#wicked x reader

You know him. Heard of him. How can you not, when practically the entire university is buzzing with news of Winkie Country's very own beloved prince arriving at Shiz. These days you can't even walk two steps without seeing students either whispering his name or holding copies of Shiz Gazettes plastered with his grinning face on it. 

You're.. neutral about him. Maybe the fact that you yourself came from Winkie Country too had worn down the intrigue that surrounded his presence. Though you are curious about why he transferred. After all, it’s a public secret that the reason he moved to Shiz in the middle of the school year was because he got kicked out of his last academy. Only one of the long list of institutions. Even if you are interested, it’s not enough to warrant you pushing through the obvious crowd he has gathered around himself. You don’t exactly fancy getting stampeded between Shiz students in a charm flaring competition. 

But here he is, a perfectly crafted smile showing up without a call. It's like he has a radar or something.

You’d be a terrible liar to say that he doesn’t look absolutely fantastical. There is something about his air of arrogance—more rebellious than regal—that compels you to stare. He stands with the posture of a man who knows he can bring the entirety of Oz under his feet.

"Do you use that line on everything that has eyes and lips?" You raise your eyebrow at his words, unimpressed. But maybe impressed by the gall this man has. 

Fiyero doesn't seem to be at all deterred by your dry response. He only uses that momentum to step forward dramatically, hands still behind his back.

"Just the ones with incomparable beauty." You'd kill to know if he rehearsed the timing of that head lift when he finished the sentence. Fiyero isn't done with his.. courting, and he continues to pursue even as you shut your book to slowly back away.

"Might I interest you in a walk through the gardens?"

By this time you're fully holding back a smile at his attempts, tucking the textbook in front of you with both arms as you look at him apologetically.

"I'm sorry, Prince Tigelaar but I have better things to do with my time." 

He seems aghast at your reaction and lags behind when you start stepping away. Once noticing the distance the prince speeds forward to walk by your side. "And what could possibly be better than being alone with me?" He wonders. Genuinely concerned.

Your back is turned towards him and you don't bother hiding the Cheshire grin on your face as you pause to wonder out loud, "For one.. Doctor Dillamonds's riveting history class, which for some of us responsible students-"

Just as you started to jabber you felt him pull your arm from behind, whipping your body around and before you can so much so react to the sudden movement, his soft lips were slotted between yours. 

For a moment you're stunned to move and your eyes widen at the contact. But then your face melts into a content smile.

You grin into his lips and drape your arms over his broad shoulders, and he familiarly responds by sliding his palms up your waist. It’s breathless, heavy, and hot to the point of desperation. You want to bury yourself under his skin and Fiyero notes that when your nails dig at his hair, practically burning a trace on his scalp. The thrill has you grinning into his lips, and he replicates the gesture, breath puffing over your face before he playfully nips your bottom lip. 

The moment is over faster than you'd like it to be.

"I missed your chatty mouth." Fiyero talks as if you are his lifeline, almost sighing in relief at your touch. You see the impatience in his cadence, the way he moves almost erratically. It's why he couldn't keep up the charade any longer. Not one second later he goes back in to peck your lips which brings a light laugh out of you. 

You pull your face away for a moment to look at him through your lashes, grinning cheekily with your hands in his hair. "Just for being chatty?"

Fiyero doesn't bother to retort but instead boldly moves one hand downwards to pinch your bottom. The motion makes you break out into laughter, your body pushing even closer to his.

He takes advantage of this, said hand traveling down to hook under your thigh and hitch your leg up. Fiyero leans your body backwards, using his other hand to hold your waist. There’s a lazy smile on his face and when he leans close, you’re pleasantly surprised to feel him nuzzle the tip of his nose against yours. The tenderness is a far cry from the way he was just about to devour you a second ago.

Once content, he ushers you closer to the wall of the alcove, away from the prying eyes of nosey Shiz students. 

There's a quiet moment between the two of you simply taking the image of each other in.

Behind you the bright fuchsia bougainvillea flowers sway gently to the rhythm of the wind, carrying a beautifully sweet scent your way. A tender gust of air caresses Fiyero's cheeks, tugging strands of his golden hair with it. The windchimes and soft ripples of water from the lake sing a melody that reflect in his eyes, and he is the absolute picture of desire. There is a certain hunger in them that can never be satiated, and the way they follow your every breath makes you wonder just how depraved he had been without you.

Being apart from each other for 5 months had to be one of the most depressing parts of your relationship. Fiyero had practically begged you on his knees to stay with him at Winkie Country when you got your Shiz acceptance letter. But all these years growing up in the country almost felt like it was caging your potential. You wanted to explore new heights, see what Oz had to offer and the Shiz curriculum felt like it was calling out your name. Fiyero was stuck at Winkie Academy, both because of princely obligations and urges from his parents. But when even that got scratched out of the list, there was no other choice but to venture outside of Winkie Country. Lucky for him, really. 

A part of you believes that he purposely acted up to get kicked out of Winkie Academy just so he could move to be together with you. But if you were to say that out loud you'd feel bad for all the indirect victims of his crusades. You just hope Fiyero will at least behave himself now that you're there with him.

"I couldn't see you through the crowd." The words come out fainter than you intend, the yearning seeping through your tone. As much as you joke around, you feel his absence embedded deep inside your heart. It's like every part of you aches when he is not around, and your voice is the first to betray you.

Fiyero's blue eyes soften at the sight of you fidgeting with the collar of his jacket by his neck. It’s almost pitiful the way you pout and mope, staring at anything but him. But he hasn’t exactly been any better than you.

"I'm sorry, lovebug." He tucks a strand behind your ear, stooping his head down to catch your gaze. His eyes chase after yours, not stopping until you are just a breathe away from him. They’re burning with something that never seems to dim when he looks at you. Finally, he settles to slide his hand down to cup your right cheek. "I've found you now, haven't I?"

He's like a balm to soothe your hurt.

You take the hand on your face to kiss his palm, and you're completely satisfied to lay your head on his chest while he adjusts to cradle your body into his.

Your hands fidget with the lapels of his lapis jacket, fingers going over the intricate gold embroidery before snaking into the opening and prying the indigo wrap shirt underneath open. Absent-mindedly, they trace the edge of the fabric until it meets his skin. "Nice trip to Shiz?" You ask.

Whether by pure instinct or sensation, the Winkie prince turns his head up to the left as phantom goosebumps follow where the pads of your fingers trek. He has to hold himself back and it feels like every inch of him is trembling from the force.

He's missed this. Your touch, your voice, your skin, the gentleness in which you hold him, and the way you admire him for who he is. The (short) months at Winkie Academy felt utterly dull without you by his side. Perhaps it was fate that he was transferred—to put it so kindly—from that institution to Shiz, where he could spend all of his days sweet talking you until you melt under him.

Fiyero holds your body impossibly close, swaying the two of you in a gentle rhythm. 

"Dreadful. Entirely dreadful without your hands in my hair and my head on your lap." He throws his head back in exaggeration, his eyes squeezing shut as if the thought of being without you is the bane of his existence. 

A smirk pulls at the corner of your lip, though you cannot lie and say that it isn’t sweet. "Such princely words coming from his highness of the Winkie Country."

Fiyero grins almost evilly before diving face first into the crook of your neck, shaking his head to tickle at your skin. You want to flinch back, but his strong grip cages you within his proximity. All you can do is to fist his chest in surrender—though your giggle-riddled pleas fall dear to his ears.

Once he is satisfied with hearing those lovely sounds out of you he moves with gentleness, nosing and kissing your neck all the way up your jaw. With a practiced ease he playfully bites the skin in a rhythm that follows your slowing breaths, and you simply close your eyes to sigh in bliss. 

"Come over to mine tonight? I'll give you anything you ask for." Your fingers are already running through his hair, the motion springing the perfectly curled strand at the front. Fiyero looks up to blow the piece away from his forehead before ducking down and smiling.

"Naughty." The hand that lays vacantly on your spine travels down the curve of your back, dipping lower than Shiz-appropriate and you don't bother to push it away. At the same time, his right hand goes to squish your cheeks together, making your lips pucker out so he could kiss them. 

He's mid pushing all his sense of affection to you when you start to wonder out loud, "How'd you know I was here?"

The alcove by the smaller lake behind the campus isn't exactly a shortcut that many students use. Mostly because it'd take longer to get to class from there, so a vast majority opt to go through the front atrium. This is the exact reason why you seek this hidden comfort since you began studying at Shiz. It's a nice chance to get some quiet before the bustling of class. That's why you were surprised that your boyfriend found his way to you.

You're not wrong when you think that Fiyero has some sort of radar for you. He's like a magnet and you are the metal that sways all his senses. 

Fiyero skips the normal way of answering and simply takes your hand to twirl your body halfway, and you fall right onto his plush chest. He leans in very closely to the side of your face before ceremoniously pulling out his timetable in front of you and purring into your ear,

"Seems that, my darling, we have Doctor Dillamond's riveting history class together."

He joined both his hands to hug your waist from behind when you take the timetable, letting your own hand rest on top of his. To your absolute delight, Fiyero has almost the exact same classes as you do. More time for you to have him all to yourself. 

Just as you are going through his schedule, your eyes catch the starting time of previously mentioned history class. You realize that you only have a very quick 5 minutes to get there. The blue-eyed prince must’ve sensed your sudden alertness because without voicing anything he pulls himself away from your body to grab your bag with ease, slinging the thing over his shoulder like it was an accessory. 

Fiyero doesn’t bother to turn back, only thrusting his arm out for you to take while he attempts to brainstorm how to navigate the castle-like campus. 

You allow him to pull your body wherever he is going, already comfortably relying on him again. This may be one of your favorite things about having him with you. Something about Fiyero is just so.. masculine. His instinct to take care of you often outweighs common sense but you admire that trait of his; it’s how you know he won’t ever leave you behind. To you, those actions were worth more than any words. 

You’re humming a lovely tune as you walk beside him, the leisure a contrast to the seriousness Fiyero possesses as he tries to get to your destinations. “Feldspar must’ve grown more handsome than the last time I saw him.” 

The thought comes to you after you start recalling all the things you’ve missed about your prince. One of them being his beloved blue steed. Fiyero used to take you around everywhere on Feldspar, and the animal had taken quite a liking to you. You’re about 98% sure that Fiyero rode on horseback all the way to Shiz, so you cannot wait to be reunited with him again. 

At your declaration Fiyero pauses his march, eyebrows raised with a deadpan stare as he looks back at you. 

“I wouldn’t say “more” handsome. Or handsome at all.” The last part is muttered quietly, but either you have incredible hearing, or your boyfriend isn’t bothered to hide his pettiness away from you. 

“Jealous? Of your horse?”

The sight of you grinning brightly beside a disgruntled Fiyero is quite a sight for the passing Shiz students. All with open mouthed stares and crushed spirits. Putting aside the fact that the prince was holding your hand, it’s a change to see anything but a dazzling, pearly white smile on his face. They whisper and gawk at the unexpected reveal, and somewhere in the crowd you glimpse Pfanne and Shenshen causing a storm among themselves. You have no doubt that this will be making it all the way to Galinda Upland. None of that bothers you, because now the sun seems to shine a little brighter and everything feels so much lighter when Fiyero is here with you.

“Well I’d prefer it if my girlfriend only had eyes for me.” He almost scoffs the sentence out but doesn’t forget to squeeze your hand in a gesture of assurance.

Of course, he’s saying this wholly in jest. Because what is Fiyero Tigelaar without his flare for dramatics. 

And you, being the loving partner are obligated to follow each and every one of his whims.

“Fine, fine, anything for my handsome prince.” You have to bite your lip to keep the utter joy from bursting out of your body. How you’ve missed this. 

You hug his arm to yourself, squeezing it close to your right cheek and most definitely not passing on the chance to feel his bicep through the fabric of his jacket.

“Love of my life, keeper of my heart.” You continue to coo and serenade at him and Fiyero just about inflates at your words. He loves this. Loves you. Loves being your man. 

“Keep it coming, sweetness. We’ve got all day.”

You can’t help but roll your eyes at him, right at the same time you almost miss a step and stumble a little. Fiyero is quick, catching your elbow to help steady you. You don’t look at him as you steady yourself, meaning you miss the look of worry in his eyes.

“Are you all right?”

You clear your throat and shake off his grip. “Consider me corrupted by your presence.” 

With that, you make a beeline away from him and you’re glad to notice that he doesn’t attempt to follow you. You highly doubt that he’s going to follow you all the way to the library. Fiyero and the library have never exactly gone hand in hand. 

~~

The next time Fiyero bothers you, you’re sat on one of the benches by the gardens. There’s a book in your hands and he can see you staring intently at it as he saunters over to you. It’s almost like he’s approaching a wild bird or something, he thinks. If he moves too quickly, he’ll frighten you and scare you away. It’s the last thing Fiyero wants to do.

He’s a few steps away from you when you look up from your book and meet his eyes. His face breaks into a smile as he moves the last few steps and takes the spot beside you on the bench. You turn to look at him, your eyebrows raised. 

“Now, don’t say I’m interrupting your study,” he begins. “That book is most definitely not in the curriculum. And yes, I did actually take the time to look the curriculum up after I saw you reading here the other day, if you can believe it.”

For a few moments, you only stare at him. Fiyero, for the first time probably ever, finds himself actually a little uncomfortable at your unwavering gaze. It surprises him. He’s never the type of person to feel uncomfortable. He’s confident in almost every situation.

You let out a sigh. “It may not be in the curriculum, but you’ve interrupted me nevertheless, Tigelaar.”

“Apologies,” he says, with a small smirk. “Am I corrupting you even more with my presence?”

“Something like that.” You close your book and sit it on the small space of bench beside you. You had actually just been reading the same page over and over for the last twenty minutes and trying to convince yourself to stop overthinking things. 

You had so much studying to do, so much to learn and so many assignments to do and so little time to do it all. It was probably a little counterproductive to be sitting outside, reading a book and doing none of those things, but if you didn’t try and have a break from them all, you were pretty sure you were going to burn yourself out, which was the last thing you needed. It would have helped if you’d actually been able to relax and enjoy your book, though.

“Is it any good? Your book. Not that I’d read it, of course,” Fiyero grins.

You try your best to conceal your amusement. “I’d offer to lend it to you but, as you said, you wouldn’t actually read it so… I’ll keep it safe with me. I doubt the Winkie Prince knows how to properly take care of books if he can’t read them.”

Fiyero gasps jokingly. “I’ll have you know I can read, I just choose not to. I prefer to fill my brain with much more useless things. That way, I don’t have to think. It’s a peaceful way to live, my darling.” 

You shake your head, this time unable to keep a smile off of your face. Fiyero likes the sight of it. It strangely makes his heart beat a little faster. He can’t actually remember the last time he saw you smiling… not that he’s been keeping track. 

“How about you join me?” He offers. “No more studying for the rest of the day and no more thinking? I’m positive I could find something we could do to fill the time.” 

The reminder of studying, however, brings you back to reality after you small moment of joking with Fiyero. You reach down and grab your book before standing up and turning to face Fiyero, who is looking at you with slight concern in his eyes at your sudden movement.

“I can’t,” you say simply. “I’ve been reading all morning and there is a lot I have to do. I’ll see you around, Tigelaar.”

He watches you with furrowed eyebrows as you walk away from him, clutching your book to your chest and heading in the direction of the library. Fiyero shakes his head and lets out a small laugh. He really thought today would be the day he’d win you over.

~~

A week goes by without Fiyero even getting to utter a word to you. He sees you, though, fairly often around the school. In the courtyard, in the library (where he definitely didn’t go specifically looking for you), in history class and in the dining hall. But every time he’s thought to approach you, you’ve disappeared before he could even make his move. It’s on the seventh day when he notices that something is different about you.

You’re coming out of the library, carrying several books and what looks like a stack of papers in your hands when you trip. Fiyero isn’t quick enough to cross the courtyard and get to you in time to stop your fall. He does, however, take off at a run to be by your side as you start collecting all of the scattered pieces of paper and books that had fallen out of your grasp.

“It’s all right, Tigelaar. You don’t have to help me,” you mutter, trying to shove books into your already overfilled bag. “It’s a Friday night. I’m sure you’ve got other places to be.”

Fiyero, truthfully, does have other places to be. He’s been invited to the Ozdust Ballroom by nine separate people today. But how can he leave you to just clean all this up by yourself? He can see just by the look on your face that you’re utterly exhausted.

“I do,” he says honestly. “But I’ll help you with this first.”

He’s surprised when you suddenly stop putting things in your bag and when he looks up, he finds you staring at him again. It makes him uncomfortable in the same way he felt last week when you’d looked at him in a similar way. 

“Okay,” you sigh. 

Your lack of energy in fighting him is the second thing to make Fiyero realise something is wrong.

After the two of you finish picking up all of the things you’d dropped, the both of you stand. Fiyero opens his mouth to say something when he notices you start to sway. He’s quicker this time, moving to catch you before you fall. His arm wraps around your waist to keep you steady, while his other hand takes the book bag off your shoulder and moves it straight onto his. He’s surprised by how heavy it is. 

“Woah, darling, what’s going on?” Fiyero looks down at you as you blink and push yourself away from him. “Hey, be careful, okay? I think you were just about to faint.”

You shake your head. “I just stood up too fast, that’s all.” You know the words are a lie, and you can tell that Fiyero knows that as well. First, he’d seen you trip coming out of the library, then he’d caught you when you’d almost fainted… you can’t hide it from him. That much becomes crystal clear immediately.

“Let’s get you somewhere you can sit down, okay?” Fiyero begins. “May I?” He gestures to you, asking silently if he can wrap an arm around you to support you incase you fall over again. 

You nod and allow him to guide you just around the corner into the small seating area off to the side of the library. It’s dark, the lanterns not being lit yet despite the fact that the sun had gone down over twenty minutes ago.

“I swear I’m not usually this clumsy,” you say sheepishly. “That’s twice you’ve stopped me from falling in the last two weeks… I suppose I should say thank you, Fiyero.”

Fiyero sits you down gently on the bench and sits your book bag down on the ground. He crouches down in front of you and reaches up to take your hands in his. He’s surprised when you don’t immediately pull away from him. “I don’t think you’ve ever called me by my first name before.”

“Oh,” you think on it for a second, trying to ignore the warm feeling of his hands and how comforting it is. “I guess I haven’t. Sorry, Tigelaar.”

“No, no,” Fiyero shakes his head. “Don’t go back to that. I like when you call me Fiyero.”

“Well, I suppose it is your name,” you offer a small smile.

“There’s that gorgeous smile,” Fiyero smiles back at you and squeezes your hands. “Now, are you gonna tell me why you almost just fainted on me and why you’re clumsier than you usually are, darling?”

You stay silent for a few moments and just when Fiyero begins to think that you might just brush him off and try to make a quick exit like you did last week, you start to speak.

“I haven’t really been sleeping well lately,” you admit quietly. “I’ve had so much work to do, I fell behind on my assignments and I took on some extra work from Doctor Dillamond and… despite my best efforts, I guess I let myself get a little burnt out.”

Fiyero looks at you with his eyes full of pity and you hate it. 

“Anyway,” you clear your throat, “that’s not important. Why would you care?”

Your attempt to make light of the situation fails spectacularly, judging by the look that Fiyero gives you afterwards. You’ve never seen him look that unimpressed before. 

“Of course I care,” he says, eyebrows furrowed. 

“Why, though?” You can’t help but ask. “Why are you so fixated on me?”

Fiyero sighs and moves to sit beside you, letting go of your hands in the process. “If you’ll allow me to be honest with you for a moment,” he starts, “I suppose… you’re the only person at Shiz that doesn’t treat me like the perfect Winkie Prince that everyone thinks I am. You’re the only person that doesn’t think I’m perfect, and half the time you act like you can’t stand to be around me, and for some reason that only makes me want to be around you more.” 

“Are you not the perfect Winkie Prince?” You ask.

Fiyero grins. “Oh, not in the slightest, darling. But let’s keep that between us. I’ll keep your secret if you keep mine. How does that sound?” 

You don’t even try to hide the smile that comes to your face at his words. “You promise you won’t tell anyone about what happened today?”

“I promise,” he nods. “But only on one condition: you tell Doctor Dillamond you can’t complete the extra work you signed up for and you take a break to make sure you get plenty of rest before diving into your other assignments. I’m sure I can sweet talk some of the Professors if you need help.” 

He smiles as you hit him with the same look as before, but for the first time, he doesn’t find himself feeling uncomfortable at the sight of it. Now, he finds it slightly amusing and incredibly endearing. He has always found you endearing, he supposes.

“Sweet talking my Professors will not be necessary,” you chuckle. “But okay. It’s a deal. And I’ll keep your secret too. You can continue to be the perfect Winkie Prince to everyone… except me.”

Fiyero laughs. “I’ll just be your Fiyero, then.”

“My Fiyero?” You repeat after him, eyebrows raised. 

He ignores the way his heart beats faster at the sound of those words coming out of your mouth. 

“Yes, your Fiyero,” he hums. 

“Everyone will think that you finally corrupted me after all this time,” you joke, voice teasing. “I’ll just be like everyone else at Shiz. Part of the Fiyero Tigelaar fan club.”

„But - how?“, you interrupted him, your mouth suddenly feeling quite dry. Something about the intensity in his gaze made your heart flutter, and something in his knowing, confident smirk told you that he knew exactly what he was doing to you when he was talking about rewards. „Fiyero, how would you know the questions that might come up in my alchemy exam, you’re not even taking the class-“

„Your flashcards are really quite informative, you know?“, he said, smirk widening, when he saw your cheeks flushing. 

„You - you - my flashcards - you memorized them?“, you stuttered, breathless and at a complete loss for words. 

Fiyero just nodded, looking quite pleased with himself. „Darling, I know how important these exams are for you.“ 

You shook your head, completely baffled. The fact that he’d actually taken the time to read through your alchemy flashcards, memorizing them, when he wasn’t even taking the subject himself, just to help you study, left you feeling dizzy and overwhelmed. 

Sweet Oz, he really was the best. 

„Fiyero, I - you-“

„I’m incredible, I know, thank you, darling“, he said, smirking. Not giving you the chance to tell him how much you loved him - or to say anything else, for the matter -, he squeezed your hands once more, before running his hands through his hair, leaning back. 

„Now, I’m sure you’ll remember the mass of red clover you need to use in an antidote for poisons bending the free will-“

He’d barely finished asking the question when you were already rattling off the answer, able to visualize the flashcard, covered in your neat, cramped handwriting, in your head. 

Fiyero nodded, grinning. „Quite right, which means that the correct ratio for red clover and amaranth is?“ 

For a moment, you could only stare at him in surprise. Had he actually taken the time to memorize the entire content of your flashcards, including all the extra footnotes and notes in the margins, you’d scribbled in a particularly small, cramped font, when you’d been using the cards for revision a few days ago? 

Fiyero’s knowing, self-satisfied smirk answered your question, and you could only shake your head at him in awe. 

„You’re the best“, you said in a weak, awe-struck voice. 

Fiyero just smirked. „I know, but that still doesn’t answer my question, love.“ 

He leaned in closer towards you again, reaching for your hands, which were still resting on your thighs. This time, he didn’t thread your fingers together, instead he started to gently rub your skin in soothing circles. 

You let out a quiet, satisfied sigh - up until now you’d tried to ignore how stiff and aching your hands had been feeling lately, but Fiyero seemed to know exactly what he needed to do in order to gently soothe the pain in your stiff, aching joints. 

„So?“, Fiyero asked, his chocolate brown eyes meeting yours. 

The intensity in his eyes caught you off guard - though, at first glance, his gaze seemed soft and full of concern for you, there seemed to be something darker and hungrier beneath the concern - and that, paired with how incredibly good he looked with his reading glasses, caused your cheeks to flush. 

„I - what?“, you asked him, having completely forgotten about alchemy and the proper ratio for red clover and amaranth in antidotes for the moment. 

Fiyero chuckled. „Already speechless …“ 

You rolled your eyes at his comment, casting about for a snappy remark, but just then, Fiyero gently squeezed both your hands once more, before his hands settled on the insides of your thighs, dangerously close to the hem of the skirt of your Shiz uniform. 

„The proper ratio for red clover and amaranth in antidotes for poisons that aim at bending the free will, I’m sure you remember that, love?“ 

His tone was entirely light and innocent, but the dark, hungry gleam in his eyes and his satisfied smirk told you that he knew exactly what he was doing to you, when his hands started to slide higher, and higher, underneath your skirt, until you felt his fingertips brushing against the soft, sensitive skin of the inside of your thigh. 

Your breath hitched, you couldn’t help it. 

Fiyero leaned even closer towards you then, his eyes finding yours again. 

„The proper ratio, darling?“, he asked you again, just when his fingertips started to explore the skin of your thighs with teasing, soft touches. 

„I - I“, you stuttered, trying your hardest the recall the notes you’d taken concerning the particular question, but to no avail. Your mind was focused entirely on just one thing: Fiyero. 

The way he was looking up at you, not even trying to conceal the hunger in his eyes now, was making you feel dizzy, and his fingertips, wandering ever higher, now dangerously close to the seam of your underwear, kept you on edge, and you felt your heart start to beat faster. 

Fiyero chuckled, just as his fingertips brushed innocently over your clothed mound. 

You squirmed, your breath hitching, and your hands gripped at the arms of your desk chair, your grip so tight that your knuckles widened.

 „If you want, I could help you out, love“, he said, his dark eyes finding yours again. Normally, you’d have rolled your eyes at his blatant innuendo, but as it was, all you found yourself able to do was trying to lean into his touch, wanting - no, needing - to feel the delicious friction of his fingertips against your core again. 

Fiyero held your gaze, all while his fingertips brushed over your clothed core again. You sighed, closing your eyes in relief, though the relief was only short-lived. 

Heat was starting to build in your stomach, and again, you found yourself leaning into Fiyero’s touch, your hands leaving the desk chair, and reaching for Fiyero, settling on his shoulders. 

„The proper ratio, love“, Fiyero said, his fingers now drawing teasing circles over the fabric of your underwear, „is very important to remember, because due to red clover’s strong effect on the mind, it could quickly act as neutralizing, instead of amplifying when used in too high dosages.“ 

Your eyes widened. Now that Fiyero explained it, you were able to recall the information yourself, even able to conjure up the image of the flashcard containing that particular information in your mind. What really had you staring at your boyfriend in awestruck fascination though, was the fact that he was able to recall such information at all, given his current circumstances. 

If the roles had been reversed, you wouldn’t have been able to concentrate on anything but him, you thought, as your eyes found Fiyero’s again. 

He smirked at you, watching as your cheeks flushed, as he increased the pressure of his fingertips on your core. 

„Fiyero“, you said breathlessly, breath hitching when, suddenly, his hands settled on your waist with a strong grip, and he drew you in even closer towards him. When his grip on you relaxed, your legs fell open almost instinctually, effectively trapping Fiyero between your thighs. 

He didn’t seem to mind in the slightest however, the dark glint in his eyes intensifying. 

„Not quite the answer I was looking for“, he said, his tone casual, almost matter of-factly, which was in stark contrast to his knowing, satisfied smirk and his wandering fingertips, which brushed against your underwear again, until he finally, finally took mercy on you and slipped his fingers beneath the fabric. 

„But I suppose it’ll do just as well“, he muttered, his eyes finding yours, as his fingers brushed over your core again, this time without the irksome barrier of your underwear in the way.

You whined, trying to lean into his touch, but Fiyero didn’t increase the pressure of his touch, continuing to draw teasing circles over your core instead. 

„Fiyero“, you said, breath hitching, „please, I - I … I - just - please …“ 

It was torture, what he was doing to you, you thought. Complete torture. Kneeling between your thighs, his hair tousled just the way you liked it, looking up at you with a dark, hungry expression in his eyes behind his glasses, and yet he still wouldn’t touch you - not really, not in the way you really needed him to. 

„Please, just - just touch me, please, I-“, the rest of your words was lost to the breathless, loud whine you let out, when suddenly, without warning, the pressure of his touch on your core increased, and he started rubbing your sensitive bundle of nerves in earnest, while he used his other hand to impatiently tug your underwear down your legs. 

„The proper ratio is always double the amount of amaranth, due to red clover’s strong effectiveness“, Fiyero said, his own voice now sounding breathless. Having managed to successfully wrangle your underwear down your legs, his left hand settled on the inside of your thigh again.

Continuing to rub your bundle of nerves with his right hand, his left hand moved up your thigh, his fingertips edging ever closer towards your core, until he stopped his movements just when his fingertips had grazed against your core. 

„Though I suppose you’ve answered the first part of my question, which means that you’re due a reward.“ 

When he finally pushed two fingers into you, you could have cried out in relief. Your grip on his shoulder blades tightened, but Fiyero didn’t seem to mind in the slightest. 

The thought that you should probably feel embarrassed by how you’d already turned to putty in his hands, how wet you already were, briefly crossed your mind, but then Fiyero started to pump his fingers in and out of you in a torturously slow rhythm, and every other thought but how incredibly good he made you feel seemed to fade from your mind.

„But maybe you do remember what the best time for picking red clover is? It was in another footnote on the flashcard, love“, Fiyero said, his own voice sounding increasingly breathless and strained as his eyes found yours again. 

How he could recall any of the contents of your flashcards at all when he currently had two fingers buried deep inside of you, curling them just the way he knew drove you wild, repeatedly hitting your sweet spot, was entirely beyond you. 

As it was, you barely managed to wheeze out „Mid-Midnight“, before moaning embarrassingly loud, when Fiyero added a third finger, stretching you open even wider. 

„Good girl“, Fiyero groaned, his hand leaving your clit for a moment as he hitched your right leg up over his shoulder. The fingers of his other hand were still buried deep inside you and you felt yourself squeezing around him, your breath hitching, the new angle almost making you see stars in front of your eyes. 

The aching heat in your belly was building and building with every stroke of Fiyero’s fingers and soon you find yourself moving your hips in time with his hands, meeting his thrusts and seeking out more and more and more of the delicious friction. 

But then, just when you were chasing after your peak, feeling the aching, delicious heat in you building and building, Fiyero abruptly stopped his movements. 

At this, you couldn’t help but let out a cry of frustration, not caring about anything but your denied peak and the fact that Fiyero’s fingers were still buried deep inside of you, yet he was refusing to move them, denying you what you so desperately wanted - no, needed.

„Fiyero, please-“

„One last question, darling“, he said, his voice sounding rough and strained, and his hand left your clit again and you watched him with wide eyes as he carelessly took of his glasses, tossing them to the side. 

„From here on out, will you listen to me, Elphie and Glinda when we’re concerned about you?“ 

The question caught you off guard, and you found yourself leaning forwards, wanting to be closer to Fiyero, but the sudden movement only caused his fingers to slide deeper into you. 

„I - what?“, you moaned, biting down hard on your lip. 

Fiyero’s dark eyes found yours again, his gaze serious. „You’ll listen to me when I’ll tell you to take a break? Exams are important, but so is your health, darling.“ 

As if to punctuate his point, he curled his fingers again, hitting your sweet spot perfectly. 

„Yes, Sweet Oz, yes“, you whined desperately, your hips rocking forward again, „yes, I - anything you want, Fiyero, just please-“

„Good girl.“ 

And without further warning, Fiyero lowered his head between your thighs, and you felt his lips right there were you so desperately needed them. And instead of continuing to tease you and work you into a desperate, frenzy mess like he usually would with featherlight kisses against your core, he immediately licked a strip over your slit with his tongue. 

„Fiyero!“ 

You nearly came undone right then and there. His tongue immediately delved into your folds, replacing his fingers, giving you exactly what you needed. 

Your fingers found their way into Fiyero’s hair, tugging at his strands maybe a little too harshly, but if the low, satisfied groan that escaped him was any indication, he seemed to enjoy it, like he usually did. 

Fiyero pressed his thumb to your clit again, applying just the right amount of pressure, as his tongue continued to slit in and out of you, perfectly hitting your sweet spot repeatedly. 

Soon, you were a quivering, panting mess, desperately arching your back and bucking your hips up to meet the sure, confident strokes of Fiyero’s tongue. You found yourself clenching around him again, as the pleasurable heat in your core kept building, nearly at its breaking point. 

A whiny, desperate moan escaped you, and you found your grip on Fiyero’s hair tightening even more. 

„Fiyero, I - I - fuck!“, you panted, unable to string together a coherent sentence anymore. 

Fiyero seemed to understand what you were trying to tell him, though, for he replaced his tongue with his fingers again, setting a brutal, unforgiving pace, as he swirled his tongue over your now swollen, incredibly sensitive bundle of nerves. 

„I - Fiyero“, you panted. 

You were so close, so incredibly close- 

„Don’t hold back“, Fiyero now groaned, the hand that had been previously settled on your hip reaching up, and you immediately reached for it, „come for me, darling.“

That did the trick. 

The coil in your belly snapped, and overwhelming waves of pleasure crested over you. 

You came with a loud cry of Fiyero’s name on your lips, and squeezing his hand so tightly, your fingernails digging into his skin that you were sure they were going to leave crescent shaped marks on his skin. 

Fiyero took everything you gave him, guiding you through your high, as he squeezed your hand back, his thumb rubbing gentle circles over your skin, greedily lapping up all your juices. 

For a few, incredible moments there was nothing but Fiyero and the waves of pleasure claiming you. 

Then, slowly, you started coming back down from your high. Fiyero was still kneeling between your legs and you squirmed from the overstimulation. Fiyero didn’t let you pull away from him, though. 

Only after lapping up the last drop, and looking at you with a knowing, challenging expression in his eyes as he pressed his lips right against your swollen, sensitive nub - which had you squirming, moaning unintelligible nothings, your grip on his hair tightening once more - did he pull away, gently sliding your leg back down from his shoulder, before gently scooping you up in his arms. 

You felt like putty in his hands, nothing more than a tangle of limbs. 

You were still breathing heavily as he sat down in your desk chair, gently positioning you in his lap. Fiyero tucked your head against his chest, softly stroking your hair as he whispered sweet nothings into your ear, while you continued to come back down from your high. 

After a few moments, you found the strength to reach for Fiyero’s hand, threading your fingers together. 

His eyes found yours again, and the love for you you saw in them nearly took your breath away again. 

„Sweet Oz, that was incredible, you’re - fuck, I love you so much, Fiyero“, you said, reaching up and pressing your lips to his. 

Fiyero let out a soft noise at your words, kissing you back softly. The kiss was slow and sweet, and though you could feel how aroused he still was, you wanted to bask in this slower moment with him for a bit longer. 

When Fiyero broke the kiss, he leaned his forehead against yours, cupping your cheek with his free hand. „You’re incredible, darling. I love you so much.“ 

You smiled, pressing another soft kiss against his lips. 

When Fiyero pulled back again, his eyes were still soft and full of love, but his lips slowly formed into a smirk. „Though, what was that bit about studying quietly being the usual thing to do?“ 

You rolled your eyes. „You’re unbelievable, you know that?“ 

He just smirked. „Maybe so, but you love it.“ 

Seeing as there was no point in arguing this particular sentiment, you just pressed your lips to his again, though this time not nearly as softly and sweetly as before. Fiyero groaned, deepening the kiss. 

You reached up, winding your arms around his neck. 

You had a feeling that you were not going to leave your room for quite some time. Not that you minded, not even in the slightest. 

seongje was pretty familiar with the people at his school — he knew who were the nerds, he recognized his lackeys, just like the mean girls who usually also stuck by his side. he didn’t certainly care about any of these groups. at the end of the day, seongje had his own status to live up to.

however, considering his work for the union, he wasn’t the most diligent student one could meet. he skipped a lot, showing up to school only once in a while, thinking he could just get his way anyway — well, today he had to find out that wasn’t the case.

the door to the principal’s office shut behind him with a soft click, way too calm for what had just happened inside. temporary suspension. the words clung to his ears, irritating more than shocking.

you’re getting into fights while wearing the school uniform, it’s damaging the school’s image. this is your final warning.

seongje scoffed as he walked down the hallway, shoulders loose, hands buried in his pockets. the same uniform they were complaining about still hung perfectly on him. he kicked an empty can down the corridor, watching it roll and crash uselessly into a wall.

when he came back, they wanted better grades. better behavior. a cleaner image.

he laughed under his breath. he had worked too hard for the one he already had. being strong, being feared, being malicious — that wasn’t something you just wiped away. it was earned. it was proof. proof that he belonged to the union, proof that no one should test him unless they wanted something broken.

“hyung?”

one of his lackeys hurried up behind him, voice hesitant, like he was afraid to speak too loudly in seongje’s presence.

“what.” seongje didn’t stop walking.

“uh… since you’re absent a lot, you probably don’t know, but there’s this new girl.”

seongje glanced at him, unimpressed. “get to the point.”

“y/n!” the lackey said quickly. “she’s really popular. teachers love her, students love her — she’s sweet, helps people out, always smiling. kinda… perfect.”

that made seongje stop. he turned slowly, eyes sharp and unreadable.

“and?”

“i just thought— if the school wants you to fix your image when you come back…” the lackey swallowed. “if anyone would be willing to help with that, it’d probably be her.”

seongje stared ahead for a moment, jaw tightening. sweet. well liked. trusted. everything he wasn’t, everything he’d never tried to be. he imagined it for half a second — teachers smiling at him instead of watching him, students not flinching when he passed. the thought made something uncomfortable twist in his chest.

violence was easier. fights were honest. adrenaline, blood, the thrill of being challenged… that was romantic in its own way. this? this felt foreign.

“…tch.” he turned away again, clicking his tongue. “sounds annoying.”

but as he headed toward the exit, the name stayed with him longer than he wanted it to.

y/n.

someone sweet, huh?

that lead to one day when seongje decided to wait by the school entrance for the sweet girl everyone wouldn’t shut up about. he wasn’t even sure how he’d recognize you, but the moment you stepped outside, it clicked.

you moved easily, like you didn’t have a care in the world, smiling as a small group followed you around. someone offered to carry your bag, someone else asked if you wanted to grab food with them. you turned them down nicely, but you were clearly enjoying the attention.

seongje rolled his eyes. figures.

you weren’t really watching where you were going, too busy dealing with everyone else, and that’s how you walked straight into him.

“—hey.” he cleared his throat and smiled down at you, like he’d been waiting for this. you jumped a little. of course you’d heard about him. everyone had.

you took a breath, then smiled anyway.

“oh, you must be seongje!”

“yeah, yeah. princess.” he said, unimpressed. “save the politeness. i need to talk to you. alone.”

his eyes slid toward the people around you, and that was enough. they hesitated, then slowly backed off. your smile faltered just a bit, and seongje caught it.

for a second, he thought about it — how easy it might be to mess with that perfect image of yours, see what happened when someone like him pushed.

too bad he didn’t have time for that.

“…sure.” you said, after a moment.

you followed seongje a few streets away from the school, not knowing that letting him pull you aside was the start of something you wouldn’t be able to walk away from so easily.

he lit up a cigarette the moment you stopped walking. the smoke barely had time to rise before you brought a hand to your nose, your smile tightening, still polite but clearly strained.

yeah, he thought. definitely used to people going easy on you.

seongje exhaled shamelessly, letting the smoke drift your way anyway.

“i got suspended.” he said. “few fights. uniform still on. school didn’t like that.”

he glanced at you, then really looked, eyes slow and unapologetic.

“now they want me to clean up.” he went on. “better grades, better behavior, whole ‘nice student’ act. like i know how to do that.”

his gaze slid over you again, almost amused. “you on the other hand… seem pretty good at that stuff,” he added. “being liked. popular.”

and as much as he hated to admit it, he got it. you were pretty. the kind of pretty that made people want to be nice, want to help, want to stay. add that smile you kept ready all day and it made sense why everyone was tripping over themselves just to stand close to you, hoping for a little bit of your attention.

“well, seongje,” you said lightly. “i’m flattered, really. and… i mean, it’s true. when it comes to this stuff, there’s probably no one better than me.”

you looked way too pleased with yourself. seongje clicked his tongue and rolled his eyes, but his gaze lingered longer than he meant it to.

before he could say anything, you moved, circling around him slowly. he felt your eyes on him, sharp and curious, and it made his shoulders tense. then suddenly you were behind him, hands on his shoulders, straightening his back.

“—what are you doing?” he yelped, jerking slightly, not expecting you to be so bold with him.

you took the cigarette from his fingers without asking and crushed it under your foot. he opened his mouth to complain, then stopped.

“this is gonna be hard, mister.” you said, calm and confident. “but nothing’s impossible when i’m involved.”

you tossed your hair and stepped closer, way too close. his breath hitched before he could stop it. your face was just inches away now, eyes bright, curious. you reached up and gently slid his glasses off, studying his face like he was some kind of project.

seongje froze. people didn’t get this close to him. they didn’t touch him like this. and your perfume, sweet and soft, made his head feel light.

then you paused. your smile tightened, just a little.

“…nevermind.” you said quietly, putting the glasses back on his nose.

the spell snapped.

“what’s that supposed to mean?” he scoffed, annoyed and defensive. “i’m a good-looking guy, actually, you know.”

you laughed, like you weren’t even taking him seriously, already digging through your bag. you pulled out a pink glitter pen and caught his hand before he could pull away.

“okay, okay,” you said. “still. this is a lot of work. meet me tomorrow at five.”

you wrote your address right onto his palm, your fingers warm against his skin.

“and no cigarettes.” you added, smiling sweetly.

then you turned and walked away, leaving seongje staring after you, jaw tight, pulse annoyingly fast.

he was irritated. distracted. and somehow, completely and unfairly mesmerized.

and there he was the next day.

when he stopped in front of your house, he actually hesitated. just for a second. it was big — really big.

so not only did everyone fawn over you at school, you’d been born with a golden spoon too. figures.

seongje let out a quiet sigh and rang the bell.

you opened the door almost immediately, and whatever comment he’d been about to make died on his tongue.

out of uniform, you looked even more… wow.

you were wearing a pink dress that looked closer to a gown than something people wore around the house, fabric soft and flowing, like you’d just stepped out of a fairytale. casually. like it was nothing.

extra much, he thought, clicking his tongue.

and yet, annoyingly, something about it got to him. the way all that elegance and drama seemed effortless on you. like this world of glitter and softness was just… yours.

you grabbed his hand without warning, fingers warm and familiar, like you’d known him for years.

“this is gonna be so much fun!” you giggled, already pulling him inside.

he had to laugh under his nose. dragging a guy you barely knew straight to your bedroom. did you seriously have no sense of danger? did you not realize what someone like him could do to you if he wanted?

the thought barely had time to settle before it got knocked clean out of him though. your room stopped him in his tracks.

a massive closet lined with clothes in every shade and style imaginable. shelves full of trinkets, framed pictures of you smiling in different places, different outfits. pink bedding, soft and plush, like it had never known anything rough. the air smelled like vanilla and roses, sweet and suffocating in the strangest way.

seongje stood there, hands shoved into his pockets, feeling completely out of place.

like a wolf that had somehow wandered into a dollhouse, and wasn’t sure whether he wanted to tear it apart or stay a while longer.

you wasted no time. the moment the door shut behind him, you shoved him down onto your bed, the mattress dipping under his weight as you stood in front of him, armed with the same pink glitter pen and a small notebook.

“okay,” you said brightly, tapping the pen against the page. “so. we’re working with… a gangster who smokes, skips class, and gets into fights. and we’re turning that into a respectable young man with decent grades.”

you hummed to yourself while scribbling something down, then suddenly plopped down right beside him, way too close. before he could react, you took his hands in yours without hesitation.

seongje swallowed. he wasn’t used to people sitting this close. touching him this casually.

“my dearest,” you started.

my dearest? did those words mean anything to you, or did you just throw them around like confetti?

you inhaled, serious now. “i’ve helped a lot of hopeless cases, you know. we just need to make you… charming. a charming young man.”

he scoffed softly, but you were already continuing.

“that does mean dropping a few things, though.” you added, eyes flicking to his shirt. “this one first.” you pointed at the tiger print stretched across his chest.

“what? why?” he frowned. “it’s cool.”

you smiled at him, sweet and merciless, shaking your head.

“…no. it’s really not.”

before he could argue, you stood up and headed straight for the massive closet. seongje watched you disappear between rows of clothes, then blinked when you came back holding several neatly folded pieces — clearly men’s clothes.

“you just… have those?” he asked, confused.

“of course.” you said easily. “for my future boyfriend.”

he scoffed. “what, you wanna dress him up like a doll?”

the words had barely left his mouth before you were pushing the clothes into his arms.

“change.”

somehow, embarrassingly fast, he did.

when he stood up again, the mirror caught him off guard. the clothes were modest, clean, stylish in a way he’d never bothered with. they fit him too well. he clicked his tongue, annoyed.

“don’t get used to it.” he muttered.

you ignored that, sitting him down on your chair and stepping behind him with a brush in hand. gently, you started working through his slightly long, neglected hair. he stiffened at first, then slowly went still, letting you do it.

“from now on,” you said casually “you say ‘excuse me’ instead of shoving people. ‘thank you’ instead of staring them down. and you really need to stop smiling like that.”

“like what?” he grumbled.

“like you’re about to bite someone.” you replied.

he huffed, but didn’t pull away.

your hands kept moving, careful, patient, and after a moment he spoke again, quieter this time.

“…doesn’t it get tiring?”

you paused just slightly.

“doing all of this. every day.”

your expression dipped for just a moment when you looked at him, something softer slipping through, and then you turned back to his hair like nothing happened.

“sometimes.” you said softly. “but it’s a small price to pay if it means people like you.”

your fingers kept moving, slow and careful.

“i like being liked.”

it sounded simple, but it wasn’t. it felt a little too honest.

seongje nodded, not really knowing what to say. he wasn’t good with this kind of thing — feelings, quiet moments, especially not with someone like you. someone gentle and dramatic and way too sweet for a guy like him.

“…you don’t feel real.” he muttered before he could stop himself. he winced slightly. “not fake. just— like you’re always putting something on.”

you hesitated, just barely.

“your smile could use some work too.” he added, glancing away. “it was really strained yesterday. could end up hurting one of your fans’ feelings.”

you scoffed softly.

“watch it.” you said, playful but sharp. “you’re still a student. don’t talk back to your teacher like that.”

but when you smiled this time, it wasn’t perfect. it was smaller, genuine.

and seongje laughed.

somehow, seeing you like this, less polished and more real, was way better than that flawless image everyone else seemed so obsessed with.

once you were done with his hair, you turned him back towards the mirror, hands still resting on his shoulders.

seongje stared. longer than he should’ve.

he looked… different. clean. put together. almost harmless. if baekjin saw him like this, he’d probably lose his mind and tell him to get the hell out until he looked like himself again.

“god, i’m so good.” you said, beaming at his reflection like it was your own masterpiece.

“and you’re still not gonna admit it was easy ’cause i’m handsome?” he shot back, smirking.

you glanced at him, unimpressed.

“nope. you’re still a punk.” you said sweetly. “but don’t worry. i’m not giving up.”

you fluttered your lashes, dramatic as ever, and for some reason that tiny gesture hit him. hard.

then you clapped your hands.

“okay. next lesson!” you said. “how to talk to girls.”

he scoffed lightly. “seriously?”

“dead serious. easiest way to get popular.” you replied, then pointed at yourself. “pretend i’m a girl you like.”

his chest tightened. pretend. right.

he tried to play it cool, leaned back a little, said something smooth enough. or at least he thought it was.

you just looked at him. blank. unimpressed.

then you suddenly curled up into a ball, groaning dramatically.

“oh my god.” you sighed. “you’re toughest case i’ve ever had.”

he rolled his eyes, but there was a smile tugging at his mouth now. “come on. i’m not that bad.”

you straightened up, closer again, eyes sharp.

“no, listen,” you said. “you don’t stare people down like you’re about to fight them. you soften your voice. you smile — not that scary one. this one.” you demonstrated, and it wasn’t the polished smile from school. it was warm and easy.

and that’s when it got to him — you weren’t just teaching him. you were doing it to him without even trying. the way you leaned in, the way you talked, the way you laughed when he messed up… it all slid right under his skin.

seongje clicked his tongue, annoyed at himself. he’d fought bigger guys, scarier guys, and never flinched.

but you?

he wasn’t immune to your charm. and realizing that made his pulse quicken in a way he didn’t know how to fight yet.

after your demonstration, seongje blinked, heat creeping up his neck.

“maybe… maybe this was a bad idea.” he muttered, wanting to stand up from your chair and carefully leave this battlefield, but before he could move, you stepped closer, catching his hands in yours. your touch was gentle, but deliberate, grounding him in place.

“no.” you said softly, leaning closer with every word, your gaze unwavering. “i’ll make you popular. for all the good reasons, not the bad ones.”

his glasses slid down slightly on his nose, and he felt… unsteady. he had never been looked at like this. never had someone make him feel exposed, almost defenseless. he swallowed hard, realizing with a slow, sinking thrill that you really knew your craft.

the rest of that evening blurred into even more of your ridiculous lessons, all tangled up with your laughter, your sweet voice, and those strange, dance-like movements you kept making around your bedroom.

by the time seongje finally got home, the silence hit him hard. your absence felt loud and empty.

he still had something, though. the clothes you’d given him, neatly packed into a cute pink bag. when he opened it, your scent spilled out. it made his chest tighten in a way he didn’t like.

he’d spent one day with you. just one. and he already… felt attached.

it was stupid. you were only supposed to help him fix his problem. he’d act like a model student for a few days, let the teachers calm down, then go back to his usual ways once everyone got bored and stopped caring. that was the plan.

but now it felt like more than that. way more.

the next day felt just as empty. knowing you were at school, smiling, swaying, handing out your attention so freely… it made something sharp twist in his chest.

why did you have to be nice to everyone?

no wonder people fell at your feet, the way you called everyone your dearest, the way you batted your lashes like it meant nothing. it pissed him off.

and that alone should’ve scared him.

he couldn’t wait to get to school — a thought he never imagined crossing his mind.

because now, he wanted your attention too.

and when his temporary suspension finally ended, seongje did come back to school.

his uniform was neat this time. no tiger-print shirt lurking underneath, just the clean, stylish button-down you’d picked out for him. he’d even tried to fix his hair the way you had at your place — not perfect, but close enough.

he looked… charming, just like you planned.

even his smile was different now. no sharp edge to it. no threat.

the moment you spotted him in the hallway, you waved at him immediately.

“now look at you.” you said brightly. “doesn’t he look great, everybody?”

your classic smile followed, and just like that, the people around you echoed it back, nodding, agreeing, praising him without a second thought.

that’s when it hit him.

you had power.

not the kind baekjin held in the union. not the kind seongje owned in back alleys and broken knuckles. yours was quieter, prettier… the kind of power that made people bend however you wanted to without them even realizing. like your word was the law.

“thank you, thank you.” seongje said, smiling and waving back at them, playing along.

he timed it perfectly, catching the teachers watching from their office doors. from the way they looked — surprised, approving — he finally let out a quiet breath of relief.

it really was working…

and seongje, he thought that meant that something had changed.

that now, after everything — the clothes, the lessons, the effort — you and him were… on the same level. that you’d walk with him, sit with him, maybe laugh with him instead of at the center of everyone else.

but you didn’t.

the whole day, you were surrounded. smiling, chatting, touching arms with others. your little crowd followed you everywhere, hanging onto every word like it was gospel.

loyal little subjects, he thought bitterly.

every time he tried to catch your eye, someone else was already there. every time he took a step towards you, you were pulled in another direction, laughing, twirling, existing like you belonged to everyone else, but him.

and it pissed him off.

more than that — it hurt.

he realized it sometime before lunch, the ugly truth settling in his chest. during his suspension, he’d stopped caring about the school, about the image, about getting the teachers off his back. somewhere along the way, all of that had been replaced by you.

and you?

you weren’t falling for him.

you weren’t even looking at him the same way he looked at you.

by the time the bell rang, his patience was gone.

he ducked into the bathroom, gripping the sink as he stared at his reflection. the neat uniform. the button-down. the hair styled just right.

a prince.

that’s what he looked like.

“fuck!” he snapped, voice echoing off the tiles.

his hand shot up, fingers raking through his hair, ruining it on purpose. he messed it up until it looked wild again. until it look familiar and real.

“what’s the point…” he growled at his reflection, eyes dark.

what was the point of being charming if it didn’t get your attention?

no one had ever made him feel this stupid. this angry. this desperate.

but you know what?

whatever.

the way seongje’s hair sat messily on his head now reminded him of something important — that no matter what you taught him, no matter how carefully you shaped him into something clean and presentable, he was still seongje. the strong, sharp and violent geum seongje. and some pretty clothes and practiced smiles weren’t going to erase that.

after splashing water on his face, he stepped back into the hallway, jaw tight. as he passed your classroom, his steps slowed.

the door was open.

inside, he saw you sitting there, chin resting on your hand, listening to everyone talk at you. laughing softly, reacting just right. glowing. still the people’s princess.

his chest tightened.

not for long, he thought.

the door slammed open.

seongje came in like a storm, boots echoing against the floor, his presence cutting through the room in an instant. before anyone could react, before you could react, his hand closed around your wrist firmly.

gasps filled the classroom.

“seongje—” someone started.

too late.

he dragged you back into the hallway, steps quick, grip steady. your composure cracked immediately, confusion flashing across your face as you struggled to keep up.

“where are you dragging me, you brute?” you demanded, voice sharp, but still whimsically dramatic.

he dragged you into a quiet corner of the school and only then stopped, chest rising and falling, his breath shaky.

you ripped your hand out of his grasp immediately.

“didn’t i teach you how to talk to girls?” you snapped, forcing steadiness into your voice.

“that was way too rough. and your hair— what did you even do to it? it looked fine this morning. here, let me—” you reached for him without thinking, like it was an already established habit between you two, but this time, he caught your hands midair. fingers firm around your wrists, stopping you completely. when you looked up, he was already staring at you. not angry, not smug. just… bare.

“yeah.” he started quietly. “you were right.”

his grip loosened, but he didn’t let go yet.

“i’m a hopeless case.” he swallowed hard, jaw tightening as if he was physically forcing himself not to retreat.

“but i…” his voice faltered. “i don’t know how to say this without sounding like a complete idiot.”

he sucked in a breath and let it out sharply, like the words were fighting their way out of him.

“i want you to look at me. not them. but me.” his voice dropped.

“i don’t want you to belong to everyone else. i know i’m rough,” he went on, a crooked smile tugging at his lips like armor he didn’t fully believe in. “selfish. violent.”

his eyes searched your face, wary now, vulnerable despite the bravado.

“but opposites work, don’t they?”

there was a beat of silence, and then he let out a quiet sound, almost a plea.

“be mine.”

his thumb twitched against your wrist.

“please.”

heat rushed to your face immediately. you’d heard confessions your whole life — pretty words, practiced declarations of love, boys tripping over themselves just to be noticed by you.

but this one hit differently.

maybe because it was seongje. maybe because his voice wasn’t steady, because his hands were still holding yours like he was afraid you’d disappear if he let go.

and maybe because he was the wearing clothes you’d once bought for a future that wasn’t supposed to have a face yet. you remembered laughing it off back then, pretending you didn’t notice how perfectly they fit him.

“i’m… i’m high-maintenance,” you whispered, cheeks warm, eyes flicking up to his. there was a soft pout on your lips, something honest and unguarded. “you know that, right?”

his laugh was quiet, the familiar signature smirk tugging at the corner of his lips.

“i know. and it still doesn’t make me want you any less.”

for a moment, the world felt impossibly small. just the two of you, close enough to feel each other breathe.

you nodded.

and the way his eyes widened, disbelief flashing across his face, was almost enough to make you laugh.

still holding your hands, he pulled you towards him, suddenly urgent, and kissed you, his lips warm on yours, mixing with the sweet taste of your vanilla lip gloss.

you froze for half a second, heart hammering in your ribcage, and then you slowly melted into it, kissing him back just as fiercely.

when you finally pulled away, breath unsteady, your fingers were already in his hair, smoothing it instinctively.

“but…” you murmured, thumb brushing along his temple “as my… boyfriend, i can’t let you walk around looking like this.”

his grin came easy this time, warm and genuine, eyes soft in a way you’d never seen before.

“okay, princess.” he said, leaning in just a little closer. “whatever you say.”

fin.

if you’re interested in reading more of my work, make sure to check out my weak hero masterlist !! ଘ(੭ˊᵕˋ)੭

[BOOK ONE] ੈ✩‧₊˚

CHAPTER I : THE GIRL THAT FELL FROM HEAVEN.

.˳·˖✶𓆩𓁺𓆪✶˖·˳.

The ozian history books would later argue about what you truly were.

A witch, a miracle…a mistake.

But on the day you fell from the sky, there was no debate—only awe. You did not arrive in Oz the way witches were meant to, no thunder, no mist, no curse cracking the air and no house crushing somebody beneath it.

You fell like a star that had forgotten to burn, who made Emerald City froze midday. People looked up just in time to witness—skirts fluttering, hair loose, arms flung wide as if you were trying to catch the sky itself, your feet softly struck the green pavement of the street with a sound like a bell being rung once, sharp…  then silence.

No smoke. No fire.

Just a girl lying stunned on green stone, then (e/c) eyes opened slowly and a warm smile stunned passerbys. “I’m sorry,” you said, voice trembling but sincere. “Did I—did I land somewhere I shouldn’t have?”, and in that moment Oz fell in love, because witches never apologized.

The people of the Emerald city gathered around you cautiously at first. People and animals in rich emerald suits and dresses, officials, guards in green and yellow coats with stiff collars and even stiffer smiles. Someone whispered ‘witch’ like a prayer and a warning combined, the ozians flinched as you sat up slowly, wincing at the pain in your backside, and pressed your hands to the glass pavement beneath you. Finally taking a good look at the city you had fallen into, tall, green all around and incredibly shiny.

“Woah… it’s so beautiful,” You murmured, as if the city were a gift instead of a threat. A child cried while someone else knelt and prayed.

Far above them all, behind emerald curtains, levers and lies, the Wizard of Oz leaned forward in his study window, for the first time in years, his voice caught in his throat. He had felt it before the guards ran in shouting, before the emerald lights flickered, before the city began to murmur like a body waking from sleep.

Something new had entered the system. 

He watched as you helped the crying child to their feet before helping yourself, brushing dust from your blue gingham dress even though your hands were shaking, you didn’t demand answers, you didn’t scream or run. Instead you politely asked questions.

‘Where am I?’

‘Are you hurt, little one?’

‘May I sit here for a moment?’

You did not show your fright, the wizard observed, and that was your leverage. He felt something stir, something that had nothing to do with magic and everything to do with control. A woman like that could make Oz believe anything.

By the time his guards had managed to lead you inside to his throne room, where you two meet at first —voice booming, animatronic head hidden behind green curtains, all fire, smoke, mirrors and spectacle—the story had already begun writing itself.

“A visitor from above,” he proclaimed publicly.

“A sign!” someone had cried.

“A witch!” someone else insisted.

You stood in the throne room, giant animatronic head peeking from behind the curtains, fire exploding all around, imposing and fearsome but you smoothed your skirt, spine straight despite the tremor in your hands. “Hello,” You said simply, a smile on your lips and the Wizard almost laughed.

Almost.

Instead, he softened his voice, warmed it, made it kind and unsuspecting.

“My dear,” he said, “you have fallen into Oz.”

You tilted your head. “Then I hope I haven’t broken anything important.”

He snorted amusedly, you had fallen into a moment Oz had been waiting for and if everything went according to plan, you would break the status quo.

Just as you were escorted to a room to call your own in the big emerald palace, the wizard sent for his right-hand woman. Madame Morrible made her way to the palace as soon as she could, the words from the wizard were urgent. She found him in a hallway overlooking the inner garden, his eyes focused on something she couldn’t see from her position but as she made her way closer she could make out a figure in an blue gingham dress, sitting in one of the benches on the gardens, in her hands a book about Oz’s history.

“Oh,” she murmured, standing next to the wizard whose eyes hadn’t looked away from your figure. “That’s interesting.” She remembered the reports that came as quickly as you had appeared; Young human woman from another world, unbroken, a blessing, a witch. Who didn’t scream when she fell, who had not demanded answers. Just stood up, brushed dust from her skirts, and asked—politely!!—where she was. And that detail mattered to the citizens of Oz, because it spoke of someone kind, someone good. “Yes… she’ll do beautifully.” Madam Morrible smirked, crossing her arms as the figure in the garden smiled at the monkey guards who accompanied her, her mouth moving as she told them something that seemed to make the apes’ guarded form relax, one even letting out a soft hoot-like laugh. 

The following day, the wizard kept watching you through a veil of illusions before he ever allowed you into his true presence. He observed the way people leaned toward you without knowing why, the way fear softened in your wake, the way guards lowered their weapons instinctively, how even his monkey army had taken to you almost instantly, how everyone bent to your will without you even trying.

You were disarming. 

Disarming him, the monkeys, Oz itself.

“She doesn’t look like much,” he said lightly to Morrible in the confidence of his study as they etched their plan. Madame Morrible did not smile, but her eyes were like swords, piercing everything they laid on.

“That’s the point.”

So they decided to meet you together. While the wizard played a warm, charming old gentleman, Madame Morrible played caring, motherly authority and you responded to both beautifully. You did not kneel to their authoritarian auras but did not challenge them either, just listened. The Wizard explained Oz to you—his Oz, curated and gleaming— as you nodded, absorbing his every word. When Madame Morrible asked about your origins, you spoke honestly, without defensiveness or pride.

No ambition.

No resentment.

No hunger.

Madame Morrible’s fingers tightened around herself —She’s dangerous— she thought watching how even the wizard hung on to your every word. Meanwhile the wizard felt something strange; Relief.

They did not tell you that you were powerful, that magic swam around you like second nature. They explained that you were important, of the role Oz expected of you now. The wizard specially had empathetically said he understood the position you were in, as he explained how he came to rule Oz, his hand rubbing circles high on your thigh. They said that important things needed protection, guidance and mostly, that important things always needed a story.

“Oz is restless. Divided. Cynical.” The wizard said.

“Oz needs a symbol.” Morrible added.

And gentle, unassuming you, who had fallen from the sky like a miracle no one had to explain, were the perfect candidate.

“She can’t rule,” the wizard said when you retired for the night, pacing. “She doesn’t have the stomach for it.”

Madame Morrible sniffed. “Neither do you.”

He ignored that, his brows furrowed in worry. “She makes people feel safe,” he continued. “They trust her.”

Madame Morrible smiled thinly. “Then we must teach her what safety looks like.”

The next day your training began, they brought the best teachers in all of Oz so you could learn its history, its customs, how the social dynamics in each county worked, how to talk, walk, smile. Morrible dressed you carefully, began to teach you how to harness your magic, barely the basics as she handed you a training wand. Meanwhile the wizard gave you an official title:

The Good Witch of Oz.

That same day, the whole land of Oz sang your name, your title, your praises. Rumors ran all around,  everyone in Oz knew your name, your story, your role and the wizard and Morrible only needed to feed the right rumors to the right ears as they settled the stage. As they had dinner in the large luxurious dining room, the wizard called you a Good Witch for the first time out loud and you couldn’t help but laugh softly.

“I haven’t done anything good yet,” You protested with an amused pout.

“That’s the beauty of it,” the Wizard said gently, like a secret between friends. “They’ll believe you will.”

Madame Morrible corrected him internally, though the glance she shot at him spoke volumes ‘They’ll believe what we show them.’ it said. She brought her wine glass to her lips, her smile practiced. “We have been going through the basics of magic, (Y/n) has proved a fast learner.” She said, “ Soon she’ll be ready for her first official public appearance". At that, the wizard possibly beamed.

“Oh, how wonderful!!” He smiled as his hand covered yours over the table. “ Are you sure you’ve never done magic before, sweetheart?” He joked, winking at you as Morrible rolled her eyes in annoyance.

“Your first appearance will be in Munchkinland” Morrible interrupted the wizard’s flirtations, whipping her mouth elegantly. “ There has been… some discontent in the region. So your first appearance being there will boost their exports and raise their spirits.”

“Is there something they’ll expect of me?” You asked, gently dropping your utensils on the table.

“Oh, my dear!!” The wizard interrupted, his hand holding one of yours and bringing it to his lips “There is no need to be nervous! Just be yourself, sweet (y/n). They will absolutely adore you”. He added, his charming smile beaming at you while his eyes searched for yours. He did not drop your hand until you smiled softly back at him, but as you did he couldn’t help but notice the soft blush on the apple of your cheeks and a smirk twisted his lips.

“Do not worry,” Morrible added. “You will be ready for anything they expect of you. I’d make sure of it.” She smiled, sharp and mysterious. 

Later that night, when you were in his private studio, the wizard brought you tea. He sat close to you on his sofa as he asked about your home, about your likes and dislikes, about your dreams.

And he listened, perhaps too intently, too close. He couldn’t help but have a soft spot for you, in more ways than one. You reminded him of a version of himself he pretended had never existed, one before the smoke, before the wires, before lies hardened into policy. On the other hand, he couldn’t help but feel attracted to you, a pretty young thing that looked at him as if he had hung the moon on the sky.

“You make this place lighter,” he said, his small smile genuine. “I’d like it if you called me Oscar, though. Everyone calls me Wizard… Or Oz, the great and powerful” He winked jokingly as he finished his sentence, although his wish was genuine.

“Oscar??” You asked, a little befluded. “Why Oscar?”

“Because that’s my name, my dear” He whispered softly, as if sharing a secret. “And I want you to use it.” He commanded softly, with a voice full of honey. "At least when we are alone."

“Oh!” You blushed ashamedly, but the wiza- No, Oscar held your chin and made you look at his warm chocolate eyes. “ T-Thank you… Oscar” You smiled shyly and he beamed as you used his real name, his arm sneakily laying around your shoulders.

Madame Morrible saw everything from the ajar door, but she did not interrupt. Instead she studied you like a formula. She noticed how magic bent around you without instruction when you felt safe. How even her magic stabilized inside her. 

“She’s a regulator,” Morrible realized. “Not a conduit.”

Which meant that you could neutralize rebellion… Or inspire one.

Depending on who you trusted and Morrible would make sure that your trust always stayed with them so she fully closed the door and left the palace.

After speaking animatedly for what felt like hours, Oscar Diggs found himself alone with your sleeping form tucked into his side. He felt warm, warmer than the green elixir ever made him feel as his hand softly brushed a few wild strands of hair that blocked his perfect view of your face, he tried to remember the last time he had felt the warmth of another person and his mind drew blank. Even if he had been with other people, you made him feel some kind of way, he realized. 

“They think I wanted the power.” He murmured as his gaze tried to brand your profile in his brain with fire. “They think Oz was the goal, but truly… It wasn’t.” He mumbled, his fingers softly mapping your soft cheeks.” Oz was my compensation.” He pressed a soft kiss on your forehead.

“Before you, everything here was noise, color and wires—smoke filling a hollow thing. I learned quickly that if you smile long enough, people stop asking what you’re hiding.” He snorted, as if amused at the memories that came to his mind. “ But then… You came to me.” His voice became softer as his gaze focused on your features. “ Not like a threat, nor like I did, like a conqueror. You came like an answer to a question no one had phrased correctly. You look at Oz the way I once had, way before I learned how fragile belief really is. Before I learned how easily it breaks when you touch it too hard.” He moved your sleeping form so your weight rested more against his body. “ And then… You believed without demanding proof. Do you know how rare that is?” He smiled warmly as you snuggled closer to him. “ I could build a thousand illusions and none of them would look at me the way you do—like I was real.” He hid his face into your hair, inhaling your scent and trying to scar it on his brain. “ So I made you Good. Not because you’re flawless but because Oz needs something it can’t argue with. Something it can’t corrupt without exposing itself.” He tightened his hug around your form, his face moving towards your neck, where he closed his eyes, surrounded by your scent, the warmth of your body, his lips laid a kiss on your soft skin and then he could feel your pulse under his lips. “ And because if I named you— If I claimed you mine... Then you will stay by my side.” He confessed, his breath tickling your neck, “ Because people don’t abandon the roles we give them. They cling to them, they become grateful… Loyal.”

The wizard laid by you for a few more minutes, enjoying the sound of your breathing, the warmth your body radiated, he dreaded moving you because that would mean you’d go to your chambers and he would have to return to his cold empty room. He released a breath he hadn’t noticed he was holding. “ I keep telling myself I’m protecting you. That I’m protecting Oz… But I fear the truth is simpler, and uglier.” He looked up at your face, his head still tucked in the side of your neck. “You make the lie worth living inside… I fear you could be taken from me… vanish and go somewhere I cannot follow you to. “ His eyes closed again as he heard the steps of his guards in the hallway. “ I fear I'll feel… empty without you. Because if you leave— I’ll just be a man behind a curtain again.”

The knocks on his door made the wizard sober up, almost unwillingly he parted from your side to preserve your virtue, but selfishly he still let your body rest fully against his as he ordered the guards in.

“Chistery” He greeted as the ape came into the room. “Could you bring Miss (Y/n) to her chambers? I’m afraid I still have some work to finish up.” He smiled as he slowly got up from the sofa, laying you softly against a pile of pillows.

The head of his monkey army stepped forward, nodding his head as he followed the wizard’s orders. His furry arms slid under your back and knees as he softly picked you up under the wizard’s watchful eye.

“Oh, and Chistery?” The ape stopped in his tracks as he held your body in his arms. “ Do not wake her up. I’ll be very upset if you do.” The wizard smiled threateningly as the ape nodded, his steps were careful as he left the wizard’s predatory gaze and walked towards your chambers.

Now Chistery, for all his silence and caution, was a very perceptive individual. He had noticed since your appearance in Emerald city how people seemed to orbit around you, how the wizard seemed to try and make his and yours existences as one in the same, how Morrible shadowed you from the darker shadows of the palace.  You were kind to his brothers, to animals, to him and he couldn’t help but internally worry about you. He knew that while you stayed in the city, he would be there to guard you, as the wizard had appointed him as babysitter since the start. But sometimes Chistery worried that the wizard and Morrible’s plans would take you someplace where he couldn’t protect you. As he opened the door of your chambers and walked to your bed, he tried to fight the unease the wizard’s gaze towards you, had left in him. Softly laying you down the bed and tucking you under your emerald covers, he cleared his throat.

“ (y/n)... In danger… Chistery… Protect.” He grumbled, his words both a secret and a vow shared in the silence of your room.

The next few days consisted of the same, Oz studies, training with Morrible, lunch in the gardens with Chistery and some of his brothers – Whom you keep insisting enjoy the food with you, sneaking some food their way. – almost neverending dress try-ons and finally dinner with the wizard. 

Until the day you had to leave for Munchkinland came.

You were glad to finally see more of Oz, as you had been cooped up in the palace for almost a month and a half, but at the same time you were nervous of your first formal appearance as The Good witch of Oz. The Wizard watched, leaning on the door of the room as the maids helped you get ready under the watchful eye and commands of Madam Morrible, who would not accept anything but perfection. As he caught your eyes in the mirror, the soft nervous smile you sent him, he felt a pang he mistook for pride, while Madame Morrible felt none.

‘Attachment is a weakness’. She thought. ‘But leverage? Leverage is priceless.’

As The Good Witch of Oz, your gown seemed to spun from winter light itself, a whisper of silvery winters, pale blue like caught frost at dawn. Its color was soft and luminous, neither silver nor sky, but something in between—an icy hue that shimmered faintly with every movement, as though starlight had been sewn into the fabric. Layers of airy tulle drifted down from the waist in gentle cascades, forming a vast, flowing skirt that brushed the floor and trailed behind you like a quiet promise of magic. The bodice embraced your curves with careful elegance, sculpted to your form and crossed with delicate folds that met at your waist. The neckline dipped into a subtle sweetheart curve, baring your shoulders and collarbones, lending an air of vulnerability softened by grace. The fabric there was gathered and shaped with intent, creating the sense that the gown itself had been wrapped around you rather than stitched—an offering rather than a garment.

At your arms, the sleeves bloomed extravagantly, great clouds of pale blue resting low against your skin. They were voluminous and soft, billowing with every breath, as if they might float away if not tethered by magic. From behind, they gathered into a dramatic bow at the small of your back, a sculptural flourish that transformed the dress into something almost ceremonial, as though it had been fashioned for a coronation.

Your back was left bare, smooth and luminous against the open line of the gown, the bow anchoring the design with quiet authority. Below it, the skirt unfurled in layers upon layers, shimmering as it moved, the light catching on tiny crystals woven throughout the fabric like stars. The train followed your steps with reverence, whispering across the floor, making your every step feel deliberate and fated.

To crown the look, a headdress that marked you as chosen. At its base, nestled against your (h/c) hair, bloomed two vivid rosettes of a deep dark crimson, soft and organic against the delicate vintage style tiara that crowned your head. The poppy flowers framed your face like living embers, their richness drawing the eye inward, the contrast between gold and red felt deliberate, as if fire and authority had been bound together in a single gesture. Centered at your brow was a circular golden ‘OZ’ monogram, precise and deliberate, forged with symbolic meaning rather than decoration. It rested just above your eyes, commanding attention, a singular tear-shaped emerald rested between your eyebrows. From under the flowers thin green silk ribbons fell gently, brushing your hair and shoulders, simulating the stems of the flowers that framed your face. Your beautiful eyes that shine a sweet (e/c) enhanced with a glittery silver-blue eyeshadow that compliments both the dress and the color of your skin and the lips that bring Oz to its knees, painted a deep dark red that looked almost black. With the whole ensemble, your presence  transformed into something timeless—half ruler, half priestess. Standing at the threshold between the mortal world and legend.

The wizard looked at you in awe as his tongue wetted his lips once—then twice.  ‘Damn’ –he thought– ‘Morrible had done an extraordinary job.’

"You look gorgeous, darlin'" He said as he walked towards you. "Like the sweetest little princess Oz could wish for..." His steps froze when Madam Morrible stepped from behind "I wish it was green though...".

"Yes... So much potential..." She smiled, her eyes shone brightly. "I'm still brainstorming what kind of wand our Good witch should have, for now she'll have her training wand." Morrible said as she made her way towards the Wizard, who had not stopped looking at you since you waltzed in the room. "And I've told you, (Y/n) must be a symbol for ALL the people of Oz, including the other counties. Besides the people of Emerald city have already begun associating her with blue, like the sky she fell from. So I decided silver-blue must be her color, because all of Oz knows only powerful witches are allowed to wear silver" Morrible said with a big smile, her arms opening so you could step into a tight hug.

The Wizard rolled his eyes as he mumbled something under his breath, when his gaze found yours he smiled again, his eyes a soft chocolate color. "The wand must be grand like Oz" The wizard spoke, throat dry. "And its beauty must match hers" He smiled, a mock-shy smile as he approached the younger girl. "How would you like your wand to be, sweetheart?" The wizard asked, his thumb holding your chin. "Tell me and I’ll have it ready when you come back from Munchkinland…"

“ I’d like it if it was…” You mumbled something in the wizard's ear and he smirked.

“You got it, darlin’ “ He smiled, then playfully adjusted his collar. “ But you better go before Morrible puts my head in a pike!” He exaggeratedly moved his arms as you laughed while the older woman just rolled her eyes. And as you left the Emerald City with Chistery and some of his army, along with Morrible and her team, the Wizard watched until the carriage disappeared from view. “She’ll come back,” he tried to reassure his worries and anxieties. “She’ll come back to me.” Neither the wizard or Morrible noticed the way the Emerald city seemed to dim without your light, but Chistery did.

Munchkinland was already celebrating before you understood why.

Music spilled through the streets like something alive. Bells rang. People danced in careful circles around an empty space at the center of the square, eyes lifted skyward in anticipation. As you stood behind the curtain, heart hammering.

“I don’t know what to do,” you whispered to Morrible.

“You smile. You wave. You let them see you.” Madame Morrible adjusted the fall of your sleeve with precise fingers. “And whatever you feel,” she added, “you do not contradict the story.”

“What story?” You asked, anxious beyond belief.

Morrible looked at you in the eye, her dark eyes sharp and commanding.

“The truth,” She said gently. “Remember all I taught you, all we practiced” She added, finally stepping out of your personal bubble as her team finished with your makeup. “ Do not disappoint me, my dear.” She said as her hands held your shoulders. “Now go! Oz is waiting for you!.”

When you stepped out into the light, Munchkinland fell silent, not only because you were radiant but because you were actually there. As you stood small against the open sky, pale dress catching the sun, millions of small crystals embedded in the dress reflected small rainbows with your movements, hands clasped as if you were the one afraid of them. Then, the silence broke into cheers. Flowers flew, tulips from all colors as children ran forward, crowding in a circle around you, and you couldn’t help but smile at their joy. Someone knelt, praying something so fast you couldn’t even make out words.

You gasped softly. “Oh—please don’t—”

Madam Morrible raised her arms, voice booming. “Behold! The Good Witch of Oz!” As the title settled on your shoulders like a mantle you hadn’t agreed to wear, you waved —awkward, overwhelmed and Oz seemed to love you even more for it. Morrible walked towards you, smile tight as she whispered “ Now as we practiced…”

ᴺᵒʷ ᴾˡᵃʸᶦⁿᵍ ... '𝘛𝘩𝘦 𝘝𝘰𝘪𝘤𝘦' 𝘣𝘺 𝘌𝘪𝘮𝘦𝘢𝘳 𝘘𝘶𝘪𝘯𝘯 | [▶︎]

You cleared your throat, hands dusting off the skirt of your dress in nervous habit. The square fell silent, as many eyes watched you attentively, some even adoringly. Soon, familiar music began playing as you took a deep, grounding breath.

“I… hear your voice on the wind” You began singing “And I… hear you call out my name” You walked more into the middle of the square, squating next to a group of small children who looked at you with big smiles. "Listen my child," You offered your hands to them “ you say to me”, as they quickly took them, following you to the middle of the crowd. "I am the voice of your history” As more munchkin children joined your performance, you continued singing, a big warm smile in your painted lips. “Be not afraid, come follow me” as the music crescendoed, the children held each other's hands and began running around you in a circle as you twirled in the opposite direction, your skirt flaring like liquid silver. “Answer my call and I'll set… you… free!!". You held your arms up and flowers began falling from the sky, raining colour all around the land.

 “I am the voice in the wind and the pouring rain” You began waltzing around, arms outreached as you kept on singing “I am the voice of your hunger and pain.” You stopped in front of an older couple, taking a moment to carefully twirl the woman and then the man, both of them laughing in joy. “I am the voice… that always is calling you, I am the voice, I will remain” Then you noticed an awfully nervous red headed boy wringing his hat as if his life depended on it, and held out your hand to him. He looked shaken by the movement, then he looked at both his sides then behind himself, as if confirming that you had asked him. You huffed a small laugh and grabbed his hand, pulling him towards the middle of the makeshift dance floor. “I am the voice in the fields when the summer's gone” You twirled the munchkin boy and he seemed to come out of his thoughts. He smiled at you and held your hand tighter, his other hand holding your waist as he waltzed in circles with you, a bright smile on his face and red cheeks that reached his ears. “The dance of the leaves when the autumn winds blow. Ne'er do I sleep throughout all the cold winter long” As he held one of your hands the other behind his back, he guided you around the edge of the crowd. “I am the force that in springtime will grow” As the music crescended you and the munchkin boy began dancing rhythmically to the song, wild arms and legs even some jumps and twirls. “I am the voice of the past that will always be” As you left the slightly stunned and sweating red headed boy where you had dragged him from, you set your eyes on a pretty woman in a wheelchair and made your way towards her. “Filled with my sorrow and blood in my fields” You held out your hands towards her and although she seemed hesitant, the man next to her – whom you assumed to be her father– ushered her chair forward, she looked at him upset he had moved her without her permission but you took the opportunity to enchant the wheels and hold her hands in yours, which made her immediately look at you with a soft blush. “I am the voice of the future” You smiled at her as you brought her with you, the enchanted wheels made it like she was gliding. “Bring me your peace” She smiled brightly at you as she noticed how her chair moved with ease, and as she swerved to twirl you followed her, both of you twirling, hands above your heads.”Bring me your peace and my wounds, they will heal”. Her genuine laugh made your nerves calm as you two were once again eye to eye. “I am the voice in the wind and the pouring rain” You both kept gliding across the crowd, almost like flying, both happily smiling, every once in a while you would twirl around, finding the hand of the other almost immediately. “I am the voice of your hunger and pain” As you both settled in place, once again next to her father, you bowed sillily and smiled at her in good bye as you made the way back towards Morrible and the stage. Not noticing how the woman held out her hand to try and stop you. “I am the voice that always is calling you…I am the voice” Your voice boomed as the music bloomed, “I am the voice in the past that will always be…I am the voice of your hunger and pain” You bowed low, your dress spilling like fresh snow around you, sparkling in the sun. “ I am the voice of the future…I am the voice…I am the voice” You sang as flowers began blooming all around you rapidly, “I am the voice…I am the voice!!!”, and as you sang the last notes, tulips began raining from the sky, pooling around you. As the band finished the last chords, you looked up at the crowd of people, all stunned, awed as they broke the silence with loud cheers and applause.

Exhausted but fulfilled, you looked towards Madam Morrible who was smiling at you with pride in her eyes as she applauded as well and you felt the heavy weight that weightened your shoulders lift in relief.

As she took a small break, gracefully sitting in a colorful bench by the square where the citizens of Munchkinland kept buzzing with joy, Boq, the red haired munchkin boy was the first to reach you, as he all but sprinted in your direction. He pushed through the crowd, hat clutched to his chest, breathless with nerves twisting his stomach and joy buzzing through him like electricity.

“You—you’re real,” he blurted out, then flushed a violent crimson. “I mean—of course you are. I just—thank you!!.”

You blinked, caught by surprise by the boy you had danced with. “For what?” You smiled kindly albeit confused.

“For being good,” Boq said earnestly, as if this were a rare and difficult thing to find in Oz.

You laughed—a small, startled but sweet sound that settled like balm on Boq’s nerves. “ But I haven’t done anything yet.”

Boq shook his head. “You showed up…That is more than enough.” He smiled shyly as you returned his smile, he heard more steps approaching as you got up from the bench and saw how you were almost the same height. ‘We'd make a cute couple...’ He thought to himself, then became beet red and as if startled and nervous he bowed too deeply and tripped in his efforts to run away from your disarming gaze. You caught his arm as he tripped without thinking , holding him up before he could fall onto the floor.

“Careful,” you said, smiling half amused and half concerned and Boq forgot how to breathe.

The sounds of feet grew louder as the young woman in a wheelchair was being guided forward by her father, who looked possibly delighted. Her posture was proud, eyes sharp and searching. Her dress was modest but deliberate, her expression wary rather than awed.

And as the red-headed munchkin boy apologized before running away in shame, Nessarose ushed her father away before her gaze fixed itself in your eyes, her dark gaze practically studied you before her lips settled in a small smile.

“You fell from the sky,” Nessarose said plainly. “Is that true?”

You nodded, smiling back at her. “I did.”

“And you’re good?” She asked again, her eyes searching deep into yours as if she was looking for any hint of deceit.

You hesitated before answering honestly, “I’m trying to be.” At your honesty something in Nessarose’s gaze softened.

Trying mattered.

“You don’t look like someone who would lie about that,” Nessarose said. “May I come closer?”

You stepped forward immediately, kneeling so both of you were eye to eye.

“Of course.” Nessarose inhaled sharply at your proximity, at your gesture.

No one ever knelt.

You did not notice the way Nessarose’s hands trembled as she reached out and touched the hem of your dress—just to be sure this was real, that the feeling of flying and gliding had been real. Then the air shifted, temperature dropping, almost imperceptibly as someone at the back of the crowd muttered ‘Green!’, a child began crying.

Elphaba stood apart from the celebration, arms folded, black dress stark against the color of Munchkinland. Her eyes were sharp behind her round glasses, assessing, already suspicious of anything Oz adored so easily. She did not bow, did not clap either, just looked directly at you and her little sister.

You felt it immediately—like pressure behind your eyes, like standing too close to a storm and feeling the energy it carried.

“You’re not from here,” Elphaba said as she made her way next to her sister, most probably following her father’s orders about protecting Nessa.

“No,” You replied softly. “But so far, I really like it.”

Elphaba snorted. “That won’t last. Oz doesn't take well to strange.”

“ Elphaba!!” Nessa angrily said, both mad that her sister had interrupted your conversation and that she was being so rude. But you smiled—not dismissively, but with kind curiosity, and that set Nessa’s nerves a little bit.

“Will you tell me why?”

Elphaba faltered, slightly.

No one ever asked her that.

Madame Morrible watched from the stage, eyes narrowed, mind planing.

Boq clung to the edge of the crowd, already orbiting, while Nessarose held to your attention like a lifeline, Elphaba stood at a distance, away from the center where you were, magic coiling in response.

Three threads and all tightening around the same chess piece.

In the back of his throne room the Wizard leaned back, satisfied as he had seen the full event on his millions of screens.

“It’s working,” he murmured in awe.

You stood at the center of Munchkinland, surrounded by devotion you did not yet understand, smiling at people who already loved you too much. Shaking hands and making small conversation with Governor Thropp under the watchful eye of his youngest daughter. Above you, the sky was impossibly blue and below your feet, Oz shifted—ever so slightly—to make room for more.

After talking with Governor Thropp about Munchkinland politics and the casual passerby who came to say hello or just witness The Good Witch of Oz, you felt like your head dress was tightening around your brown, your dress suddenly tighter and heavier.

“I’m sorry, I… I need a moment, excuse me” You smiled at the Governor, leaving him mid-sentence as you made your way as far as you could from the noise, as your back turned Nessa sent a glare towards her father, who quickly tried to appease her.

The music faded the farther you walked from the square. You hadn’t meant to leave the governor mid-sentence ( you hoped he wouldn’t complain to Morrible or you’d be up to a ride full of  silent treatment), you didn’t even mean to  escape—only  breathe. The cheers still rang too loud, too brightly in your ears, the title still felt too large on your shoulders. You pressed your palms together, grounding yourself in the quiet tulip garden path curling away from Munchkinland.

“Are you all right?” Someone asked cautiously.

You turned and found the same woman from before, the one with dark clothing and deep green skin, Elphaba if you recall correctly, stood a few steps away, posture stiff with the practiced alertness of someone used to being misunderstood. Up close, she seemed less intimidating than before—more earnest than severe.

“Yes,” You said honestly. “Just overwhelmed.”

Elphaba nodded. “That makes sense.”

They stood in silence for a moment before Elphaba spoke again, slower, softer this time.

“You’re very lucky.”

You blinked, surprised. “Lucky?”

“The Wizard doesn’t take interest in just anyone,” Elphaba said. There was something reverent in her voice— something that seemed like carefully restrained awe. “If he chose you, it means you matter.”

You considered that for a moment, your eyes meet Elphaba’s dark ones. “He’s been very kind to me.”

Elphaba smiled faintly. “He’s trying to help Oz. He always is.”

That was surprising. “You sound like you admire him.” Your smile curled softer.

Elphaba hesitated, then squared her shoulders. “I do. I think… I think people forget how hard it is to keep things good. Someone has to make difficult choices.” You studied her with curiosity rather than judgment and smiled when you found her earnestness.

“You don’t sound naïve,” you said, walking closer to her. “You sound hopeful.”

Elphaba exhaled a breath she hadn’t noticed she was holding. “I am... Or, at least  I’m trying to be.”

You felt the strange pull again—the hum beneath the air when Elphaba focused, not threatening but attentive.

“You feel… different,” Elphaba said suddenly, frowning—not in accusation but wonder. “Magic doesn’t react to you the way it does to others.”

You laughed softly, your shoulders shaking with your laughter. “I’ve never been very magical, that’s just new development.”

Elphaba shook her head but the smile in her lips matched yours. “That’s not what I meant.” She took a step closer, curiosity overtaking caution. “You make things settle,” Elphaba continued. “That's rare.”

You smirked deviously at her, eyebrows raised. “I’ve always thought calm was overrated.”

Elphaba smiled back, shy. “I think Oz could use more of that.” Though before Elphaba could say more, a familiar voice cut in, gentle, composed.

“Elphaba.”

The both of you turned together.

Nessarose was there, hands folded neatly in her lap, watching both of you with a look that was soft and sharp all at once.

“There you are,” Nessarose said. “I wondered where you’d gone.”

Elphaba stiffened, slightly surprised by her sister’s strange behaviour. “I was just talking with our Good witch.”

“So I see,” Nessarose replied lightly, eyes already on you, gaze lingering—not rudely, but intentional all the same.

“I wanted to thank you again,” Nessarose said. “For taking me out to dance… for kneeling earlier. People rarely remember to meet others where they are.”

You flushed a soft red. “It felt natural.”

Nessarose smiled, and Elphaba noticed it—the way Nessarose’s attention settled, the way you responded instinctively, turning toward her, how her sister seemed happy to have your attention.

“You’re very considerate,” Nessarose continued. “Oz will adore you.”

Elphaba frowned faintly. “Nessa—”

“I mean that as a good thing,” Nessarose said calmly, then turned back to you. “I’ll be attending Shiz soon. Perhaps we’ll see more of each other?"

“I hope so,” you said without hesitation although you had no idea of what ‘Shiz’ was but the word seemed familiar enough, like you swore that Oscar and Morrible had mentioned it once or twice. "I hope we can be friends", you smiled honestly.

Elphaba’s chest warmed at that as Nessa quickly agreed. “Shiz is where real change begins,” Elphaba added eagerly. “Where you learn how to help people properly.”

Nessarose placed her hand over Elphaba’s arm—gentle. “And where people learn who they can rely on,” she added softly.

Elphaba fell quiet before taking a deep breath and biting back her nerves, “What’s your name?” She asked, “Your real name” she added as she felt Nessa’s and your gazes on her.

“My name?” You smiled sweetly. “ My name is (Y/n), (Y/n) Gale.” The Thropp sisters smiled, and as Nessa offered to walk you back to the square, Elphaba stood back, mumbling your name to herself as it felt like honey on her lips.

She saw both you and her sister preparing to leave, Elphaba glanced back at you.

“Thank you,” she said awkwardly. “For listening.”

You turned, meeting her dark eyes with your (e/c) ones, and smiled. “Anytime,” you winked at her. "That's what friends are for."

Elphaba blushed a dark flush, repeating the word 'friends' over and over inside her head. She had never had friends, just Dulcibear and Nessa. She smiled softly, her heart warming at the thought of you being her first friend. Elphaba walked away lighter than she’d felt in a long long while, meanwhile Nessarose walked away certain.

Because hope was a dangerous thing.

And you—kind, grounding, endlessly attentive (y/n)—were already becoming something Nessarose would not let go of.

After saying goodbye –more like a ‘See you soon’– to Nessa, you were walking the edge of Munchkinland, the celebration thinning into dismantled garlands and tired laughter, Morrible’s team were packing everything to go back to the Emerald city when you heard someone muttering furiously to himself behind a stack of overturned crates.

“No, no—too late, too stupid—”

“Are you all right?” Your head peeked from behind the crate and Boq yelped.

He spun around so fast he nearly knocked over the crates, hat slipping sideways in his unruly red curls as he stared at you like you’d appeared out of his thoughts rather than the path.

“Oh! I—Good Witch—I mean—Miss—”

“You don’t have to call me that,” you said quickly. “I told you my name, earlier. Besides you didn’t before.”

His ears turned red. “Right. Yes. I just—sorry.”

You smiled, easing yourself onto the edge of one of the crates, silver dress pooling around you. “What’s wrong?”

Boq hesitated, then shrugged, the gesture too big for his narrow shoulders.

“They’re taking everything down already,” he said. “It feels like if I don’t say things right away, they disappear.”

You tilted your head curiously. “What things?”

Boq swallowed.

“That it mattered. Today. You being here.” Your expression softened as Boq’s cheeks bloomed a deep red. “It mattered to me.”

You looked at him with a soft gaze, your hands held his as you looked up at him. “ Then I’m glad  I came”

“I heard you’re leaving,” Boq said quickly, before his courage could evaporate. “Back to the Emerald City.” He sat down next to you, with an appropiate distance between him and you.

“Yes,” you replied. “The Wizard wants to introduce me properly. To all Oz.”

Boq nodded too hard, too fast. “Of course!! That makes sense. You belong somewhere bigger.”

At that you frowned softly. “I don’t know if I belong anywhere yet.”

He laughed, a brittle little thing. “Everyone belongs somewhere.”

You studied him for a moment, then reached out—gently straightening his crooked hat, hand brushing some of his curls into place and Boq went very still and very red.

“You were very brave today,” you said. “Coming up to me like that.”

“I wasn’t brave,” he blurted. “I was terrified. I almost burst into tears.”

“That’s what bravery usually feels like, Boq.” He stared at you like you had handed him the moon and stars, a small smile on his lips as his ears burned red.

“I don’t suppose,” Boq began, then stopped, then started again. “I don’t suppose you’ll remember me… After everything.”

Your brow creased in surprise. “Why wouldn’t I?”

“There will be so many people,” he blurted out, as if it was obvious. “Important ones.”

You smiled softly. “Boq, you were the first person to speak to me as a person. Not a symbol.”

His breath hitched.

“That doesn’t disappear,” you added, then reached into your hair, undoing a hairpin you though was too much, and pressed a silk ribbon into his palm— silver, with embroidered crystals and pearls. faint blue thread woven through it, stiching a starry sky.

“I wore this today,” you said. “If you ever feel like things are getting too loud… hold onto it.”

Boq closed his fingers around it like a vow. “I will,” he said. “I won’t forget you.”

As you stood up from the crate, you smiled “Neither will I.” Then you hesitated, but ended up leaning forward and kissing his cheek—quick, warm but above all sincere.

A thank-you.

But Boq felt it like a brand, forever claiming him yours.

As you walked away towards Morrible who seemed to be waiting, he stayed exactly where he was. He didn’t follow as his heart screamed, he didn’t call out as his throat wanted. He simply stood there, ribbon clutched to his chest, heart pounding with a hope that had no language yet—only shape. ‘She noticed me’, he thought with the silliest smile on his red face. And as the green banners of Oz rose in the distance, Boq smiled faintly to himself and whispered the lie he would spend years trying to make true: “She’ll come back.”

The green bullet train waited like a promise that hummed.

Steam curled around its polished sides, emerald light glinting off brass rails as you stood on the platform, hands folded tightly at your waist. The crowd had thinned, but not disappeared. They never did now, wherever she went, Oz leaned closer.

Boq was there—just at the edge of the small crowd. He didn’t wave. He only watched, ribbon tucked safely into his vest, eyes memorizing the way the light touched your hair. When you turned and smiled—brief, searching—his chest tightened as his thoughts raved ‘She’s looking for me’, he told himself and as he caugh your eye, he waved clumsily.

Then the whistle blew, and the man called for all passengers aboard.

Nessarose clutched her chair, knuckles white as she stood next to her father and her half-sister.

“She doesn’t belong to him,” she whispered to Elphaba, though her eyes never left your silver form. “They’ve already started saying it... That she’s his.”

Elphaba frowned, confused.

“The Wizard is good,” she said, the words rehearsed, cherished. “If he’s chosen her, it means—”

“It means he saw her first,” Nessarose replied sharp, like a knife through butter.

You approached the Thropp family, shaking their father’s hand, then leaned down, kneeling before Nessa and taking her hands without hesitation.

“We'll see eachother again,” you promised. “At Shiz. I won’t disappear.”

Nessarose smiled sweetly, cheeks rosy. Inside, something coiled and decided: I will make sure of it.

Elphaba stood apart, green skin vivid against the platform’s stone.

“You’ll like Oz, especially the Emerald City,” she said earnestly. “The Wizard listens. He really listens. If anyone can help Oz be better—it’s him.”

You searched her face as your hands held hers. “You believe in him.”

Elphaba nodded, flustered as her hands held yours. “With everything I have.” then you squeezed her hand.

“Then I’ll believe too.” You smiled, "For both of us."

Elphaba watched you board the train, heart lifting with pride and something sharper—something like fear that had no name yet.

She’ll make him see what I see, Elphaba thought. She’ll make him good...

The train surged forward, green blurring into motion.

Inside you took a seat by the window, pressing your palm to the glass as Munchkinland slipped away. Then you felt the pull—not magic, not exactly—more like gravity rearranging itself around.

Oz was calling.

The Wizard stood alone. Below him, the Emerald City shimmered—gears turning, lights aligning, banners unfurling with exquisite timing. Morrible had done well, the city was ready.

She is ready, he corrected himself, as he adjusted his gold cuffs, breathing slowly.

“We’re on schedule,” Morrible had said earlier. “The people are eager. They’re already calling her yours.”

The Wizard smiled thinly. “No. I am hers.”

Morrible had arched a brow. “Careful.”

“She fell from the sky,” he continued, almost reverent. “Do you know what Oz does when it sees a miracle? It kneels. And when Oz kneels, it wants a hand to hold.”

He turned to the mirror, not to admire himself, –well kinda— but to practice absence. Humility. Wonder.

“I won’t cage her,” he said. “I’ll frame her.”

Morrible’s lips curved. “And if she resists?”

“She won’t,” he replied softly. “I’ll give her purpose. Applause. A place where her kindness becomes law.” He paused. “And if she ever tries to leave,” he added, voice barely above a whisper, “she’ll have to tear Oz apart to do it.”

The Emerald City rose like a jewel forced out of the earth, and although technically you had been living there, you had never truly seen it. So you experienced the wonder of seeing it’s green marble shine from the train’s windows, their banners unfurling. Including a new blue one, where you could distinguish yourself, in your silver gown and head dress, in bold silver letters it said ‘THE GOOD WITCH OF OZ’. As the train slowed, the music outside the station swelled—carefully timed, perfectly placed. And as you stepped onto the platform, the crowd erupted, chanting your name though you had never told it to them properly.

Flowers rained down as more banners unfurled: WELCOME HOME, GOOD WITCH.

Your breath caught in your throat and somewhere deep inside, a small voice whispered: This is too fast.

But then the Wizard appeared—hands open, smile gentle, warm eyes bright with something that looked dangerously like relief. “Welcome home,” he said, holding your hand to his lips, kissing it sweetly. You smiled back at him and Oz exhaled—satisfied… 

For now.

ᴛᴏ ʙᴇ ᴄᴏɴᴛɪɴᴜᴇᴅ...