drawn, something unspoken in her expression.
Elphaba clenches her fists. “Stop that.”
Glinda blinks confusedly, hurt flickering across her face again. “Stop what?”
The scent is already fading, slipping away like a phantom. Maybe it was never there at all. Maybe she’s losing control worse than she thought.She exhales sharply, looking away.
“Nothing.”
“Elphie you’re worrying me,” Glinda tries again, standing up. She approaches Elphaba but pauses, the green girl still seeming a bit off-kiltered and wild-eyed. Like she’s holding something back. Glinda crosses her arms over self-consciously. “Let’s just…forget it happened. Okay? We can still enjoy ourselves in the city.”
Elphaba is suddenly reminded of the fact that in just a short while they’re going to be in the Emerald City, a large crawling urban city. Filled with people. Possibly filled with an alpha or two or ten, even as rare as they may be out in the country. The mere thought of another alpha coming close to Glinda makes every hair on her stand up, every muscle in her body coil tightly. But as she looks at the hesitant blonde in front of her, she takes a shaky inhale and nods. Glinda slowly steps closer to her, giving her a tight hug, burying her face in her shoulder.
“It’ll be okay Elphie,” Glinda soothes, and there’s that damn sweet scent again. So distant and faint but still intoxicatingly relaxing, curling around her bones. But as it calms her nerves, it simultaneously worries Elphaba. Does Glinda really not know what she’s doing?
“I think you need stronger suppressants,” Elphaba murmurs without any malice this time, holding on to Glinda. She can practically feel Glinda’s pout against her.
“But Elphie I really don’t think it’s that -”
“You just need to be extra careful,” Elphaba cuts her off, her voice grave, deeper than what she’s used to. Commanding. The shift stills Glinda for a moment
“Careful of what?” The blonde asks cautiously pulling back a bit to look at Elphaba, cupping her face and stroking the warm, green skin there. But it’s too much, Glinda’s hand now feels too hot, her presence too close and overwhelming. Elphaba ducks her head away gently, a softer rejection of her affection this time, but a rejection all the same.
“You're an unclaimed omega,” Elphaba breathes out, shaking her head as if trying to erase the bad thoughts.
“Oz, you act like I’m helpless,” Glinda protests. She says it with that same airy confidence, the same spoiled little huff Elphaba has heard a thousand times. And for the first time in this entire conversation, something inside her steadies. Same old Galinda.
Elphaba presses forward, trying to explain herself, trying to be vulnerable. “What if what I did…what if someone else…and they’re…not…and they…”
She stops. The words tangle in her throat, dying on her tongue.
Glinda’s lips curve into a small, dimpled smile. “Oh, Elphie, are you worried about me? I won’t let that happen.”
Elphaba doesn’t look convinced.
Glinda exhales, tone turning softer, more assured. “Listen—Elphaba, I’ve made it twenty years in public without being discovered. I do know how to behave, you know. You need to trust me.”
Elphaba finally nods, forcing herself to believe the blonde. She has no choice, really. But the worry doesn’t fade—it lingers, in the back of her mind, sinking deep like a thorn she won’t be able to pull out. Someone else getting to Glinda. Harming her. Taking her away.
Glinda studies her, like she’s checking to see if she’s truly calmed down. Then, with a bright smile, she grabs Elphaba’s hand and tugs her back toward the bench.
“Now, will you please let me tell you about Wiz-O-Mania?”
Chapter 2: Glinda Prologue: Defying Gravity
Summary:
As chaos erupts in the tower, Glinda is faced with an impossible choice—run with Elphaba or stay behind in the life she’s always known. But as she hesitates, something inside her unravels, instincts she’s buried and suppressed for years surfacing in Elphaba’s presence. When they are torn apart, Glinda is left to fend for herself—and Madame Morrible catches whiff of (or the lack of) something that raises her suspicions.
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
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I'm generally not very good at updating on a consistent timeline but I just had time this weekend to get these two first prologues out :)
Also, I debated just making this an E rating from the start but it really won't get to that for a hot second so just keep in mind that's coming down the line. I always set out wanting to make something super E rated and get too caught up building the world and setting <(˶ᵔᵕᵔ˶)>
For reference, if it's not clear, in this universe Alphas are rare and Omegas are even rarer - and the laws/rhetoric around them is super restrictive and oppressive, which is why both girls hid their status from each other and society and Glinda would be in more danger than Elphaba since she's an unclaimed Omega.
GLINDA PROLOGUE: DEFYING GRAVITY
“Come with me, think of what we could do, together.”
Elphaba stares at Glinda, her brilliant, rich green eyes full of hope that Glinda has never seen in her before. It steals the breath right out of her lungs, her chest tightening. For a fleeting moment, her body reacts before her brain, her mouth moving first in quasi agreement as Elphaba speaks about their unlimited potential, of power and freedom, of tearing down falsehoods that have shackled them and other citizens of Oz.
Then the guards’ voices rise in the distance. The urgency sharpens, slicing through her moment of hesitation. “Are you coming?”
Glinda feels her heart plummet, reality slamming into her, the chaos of the last few hours catching up with her, reminding her of the gravity of the situation. The irreversible nature of what Elphaba is asking—it’s too much.
She can’t. Oh Oz she wants to. She wants nothing more than to run, to leave this wretched, horrendible castle, to escape into the night at Elphaba’s side. She wishes there was another way, but Elphaba won’t stand to listen to her reason about apologizing to the Wizard and Morrible.
Morrible has been nothing but vindictive and dismissive, and The Wizard, well, Glinda can already tell he’s a fraud. But this is not right - there’s an order in this world, and why oh why does Elphaba insist on defying it so boldly? It’s not safe, especially with Morrible putting out an immediate hit and blacklisting her.
Glinda swallows the lump in her throat, tears welling up as she goes to find Elphaba something to shield her from the cold. Her heart aches with something indescribable—regret, fear, longing. But she resigns herself to their roles, knowing that Elphaba was always meant to stand against the current, and she was simply not. But she understands and knows Elphaba can’t be anything less than stubborn and daring in her unwavering mission of justice.
It’s why Glinda has been drawn to her from the beginning. This powerful, strong-willed, beautiful green girl. Soft only with her, hardened out in the world. Her undeniable presence. Defiant, untouchable.
And now, learning today that Elphaba is an Alpha—it all makes sense.
The way Glinda secretly always thrilled at Elphaba’s pushback—the sharp defiance, the unrelenting confidence. The way something deep in her chest responds instinctively to Elphaba’s authority, her body leaning into it before she can even think. The instinct to listen when Elphaba tells her no. The quiet thrill of feeling safe whenever Elphaba had caught her in moments of clumsiness, shielded her, steered her away from crowds.
Glinda’s breath trembles as she ties the cloak around Elphaba’s neck with shaking hands.
It was never just admiration. Glinda knows now—has always known—that her feelings run deeper, bound by something far more emotional than biology. It’s about who Elphaba is, about who they are to each other.
And yet, somehow, it seems Elphaba’s Alpha presence has broken past her suppressants, stirring her Omega instincts despite her best efforts to keep them deep beneath the surface. Glinda is certain this isn’t a failure of her suppressants—if it were, she’d have been affected way before now. No, this is different. It’s Elphaba. Somehow, her Alpha has reached through where no one else has, has shattered the walls Glinda and suppressants have carefully built.
There have been other known Alphas at Shiz—Glinda is well aware of them. Momsie and Popsicle had helped hide her status and ensured she knew exactly who to avoid, had gone to great lengths to make sure she was never too close to anyone dangerous. And yet, none of them had ever affected her like this. Not until Elphaba.
Elphaba has always been the exception.
Glinda watches as tears roll down Elphaba’s face. Something within her strains, yearns desperately to comfort her, like a thumping ache. She reaches out delicately, holding Elphaba’s face with reverence, wiping her tears with her thumb gently. Wishing she could lean forward and kiss her senselessly, if only Elphaba felt the same pull she did. Emotionally and biologically.
Glinda hadn’t been able to deny either of those things within herself on the train, but somehow Elphaba had rejected her, stepping away from her offered physical comfort. Elphaba hadn’t wanted it, and it wasn’t the first time Glinda cursed her own weak Omega biology and her own weak pathetic feelings. The way her body betrayed her—how it made her crave comfort, crave Elphaba, even when she should have been stronger. Even when Elphaba had already pulled away once, rejecting what Glinda’s instincts demanded.
Still, even now, Glinda can’t resist trying to give her dear Elphie what she needs.
Elphaba’s eyes widen, that same look she had on the train before she told Glinda to stop it. Glinda braces herself, waiting for some sharp remark, some sign that she’s overstepped again. But she doesn’t drop her hand, determined to try and show Elphaba comfort with what little time they have left. Willing Elphaba to receive it.
But Elphaba lets her broom fall to the ground loudly, though Glinda barely hears it. She steps in closer.
“Glinda,” Elphaba breathes out, her voice is a raw now, stripped of it’s sharpness, pupils wild. “You’re doing it again. Please. You have to be careful. Promise me you’ll be careful.”
Glinda frowns, unsure what that means, her thumb freezing it’s stroking.
“What am I doing?” Glinda asks hoarsely, brows furrowing. She moves to withdraw her hand but Elphaba grabs it, keeping it there.
“You really don’t know?”
Elphaba’s nostrils flare, and something shifts—not just in her expression, but in the air between them. It’s thick, warm, something Glinda can’t place, not at first.
Glinda shakes her head. Elphaba breathes in sharply, then laughs lightly, in disbelief. “You’re…I think you’re scenting the air, love. I’ve only ever read about this…”
Elphaba says it delicately, no hint of chastising.
Glinda stares at her, heart thudding. She isn't supposed to be able to do that. She’s never done this before, not in front of anyone, not outside of her own control—
But then she sees the way Elphaba is holding still, as if drinking her in, as if something inside her is unraveling just from breathing Glinda’s scent. Elphaba exhales, eyes fluttering shut. Her shoulders drop, her body tilting imperceptibly toward Glinda’s hand.
Determinedly, the blonde concentrates more, channeling those buried instincts, and suddenly she feels it pouring out of her. A slow, shuddering exhale escapes Elphaba and Glinda feels her chest swell at the sight of Elphaba calming down.
But it’s short lived, she feels the connection inside her cut off slowly, unable to access the suppressed instincts for too long.
Elphaba opens her eyes again, staring at Glinda.
“Glinda.” Elphaba’s voice is quieter now, but tight, strained. “You’re unclaimed. If anyone else catches this—” She exhales sharply, nostrils flaring, looking away. “They’ll think you’re free for the taking. And.you know what they’d do…”
“I’ll be careful,” Glinda promises. Elphaba leans in, slowly, leaning her forehead against Glinda’s. Glinda inhales sharply, holding her breath, too afraid to move, not wanting to break this spell.
Then—Elphaba kisses her. A fleeting, desperate thing. It happens too fast, too unexpected, leaving Glinda frozen, barely processing the heat of Elphaba’s full, chapped lips before it’s over.
Elphaba breaks and leans her forehead against Glinda, their noses brushing.
“Hold out if you can,” Elphaba murmurs, their breaths mingling, their lips so close they’re still brushing. The words aren’t just advice—they’re a plea.
Elphaba kisses her again, slower this time, and Glinda doesn’t waste a second as she presses back, her lips melding with Elphaba’s. She whimpers slightly, bringing her arms around Elphaba’s neck, tilting her head slightly, kissing Elphaba hungrily. It's clumsy and messy and likely Elphaba's first kiss but Glinda doesn't care.
She surges forward, deepening it. Her hands fist in Elphaba’s cloak, anchoring herself to this, to her, to the one thing that has ever made her feel steady. Holding on, holding on—
But then the door breaks open below, and Elphaba is the first to pull back.
Their foreheads press together, both of them breathing too hard, both of them reeling.
Elphaba cups Glinda’s face, her thumb tracing over her cheek, her touch a contradiction—rough but reverent, something breaking inside her.
“Hold out my sweet,” she tells her, voice broken and ragged, pressing one last kiss to her forehead.
The pounding of boots grows louder—guards storming up the stairs. Elphaba sweeps her broom up off the ground like a lifeline.
Glinda and Elphaba lock eyes for a single, breathless moment before bolting out onto the deck, hand-in-hand. Then—rough hands pull and grab at Glinda, tearing her away from Elphaba with a shriek.
It all blurs. Elphaba fights, twisting, shoving, magic crackling at her fingertips, while Glinda lets go of any premeditated resolve, all thought of letting Elphaba go without her shattering in an instant.
“Elphie! Elphie, help me!”
A part of her wants Elphaba to run—it isn’t safe for her here. But as Elphaba sprints across the attic, launching herself through the window, Glinda’s body seizes, her Omega instincts uncoiling inside her like a vice. A guttural scream rips from her throat—so raw that even the guards flinch, though their grip tightens, twisting her arms back painfully as she flinches.
What if the spell didn’t work? What if Elphaba just fell?
Oz—her mind spirals, a thousand thoughts rushing in at once, hot tears streaking down her face as she struggles against the hands restraining her.
But suddenly—Elphaba whips into the air, rising before them. Glinda freezes. Through tear-blurred vision, she stares, breath hitching. Elphaba is floating. Flying.
Their eyes lock. For a moment, everything else—guards, restraints, fear—falls away.
Elphaba looks wickedly triumphant, giddy with disbelief yet owning it, her dark silhouette sharp against the sky. The sight steals Glinda’s breath, relief briefly flooding through her. Her lips part, a stunned whisper of awe caught in her throat.
The flying monkeys descend, swarming after Elphaba, their dark forms streaking through the sky as she twists and dodges. Glinda loses sight of her, her heart hammering as Elphaba vanishes into the storm-lit heavens.
The guards bristle, gripping their weapons, tension crackling in the air. The wind howls around them, deafening—but then, something louder rises above it.
A force, a presence. Louder, without sound.
Madame Morrible.
With a flick of her wrists, the guards release Glinda at once. She stumbles forward, dazed, heart pounding, as she stares at her unkind professor. Morrible’s smile is tight, unnatural, carefully arranged rather than warm. Cold. And then—before Glinda can react—she pulls her into a rigid embrace. Glinda feels conflicted. The touch is all wrong, nauseating even. But she doesn’t want to appear rude. She forces herself to lean into it, just enough to be polite. Her hands barely settle right around Morrible’s back.
“Oh my dear, what a mess Miss Elphaba has made,” Morrible murmurs, her voice syrupy, sticky-sweet.
Instinctively, Glinda leans in the tiniest bit closer. But then - Morrible stiffens, just for the briefest moment. Morrible’s grip tightens just a fraction as she leans in. Then, suddenly, subtly, she inhales softly against Glinda’s hair. A shiver skates down Glinda’s spine, and the hair on the back of Glinda’s neck rises. She pulls back, startled, her surprised gaze snapping up to meet Morrible.
A flicker of something unreadable crosses her face—something sharper than scandalocious curiosity. Her lips purse, eyes narrowing ever so slightly, as if she’d expected to catch something in the air…and hadn’t.
Before Glinda can process it, movement above catches her eye.
Suddenly Elphaba whips in front of them, floating closer than before. Pausing. Locking eyes with Glinda again. The blonde sees a shape behind the witch and runs to the railing, right up against it.
“Elphie watch out!” Glinda cries out, seeing the monkeys rapidly approaching from behind. Elphaba turns around before turning back, giving Glinda a wink and waiting til the last second to levitate high up quickly, causing the monkeys to go crashing into the building, shrieking.
She’s completely enraptured in Elphaba’s incredible display of power, as are all the guards. Glinda doesn’t notice Morrible scrutinize her from behind, studying her. The older professor’s head tilts up ever so slightly, nostrils flaring— subtly, deliberately. A puzzled look flickers across her face, her expression tightening. Something doesn’t add up.
Before she can react, her attention is pulled to the sky as Elphaba descends one last time, hands swirling magic. The green witch stretches her hands out, releasing. Glass shatters in a burst of force, fragments slicing through the air as electricity surges, flickers—and then dies. The world plunges into darkness.
“Kill her!” Soldiers cry out, and Glinda gasps, horrified. The violent outcry claws at her ribs.
“No, no, Elphaba go,” she breathes— so softly only she can hear it. As if she was listening directly to Glinda, Elphaba does a sharp flip in the air, and flies off into the night, disappearing quickly from sight.
And then it’s quiet. Silent. The air is different, less electric, more icy. Glinda sways, everything crashing down at once. She stumbles back right into Morrible with a gasp, turning quickly.
“Madame Morrible,” Glinda startles, snapping upright, trying to compose herself quickly.
“Dearie,” Morrible stands tall, shoulders poised watchful. “You seem very upset. Don’t you agree she needs to be reined in? She’s simply out of control. Was she supposed to take you with her?”
Disbelief flickers across Glinda’s face as she shakes her head, disoriented.
“I’m…I’m upset because this is a disaster. For all of us,” Glinda insists, trying to keep the melancholy out of her voice. Trying to regain some sense of control. She straightens, schooling her expression into something measured, a small, practiced smile forming.
“You know how Elphaba is. She just got carried away, that’s all. This is a big misunderstanding.”
Morrible’s eyes narrow. She doesn’t speak. Doesn’t move. Just watches, and Glinda has to force herself not to flinch.
“Come,” Morrible finally says, turning sharply and placing a hand against Glinda’s upper back — heavy, deliberate, unyielding “Let’s talk. The Wizard will want a word with you.”
Notes:
In this story, Morrible and The Wizard* are Alphas, FYI. But they use a lot of magic to control their base instincts and amplify traits that help them rule/assimilate.
also when i wrote the line about elphaba catching glinda in moments of clumsiness, i have this one very specific fic in mind where elphaba helps save glinda in sparring class ˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶
Chapter 3: Chapter 1 - Oz Is Ever On Alert
Summary:
As Elphaba flees into hiding, branded a dangerous Alpha, Glinda is pulled into the spotlight, manipulated to embody the perfect vision of Glinda the Good. Forced to stand before the press and affirm the narrative she never agreed to, Glinda begins to realize just how little control she truly has.
Notes:
first weekend update <3 hoping for one more on sunday night as this chapter still sets up a lot of tension for our girls before a lot of the action can begin! enjoy!
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
CHAPTER 1
--
GLINDA
“Did Miss Elphaba happen to share her plans with you beforehand?” Madame Morrible’s voice is crisp, sharp. She stands with her hands folded in front of her, too poised to be demure. Behind her, the Wizard fidgets frustratedly at a machine with too many gears and mechanical rigs for Galinda to understand what it is. The room is lit by numerous candles, the power still out, and Glinda allows herself to feel protected by the shadows.
Glinda is still dazed, wading through the fog in her mind, trying to focus—trying not to sink into the realization that Elphaba is just… gone. Out there. Alone.
“Madame Morrible—” Glinda’s voice wavers, and she hates it. She clears her throat, forcing her shoulders back. “With all due respect, you and I both know Elphaba didn’t come to see the Wizard with any plans.”
Her nerves have calmed down since they retreated deep in the pala. No one has punished her, yelled at her, arrested her, or grabbed and twisted her arms behind her back painfully like the guards did earlier. Maybe this will all blow over and Elphaba can come home sooner rather than later. “Other than to try and prove herself. You know how determined she gets.”
“Oh she proved something all right,” the Wizard mumbles with a bit of frustrated heat as he stays fixated on the machine.
“What I know is that Elphaba is extremely stubborn about helping Animals. I know about the lion cub. I’m assuming you do too,” Madame Morrible says coolly. “I also know you were both running about the Palace for at least an hour before we found you both in the tower. Perhaps she shared her future plans with you then? Like where she might have gone to?”
“Elphaba never told me any plans,” Glinda insists immediately, trying to reason with the sorceress. Morrible tilts her head, unimpressed.
“You answered that rather quickly, Miss Upland.”
“It’s the truth,” Galinda replies smoothly but she can feel her pulse slowly start to pick up at the hint of distrust she’s starting to see seep out.
Morrible stares at her. Not necessarily unkindly, not even accusingly—just watching. Like she’s waiting for something.
“The truth has a funny way of revealing itself sometimes, doesn’t it?”
Glinda lifts her chin, unveiling a trained, thin, defensive smile. “I’m afraid I haven’t the faintest notion what you could possibly mean by that.”
Morrible hums, stepping forward, closing the space between them. The movement is slow, deliberate, and yet somehow, sudden. One moment, she’s a comfortable distance away. The next, she is towering over Glinda. Asserting.
“Tell me, dearie,” Morrible presses, her voice saccharine, her presence immovable. “Did she attempt to convince you to betray Oz? To go with her perhaps?”
Glinda’s pulse spikes, but she forces herself to scoff, a breathy little sound.
“Wha-at, no,” she stammers. “She wasn’t thinking clearly, I—I tried to stop her from leaving—”
“Oh?” Morrible’s brows lift in mock surprise. “So the two of you trying to escape in the hot air balloon wasn’t your attempt at fleeing with her as well?”
“No,” Glinda argues, but her voice is thinner now, lacking the breezy confidence she’d intended. “You told me to try to get her back! I tried! I told you—”
“Did you choose to stay loyal to Oz, or did Elphaba leave you behind?”
For a brief, searing moment, Glinda wants to snarl and lunge forward. The implied accusation of Elphaba’s character is deeply false, yet it unveils an ugly truth of her own. Elphaba did leave her behind, but not because she wanted to. Because Glinda made her. And not because she wanted to stay loyal to Oz, but because she was too afraid to be as bold as Elphaba.
Glinda’s jaw clenches. The words dig under her skin, tearing something raw. She has no right to feel abandoned. She told her to go. But she does, she does.
“I chose not to go,” Glinda’s voice raises slightly, too quick, too sharp.
“Miss Upland,” Morrible cuts in, silk-wrapped steel, “are you aware our dear Elphaba is an Alpha?”
Glinda flinches. It’s small, barely there, but Morrible’s eyes seem to follow the movement sharply. The corner of her lips twitch like a cat toying with its prey.
“I didn’t—I don’t—” Glinda stumbles, her tongue clumsy, her mind scrambling. Oz, what does that have to do with any of this?
“You don’t…?” Morrible drags the words out, drawing the moment painfully thin.
“I had no idea she was…” Glinda squeaks, her voice barely audible.
Morrible tilts her head, as if she’s studying her, letting her sit in the slow, suffocating weight of silence.
“Well, she is,” Morrible finally says. “An unruly Alpha at that. Unreported. Untrained. Dangerous. In a safe society there must be order, don’t you agree?”
She lets the words settle, lets Glinda squirm beneath them before she continues, her voice thick with amusement.
“She recently confided in me about her biological status. I was surprised but willing to intervene—after all, her own father never took steps to help her adjust or seek proper conditioning. But alas, we never got to dealing with it. She is a unique creature. So much power, so much raw magic, yet so tragically undeveloped. Such a shame. It is precisely this kind of oversight that breeds instability. You don’t see me giving in to every emotional whim and base need.”
Glinda startles, her breath hitching. No. That doesn’t make sense. Morrible doesn’t act like an Alpha—doesn’t move like an Alpha.
But the longer she stares, the more it starts to click. The sharp edge of her presence. The way she commands a room without ever needing to raise her voice. The eerie, absolute certainty that everything will bend to her will.
“Y-you’re an Alpha?” she blurts before she can stop herself. Morrible watches her carefully, her head tilting like she finds Glinda’s surprise charming.
“Did you think Alphas were all wild creatures like Miss Elphaba?”
Glinda’s mouth opens, then closes. She’d never thought of Elphaba as an Alpha before today. Elphaba is wild, but beautifully so—delicate yet powerful. Nothing like the untamed Alphas she’s feared all her life, like the ones she’s been warned about who take what they want, suppressants or not. She’s nothing like the awful words spilling from Morrible’s mouth.
Elphaba is also nothing like the cold, polished Alphas of the upper echelon that Glinda is used to encountering—haughty, hardened, and obsessed with control and strength. They lead, they command, they expect submission. But Elphaba has never needed power to hold her place in a room. She has never needed force to be felt.
“A true Alpha is disciplined. Refined.” Morrible’s voice is smooth, but there is a pointed weight to every word. “The world needs structure, and some of us must provide it. Those who disrupt order must be dealt with.”
Glinda nods on autopilot, her mind racing.
“Think about it. Alphas must be monitored. Conditioned.” She steps closer, voice syrup-smooth. “If left to their own devices, they will become violent. Reactive. Feral. You understand why that cannot be tolerated, don’t you?”
Glinda doesn’t answer. Because Elphaba is none of those things. But what would they do to her, if they think she is?
Morrible pauses, then tilts her head, her smirk sharpening. “A girl like you—spoiled and perfectly accustomed to having things your way—surely you agree?”
Glinda stiffens, but before she can react, Morrible leans in ever so slightly, dropping her voice into something lower, something amused and knowing.
“Surely you wouldn’t get swept up in something so…primal?”
Glinda shivers internally as the meaning behind Morrible’s words clicks into place. The sorceress—a powerful Alpha herself—isn’t just speaking about Elphaba. She believes in the restriction and control of all Alphas and Omegas, an ideology that has been gaining traction rapidly in Oz for the past half-century. If even Morrible, an Alpha, insists that her kind must be regulated to prevent chaos, then she must believe the idea that Omegas are even worse—a liability.
The laws have been clear since her childhood—unclaimed Omegas were an accident waiting to happen. A threat to themselves. A disruption to those around them, especially Alphas. Glinda has spent her life balancing compliance with secrecy, hiding her status illegally just to live a normal life.
She never wants to be locked away. Controlled. Kept docile and muted.
Glinda has been lucky—her parents wanted more for her. An enriched life—opportunity at her fingertips. She could date and marry whoever she pleased (so long as her parents approved, of course), go wherever she wished, dress as extravagantly as she liked. She could even study sorcery, as though she were no different from the others.
All without consequence, without ever truly fearing anything. Her biology had been nothing more than a medical inconvenience, something easily managed with pharmaceuticals. She had never felt like the others, never lived with the same looming inevitability.
She had never been forced into an arranged match. Never been registered, tracked, assigned a handler like so many other Omegas. Because no one knew.
“No, of course not.” Glinda’s smile is brittle, trying desperately to appear unaffected.
Suddenly, a loud whirring noise kicks in, and a POP before a whoosh of light floods the room. The Wizard straightens up, walking away from the machine he had just been working on.
“There,” he mutters. “This will, uh, hold us over till morning.”
He glances between Morrible and Glinda, the tension thick, suffocating.
“Well, uh—Glinda, is it? It’s late. Let’s get you settled for the night, and you can join us for the press conference in the morning.”
Press conference?
Glinda swallows hard, her hands twisting together in her lap. “I—I really should be getting back to school—”
“I’ll take you back myself,” Morrible cuts in smoothly, her smile thin and wiry. “Right after.”
The words aren’t threatening, not explicitly, but Glinda hears the finality in them. She nods, too quickly, tucking her hands into her lap before they can shake.
The room they leave her in is beautiful—ornate, grand, everything she once dreamed of.
And yet, when she crawls under the silk sheets that night, her fingers clench into the fabric, her body trembling with quiet, wracking sobs as she cries herself to sleep. Something is terribly wrong, she can feel it deep in her bones, something in the course of their lives has been changed.
She wishes she could’ve been brave. Like Elphaba. Just once.
—
When Glinda awakes the next morning, there’s a gnawing pit in her stomach. Her eyes burn from crying too much. Bright light floods the room, sharp and unrelenting. The silk sheets are twisted and tangled all around her from her restless tossing and turning. Her mind stirs, sluggish and heavy, when a sharp, deliberate knock reverberates through the room. She barely has any time to sit up before the door swings open without her acknowledgment. She clutches the sheets tighter around herself, feeling disheveled and vulnerable in just her underclothes.
“Time to get ready, dearie,” Morrible chirps, carrying a pale blue, delicate, expensive dress in her arms. Her eyes flick over Glinda’s disheveled state, and her eyebrow lifts. “You look rather…haggard.”
Shock flickers across Glinda’s face. Does Morrible not understand what has happened? Her and Elphaba’s world flipped overnight—and Morrible has the gall to call her haggard?
“We’ll see what the Palace maids can do with you.” Morrible waves a dismissive hand as she places the dress at the foot of the bed. “Hurry along, dear. There are important matters to attend to.”
The morning is a whirlwind. Hands prod at Glinda’s hair and face, making her presentable.They push, pull, and position her like a doll, dictating where to stand, when to sit, how to move. It reminds her a bit of getting ready for balls and dinners back home in Gillikin, only this is void of any warmth or excitement.
By the time they reach the front of the palace, a grand spectacle awaits.
Glinda is moved and positioned to the left of Morrible, forced to stand rigidly, hands clasped in front of her. A handmaiden tilts her chin up, fingers rough as they shove her hair behind her ears. Everything is too tight—the way her hair is pulled back and clipped, the corset squeezing her ribcage to the point of stifling breath.
Morrible raises a hand and waits until the hush of the crowd is absolute. A master of timing. A master of control. Then, smooth as silk, she begins to speak.
“Our dear citizens of Oz—today, I stand before you with a heavy heart. I wish I could bring you words of comfort, but the events that unfolded yesterday demand the truth. A great tragedy has struck our land. The fugitive at large is a wicked, Wicked Witch, but you do not know yet what it is that makes her so dangerous.”
Glinda’s stomach twists violently. Her breath catches, sharp and shallow.
“She is not merely a traitor to Oz, not just some radical we have discovered that aligns herself with Animals. No—she is an Unregulated Alpha.”
At first, a hush. Then a ripple—gasps, uneasy shuffling, the kind of rustling fear that spreads like fire in dry fields. Someone near the front stammers a quiet ‘Oz help us.’ The murmurs grow louder.
Glinda thinks she’s going to faint, she fears for where this speech is going. A cold weight settles in her stomach. She isn’t sure she can stay upright.
“Yes. An Alpha. Untamed and untrained. An egregious oversight by the Governor of Munchkinland. Left to develop unchecked, without the structure we provide adolescent Alphas that keeps our society safe. And look at what has become of her.”
A slow, measured shake of her head—disappointment laced with the unmistakable weight of authority.
“This is what happens when such forces are left to their own devices. When base instincts are allowed to fester. When power goes unrestrained. And make no mistake—you must be careful — she is powerful. She is not only an Unregulated Alpha but a wicked witch. We cannot have her running free. We knew she had talent. We tried to guide her, to shape her magic into something useful, something disciplined. But what did she do?”
A pause. A deliberate breath.
“She rejected order. She rejected training. She embraced the wildness in her blood. Her magic was never tempered by reason and control—only raw, unstable emotion.”
On the contrary, Glinda remembers how hard Elphaba had worked to get her emotions under control to be able to perform such intricate spells, how she had to calmly embrace herself to perform from the Grimmerie. The disgusting lies burn Glinda’s ears.
“A powerful witch with no leash. No sense of law.”
A murmur of unease stirs in the crowd.
“And what happens, my dear citizens, when a creature with such unchecked magic and unrestrained instincts is left without control?”
A dramatic pause, then the answer, spoken softly—dangerously.
“She becomes a monster.”
The crowd breaks into soft panicked agreement and Glinda’s nails dig harshly into her skin, carving little violent crescents.
“And so, when the time came for her to choose—did she choose Oz? Did she choose our great land?”
A pause—then, with quiet, crushing disappointment:
“No. She chose the beasts.”
“She aligns herself not with you, the good, loyal citizens of Oz—but with Animals. Wild creatures who must be silenced, and tamed. She protects them.”
A flick of her wrist—dismissive, almost pitying.
“Tell me, my dear citizens—what does that make her?”
The unspoken answer hangs heavy in the air with the crowd’s rising voices.
“And if you still doubt what I say—if you still believe that this was merely a young woman who lost her way—then ask yourselves this.”
A pause. Weighted. Tension hanging in the air like a storm about to break.
“Why, then, did she unleash her dark magic upon our very own castle, stealing our precious Grimmerie?”
Morrible lets them lean in, then continues to deliver her damning lies.
“Why did she take innocent creatures—monkeys, who have served these halls for generations—who have done nothing but fulfill their roles with unwavering loyalty—and twist them into winged monstrosities?”
A ripple of horror spreads through the audience. Morrible exhales, shaking her head, her voice turning almost regretful. The twisted story makes Glinda seethe, anxiously fretting internally. This narrative couldn’t be more wrong about her precious, gentle Elphaba. Elphaba who would never take or twist or steal intentionally.
“The monkeys were not prisoners. They were not suffering. They were not caged or mistreated, as some may try to claim. They had purpose. They had homes. They had families to return to. They were never meant to bear the weight of flight.”
A long, heavy pause.
“And yet, with a flick of her hands, she tore them from the ground, reshaping their very nature.” And for what?”
A beat. Then, the final blow.
“To try to build herself an army.”
A murmur of unease turns into a roar of voices—fear, anger, betrayal. A woman in the front row clutches her child to her chest. A man near the back spits onto the ground, cursing the wicked witch. The panic doesn’t just spread—it consumes.
Morrible’s gaze shifts. A calculated glance toward Glinda, who stands stiff, paralyzed, hands locked. The new golden girl of Oz—caught in the middle of a nightmare she was not prepared for. The sorceress cracks a smile—warm, pitying, condescending.
“And yet, amidst this tragedy, there is a glimmer of light. Of hope. A young woman—misled, manipulated, but not lost.”
Glinda thinks she’s going to vomit. A ringing fills her ears. Her hands—still clasped tightly in front of her—are trembling. In her dazed state, she has allowed them to manipulate her identity quickly. They are turning her into a pretty emblem of loyalty to Oz, making her theirs.
“Miss Glinda Upland was deceived by one she once called a friend. She was thrust into a storm of treachery, intentionally placed in harm’s way. And yet, she stands here before us now—whole, unwavering, proof that loyalty to Oz will always triumph over lies.”
A moment, a pause, before Morrible turns her full attention on Glinda.
“You must have been so frightened, my dear.”
Glinda’s breath catches in her throat. She doesn’t answer. She doesn’t move. If she denies it, she risks suspicion. If she agrees, she betrays Elphaba. So she says nothing at all, just nods ever so slightly - still a betrayal, she knows.
But the people don’t stay silent.
“Miss Upland, were you afraid?” A woman calls out from the front.
Glinda’s lips part. She knows the weight of the silence stretching between her and the crowd. She knows the eyes on her, waiting. Morrible’s gaze piercing through her.
“I… I never expected things to happen this way.” She tries to keep her voice neutral, calm, but there’s a shaky timbre that she can’t keep out.
“Let this be a lesson to us all,” Morrible cuts back in.
A final shift—resolute, firm, the voice of authority itself.
“We cannot allow such chaos to take root in our land. We cannot permit an Unregulated Alpha to rise. We cannot permit a reckless witch to walk unchecked among us. Do not fear. We will act swiftly. For the safety of Oz. For the preservation of peace. We will find her.”
A chilling smile.
“The people of Oz deserve order. And order, my friends, shall be maintained. And today, we look not only to justice but to hope. Hope for a future in which loyalty prevails over treachery. Just look at our dear Miss Glinda Upland—once misled, yet so strong, so good—may her braverism guide us all toward a better Oz.”
A young boy’s voice rings out—“Glinda the Good!”
The crowd ripples with agreement, voices rising in nods and declarations, the title catching like wildfire. Glinda’s vision blurs. Not with tears—she won’t cry here—but with something hot and sick and wrong in her gut. Elphaba should be here, and it should be a celebration, not a witch-hunt.
As the press conference nears its end, the tension in the air is thick. Glinda, still reeling, barely registers the final words Morrible leans in and whispers just for her:
“The eyes of Oz are on you now, my dear. Every step, every breath—they will be watching. They’ll be eager to see how you carry yourself moving forward.”
A pause—then, with a quiet, knowing smile:
“Don’t disappoint us.”
Glinda’s chest is tight. She forces herself not to move, but her vision is spinning.
She remembers Elphaba’s hands on her, steady, certain. The way she had pressed their foreheads together the night before—“Hold out, my sweet.”
So she does.
They usher her forward, onto a raised platform, onto a carriage. The cheers swell, some voices shout her name. She doesn’t know who it is they are cheering for—she isn’t good, she isn’t brave. Her stomach twists.
The procession through the Emerald City is a blur. Morrible never leaves her side. Her presence alone makes Glinda’s skin crawl, but she doesn’t react. She cannot react. Not here. Not now.
When it is over, true to her word, Morrible escorts her back to Shiz. Not by train, but by carriage, flanked by a fleet of guards. A hero wouldn’t need guards. Glinda muses darkly that this isn’t what it feels like to be a savior, but a prisoner of war. She says nothing.
Back at Shiz, Morrible’s words are suffocating in their finality.
“Well, as always you are free to do as you please here, dearie,” she hums. “But remember—as an important figure in Oz, you now have obligations that lie with the Palace. We will call. You will answer.”
Glinda wants to scream.
She didn’t ask for this. She didn’t ask to stand before the crowd, to let them name her, to be shackled to the Palace with golden chains. She had only wanted to explore the city, to stand beside Elphaba.
But Elphaba is gone. And apparently all of Oz has already decided who Glinda will be without her.
Guards are stationed on campus. She is being watched. No room for misinterpretation.
By the time Glinda makes it to her dorm, exhaustion weighs her down like iron. Her private suite has never felt so empty, so hollow, so suffocating.
Without Elphaba’s presence, it feels haunted.
She stumbles toward her roommate’s small bed and collapses onto it, curling into herself, unmoving, until sleep—fitful, heavy—drags her under.
—
ELPHABA
The first night on the run, Elphaba crashes through a tangle of branches, nearly smashing into the trunk of a towering tree before she stumbles to a stop. She’s breathing too hard, her limbs shaking with exhaustion, her magic drained to nothing.
She doesn’t know exactly where she is—only that she’s somewhere deep in the Vinkus, probably. It’s hard to care when every inch of her aches. She had seen a weathered mountain road from above, right before she crashed, but from here it’s just trees in every direction.
Whatever magic Morrible is using for her grand, broad proclamations, is strong enough to resound through the skies. Even here, deep in the trees, she cannot escape Morrible’s enchanted broadcasted speech.
It slithers through the wind, curling around her ribs, pressing into her skull.
Elphaba hears her cruel proclamation about her green skin, and the rest of it fades out as she trembles angrily. Her stomach turns. She forces herself to keep moving, pushing past the shaking in her legs until she finds shelter beneath an overhanging rock. The adrenaline slowly crashes and leaves her as she collapses.
She feels like a discarded tool. Used for a purpose, then tossed aside when she was no longer useful. She had believed in Morrible. Trusted her. The first person to tell her she was special, that she was meant for something greater. Lies. All of it. She was a pawn. And now she was nothing but a fugitive. The weight of it all crashes into her at once.
What she’s done. The raw ache in her chest. The way the cold earth bites into her bones.
And Glinda. Glinda her insufferable roommate, her sweet friend. Glinda—an omega? Gods, it’s all too much.
Then she suddenly remembers—she had kissed Glinda. The thought slams into her like a physical blow. Her breath stutters, her pulse kicks up again, not from adrenaline, not from fear—Glinda had kissed her back. Gods, she had kissed Elphaba back. Pressed closer, whimpered, like she wanted more. Elphaba grips her head with both hands, as if she can force the memory to stay. It’s branded into her now. Etched into her skin.
What has she done?
It’s dangerous to want things you cannot have. She knows that. And yet—
She wonders if Glinda is okay. If the guards hurt her. If she’s in trouble. Surely she can’t be. She didn’t do anything wrong.
Elphaba doesn’t remember falling asleep, only shifting uncomfortably against the earth, her thoughts slipping between Glinda, the danger she’s in, and the ache of thirst clawing at her throat.
Nothing prepares her for the pain that greets her in the morning—her muscles raw, her body spent. Flying wasn’t easy. Neither was using that much magic.
In an effort to conserve her energy, she brushes herself off, feeling utterly spent and grimy, and continues to forge forward on foot. She’s sure she’s quite a sight. Glinda would probably shriek upon seeing her before assaulting her with a makeover session.
The sun rises higher and higher. Her throat is dry, her legs burn, but she pushes forward. There’s no choice but to keep moving.
Suddenly, there are voices ahead. Low guttural murmurs. She stills, heart hammering, following the sound until she steps past the treelike and sees them.
A caravan. A long line of Animals, backs hunched, eyes downcast, chained together. Armed guards flank the group, leading them toward a fate Elphaba doesn’t want to imagine. Something in her chest snaps. She doesn’t think. She doesn’t hesitate.
She moves swiftly, channeling the same energy she had in the classroom the day of the poppies. Stillness. Silence. There are no poppies here, but the feeling—that desperate need to stop everything—is the same. She throws her hands outward, concentrating.
And then -- the air shudders, and slowly, guards drop one by one into a strange sleep.
The animals immediately begin making noise, some actual words and others just noises. Elphaba darts over immediately to a guard, grabbing keys, and begins to start undoing chains on some bigger animals up front.
For a breath, she thinks her spell really worked in its entirety. Then—movement. A flicker of consciousness in one of the fallen soldiers. The spell is wearing off too soon.
A shout cuts through the air.
“She’s here! The wicked witch is here!”
Elphaba barely has time to turn before a soldier is lunging toward her, weapon raised—but then there’s a blur of movement, a sound like thunder. The Animals don’t hesitate. A massive lion barrels into the nearest guard. A Buffalo knocks another clear off his feet. Hooves slam into armor, claws tear through fabric. The scene erupts into chaos.
One of the Animals—a towering Buffalo, breathing heavy, eyes sharp with urgency—meets her gaze.
“Run.”
Elphaba doesn’t argue.
She turns, feet pounding against the dirt, and disappears into the trees.
The next few hours pass in an anxious blur. Her legs don’t stop. She just keeps moving—deeper into the wilderness, farther from what she’s done. The black dress clings to her, sticky with sweat, streaked with dust.
By the time she stumbles into a small, weathered cottage on the outskirts of a village, her body is beyond exhaustion.
Elphaba leans against a tree, catching her breath, eyes darting for any signs of life. Nothing. No movement, no voices.
She pulls the Grimmerie from her bag, flipping through it, searching—there has to be something, some spell to help her now—
But the words blur, twisting into nonsense. She isn’t in the right headspace to understand them. Frustrated, she exhales sharply, snapping the book shut.
“None of that horrendible magic here, please.”
A sage, female voice startles her.
Elphaba gasps, nearly dropping the book.
A brown Fox stands before her, muzzle grayed with age, tail flicking lazily.
“I’m sorry,” Elphaba says slowly, hesitantly putting the Grimmerie away. “Please I…I don’t want any trouble, ma’am.”
The Fox studies her with sharp, beady eyes.
“I know who you are,” she says, voice measured, knowing. “A Crow said you just rescued some folks. You can rest here if you need.”
It’s the first but certainly not the last time Elphaba has to rely on the kindness of strangers. She spends the rest of the day trying to adjust. The heaviness of being on the run, of active rebellion, of everything she’s lost in just a short time, finally catches up to her once she stops moving.
The Fox’s home is small but sturdy, its walls lined with dried herbs and old, well-worn books. It smells of smoke and damp wood, of something earthy and lived-in.
Elphaba washes herself properly—wiping away the sweat, the dirt. The black dress she stole from Shiz is stiff with grime, so the Fox hands her a spare: a simple, well-worn cotton dress, black like the other but softer against her skin.
That night, she helps the Fox prepare dinner, peeling vegetables with a knife that feels too small in her hands after everything. The Fox moves with practiced ease, graying tail flicking as she speaks.
“You’re in the Vinkus,” she tells Elphaba, voice steady. “Mountainside, not far from the valley. Not a bad place to disappear, but not a good place to stay long either.”
Elphaba pauses, fingers tightening around the knife. “Why?”
The Fox doesn’t look at her as she tosses a handful of roots into the stew pot.
“Soldiers raided a hideout nearby,” The Fox slowly exhales. “Illegal Animal safe house. Some got away. Some didn’t. You saved some that didn’t.”
Elphaba’s stomach turns. The Fox doesn’t say more, but she doesn’t have to.
Elphaba also understands the warning buried in between the words. She can stay long enough to get back on her feet. Long enough to figure out a plan. But not forever.
That night, Elphaba manages to sleep, but it doesn’t feel like rest.
She drifts somewhere heavy, somewhere thick, as if the air itself is pressing down on her. The world is colorless, blurred at the edges, stretching and warping like heat over desert sand. She isn’t standing. She isn’t lying down. She simply exists in this space, weightless and waiting. Then—a sound.
Soft. Small. A sharp breath, caught between shallow inhales.
It tugs at her.
A pull—not physical, but somewhere deep inside her chest.
She turns, or maybe she doesn’t move at all, and something flickers at the edges of her awareness—gold, warmth, fragility. Another breath. This time, it shakes, labored. .
Something cold slithers up her spine. She leans in, straining to hear, to understand.
The air shudders. A heartbeat that isn’t hers. The scent of rosewater and sweet honey, soft and distant.
Something aching presses into her ribs— longing, sadness, something wordless and fragile. Her own breath stumbles. Her fingers, reach out, twitching, toward nothing.
Then—a sharp pang tears through her chest. The world fractures.
She jerks awake from her spot on the couch, gasping. The safe house is dark, the fire burned low. The Fox still sleeps in her chair, her breathing slow and even.
The world is silent. But Elphaba’s mind is loud, thrumming.
Her body hums with something raw and restless, something that won’t settle.
She presses a hand over her ribs. Her pulse is racing.
It was just a dream. Nothing more. But it doesn’t fade like other dreams.
She exhales slowly, staring at the ceiling, unable to shake the feeling that something—someone—had been reaching for her.
Notes:
next up: fiyero finds elphaba and the first thing out of elphaba's mouth is "glinda" effectively ruining his crush on her :p
boq makes an extremely disruptive annoying reappearance, and elphaba hones in on her magic both for her rebellion and to find her way back to glinda
i know this was still a bit more world-building but i promise the rest of the story unfolds very quickly after this with elphaba truly unable to stay away from glinda much longer
ps i realize i blended some book details but it's mostly movie version based
Chapter 4: Chapter 2 - Vine Draped Walls
Summary:
As Glinda grapples with the weight of her new reality and tries to move forward, Elphaba continuously fails to keep her Alpha instincts buried when it comes to Glinda.
Notes:
:) This is probably the last of the more introspective parts before the action snowballs dynamically
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
CHAPTER 2
GLINDA
Galinda gives herself a full two days to fall apart. She does not leave her suite—her now truly private suite. She doesn’t even leave to eat, picking at a piece of fruit and a stale pastry.
The space is too quiet, too full, too empty all at once. There are knocks at her door. She answers them politely, assuring whoever lingers that she’ll see them soon.
Cruel, how big the room feels now. How this was once what she wanted, now a mean taunt of how wrong she had been. She moves through the room like a ghost. Like a girl wandering ruins, searching for something that cannot be found.
The room is too quiet now, too empty, even though Elphaba’s things remain untouched—her wardrobe still ajar, the green bottle still beneath her pillow. Elphaba’s scent lingers, herbal and earthy, achingly familiar, but now there’s something deeper Glinda never noticed before: her Alpha scent. She shouldn’t be able to smell it this strongly. Had it always been this noticeable, or was grief sharpening her senses?
Tomorrow, she will pull herself together. But tonight, she lets herself fall apart one last time. The tears don’t come as fast this time, just a slow, steady stream that doesn’t stop until her eyes flutter shut.
—
Glinda wakes up in full Ga-linda force. Determined. Poised. She will not sleep tonight until she finds a way to reach Elphaba. That is non-negotiable.
She gets ready for the day and is just about done curling the ends of her long blonde strands when she lays eyes again on Elphaba’s sorcery books. Glinda crosses the room before she can talk herself out of it. Her fingers graze the spine of one of the spell books she doesn’t have, flipping it open to Elphaba’s spiky, inked notes in the margins. She skims the text, scanning over the scribbled annotations—all sharp observations, half-thoughts, unanswered questions. She pours through, not sure exactly what she’s looking for. Something to help.
An idea takes root.
Before she knows it, she’s making her way to Madame Morrible’s office, knocking loudly.
“Miss Upland, this is a surprise. I didn’t expect to see you so soon,” Morrible answers the door and stands tall, peering at her curiously. Her eyes flick over Glinda’s perfect arranged hair. “You look quite…refreshed.”
“Oh yes, I’ve had time to recover from the truly horrendous events of the past few days,” Glinda quips lightly, lying through her teeth. Morrible hums, clearly unconvinced.
“Indeed. What is it that brings you to my office?
Glinda steels herself, bracing internally. “I wish to continue my sorcery studies. And—” she squares her shoulders, voice firm, “—accelerate them.”
The surprised look on the older sorceress’s face quickly dissolves into a condescending smile.
“My dear, you were merely included in our studies to placate Miss Thropp. But as I’m sure you’ve noticed, she is no longer enrolled here. Nor, I daresay, is her happiness of any particular importance now.”
Glinda doesn’t blink. “Elphaba was helping me study.” Her voice remains steady, even. “I was just beginning to understand.”
Morrible waves a hand, the movement careless, dismissive. “Be that as it may, I fail to see the necessity.”
Glinda grits her teeth. “If you try, and I prove to be utterly useless within a month, then we can stop.”
Morrible’s gaze sharpens. “And why, pray tell, should I waste my time?”
Glinda hesitates for just a beat—just long enough to seem like she’s choosing her words carefully. Then, she lowers her voice slightly, lets a thread of quiet self-deprecation slip in. “Because she never believed I could be an asset.”
That catches Morrible’s attention. Glinda presses forward before she can be dismissed. “You said it yourself—she’s powerful. If she ever returns, shouldn’t someone be prepared? Someone she would never suspect?”
Morrible considers her for a long moment. “So you think you could best Elphaba… out of sheer determination? Out of spite?” That cat-like smile reappears.
“You could say spite,” Glinda allows, cool and unfazed. “But I prefer to think of it as preparation.”
Morrible hums, studying her. “Miss Elphaba read the Grimmerie in one sitting. Something that takes people decades to comprehend. You, my dear, cannot even make a single penny float.”
Glinda smiles sweetly. “Then perhaps you should teach me how.”
A beat. Then, slowly, Morrible’s cold smile stretches wider.
“We could see where your strengths lie…maybe you could be the perfect asset after all.”
—
Glinda has three revelations that day. The first is that Fiyero is gone.
The whispers through the halls say he rode off into the storm the same night the Wicked Witch was declared a fugitive. No one knows where he went. No one really questions why.
A part of her is deeply hurt—he didn’t even wait to see if she came back or check to see if she was okay. But he must have gone looking for them. Or just—her stomach twists at the thought—just for Elphaba.
He didn’t even leave a note. No explanation. Nothing. He hadn’t stayed to tell her his plans. And they were dating. That should have mattered. That should have counted for something.
But then again, they were dating, and she had kissed Elphaba back on that tower. The thought sears through her, unbidden.
The sticky warmth curling between her thighs had started on the train, long before the tower. Before she even knew what it meant.
Maybe it had been amplified in that train cabin by their instincts, but she had recognized the same dangerous pull in her stomach from other unrealized moments.
Instead of lingering on Fiyero’s abandonment, she decides to cling to one thing—Elphaba had chosen her in that moment. That had to count for something, right?
Oh, but the longer she fixates on it, the more uncertain she becomes. She knows, realistically, that Elphaba couldn’t have stayed. But still, the question lingers—had Elphaba chosen her? Or had it been nothing more than impulse, a fleeting moment of affection sparked by adrenaline and instincts?
She only knows one thing for sure: she can’t stop thinking about it. About Elphaba. It truly plagues her all day.
The second revelation she has is that Boq is truly, without a doubt, one of the most persistent, annoying, and embarrassing people she’s ever met. It’s not a new realization, really. But now that Fiyero and Elphaba are gone, and Nessarose is back home, Boq seems to have made it his life’s mission to hover in her general vicinity at all times.
She had rather hoped ages ago that he would grow out of it.
Glinda doesn’t even make it through breakfast before he appears—too eager, too earnest, shifting from foot to foot like a boy waiting to be called on.
Lurline preserve me.
“Boq,” she sighs, before he even has the chance to speak. “Whatever it is, I assure you, it can wait until I’ve had my tea.”
It cannot, apparently, wait until she’s had her tea.
“I just wanted to check on you,” he blurts out, sitting down next to her, getting a little too close for comfort. “—After everything that happened.”
How noble. How selfless. How very Boq. Opportunistic in her suffering.
She takes a slow, deliberate sip of tea before answering. “How very thoughtful. But now I have been checked on. You are free to go.”
He does not go, he only leans in.
“You know, Glinda,” he says, voice shifting into something carefully casual, “I can’t help but notice that Fiyero hasn’t exactly—well—been around.”
Her grip on her spoon tightens.
“And you’ve been—” he hesitates, as if trying to choose his words carefully, “rather alone since you’ve been back.”
She presses her lips together, inhaling through her nose.
A marvelous observation. Truly. A credit to his intellectual genius. She wills herself to remain polite, that practiced, thin smile appearing like it’s rehearsed.
“Boq,” she says sweetly, setting her teacup down with a soft clink, “are you asking if I am simply dreadfully lonely now that my one true love has abandoned me?”
His face flushes, but he squares his shoulders, determined. “I’m only saying, Glinda, you don’t have to be.”
Ah. There it is. The unbearable, tragic, humiliating realization that Boq—Boq of all people—thinks this is his moment. That he sees Fiyero’s absence as an opening. That he thinks she might now, at long last, deign to notice him. That he could ever be what she wanted.
It is almost touching, in a deeply pathetic sort of way.
She lifts a hand to rub at her temple, trying to summon some shred of patience. “Boq, darling.” She says it gently, too gently. “You misunderstand me. My solitude is not something to be solved.”
A flicker of something crosses his face—hurt, maybe, or disbelief. But instead of backing off, he steps closer.
“You don’t have to pretend, you know.” His stance shifts, voice softening, as if they are sharing some private, unspoken understanding. “I thought you’d want company. I know what it’s like. To love someone who never really—”
She exhales sharply, standing abruptly, chair scraping against the floor.
“If you’ll excuse me.”
She does not let him finish. She does not let him say it. She leaves the dining hall before he can follow. The way he feels about her is nothing compared her deeply rooted aching and longing for one she can’t be with and she will not allow him to make a mockery of that.
The third revelation is that she has never felt more alone in her life, and she had never realized how lonely she had been til she knew what it was like to be seen, to have true connection.
She had known, on some level, that her friendships were shallow. That her world at Shiz was mostly built on pleasantries and pretty words. Except for when she was with Elphaba. But today, as she sits at the lunch table—listening to Pfannee prattle about new dress shipments from the Emerald City—the truth of it settles in her stomach like a weight.
These are not her friends. These are just the people who happened to be left. They laugh, toss out sympathies. None of it matters, none of them truly care. Not really. Because none of them ever truly knew her.
But Elphaba had. Elphaba saw her. Not just the polished surface. Not just the charm and perfection she so carefully maintained. Elphaba looked at her and knew things Glinda had never admitted aloud.
And Fiyero—Fiyero, at least, understood the world in a way that made her feel less small. Even if he hadn’t always understood her, he had at least understood something deeper. Life, adventure, the weight of things beyond shallow society. He had been warm, effortless, a quiet kind of grounding force she hadn’t known she needed until he was gone.
And now, there is no one.
They do not speak of Elphaba outright. They do not need to. She can feel it—the unspoken weight of their judgment pressing down on her, the way their smiles tighten whenever the subject strays too close. The way they glance at her when they think she isn’t looking.
They pity her. That much is obvious.
They think she is embarrassed, humiliated. They expect her to be ashamed for ever associating with the Wicked Witch of the West. She lets them think what they want.
But more than judgment, they want something else from her. A reaction. A few well-placed words they can later twist into whispers and gossip over tea. She refuses to give them that satisfaction.
Instead, she straightens her shoulders, tilts her chin, keeps her voice light and even. As if none of this has touched her at all.
Boq lingers like a shadow, eager to step in, but he of all people does not understand her. He never has.
She is surrounded by people, but she has never felt lonelier. She forces a smile, forces a laugh, forces herself to pretend that nothing is wrong. That she is not unraveling at the edges.
But Lurline, she is.
—
ELPHABA
Elphaba wakes one night with a gasp, her chest rising too fast, pulse hammering. Her skin burns, slick with sweat, heat pooling low in her stomach—unbearable, suffocating. She shifts, only to feel it—the ache, the pressure, her member having emerged, thick and pulsing against the damp fabric of her underwear.
Oz. No.
The immediate recall of the dream floods back in, heady, electric, still clinging to her like a phantom touch. As if the sensation is real. As if Glinda is here.
Not real. It’s not real. But it feels so real.
Glinda—warm, soft, all delicate edges — settling into her lap like she belongs there. Thighs bracketing her own, hips rolling without thought, without hesitation. The same way she had shifted her thighs together on the train—instinctual, innocent, unaware of what she was doing to Elphaba.
And here, in the dream—she moves against her, pressing her warm center against Elphaba’s thigh, soft and yielding, like it’s only natural, like she needs to.
Like she wants to.
Like on that tower—the way Glinda’s hands had gripped her cloak.
When Glinda had grabbed at her during their kiss, her delicate fingers curling into the fabric at Elphaba’s back—not pushing her away, like the rest of the world loved to do, no— pulling her impossibly closer. And the heat of that moment still simmers inside Elphaba, untouched and unspent, days later.
In the dream, Glinda never lets go.
She clings to her, fingers digging in, breath hot and sweet against Elphaba’s throat. She rocks against her achingly slow, wet, desperate, her nightgown slipping from her shoulders, revealing silken skin, soft curves, dusky-pink nipples tightening in the open air. A breathy gasp stuttering past Glinda’s lips—
Gods, Elphaba can feel her, hear her.
A sharp, helpless sound rips from Elphaba’s throat as her hips jerk upward, instinct overpowering thought. One hand clutches at the sheets, the other slams over her own mouth to muffle the noise—a snarl building in her throat, her breath coming too fast—
Wrong. Wrong. Wrong.
Her breath comes too fast, her vision too sharp. The air around her pulses, magic curling at the edges of the room. Trinkets begin to rattle softly, trembling against the surface of the dresser.
She forces herself still, eyes wide, chest heaving. She can’t lose control like this. Not over something that isn’t real.
But the truth settles, cold beneath the heat of her body.
Her suppressants are somehow failing. The thought claws through her, sending another violent shiver down her spine. She swallows hard.
She had blamed Glinda’s suppressants. But maybe this has more to do with Glinda herself than it does any pharmaceutical.
Her whole body is on fire, suffocating, burning up in something she’s spent years suppressing. She wants—no, she needs, she aches, she could break apart with wanting alone.
It was just a dream.
But it feels like something stolen from her, something that was supposed to be hers.
And some desperate, wretched, instinctual part of her still thinks it could be.
—
Elphaba wakes the next morning feeling exhausted, wrung-out, unrested.
She’s wanted Glinda for a long while now—maybe since the beginning, if she’s being truthful, when they loathed each other on principle. But this feels different. Too much. It’s unlocking something inside her, something heavy and insatiable, something she’s spent years shoving into silence.
Maybe she was foolish to think she could ignore it forever.
The suppressants have had one job—to make her better, smaller, quieter. More normal. Less of an abomination, less of a big threat, less of an unholy mistake.
She still remembers the way kids used to look at her, the way they spoke about her like she wasn’t even human. A green mean thing. A monster. A horror. Ugly. Wrong. Something to fear.
She learned young that people don’t flinch unless they think you might attack.
So she made herself as harmless as possible. A sharp tongue with no actual bite. Or at least, she tried.
But Glinda.
Glinda, who is soft and oh-so sweet-scented—but never weak. (Well, except maybe in their sparring class, though her upper body strength was shockingly adept while her coordination and stamina were not.)
Glinda, who is bold and terribly bossy, impossibly stubborn, delightfully sharp. Witty. The only person to ever spurn Elphaba for something other than her looks—at least at first.
Glinda, who danced with her at the Ozdust despite the mocking crowds, who argued with her, laughed with her, who called her beautiful. Insufferably high-maintenance, annoyingly obsessed with control.
A perfectionist who wants to be good enough.
And somehow, inexplicably, genuinely good to her.
An unclaimed Omega hidden in plain sight, unbound, no Alpha to belong to—
Gods, it all does something to her.
Elphaba hates how easily the thought of Glinda’s scent, the feel of her breath against her, makes her body react. She hates the sharp hunger curling inside her, making her whole body feel reckless and wrong. Because it isn’t safe to be so reactive.
She can’t let these feelings burrow into her, can’t let them consume her like this. Not when she’s on the run without a place to call home anymore. Not when Glinda deserves softness, security, a future—not an unwanted, green outcast Alpha whose very existence has been a cruel mistake.
And certainly not when Elphaba can’t trust that any of it is real.
Sure, Glinda kissed her back.
But Glinda was dating Fiyero still, despite the growing distance, despite the worry in her eyes when she talked about him. After all, she had said she intended to marry him. Basically changed her name just to get his attention. (Or was it her attention, she was after? Elphaba can’t bring herself to think about that)
What if it was only instinct? What if Glinda was just reacting to an Alpha’s presence, the way an Omega is meant to?
Or worse—what if she had only kissed her back because she cares about her?
Not like that, not truly, just… enough to let Elphaba believe it, for one terrible second while the world was crashing down around them.
If Glinda would only ever want her out of biological instinct…
Well.
Elphaba would rather be alone. It would hurt too much.
—
The first week passes quickly, and Elphaba—ever a master of discipline and regiment—throws herself into making herself useful around the Fox’s home, absorbing what little information the Fox is willing to share. She learns fragments about the Resistance.
There is no one direct leader.
Secret routes and safe houses thread across Oz like invisible veins.
The first to be targeted are the outspoken ones. The ones who push back, who try to make a difference. The ones in high positions, ones with influence. Like Dr. Dillamond.
It reignites the fire of rebellion and fight inside her.
The Fox doesn’t ever share her name, only a codename. Redtail. A puzzle, truly, given the streak of grey fur at her tail, but Elphaba supposes that’s the point.
Late one afternoon, Redtail returns home, shaking dust from her coat as she drops a bundle of cloth onto the table.
“Word’s moving faster than my four feet,” she remarks, glancing at Elphaba. “You’ve made quite the impression. There’s a magical projection of a recent press conference in town.”
“What exactly is the word?” Elphaba hedges hesitantly.
“They’ve given you a name,” the Fox continues. “You’re not just a fugitive anymore. You’re the Wicked Witch.”
The words feel distant, impersonal—something assigned to her, rather than something real.
“And,” the Fox adds, slowly, “That Grand Vizier Morrible made sure to tell the world exactly what you are. Called you a rogue, unregulated, untamed Alpha. Said Oz can’t afford to let something like that walk free.”
Elphaba clenches her jaw. A rogue. Untamed. Not just dangerous—wrong. Outside the system.
The Fox shrugs sadly. “Ignorance. Can’t say the crowd disagreed.”
Then—almost as an afterthought—
“I take it you also know a ‘Glinda the good’?”
Elphaba stills. Her heart stumbles—pauses—then rushes to catch up. The name cuts through everything else.
Elphaba forces herself to try and school her features. “What was said?”
“Not much,” the Fox says. “She was there. Right beside Morrible. Didn’t say a word beyond what was needed. Kept her hands folded nice and polite. Smiled when she had to…didn’t look all that happy about it, though.”
“What do you mean?”
“She was steady enough,” the Fox allows. “But if you ask me? Looked like someone balancing on a tightrope. Holding her breath, waiting for something to give.”
Elphaba swallow thickly, wondering what exactly that means. She wonders if Glinda has been able to keep her status secret. She must have, if the Fox isn’t broaching that topic as well.
The conversation shifts, but as Elphaba wonders about how she can catch a glimpse of the conference projection in town, a glimpse of Glinda, she is left with a heavy realization she should have faced long before now. She is too noticeable.
Her green skin is a liability. She will never blend in, never slip unnoticed through a crowd. If she wants to move freely, she will have to find another way.
“Do you have a hood?” she eventually asks Redtail.
“Not one that’d hide you proper,” the Fox replies. “But I could try to make you one, if you do something for me in return.”
A fair, simple trade. A letter to be delivered to a town reachable by flight, but not by foot.
She waits patiently over the next few days for the cover-up hood to be complete. But patience in stillness does not sit well with her. As she waits, her thoughts drift backward to a long term solution.
She tries to recall what Morrible had taught her of invisibility and cloaking spells.
High-level sorcery, she had called it — something only elevated sorcerers were permitted to learn. But Morrible had reviewed the fundamentals with her. She knows the theory. She just doesn’t know where to start, exactly.
But Elphaba does know exactly which book the section of invisibility and cloaking is in. Spells and all. She knows exactly where it sits—on her bedside table.
—
Another afternoon, when Redtail is out and not to be expected back soon, Elphaba hears the door creak. She stills instantly, heart hammering. Great, she’s been caught. Too slow. She’d moved too slowly. She’d let herself relax. She should have been on the move by now.
The knock comes—firm, unhesitating.
Shit.
She’s already moving, breath caught between fight or flight. If it’s a guard, she’s trapped. If it’s a bounty hunter, she’s already dead. Her muscles coil, ready to—
Then she sees him.
Fiyero.
The tension snaps. She exhales sharply, her grip loosening where her hands had balled into fists. He looks different. Less like the careless prince she knew, more worn, more real. There’s something behind his eyes that wasn’t there before, like the world has finally caught up to him.
For a second, neither of them speaks.
Then, before she even thinks about it, she hugs him.
Like a reflex she can’t control. Like comfort in the middle of a storm.
Fiyero barely has time to react before she’s already pulling away, blinking hard like she’s catching herself in a mistake. She steps back, recovering immediately.
“What are you doing here?” Her voice is light, but sharper than it needs to be. “How did you find me?”
The weight of it sinks in fast—if he can find her, so can others.
Fiyero studies her like he’s reading between the lines, but he doesn’t call her out. He just exhales, hands in his pockets.
“You’re in Winkie country. I know my home well. Plus, Animals talk. They trust me.”
Elphaba forces a trained, half-smile.
But her chest is still tight. She almost can’t look at him, because if she does—
The question slips out before she can stop it.
“How is Glinda?”
Fiyero watches her, and something flickers behind his expression. Not surprise, not amusement—just understanding.
“I don’t know, actually. I left that night. I only saw her in a projection of the press conference,” he says after a beat. Elphaba’s stomach twists. “She looked fine, Elphaba.”
Her jaw clenches. “You know her appearance can be deceiving.”
He doesn’t argue. Silence settles between them, stretching thin. Then, softer than she expects—
“I couldn’t stay, once I heard the news.”
Elphaba looks at him properly then. Her sharpness fades just slightly, replaced with something more open. He doesn’t explain, and she doesn’t ask why. Instead, she exhales, voice quieter now.
“Aren’t you going to ask me what happened? If the rumors are true?” Elphaba asks, looking down.
“If I thought for a second that you would harm Animals, or try to intentionally hurt Glinda, I wouldn’t be here right now,” Fiyero says, voice steady.
Elphaba nods, but the mention of Glinda sticks. They’re both here, and she’s not.
“You know, for someone who’s so aware, you have a remarkable ability to make a mess and walk away from it,” The words come out before she fully thinks them through, but she doesn’t regret saying them.
“I know,” he concedes softly. “But she’ll move on. We’re…we were never really right for each other.”
“That’s not the point,” Elphaba counters, gentler now. “You owed her a proper goodbye.” She recalls a night when Glinda had waited up anxiously, pestering Elphaba the moment she stepped inside their room, eyes wide with worry—anxious, affectionate, utterly sincere. How easily Glinda loved, how easily she gave.
Fiyero exhales with an apologetic nod, resigning, stretching his legs out as he sits.
The awkward silence stretches, and then, casually—too casually—
“So, does the Wicked Witch of Oz need a partner?”
Elphaba doesn’t even glance at him as her face flushes darker, hoping he’s not implying anything beyond friendship.
“I’m perfectly capable of being wicked all on my own, thank you.” Then, quieter— “But.”
He waits, patient. She hesitates. Because admitting loneliness out loud makes it real.
“I don’t really know what I’m doing.”
Elphaba struggles, the words on the tip of her tongue but afraid to release them.
“…And I don’t think I can do this alone.”
She says it fast, like if she gets it over with, it won’t feel like a weakness.
Fiyero watches her carefully. “It seems to me you might need some company. And direction. I think I’m fairly good at both.”
“You don’t seem like the on-the-run type,” she deadpans, cautiously gauging his approach.
“Well, I was never much good at staying in one place,” Fiyero muses, before he seems to open up, revealing a softer, quieter presence. “Besides, I grew up with Animals. Most of my friends weren’t even human…like Jack. I can’t just sit back and let them get away with what they’re doing. Not to them. Not to you.”
Elphaba’s gaze flickers to him, something sharp in it. “To me?”
He shrugs, like it’s obvious. “In some ways, you’re like an Animal to them, aren’t you?”
Elphaba exhales, long and slow. “Probably. In some ways. Maybe worse.”
The silence lingers. Not uncomfortable, but something weighty.
Fiyero shifts, rubbing at his jaw, then sighs. “You know, I was thinking about it the other day…”
Elphaba raises a brow, a smirk playing on her lips. “Oh, that’s dangerous.”
He smirks but keeps going. “I realized I don’t actually know any Alpha-Beta pairings that work. Not personally.”
“That’s because you don’t pay attention,” Elphaba deadpans.
“Yeah, but…then I started wondering—I don’t know how well I’d fare in one.”
“Not well, I imagine, unless you enjoy losing arguments for the rest of your life.”
Fiyero tilts his head, considering. “Yeah, not my ideal situation. Although, I wouldn’t mind losing arguments to you.”
Elphaba rolls her eyes and shoves his foot away from her side of the table. “You’re already losing this one.”
Fiyero puts his hands up, leaning back into the chair, sinking into it. Manspreading. Elphaba almost smiles at his ease, wishes she moved through the world with his air of confidence.
The realization settles in. She’s not alone in this anymore. The moment lingers, just for a second, before she speaks.
“Have you heard of the Resistance?”
Fiyero lifts a brow. “Depends who’s asking.” Off her unamused look— “Yes. And I was hoping you’d align with them.”
Elphaba narrows her eyes slightly. “That was your plan?”
“No,” he admits easily, stretching. “But I had a feeling it might be yours.”
She studies him for a moment. “How connected are you?”
He hums thoughtfully, “I have a few friends who can loop us in.”
“Good,” she mutters, looking away, her mind already moving forward. “But before I do anything else, I need my magic.”
Fiyero frowns, clearly thrown. “I’m sorry, is that something that comes and goes for you or—”
“No, but I need my texts.” Her pulse kicks up slightly
He blinks. “Your what?”
“Think of them like manuals. I need them to understand certain things but I need to get them.”
Fiyero stares at her for a long beat. Then, realization flickers across his face, followed by immediate disapproval. “From Shiz?” His expression darkens. “Elphaba—”
“I need them.” She cuts him off, voice firm. “All I have is the Grimmerie, and that’s…I can’t quite understand it yet. It’s an ancient language.”
“You know there are other sorcery books, right? Surely we can find something else,” he tries to reason with her. Elphaba’s jaw tightens. He watches her, expression unreadable “There’s no doubt in my mind they have eyes on Shiz. It’s not a smart move—”
“I’m going,” she says, firmly straightening up. No room for disagreement. If she sounds certain enough, maybe he’ll step down and see things her way. “So you can either help me, or I’ll figure it out myself.”
Fiyero exhales sharply, dragging a hand down his face.
“So this is how it’s going to be,” he mutters. He looks at her, long and hard. “Fine. Tell me what you need from me.”
—
It comes together faster than Elphaba anticipates. Too fast, almost. Fiyero gives her the right amount of fuel to propel her along. He’d always been good at making things happen. And once the wheels are in motion, once she stops planning and actually starts moving, it becomes impossible to stop.
A cold thrill coils in her chest—exhilaration and the sharp, gutting awareness that this is reckless, maybe even stupid. She shouldn’t be doing this. She knows that. There’s a target on her back, and she doesn’t want to think about the consequences if Morrible and the Wizard hit a bullseye. The smart move would be to move on, forward, and never look back.
But the problem is, she does look back. Over and over again, she looks back.
Fiyero begrudgingly scopes out Shiz from a distance. He’s careful, methodical—a stark contrast to the boy she met at school, the one who never took anything seriously. Maybe he’s grown up quickly too. Or maybe he’s always been this way.
She meets him in the next town over in the late evening, flying in to a designated spot—familiar, but far enough away from Shiz to be unguarded. He lays it out cleanly. Where all the guards are. Where to avoid. The perfect blind spot to slip through.
“And what if Glinda is a sane, normal girl and locked the balcony door?” Fiyero crosses his arms, unimpressed. “Will you simply bang until she wakes up? What if she turns you in?”
Elphaba’s voice drops, low and dangerous. “She would never do that.”
“She would never lock the door?” He raises an eyebrow.
Elphaba bristles. “You know what I meant.”
But did he? She wants to snap. He dated Glinda. How could he not understand her? It had taken Elphaba time to trust her, but once she did, Glinda had never given her a reason to doubt it. She had held onto that trust quietly, carefully, as if she knew how rare it was—never demanding more than Elphaba was willing to give, never pressing too hard. She never treated it like something fragile, but she never tested its limits, either.
And if Glinda locked the balcony door… well, she’ll deal with it when she gets there. She can levitate coins—how hard could it be to flip a lock switch?
“The blind spot is minimal,” Fiyero warns her, voice edged with doubt.
“Define minimal,” Elphaba says flatly.
He gives her a look. “Coming in from the north side means hugging the wall the entire way down. The guards below will have a full view of everything else. If you lose control of your descent—if you’re spotted—it’s over.”
Over. Elphaba swallows.
They both agree that if it’s a clear sky, she has to postpone. But everything aligns, and still—she hesitates. Just for a moment. The air is wild, the wind sharp against her skin, the kind of night that hums with warning. But she moves anyway. Not out of thrill, not even out of longing, but something heavier, something she doesn’t want to name.
She flies in under the cover of darkness, keeping close to the dormitory’s cold stone walls as she descends. Her pulse hammers—steady, steady, steady. Then—her feet hit the balcony.
And something inside her twists.
A wave of something—longing, regret—slams into her.
She had just started to love it here. The quiet of early mornings, the lazy, hazy afternoons on the balcony, the warmth of Glinda’s presence infused in their shared space. The late nights with the doors open, Glinda talking, twirling, singing, never really letting Elphaba disappear completely into her books or her head.
But all of that is gone now.
And yet that feeling is nothing compared to the knife in her chest when she sees Glinda in bed. Her sad little cot of a bed.
Glinda is curled up small, barely a shape beneath the sheets, like she’s trying to disappear into herself. The golden spill of her hair is a stark contrast against Elphaba’s old pillows. A ghost of her lingers in this space, in the scent clinging to the sheets, and—Glinda is clinging onto it.
Elphaba clenches her jaw. She should leave. Now. Before she does something she can’t take back.
Something visceral tears through her—a deep, ugly, primal wave of something she refuses to name. She inhales sharply, closing her eyes for a moment, forcing herself to quiet her instincts.
And then, carefully, she tries the door handle.
It turns. Unlocked.
Under any other circumstances, she’d chastise Glinda for being so careless, but… who was really coming in through the balcony? She smirks at the answer. Only the Wicked Witch, creeping in under cover of night.
She pads inside, stealthy as a cat. Years of trying to disappear as a child make her movements second nature.
Her books are still there. Neatly stacked, untouched, except for one. One is open. As if it had been read.
The sight unnerves her. Because it means Glinda will notice if she takes it.
But maybe she wants to be caught. Maybe she wants Glinda to wake up, say her name softly, look at her like she matters. Maybe she wants Glinda to know she tried, that she returned—even if she can’t stay. Even if it’s selfish. Because the truth—the horrible, undeniable truth—is that she could never truly leave her behind, no matter how far she runs.
A part of her wants to wake Glinda up. The thought is reckless, ridiculous, dangerous. But it’s there. Shake her awake. Tell her to come. Tell her to choose her this time. Tell her to run. But the words stay lodged in her throat. Because Glinda can’t run. Not really.
Elphaba thinks of the paranoia pressing at the edges of her mind since she left. The way she realized she couldn’t do something as simple as go into town. Could Glinda bear that? Could she really survive what Elphaba is facing?
She already knows the answer. Elphaba clenches her jaw.
No. Not yet. Not like this.
She forces herself to move. To focus. She came here for a reason. Not to feel. (But deep down she knows that’s a lie).
She steels herself and starts toward the books. She should keep moving. Should grab what she came for—books, suppressants, anything useful—and get out.
She grabs what she needs before she pauses, helplessly drawn towards the bed, towards Glinda.
And then, as she gets close she sees them—the tear tracks.
Glinda has been crying. Elphaba’s throat tightens.
She has no right to be here. No right to stand in this room, watching her so intimately. But she can’t leave her like this.
On instinct, Elphaba closes her eyes and exhales slowly, focusing on warmth. Calm. She has no idea if this will work. Glinda had seemingly done it so effortlessly.
She exhales again, carefully, focusing everything on that one thread of comfort. And then, like something invisible settling over the room, the air changes, and Glinda shifts.
It’s so slight Elphaba almost doesn’t notice.
But then the blonde’s shoulders relax, the tension in her hands loosening. Her breathing steadies. The tightness in her expression fades, softening into something closer to peace.
Glinda shifts again, nuzzling deeper into the pillow, a soft, contented sigh escaping her lips. Elphaba watches, breath caught in her throat. It worked. She channels more of it, a quick learner, but only gets a few more seconds before she feels it fade away.
She shouldn’t move closer. She knows Glinda is a deep sleeper—always has been—and this is careless. And yet. Elphaba steps forward anyway.
She kneels beside the bed, barely breathing, her fingers hovering over the strands of blonde hair stuck to Glinda’s damp cheek. Just one touch. She lets her fingers brush them away, gentle as a ghost. It takes everything in her not to brush her fingers over Glinda’s cheek.
Glinda shifts again, and—Elphaba barely has time to register it—her Omega scent flares. A breath of something warm and pleasant, something familiar. It’s not strong—barely there, like the residual memory of something. But Elphaba knows it instantly, knows it in her bones.
Glinda is responding to her.
Even unconscious, she recognizes Elphaba’s presence enough to let something slip.
Elphaba’s fingers tremble.
Go. Leave. Now.
But she lingers for just a second longer, memorizing the shape of her face.
Then, finally, she pulls away. She turns back to the desk, grabs what she came for, and slips back into the shadows—disappearing before Glinda ever stirs.
—
When Glinda wakes, she feels more rested than she has in weeks—wrapped in something warm, something lingering. The air in her room feels different, like it’s been touched by something unseen. Charged. Haunted. She blinks, still half-lost in sleep, until a jarring realization sends a jolt through her.
The books are gone.
Someone—no.
Elphaba.
The warmth, the way her sleep had felt strangely accompanied despite the empty room—it had been her. Glinda’s breath catches, her fingers curling into the sheets. A fresh wave of emotion wells in her chest, prickling at her eyes before she can stop it. Elphaba had come, had been here, had stood in this very space—and yet, she had left without a word. No note. No proof she had been here at all. Nothing to hold on to.
Glinda wipes at her eyes, forcing the tears back. But the warmth—it still lingers. It wasn’t an accident. It doesn’t make sense, but her scent is fresh, barely fading, as if Elphaba had left something behind without meaning to.
But Glinda knows she won’t find answers by waiting. She can’t just spend another night hoping for ghosts to return. No. She makes a quiet, firm resolution right then.
If Elphaba wants to abandon her, she’ll have to do it to her face. She’ll make sure of it.
Notes:
This is turning into a 3 part story, definitely very Part1/2/3 (so this is kinda early/mid-part 1) with the transition going from Part 1 to Part 2 being where it takes a dark turn, just fyi!
Any guesses on what’s coming?
Thanks for reading 🤍
Chapter 5: Chapter 3 - My Face is Flushing
Summary:
Glinda learns more magic from Morrible along with looming political shifts. Elphaba is unraveling—haunted by longing, terrified of what she might become, and aching to touch the one person she tries not to want. But she starts to get sloppy - Glinda finally catches her sneaking in.
Notes:
sorry this took so long - life took an unfortunate turn and my new lil side quest fic of Just For This Moment is taking some time away from this one. hope you enjoy the slow burn action c:
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
To Glinda’s dismay, it wasn’t as easy to devise a plan to find Elphaba as she had hoped. Pouring through her textbooks the next day had proved more tedious than expected. There were too many theories, too many half-explained incantations, too many spells that required knowledge she didn’t yet have.
Her friends had given her strange looks when she’d announced the day after that she would be spending her free time at the ‘book place'.
“Since when do you enjoy reading?” one of the girls had laughed, mockingly, and Glinda had forced herself to smile, shrugging it off. Elphaba had never mocked her for actually trying to learn. Teased maybe, but she took Glinda’s efforts seriously. Even if, in Glinda’s mind, Elphaba was unfortunately eons brighter and more booksmart than Glinda.
But the moment she had stepped into the magic section of the library, she had felt something settle inside her—a pull toward something she needed. A book— heavy, bound in worn leather, tucked on a shelf so high she had to stand on her toes to reach it. She ran her fingers over the title: The Art of Seeking: A Study on Location Magic & Divination.
She had flipped through the pages feverishly, her heart hammering as she landed on a section titled SCRYING: The Reflection as a Conduit.
This could be it, the way to find Elphaba.
Glinda had spent the rest of the day hunched over the tome, reading and re-reading the passages, tracing diagrams, mouthing incantations under her breath. She barely noticed the hours passing, barely registered the dimming light from the windows.
By the time she finally forced herself to leave, taking the book with her, she was the last student in the library. The silence was strange. Heavy. Lonely.
When she stepped outside she noticed two stationed guards at the entrance. They weren’t subtle either, eyeing her directly.
Glinda had slowed slightly, then forced herself to keep walking. Only once she had left, a good distance a way, did she see them disperse in her peripheral vision. A chill ran down her spine. She was being watched.
—
“Here we are.”
Fiyero pushes through the branches, revealing another out-of-the-way cottage—a little bigger than the Fox’s, but just as isolated. There are no roads leading here, no signs of life beyond the dim candlelight flickering inside.
Elphaba slows her steps, scanning the area.
“Where are we, exactly?” she asks.
“North Vinkus,” Fiyero clarifies, his voice quiet, tired. “Closer to the border.”
They approach the house, and Elphaba feels it before she gets to the door—the tension in the air. The resistance is wary. Careful.
An Owl and a woman stand at the entrance, their eyes sharp, their postures guarded. No pleasantries are exchanged, not even names, once again. Just like the Fox had operated.
“The less we know about each other,” the woman tells them, her voice measured, “the better.”
Elphaba doesn’t learn much more about them, only that the woman is an Alpha. One of the only female Alphas Elphaba has ever encountered. Besides Madame Morrible.
A sick feeling curls in her gut at the thought of her old professor once again. She had confided in Morrible specifically about being an Alpha who had slipped through Oz’s regulatory cracks. She had mistaken Morrible’s mentorship for guidance, for something close to safety. She had listened. Had nodded, understanding. Had told her it was manageable, that with the right protocols, she could be made stable and an Alpha of elite standing.
And now, she saw it for what it was—her confession had been a weapon, waiting to be used against her. Elphaba forces the thought away. She spends the night in silence, for once getting something close to rest.
In the morning, Elphaba gets to work throwing herself into magic work, preparing for a long road ahead of helping to restore justice in Oz. Elphaba practices until her hands shake and she’s drained of energy.
The spells she wants to focus on are incredibly difficult, to say the least. Nothing like what she’d practiced before. But then again, now she can fly through the skies—so she knows anything is possible for her.
Invisibility magic in particular —to cloak and hide her— strains her greatly, leaves her breathless, head pounding. Working for seconds before failing. Defense magic and combat magic are even trickier, requiring more precision, reflexes, control. She has mastered none of those things yet, but she can feel the semblance of them and keeps going. She has to.
While Fiyero goes to gather supplies, Elphaba spends hours in the woods, forcing herself to be better. The others don’t trust magic, don’t even really trust her, but she is determined to prove them wrong.
And all the while, she tries not to think of Glinda. Tries not to remember the tear-streaked face, the way she had curled into herself on the cot, too small, too fragile. Tries not to picture the moment she had buried deeper into the sheets, finally relaxed.
Her magic flares whenever her feelings betray her.A violent wind rips through the trees. Branches groan, leaves burst from the canopy, the entire clearing trembling around her.
Elphaba gasps sharply, staggering back, clenching her fists.
Control. Control. Control.
She exhales sharply, forcing herself still. The world settles. But her heart does not.
—
It’s clearer than ever to Glinda that magic doesn’t come nearly as easy to her as it does to Elphaba. Channeling it alone is difficult for her, but she manages eventually after days of trying. But it’s far from perfect, consistent, or strong, especially when she needs it to be .
Glinda tightens her grip on her wand, pulse hammering beneath her skin. She has spent the past week buried in books, pushing herself through spell after spell, forcing herself to study as much as possible to keep Morrible’s attention. She is exhausted, but she refuses to let that show.
Morrible purses her lips, unimpressed at yet another failed spell.
“You’ve had a week, Miss Upland. Tell me, what exactly have you to show for it?”
Glinda lifts her chin, steady. She will succeed. She has to.
“Try again. A simple shield.”
Glinda nods sharply. She takes a breath, extends her hand, and murmurs the incantation with as much focus as she can muster. A thin, shimmering yet faint barrier flickers into existence—soft golden light, delicate, shimmering.
Morrible barely raises a hand before it shatters. Glinda inhales sharply, trying to hide her disappointment.
Morrible doesn’t even sigh, just shakes her head. “Aesthetic, but useless. A sugar-spun barrier is no barrier at all.” Glinda swallows against the sting.
“Again,” Morrible says flatly.
Glinda tries three more times. Two don’t take. The other collapses almost immediately.
“Let’s not waste time. Clearly, defensive magic is beyond you.”
Even though she figures as much, Morrible’s sharp words still sting and Glinda burns with quiet shame.
Similar results happen with elemental magic (Morrible’s favorite, and apparently one Glinda can’t even access at all). She moves Glinda along through the tests.
“Levitate this book,” Morrible instructs, dropping a heavy tome onto the table. Glinda presses her lips together and lifts her wand. This is something she’s been trying to achieve for a while now. Even before all the chaos, Elphaba had tried to help her with levitation to little success.
She concentrates, channels the magic, and casts the spell—it takes a long minute of effort but the book rises two inches, wobbles dangerously, then crashes back onto the desk with a loud thud. She can’t repeat it no matter how hard she tries. Morrible smirks.
“Dear me. That was rather pitiful.” Glinda grits her teeth, stomach twisting as she steadies her hands in her lap.
“Did you know Elphaba could levitate objects? Hurl them across the room?” Morrible muses, as if it’s idle conversation. “No wonder she found you of… little value.” The words hit like a slap.
Not because they’re true—Glinda knows they’re not—but because Morrible seems to really believe that Elphaba could think so little of her. And because some part of her still fears the words could come true.
“You think she doesn’t care for you,” Morrible continues, smoothing out a wrinkle in her sleeve. “But you would have to matter first, wouldn’t you?”
Glinda forces herself to breathe evenly. Her face prickles with indignation. She is not going to let Madame Morrible of all people shake her.
“Elphaba merely thought I wouldn’t be an asset in the realm of magic,” Glinda fires back, measured, dangerous. It’s an anchor, a lie she’s clung to—the only excuse she has to justify why she’s in this room. But she won’t let anyone question Elphaba’s care for her. Not even this wretched old woman. “But I mattered a great deal to her.”
Morrible turns, studying her. Something shifts. Not dismissal or scorn. Interest. “I see.”
A pause. Too long. Too deliberate. Then, with the faintest curl of a smile, she asks, “And does she matter a great deal to you?”
Glinda doesn’t blink, doesn’t falter.
“She was my friend,” she says evenly. It’s not a lie. But it’s also not the full truth. Morrible tilts her head, considering her.
“A friend,” Morrible echoes, like she’s tasting the word, rolling it across her tongue. Glinda forces herself to hold still.
“And if you mattered to her as much as you claim,” Morrible muses, “then I imagine you must feel rather… abandoned.”
A sharp, horrible pain lances through Glinda at the word, but she keeps her breathing steady, her shoulders still. Morrible is baiting her. Testing her. Glinda can’t afford to be baited. She lifts her chin.
“Elphaba made her choice,” she replies coolly, with a perfect, polite smile, smooth as glass. “And so have I.”
Morrible’s lips press together, the smallest flicker of a smirk ghosting at the edges.
“Alright, let us try to find something more suited to your abilities,” Morrible continues on, moving them to a different desk in the room. She gestures toward a shallow silver basin of water.
“Focus and try to really see something beyond this room. A simple water-based scrying exercise.”
Glinda’s heart races. This is what she needs Morrible’s help with. She has spent the past week pouring over texts on scrying in between her other readings, whispering incantations alone to no avail, willing reflections to show her something—someone. Elphaba.
But she can’t think about her now - can’t do that here, never in front of Morrible. Never where it could be used against Elphaba. She needs to concentrate on something else. She thinks of Fiyero.
She hesitates only a fraction before leaning over the basin. She whispers the spell. Tries to channel her energy and reach. The surface begins to swirl lazily, shifting between shadowed shapes, but, after a long spell of swirling, nothing clear forms and it all stills.
Morrible exhales through her nose.
“Again.”
Glinda nods, gritting her teeth, and presses harder. Fiyero - she concentrates on his stupid boyish smile, his hair, his charming presence.
Her heart pounds. Nothing appears. She hears Morrible sigh exasperatedly. Glinda pushes, determined — she needs this spell to work, she reaches, she wants, she wants, she wants—
A flicker. Dark fabric. A shape. Her breath catches. The image sharpens ever so slightly—Elphaba? Her stomach flips—but then it’s gone, like water slipping through her hands.
She gasps, startled by the force of it, stepping back as if rocked by the magic. Morrible notices immediately.
“Interesting,” she murmurs. “Unfocused, but interesting. What were you feeling?”
Glinda keeps her face carefully neutral, heart hammering. “Um…about how badly I wanted it to work—“
“Interesting. We will revisit this later.” Glinda nods, swallowing hard, relieved Morrible isn’t focusing more on what little she had managed to conjure. But she’d actually done it, she’d seen something. She can’t wait to try that one again, alone.
“Now, change the color of your gown,” Morrible instructs. “Transformation magic.”
Glinda clings to this. This—this she can do. She had gotten the hang of it late last night. With practiced ease, she murmurs the spell, shifting the fabric’s hue from pale pink to deep sapphire. Not a drastic change. Not an illusion of a different person. But a refinement, a subtle manipulation.
Morrible tilts her head, intrigued. “Ah. There it is.”
A flick of her fingers, and the color fades back. “Again. Try making yourself less… noticeable. More plain.”
Glinda thinks on the order for a moment, wondering what exactly that means. But when Morrible doesn’t clarify any further, she takes a guess.
She focuses hard on what a more bland version of her would look like — softens the angles of her face slightly, dims the brightness of her presence—not a full disguise, but enough to blend.
Morrible watches, eyes lighting up slightly. “You may have a slight gift, my dear. The power to make people see what you want them to see. We can work with that.”
Glinda doesn’t like the way that sounds.
It’s a draining afternoon, and by the time she stumbles back into her dorm, she’s mentally exhausted and physically drained from what little magic she had conjured. The thought creeps in before she can stop it—what if this is all in vain?
What if Elphaba dosesn’t want to be found? She hadn’t left a note. Hadn’t woken Glinda. Hadn’t said anything.
Glinda moves through her nightly routine on autopilot, numb to the constant ache in her chest. Showering, removing her makeup, brushing her hair out, curling it for the morning. All small motions that bring her the illusion of normalcy.
But nothing about this is normal anymore.
Her new routine is climbing into Elphaba’s old bed, cracking open the Fundamentals of Magic textbook, reading until exhaustion forces her under.
And Oz—it’s insane.
A few days later she steps back and really thinks about it—deeply, properly—and she determines that it’s actually ridiculous.
She is longing for a girl who is a fugitive, an Alpha witch wanted by the law, who may or may not even like her the way she hopes, who has left her alone to face a surprisingly corrupt government, who apparently can sneak into their old room at night but not even wake her—
And yet, for some reason, Glinda still reaches for her. Still clings to what little she has left. She has pulled one of Elphaba’s dresses from her small, half-empty wardrobe and sleeps with it now. For the scent. For the comfort. Like some pathetic, base Omega. She cringes at herself.
It’s not even really Elphaba’s Alpha scent, it’s just her normal musk.
One night, when an ache between her legs becomes too much, she touches herself with Elphaba’s dress clutched to her chest, soaked in scent and memory, hating how much she needs it, how easily her body gives in.
It’s ridiculous. She’s being completely ridiculous.
She must be losing her mind. Because some nights, when sleep takes her, she swears—swears—she can feel Elphaba’s presence. Like she’s not alone. Like there’s a shadow of something just outside her reach.
It feels like loving a ghost.
She had gotten to know Elphaba so well. Know her fire, her sharp wit, her unwavering stubbornness. Know the way Elphaba saw her without her needing to explain. Know that beneath all her sharp edges, there was something sweet, something soft and precious.
But after almost two weeks, the waiting, the aching, the silence has left her trapped in her own head, stuck in an endless loop of doubt.
Maybe she’s imagining it. Maybe her mind is playing tricks on her. Maybe she just wants too badly for something that was never meant to be.
Because right now, all she has are feelings. And feelings don’t mean anything unless the person they belong to comes back.
—
Elphaba doesn’t mean to come back, not so soon at least. It just happens. Impulse. Lack of control.
She could blame it on the high of her first successful mission—a simple interception, quietly rescuing a few Animals and transporting them to safety. The rush of doing something good should have settled the restless energy clawing at her insides. But it didn’t.
She could blame it on the emotional crash that came after, the hollow ache settling deep in her chest as she lay awake in the resistance hideout. That lonely little cabin, the too-small cot, Fiyero asleep on the other side of the room.
Homesick. Maybe that’s what it is.
Or maybe it’s the strange, dreamlike feeling she keeps experiencing—like something reaching for her. Like Glinda reaching for her. A phantom whisper brushing against the edges of her mind, lingering. It’s stronger at night, but sometimes she swears she feels it even during the day.
But if she’s being honest with herself, it happens for one simple, undeniable reason. She wants to see Glinda.
Wants to know if Glinda is still sleeping in her bed. If she’s okay. If she’s stopped crying. She just needs to know she’s okay.
So one night, before she can talk herself out of it, she goes — slipping past the shadows of Shiz, back into her old room.
She hovers just inside the doorway, silent, invisible, still.
Glinda is still curled up in Elphaba’s bed. No tears this time—but there’s tension in her body. Something uneasy about the way she shifts, brows pinched, fingers twitching in sleep. Still distressed.
And then Elphaba sees it. Her dress. Clutched tight in Glinda’s arms, pressed against her chest. Something deep in Elphaba thumps painfully. Her eyes flick down—a book is open beside her. Fundamentals of Magic. Glinda must have fallen asleep reading.
“Working hard,” Elphaba thinks to herself, seeing her handwriting all over the book. No frivolous drawings and loops like Galinda was prone to doodling. Actual notes.
Elphaba steps closer, scanning the page. Her breath catches suddenly. Her name, in loopy letters. ‘Elphie?’ Next to a footnote of a spell.
Elphaba stares, chest tight, appreciating the delicate strokes of Glinda’s writing. She wants to reach out, trace it with her fingers. Wants to read the actual text.
But before she can, Glinda stirs and Elphaba jerks back ungracefully. Glinda looks fraught with worry, her eyebrows pulling into a frown. She begins to squirm, her fingers gripping the dress pulling it closer to her.
There’s suddenly whisper of something in the air, faint but unmistakable. Omega pheromones. Glinda’s. Suppressed, muted, barely perceptible—but there.
Elphaba sways slightly, something in her snapping to attention.
She shouldn’t be able to smell it. She’d never smelled Glinda before the train, before she was flooded with her scent. But now that she is familiar with it, she can seek it out, finding it even in it’s barest, faintest form.
But this—this isn’t the sweet smell from the train. This is something else. Something tinged sharply with distress. Elphaba clenches her fists, a fiery, protective feeling building in her gut.
Before she thinks about it, she exhales, scenting softly like last time— enough to calm, to soothe. Maybe a little extra. And just like before, Glinda reacts immediately.
Her breath slows. Her body relaxes. The tension bleeds from her limbs. She snuggles deeper into the bed, clutching the dress even tighter as she lets out a tiny little hum, a little noise of contentment.
Elphaba swallows, hard. It does something to her. Something she can’t name. Her head is a mess. Her body is a mess.
The way Glinda reaches for her even in sleep. The way her body trusts Elphaba’s presence, responds to it. The way her name is written in fresh ink on the page, like it means something to Glinda.
It’s too much. She isn’t ready to deal with this. With how much Glinda affects her. With how much she makes Elphaba want. She flees.
But, though her work with the resistance steadily progresses, her longing never fades. And she sneaks back like a thief in the night, again, and again.
⸻
Several weeks pass, and the magic progress is slower than Glinda would like to admit. In class and out of it. She keeps trying to scry, specifically, on her own time and it’s exhausting. She uses a specific handheld mirror to practice, finding it easier than water.
Every failed attempt frustrates her, but she keeps at it, determined. Then, finally, something happens.
One night, as she stares into the scrying mirror, practicing, a shape takes form. It’s blurry at first, but unmistakable—the sharp angles, the pointed black hat. Elphaba.
Glinda’s heart stutters, and she leans in, channeling that stream of magic with great concentration, hoping for more. But the image refuses to sharpen. No surroundings, no details, just a fleeting, hazy outline before it fades.
Still, it’s enough. She saw something. She knows it was real. And that means she has to keep trying.
One afternoon, her private lesson is coming to an end in Morrible’s quarters. But instead of wrapping the lesson up, she finds Morrible pausing, ignoring Glinda, pouring herself tea as if nothing in the world was pressing. She moves with an ease that makes Glinda feel unsteady, as though she were the only one in the room who hadn’t caught up to what was happening.
“Shall I finish with the transformation spells?” Glinda asks, flipping back a few pages in her book.
“No need. You are going to be demonstrating today,” Morrible replies smoothly, not bothering to look up.
Glinda straightens slightly. A quiet warning curled at the base of her spine. “Demonstrating?” she asked, voice careful, controlled.
Morrible finally lifted her gaze. “I trust you read through the paper I wrote and gave you on soothing and relaxation spell work? Did you practice?”
“Well yes, I practiced reciting, but I didn’t have anyone to practice with,” Glinda treads forward cautiously.
“Nevermind that, we have a special guest coming and I expect you to perform and exceed my expectations,” Morrible dismisses with a wave.
A slow dread creeps into her chest. She exhales, steadying herself. “Who?” she manages. Before Morrible can answer, a soft knock sounds at the door.
“Ah,” Morrible notes, setting her tea down. “Right on time.”
The door opens. And Chancellor Strumm, one of the heads of Shiz, steps inside. An Alpha. A powerful but well-respected, controlled Alpha.
He barely looks at Glinda as he takes his seat across from Morrible. If anything, he seems vaguely irritated to be here. Glinda watches as he leans back, adjusting the cuffs of his jacket before giving Morrible a flat look.
“The conference is set already, I assume?” he asks coolly, an air of displeasure.
“Of course,” Morrible replies, clasping her hands in front of her.
Strumm exhales slowly. “I support the Wizard’s initiatives,” he says carefully, as though choosing his words with great precision. “Fine to the restrictions on Animals. But the proposed restrictions on Omegas—” He hesitates. “Surely there are… alternative measures?”
Glinda’s pulse spikes. She looks at Morrible instinctively, but the headmistress is unreadable.
“Alternative?” Morrible echos, tilting her head slightly. “Chancellor, I assure you—our approach is one of balance and necessity. You of all people understand the need to control them.”
She raises a hand, palm up, an idle, elegant gesture. But Glinda recognizes the cue immediately, the gesture Morrible always uses to tell her to cast a spell.
A warning thrums inside her, but she obeys anyway.
She recalls everything she read on this particular type of magic. Morrible hand wrote the section for her specifically, to make sure she understood. A spell to soothe an individual, help them calm and ground their emotions. To put them at ease. She inhales sharply, channeling, reaching—
A ripple. A flicker of something Glinda had barely begun to understand. Energy exits her, flowing out.
Strumm’s brows release slightly, his jaw relaxes by a fraction. His fingers, which have been locked tightly together, loosen slightly on the table. Glinda watches carefully
“We must lead with an approach of balance and necessity,” Morrible repeats smoothly, her voice rich with something almost hypnotic. “Surely you agree?”
Strumm let out a slow breath, as if processing. His fingers flex once, then still. Glinda maintains the output of magic, feeling her body sag slightly with effort. It’s the longest she’s ever held a spell.
“I… suppose so. Omega restrictions are necessary.”
Glinda pales, both at the mention of her biological gender and the way the Chancellor casually changed his position as he relaxed. Surely what she just did wasn’t mind control. He didn’t suddenly become a different person. She hadn’t given him any inkling to say that. But he is softer. More open.
Morrible glances at Glinda, pleased.
“You see, Chancellor?” she says lightly. “I knew we could find common ground.”
Glinda’s hands clench at her sides. Something in her chest feels tight, tangled. She wants out of this room. Out of this conversation. Something just feels wrong.
She cuts off the magic too fast. And Strumm seems to notice.
His expression flickers—sharp, brief, but unmistakable. A crease forms between his brows. He shifts in his seat, blinking, as though something feels… off. Glinda swallows hard, hoping she hasn’t royally messed up.
For a single, unbearable second, he glances at her directly. Did he feel it? Did he know? She was just trying to help calm him, just trying to do as she was told.
Morrible smoothes over the moment effortlessly.
“Thank you for your time, Chancellor,” she says, already gesturing toward the door as though nothing had happened. “I’m sure you have many matters to attend to.”
Strumm hesitates. His jaw works slightly, but he nods.
Glinda forces herself to breathe normally as he stands. As Strumm reaches the door, Morrible’s voice follows him like silk. “We will expect your full support at the conference.”
Strumm pauses. It’s a half-second too long. Then, with a stiff nod, he is gone.
Glinda exhales shakily. She could still feel the remnants of the magic pulsing faintly under her skin, a phantom presence she can’t shake.
“What measures is he referring to?” she asks, voice thinner than she’d like it to be.
Morrible waves a dismissive hand. “All in due time, my dear. The details are not yet finalized.”
Glinda frowns. “But—”
Morrible turns her full attention to her now, voice light but firm. “You will learn everything you need to know soon enough.”
Glinda is silent, contemplating. Then, she dares to ask—
“I didn’t—” she hesitates. “I wasn’t controlling him, was I?”
Morrible smiles. “Of course not dearie.”
Glinda’s stomach churns, not believing her.
“It felt—” she struggles to find the words. “I don’t know. It didn’t feel like… just a calming spell.”
Morrible tilted her head, studying her closely.
“Tell me, Miss Upland,” she says smoothly. “Do you find Chancellor Strumm to be an unreasonable man?”
Glinda blinks. “No—”
“Do you think he is incapable of making his own decisions? Did you tell him through magic to say anything?”
“Of course not—”
Morrible spread her hands as though the answer was obvious. “Then what are you worried about?”
Glinda hesitates, but only barely.
“All you did was help him relax. Help him think clearly. After all, how can someone make a sound decision if they’re too distressed to think at all? A skilled leader, a skilled diplomat—why, they do this all the time. But you, dear girl, can do it more effectively than most.”
She smiles, gentle but firm.
“Your magic simply allows you to be… more effective at what you already do naturally.”
Glinda wants to believe her. She needs to believe her. Morrible leans forward, voice dipping slightly. “You were helping him feel at ease, my dear. That is all.”
The tension remains thick between them.
“You do want to help people, don’t you?”
Glinda swallows and nods slowly.
“Good girl.”
“I’ll need you to keep practicing, of course,” she says lightly. “So that if any citizens feel… uncomfortable, you can help them feel—” She smiles. “At ease. The Wizard’s office has been rolling out new protective measures and regulations—for the Animals, of course. And—other sources of instability. Alphas. Omegas. Your presence and cooperation are expected at the press conference in a few days.”
Morrible stands, adjusting the front of her robes as though that settles things. Glinda barely nods, trying to process everything.
“The guards will escort you, of course.”
Glinda goes still.
“Escort?” she repeats quietly.
Morrible gives her a patient look, as though she is slow to understand.
“Surely you don’t think we’d let you wander the city alone, Miss Upland?” She pauses, as if letting Glinda think the answer through on her own. “For your own safety, of course. It’s dangerous out there.”
Glinda’s stomach turns violently. The guards are always there. She hasn’t been without them since she returned to Shiz. When she’s in class, in the cafeteria, in her dorm, they’re never far away outside.
“Of course,” she murmurs weakly in response, closing her book on the table. “I suppose I should go.”
Morrible raises an eyebrow. “Go?” she echoes.
Glinda hesitates.
“To class—”
“You won’t be attending today,” Morrible interrupts smoothly. Glinda stiffens.
“We have more important work to do, don’t we?” Morrible continues, voice patient, expectant.
Glinda doesn’t know what else to do but nod, sitting down slowly. She knows she should feel honored by Morrible’s attention—but all she feels is caged.
—
The cabin is silent. Still. Too still. Elphaba can’t sleep. She shifts, restless, the energy beneath her skin too much, clawing, needing release.
It’s been almost a week since she last saw Glinda. Too long. She had tried to stay away longer—to prove to herself she could—but she’s failing. That damn pull never eases. The dreamlike reaching from Glinda doesn’t stop. And her thoughts are their own kind of torture.
She’s been good. But when she’s raw, it all slips—her focus, her control. Unfocused. Her emotions spike at the worst times, magic flaring too violently or vanishing altogether. It infuriates her—the lack of control, the way it makes her feel like something unruly, something raw.
Something like an Alpha.
She hates it. Hates how her instincts creep up on her, how they linger under her skin—restless, searching. Hates the way it claws at her when she thinks of Glinda, the way it makes her feel want too sharply, too deeply. It’s unbearable. The longing, the instincts, the desire—it’s all the same, all uncontrollable, all things she has spent years learning to suppress.
And yet, she keeps failing. Wanting like this—feeling like this—is unbearable.
She’s almost at the door when fingers coil around her wrist, pulling her back. Reflexes take over before she even realizes what’s happening. A sharp pulse of green magic jolts from her, crackling through the air.
Fiyero stumbles back with a muffled curse. “Ow, Fae—”
“Don’t grab me.” Her voice is quiet but firm, her breathing uneven. She doesn’t apologize.
Fiyero exhales sharply, shaking his hand out before stepping closer again—more careful this time. “You’re being reckless,” he says, voice steady. “I know you sneak off. And I have one guess where you’re going.”
Elphaba stiffens. “You don’t—”
“Oz, Elphaba, you’re not subtle.” His tone isn’t mocking, but there’s something knowing in it. “Your eyes betray you every time you say her name.”
She sets her jaw, refusing to admit anything.
Fiyero watches her for a long moment. “What if she turns on you?”
Elphaba’s Alpha instincts flare up, sharp and protective, before she can stop them. “She would never do that. She doesn’t even know that I—”
Her breath catches. Her mouth slams shut.
“She doesn’t know what? That you visit her?” He cuts in, eyes narrowing slightly, face twisting with realization. “I thought this was some kind of secret lover’s meetup, but—”
“You don’t understand,” she bites out.
“I do understand,” he counters, voice firm. “I understand that you’re leading with emotion. That you’re putting yourself at risk. That you’re putting her at risk.”
Elphaba glares at him, but her pulse is uneven, her breath too shallow.
Fiyero doesn’t budge. “Glinda’s a good girl, Elphaba. But—she’s not like us. Do you even realize how much danger you put her in every time you visit her? What if someone sees? What if they think she’s conspiring with you? What if they decide she’s a traitor?”
She swallows hard, heart slamming against her ribs.
“What if they catch you?” His voice drops lower. “Do you really think she’ll have a choice?”
Something inside her flinches. Fiyero watches her, expression unreadable. His voice softens, just slightly. “I understand. You feel something for her.”
She doesn’t move.
“But you have to keep it in check,” he says quietly. “Or you’re going to lose control. And you can’t afford to.”
Elphaba clenches her fists. She knows Fiyero’s right. But that doesn’t stop her.
The skies are mercifully overcast, a soft gray cloak that shields her as she flies. The wind cools the heat in her veins, and the quiet rush of the air gives her something to focus on—anything but the gnawing in her chest. By the time she reaches Shiz, her pulse has steadied, but the longing hasn’t.
She lands silently, leaving her broom tucked just beside the balcony as she has before. The doors creak faintly when she opens them, and she winces, closing them behind her with more urgency than grace.
Her breath catches the moment she steps inside. The room is dark, quiet, cast in soft dimmed moonlight that spills through sheer curtains. Familiar, intimate.
Her heart begins to pound harder as she walks inside. Glinda isn’t curled up like usual. She’s flat on her back this time, stretched across the mattress in a flimsy, sheer nightgown that’s slipped from one shoulder, the delicate fabric clinging and pooling in uneven folds around her. Her golden hair spills like silk across the pillow, lips parted softly in sleep.
One arm is curled tightly around Elphaba’s old frock, holding it close, her face tilted toward it in unconscious yearning. The sight sends a sharp ache through her chest—something instinctive, something dangerous.
The sheets are kicked down, pushed carelessly to the foot of the bed, like she’d grown too warm in the night.
And then Elphaba sees them. A flush crawls up her neck, spreading fast as her eyes catch on the small, crumpled pair of panties tossed beside the sheets—forgotten, carelessly discarded. Her gaze flicks back to Glinda’s parted lips, her flushed skin, the way her thighs are slightly parted under the sheer fabric.
It doesn’t take much to put it together. Glinda had wanted—had needed—
She must’ve fallen asleep like this after…Elphaba swallows hard, pulse spiking. A sharp, involuntary scent flares in the air—hers. Possessive. Alpha. She clamps down on it immediately, jaw tightening. But it’s too late. Her body is reacting before her mind can catch up. Heat coils low in her belly, uncoiling with slow, terrible purpose.
She stares at Glinda—soft, flushed—and her instincts roar to the surface, unrelenting.
She forces herself to look away, to quiet her instincts. Her eyes land instead on the stack of textbooks at the foot of the bed with some handwritten papers on top. Morrible's unmistakably harsh handwriting covers the pages, stern and cold even in script. A sudden rush of protective anger rises inside Elphaba, making her magic crackle faintly at her fingertips. She leans in, eyes narrowing as she tries to decipher the scrawled words. Her eyes narrow. She recognizes the work from her studies— charm manipulation and suppression spells—but why is Morrible calling them Soothing Relaxation—
"Elphie?"
The breathy, soft voice makes Elphaba start violently, jerking back from the bed. Glinda is sitting up slightly, eyes wide and bright with shock, disbelief quickly melting into joy.
“It’s really you," Glinda breathes, her voice a mix of awe and quiet delight. Then a blush rises fast in her cheeks as she fully realizes her exposed state, eyes flicking nervously to her discarded panties and the intimate, vulnerable way her gown slips off her shoulders. Her flush deepens even further.
“You're terrible at sneaking, Elphie," she says softly, a shaky smile forming as she gathers herself, straightening her shoulders, pulling her gown into place, clearly embarrassed but trying to reclaim some of her composure. "I suppose you're going to tease me about this now?"
Elphaba is rooted to the spot, her throat tight, pulse roaring so loudly she's certain Glinda can hear it.
“No,” she rasps, eyes locked on Glinda’s flushed cheeks, the way her bare collarbones catch the moonlight. “Not tonight.”
Glinda shivers, fingers trembling slightly as she reaches out for Elphaba’s hand—asking, not demanding. Elphaba hesitates, then relents, letting their hands meet. Her heart hammers. Everything feels too loud, too fragile. Glinda tugs gently, pulling Elphaba to sit on the edge of the mattress near her.
When she lets go, Elphaba aches for the contact to return.
“You’ve been here before,” Glinda says softly—more certain than questioning. Elphaba nods.
“How many times?”
“Four,” Elphaba murmurs, looking away.
“And you never thought to wake me?” There’s hurt in Glinda’s voice now, a subtle dip in her brows, a falter in her smile. Elphaba doesn’t answer, eyes drifting down. The old frock in Glinda’s lap catches her attention, and she reaches out, fingers brushing the fabric.
“I thought you loathed this thing,” Elphaba says, a hint of a smirk tugging at her lips.
“Do you see me wearing it?” Glinda shoots back, unimpressed, still holding on to the thread of disappointment.
“That would be a sight,” Elphaba murmurs, dark humor slipping through for a moment—but it vanishes quickly when she sees Glinda’s face. She exhales shakily. “I’m sorry. It was easier this way.”
“Easier for who?” Glinda whispers, gripping the frock tighter.
“I didn’t know…” Elphaba begins, though she knows part of this is a lie. “If you wanted to see me.”
There’s a beat of silence—heavy, suspended. Neither of them knows how far to reach, how much of their hearts to place in the open.
Then, softly—almost like a confession—
“I was practicing,” Glinda says finally, glancing toward an open textbook on the nightstand. Her voice is soft, almost ashamed. “Trying to get better. Trying to… find you.”
Elphaba swallows, throat tight, her voice low and hoarse. “Smart girl.”
Glinda's blush deepens again, and she ducks her head shyly, eyes lowered. It's that vulnerability, that softness, that breaks Elphaba's carefully crafted walls.
She leans back with one arm, placing it on the other side of Glinda’s legs, angling her body towards Glinda. The blonde lifts her head to look at Elphaba through her brown, doe eyes, questioningly but there’s a hint of eagerness shining through.
All those visits, all Elphaba had wanted was to touch her—trace the shape of her face, memorize every line and shadow. Without thinking, she reaches forward, fingers trembling slightly, and gently cups Glinda’s cheek. Her thumb brushes across soft, warm skin.
Glinda’s breath catches. Her eyes flutter closed, and she leans into the touch instinctively, like her whole body recognizes the comfort before her mind can catch up. Like she’s finally at peace.
Her Alpha instincts flare, pride surging through her, wanting to explore more of her soft, vulnerable Omega.
Elphaba’s fingers eventually slide softly into Glinda's hair, her long nails scratching lightly at her scalp. It’s thoughtless, instinctive. Glinda sighs softly, relaxing into the touch, a small, contented hum slipping from her lips. It’s almost a purr. The quiet intimacy of the sound shatters Elphaba’s tenuous control.
Elphaba freezes for a moment, trying to will the tension in her muscles to dissipate slightly. But Glinda leans into her palm some more, as if requesting politely, so she does it again, scratching slowly. Glinda almost whines out of ecstasy.
But oh the wanting noise does something sinful to Elphaba. Every instinct overrides her control.
She growls—low, possessive—fingers tightening in Glinda’s hair before she realizes what she’s doing. The tug is sharp, firm, pulling Glinda’s head back just enough to bare her throat, her flushed face tipped toward the moonlight.
Glinda gasps. Her eyes flutter open, wide and dark and startled, lips parting in something between a breath and a moan.
They freeze.
Elphaba stares—struck dumb by the way Glinda looks like this. Her chest rises and falls fast beneath the thin fabric of her nightgown. Elphaba’s hand is still curled in her hair, her own breathing ragged. The air is molten between them, humming, alive.
Then Glinda blinks. A soft smile begins to tug at the corner of her lips.
“Elphaba Thropp,” she says, voice low, awed and a little unsteady. “You’re really going to ruin me, aren’t you?”
Elphaba doesn’t answer. Her throat works around words that never come. Glinda exhales, eyes fluttering closed as Elphaba’s hand slowly releases her hair, grazing her temple, tucking a curl behind her ear. Elphaba’s fingers trail down—just barely, brushing the curve of Glinda’s cheek, and then lower, ghosting her jaw, holding.
Glinda tilts her head just slightly into the hold, her smile widening, still soft and warm. “If I’d known that was an option,” she murmurs, lashes lowering, “I might’ve asked sooner.”
Glinda grabs her wrist, holding her there. Elphaba’s chest aches. This isn’t what she came for. This is too close, too much, too intimate.
Glinda’s fingers slide along Elphaba’s wrist again, tracing faint circles, and when Elphaba doesn’t pull away, she exhales a soft, tentative breath.
“Oz, Elphie,” Glinda whispers softly. “Your hands…they’re so good, so gentle.”
Elphaba swallows thickly. Her hands were made to cast, to burn, to push away—not for this. Not to be wanted like this. It’s too unfamiliar, too raw.
But she lets them stay anyway, her thumb gently soothing the skin underneath it.
“Can you…” Glinda starts, voice faltering. She looks up, hesitant. “Can you scratch again?”
She asks it so sweetly—earnest, small. Elphaba nods, sliding a little closer. Her fingers return to Glinda’s scalp, nails dragging gently through gold tresses. Glinda melts under her touch, a soft sigh leaving her lips.
They sit like that in silence—closer than they’ve ever been, the air between them thick, humming. Glinda’s eyes flutter, then close. Her lips part in a soundless breath.
“That’s it,” Elphaba murmurs lowly, voice melodic but rough around the edges. “Relax.”
She hesitates, then adds quietly, “You’ve been stressed. I smell it when I come see you.”
Glinda’s eyes blink open—surprised, a little embarrassed. “I… It’s been hard,” she whispers. “But I manage.”
Her voice is fragile now, like she’s trusting Elphaba with something she shouldn’t.
Elphaba glances toward the crumpled frock Glinda still clutches in her lap, the edge slipping through her fingers. She reaches out, smoothing the fabric between her own fingers, quiet. Glinda watches her. Barely breathes.
“What happened to the dress?” Elphaba asks, voice hushed. Her green eyes lift to meet hers—steady, unreadable.
Glinda flushes deeper, her grip tightening protectively around the frock. It hadn’t occurred to her that Elphaba had seen it on her previous visits. “It… it stopped smelling like you.”
She tries to say it with confidence. But her voice wobbles at the end. It feels like a confession. Elphaba says nothing, but Glinda sees the way her jaw tightens. Her gaze shifts away—down. To the discarded panties by the sheets.
Glinda follows it, realizing quickly. A horrified little squeak escapes her throat and she jolts forward to snatch them away—but Elphaba reacts faster.
The hand in her hair tightens. Not rough, but firm. Stilling her. Holding her in place. Commanding.
Glinda gasps, caught—completely still beneath Elphaba’s touch.
“I—I wasn’t—” she stammers, pupils wide, breath unsteady. “I just needed—”
Elphaba doesn’t move. Doesn’t blink. Her eyes pitch black, sharp and piercing.
Glinda swallows hard, then breathes. Soft, almost ashamed. “It helps me sleep.”
Elphaba doesn’t move at first. Her hand stays tangled in Glinda’s hair, fingers tightening slightly without meaning to before she releases, letting go as if it pains her to. Her breath comes shallow. The room suddenly feels too hot. Too close.
“You don’t know what that does to me,” she whispers, shaking, voice rough with something she’s barely holding back. “Saying that. Letting me see you like this.”
And then it happens.
A wave of possessive Alpha pheromones floods the space. It surges before she even realizes it—unbidden, overwhelming, deep and commanding. The kind of scent meant to claim. It rolls off her in waves before she even realizes it. Not subtle. Not soft. It’s instinct, pure and sharp and Alpha.
Glinda makes a soft, involuntary, broken noise—a whimper, sharp and high in her throat. Her body trembles visibly, her posture shifting instinctively, like her body recognizes the command before her mind does. She bows her head slightly, exposing her throat, cheeks flushed, thighs shifting. Sweet, submissive scent flaring.
That’s when Elphaba knows what she’s done.
Her stomach drops. Everything inside her goes cold.
She hadn’t meant to scent. Never her intention. Hadn’t even wanted to a little. And now it’s pouring off her, thick and claiming, aggressively, and Glinda—Glinda is being forced to react.
“No,” Elphaba breathes, stumbling back, panic surging sharply. “No. Glinda— I didn’t mean—”
"Elphie," Glinda whispers breathlessly, eyes wide with awe, flushed face softening into something gentle and almost amused despite the tension.
Her hand reaches for and grasps Elphaba's wrist, but there's no fear—just soft amazement, and something deeper, heavier.
Elphaba’s breath quickens, her heart pounding violently against her ribs, the air suddenly thick and stifling. She can feel the magic in her veins roaring uncontrollably, a surge of anxious energy flooding her limbs.
"I—I can’t—Glinda, I shouldn't have come," she chokes out desperately, scrambling off the bed to her feet.
"Elphie, wait—" Glinda tries to protest, reaching out, but it's too late.
Elphaba stumbles back, green sparks flaring involuntarily at her fingertips, rattling the furniture slightly.
A candle bursts in a shower of sparks. The light fixture above them explodes with a sharp crack. The balcony doors fly open, slamming into the walls with a deafening bang as cold night air rushes in, howling.
Her panic spikes sharply, the sound of distant guards outside stirring at the faint commotion. Without another glance, without letting herself see the hurt and longing in Glinda’s eyes, she turns and flees, her heart shattering painfully with every desperate step away.
Glinda scrambles to her feet, still half-dressed, her heart slamming in her chest. She stumbles out onto the balcony barefoot, wind whipping through her hair.
“Elphie—Elphie, come back—!” she can’t be too loud, whisper-yelling.
But there’s no one. Just trees, shadows, silence. It doesn’t last for long. The sound of boots on stone. Voices. She goes to the railing, eyes wide. The guards. Oz.
They rush into sigh ta second later, weapons half-drawn, eyes sharp.
“What happened?” one barks. “We heard an bang—”
Glinda throws up her hands, backing away from the railing like she’s just been startled by their presence.
“I—I’m fine,” she stammers quickly. “It was—an accident. A spell, I mean—I was up practicing something. It got away from me.”
The guards glance around. It doesn’t add up.
“Miss Glinda,” one says, slower now. “It’s three in the morning.”
“I know,” she says, forcing herself to smile. “That’s why I came out here. I couldn’t sleep. I thought practicing would help.”
Their eyes narrow. She straightens her spine, blinking at them sweetly. “I’ll be more careful next time.” Reluctantly, the guards nod.
“Please do.”
When they leave, Glinda sags against the balcony frame. The cold air bites her bare skin. And she’s never felt more awake.
Notes:
thank you to everyone reading c: i feel like this is very niche-ish with ABO not being everyone's cup of tea and this story is gonna get very whump-y so, just so you know, appreciate you all <3
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