Chapter Text
The candles flicker dimly, flames shrinking low as the wicks burn out and the warm romantic glow slowly fades from Elphaba’s hideout. The place is still and quiet throughout save for the ragged, residual panting and the soft rustle of sheets as Fiyero shifts away off of her.
Elphaba shifts with him automatically, trying to adjust and find where she’s supposed to fit comfortably.
“That was…wow…” Fiyero murmurs, his lazy voice gravelly and affectionate as he stretches and settles upright against the headboard. As he moves, Elphaba tries to follow suit, awkwardly scrambling to curl into him with a small noise as she pulls her fallen, askew lingerie back up and into place and slips her loose cardigan back around her.
Fiyero seems to just barely notice. He hums softly as he reaches for her, his arm looping around her to draw her back into his side.
“You’re incredible,” he tells her quietly, his hand slowly drifting along her arm casually. It’s comforting—she hasn’t been held in so long, not since G—well, not since Shiz, really.
And yet…somehow being held in the handsome, charming prince’s arms doesn’t quite feel exactly the way she thought it would feel. It’s warm and cozy, familiar in the way affection can be, but she doesn’t feel quite like she belongs here, not fully.
She tilts her head up ever so slightly to look at him, searching for something, some solace or anchor of sorts that might help calm this strange, unsettled feeling thrumming softly in her chest.
“Was that good for you?” he asks casually as his bright eyes find hers. His brows scrunch together as if trying to read her expression as she gazes at him.
Elphaba’s head nods quickly—a little too quickly—in agreement and she forces what she hopes is a demure, soft smile as she tries to sort through her murky thoughts to answer the question.
Good? What was good even supposed to feel like? She has nothing to measure sex against except her books with their vivid depictions of passion, of overwhelming ecstasy, of something earth-shattering and grand.
Maybe…maybe this is what they meant? She isn’t entirely sure.
She certainly felt things that she had never felt before—moments that were new, intense, even things that felt, dare she say, euphoric in their own way. But the moments came in flashes, fleeting quickly. Her body had felt wound so tight that every new sensation sparked brightly—and then vanished before she could hold onto them.
And it had been…an adjustment to take him, to put it mildly. He had been a perfectly fine gentleman, just like one of her favorite stories described the hero as. And the intensity of it all, especially the sudden stretch she had read about, was certainly real enough. She only wished he had been a bit gentler, slower, that it had been a little easier to ease into. She had felt like she couldn’t quite…let go, the way he seemed to. She had felt tense for most of it, only beginning to slightly let go close to when it was over.
He had certainly seemed to enjoy himself, that much she understood from his enthusiastic noises and eager pace.
A look of relief crosses his face as he smiles softly, kissing her forehead.
Her eyes flutter closed for a moment, trying to melt into his hold, but she can’t shake this ache in her chest that she had managed to previously mute. It seems to grow tenfold here in the aftermath, like a dull, heavy throb that makes it hard to breathe.
Gli—her mind jerks and averts away, instantly slamming shut around the very name, the thoughts, the guilt—no. I haven’t done anything wrong. It’s not my fault Fiyero chose me—
Elphaba inhales sharply, trying to exhale slowly, trying to steady herself.
You’re here. With Fiyero. Something you used to dream of—
—That’s not the only thing you’ve dreamt of over the last few years…
“Elphaba?” Fiyero murmurs softly, leaning down and looking at her carefully. She blinks, forcing a quiet, shaky, apologetic laugh as she tries to keep herself present.
“Sorry I—” she starts to try to explain but the words catch as a sharp, seizing tightness punches through her chest. It feels like it’s being tightly constricted, the air being knocked out of her lungs. She gasps for air, a hand flying up to her sternum.
“What’s wrong?” he asks, brows furrowing with slight concern (if Elphaba weren’t so panicked she might be a little annoyed by how laid back his tone is).
“I—I just—ah—my chest—”
Elphaba’s eyes squeeze shut.
Suddenly, there’s a roar. A loud and sudden noise in her ears, like a storm ripping through her mind before it slowly fades.
There’s a flickering of light. A bright flash of white. A sob. It’s all hazy, glowing, fuzzy and she tries to focus, to figure out the sounds and sight.
But then the whole vision crashes in, as clear as it can be:
Glinda. Kneeling on the floor. Still in her wedding dress. Mascara streaking her cheeks. Gold hair disheveled. Alone on the marble floor. Clutching her chest with one hand, the other over her mouth, doubled over, her sobs ragged, loud, and animal-like. The kind of sobs that make it hard to breathe—
The vision jumps, distorting for a moment.
She’s collapsed sideways now, crumpled on the floor. Her hands dig at the fabric of her bodice like she’s trying to tear it off, as if it’s suffocating her. Her body is shaking with each sob.
Elphaba’s lungs spasm in response, mirroring the way Glinda’s seem to in the vision. She can’t breathe.
“Glinda—” she stutters, pressing her palm harder into her chest, as if the pressure might soothe Glinda through some tether between them.
“Glinda?” Fiyero echoes, startled now, leaning closer.
“She’s—” Elphaba chokes, eyes wide, vision swimming. “She’s hurt—she’s alone—”
Glinda curls up tighter, her whole body shaking as the hand over her mouth slips away. The sobs tear out unchecked now, sharp and painful.
“Elphie…how could…” she gasps, voice cracking, the words barely audible.
Her shoulders jolt with every jagged breath, each one a struggle against the weight of abandonment.
Elphaba can’t look away. Her own chest feels crushed, like she’s breathing through a vice.
“Glinda,” she whispers again— not to Fiyero, who’s now staring at her like she’s gone mad—but to the vision, Glinda, all alone on her bedroom floor.
“Hey, hey it’s okay—” Fiyero tries to cup Elphaba’s face, to calm her, but she shakes her head rapidly, pulling away from his grip. “What happened? Did they hurt her?”
“No we—gods, I hurt her,” Elphaba insists as squirms away, trying to put distance between herself and him, her skin suddenly crawling with guilt where he touches her. It feels like she’s been splashed with cold water, the reality of the damage she’s done hitting her in an overwhelming, consuming way.
“No—no you didn’t do anything,” Fiyero tries to reason, grabbing her arms gently as he tries to still her. “Glinda is upset now, yes, but she’ll get over it—”
“I need to go talk to her,” Elphaba shirks out of his grip, scrambling to get up.
“What? Are you out of your mind?” Fiyero stares at her in disbelief, trying to get up and follow her. “We can’t go back there—”
“I have to! I have to do something—I—I can feel it—” Elphaba fingers curl at her chest, the splintering feeling cracking even wider. It feels like her own heart is being shattered and she can’t tell if it’s somehow tethered to Glinda, to the vision, or genuine, true pain. “I didn’t realize—”
She holds her hand out, summoning her broom. It flies and snaps into her hand. She begins to head quickly for the opening of her hide out, body thrumming with anxious energy.
How could she have been so purposely wicked, so deliberately cruel in that moment? Maybe it was power—after all, it had felt so good to be chosen for once. It had felt satisfying to finally be wanted even as she did things her way, wanted just as she was in that moment. And by someone she and Glinda both wanted to be wanted by, someone society regarded as a worthy suitor.
To have it proven, in front of Glinda herself—Glinda who is always trying to make her do things her way—that she is worth fighting for and being with. Glinda who begged to be picked but then couldn’t pick Elphaba, every day, for years.
Fiyero choosing her had been validating, a moment that helped to quiet every fear and insecurity she’s held for the last few years that she would forever be alone and unwanted in her cause.It had felt good, for a moment.
Yet…now it doesn’t feel so great to be right. It doesn’t feel much like she’s won anything. Glinda isn’t supposed to break like this. She isn’t supposed to feel this much, this strongly about anything.
Elphaba naively, ignorantly, hadn’t ever let herself believe that she could. Not about Elphaba, not about their…their friendship, if she can even call it that at this point.
She’d told herself Glinda’s care was surface-level—kind, but convenient for her. It was easier than admitting Glinda might actually feel…more. Easier than believing Glinda had wanted more than anything to come with her that fateful day in the tower but, for reasons Elphaba understands deep down, couldn’t.
And now that vision of Glinda alone on the floor, shattered and alone, is burned into her mind.
“Elphaba this is dangerous,” Fiyero warns, trailing behind her, his voice interrupting her thoughts. “I’m sure you two can work it out eventually—”
“I have to fix this,” she declares softly, spinning to face him so abruptly he nearly runs into her. He stops cold at the finality in her voice. “It’s Galinda. And what we did was—it wasn’t right. Don’t you feel—this—this heavy guilt?”
“Honestly…no,” he blurts out. Elphaba stills after recoiling slightly, her brows furrowing in confusion. For a moment, it’s like the air changes.
“Of course I feel bad—“ he amends, running a hand through his hair with a sigh. “But this is what’s right for me. For us. And I think she always knew it wasn’t right between her and me, she had to. She’ll understand, she loves you—”
“What?” Elphaba’s startled eyes snap to his, mouth parting in confusion.
“I just mean—you two are friends,” Fiyero says quickly, earnest and almost pleading for her to believe him. “She’s never stopped caring about you, surely you know that? She used to send me all over Oz, alone, to look for you before Morrible took more control. She was always trying to protect you. Just like I was.”
“How would I—how would I know that?” Elphaba frowns, looking away, rethinking everything, suddenly seeing things very differently with fragile clarity. Glinda was searching for her, all this time? “She…missed me?”
“Of course she did, we both did,” he affirms. He reaches for her again, gripping her shoulders gently. “You see? So this will all blow over. She’ll forgive us in time.”
But his logic doesn’t quell the distress swelling in her chest. It doesn’t touch it at all. She gently takes one of his hands from her shoulder, lifting it off as she holds it and steps back.
“I can’t just leave her like this,” Elphaba tells him softly, her voice apologetic but firm. And she realizes, beyond any mere moral obligation, she doesn’t want to leave Glinda like that, can’t bear the thought of it. “Y-you didn’t see her face.”
He hesitates just a second. “She’ll be alright, eventually she’ll get over it.”
Elphaba realizes either he’s choosing to ignore the weight of it all, or he doesn’t understand Glinda and what they’ve done. He doesn’t get it, or her, and even Glinda. Maybe he never fully has. She squeezes his hand once before dropping it. “I have to try to make things right.”
“Elphaba—” he protests, a pained expression crossing his face but she shakes her head, her mind made up.
“I’m sorry,” she cuts him off shaking her head. “I’ll be careful just—stay here, it’s safe. I’ll be back.”
“Wait—your coat—” Fiyero reaches for her worn, long-sleeved jacket.
But she’s already moving. Before he can catch her, Elphaba swings onto her broom; the wind surges, and she shoots into the night sky.
He’s left standing in the doorway, holding her coat, staring into the dark as she disappears.
—
The flight takes longer than Elphaba would like it to. It gives her too much time to think. Too much time to replay the look on Glinda’s face when she found them in the Wizard’s chamber. She replays again and again the way Glinda's voice had cracked and faltered when she said you deserve each other, the moment when Glinda had sensed a betrayal that ran deeper than just that night.
And worst of all, she can’t get the image from the vision out of her head—Glinda’s face, crumpled and devastated, her body curled up on the ground.
Elphaba thinks of everything in the new context of the information Fiyero’s presented—that Glinda has been actively searching for her for years now, doing what she can to protect her (although Elphaba isn’t quite sure what exactly that means).
It had been an effort from both of them, Fiyero had clarified. But he had overwhelmed her with his valiant display—turning on the Wizard, declaring his decision to go with her—something she reasons Glinda doesn’t have it in her to do. And she understands why Glinda doesn’t, in a way— of course she does.
But now she’s confronted with the nuance that she’s avoided believing this whole time: that just because Glinda couldn’t follow her, couldn’t fully see things her way, doesn’t mean she cares any less.
The simple idea that Glinda has indeed been missing her all these years, possibly longing the same way she longed…it breaks Elphaba. That gnawing pain in her chest refuses to subside (she doesn’t even notice that what Fiyero feels or felt is irrelevant; he simply isn’t part of her logic anymore).
The Emerald City below her is unusually quiet, less lit up than usual at this late hour. So many windows dimmed, the whole place feeling hollow in a way she hasn’t seen before.
She spots Glinda’s balcony quickly, the pink glow muted now. She lands without any fanfare, her broom touching down with barely a sound. Quietly, she moves to the glass doors, peering in—but there’s no sign of Glinda.
Elphaba raises a hand. With a small flick of her wrist, the lock clicks open. She slips inside, careful, closing the door silently behind her. As she leans her broom against the wall, she pauses, catching a faint noise—sniffling. Uneven, ragged breathing. Upstairs.
She heads to the stairs before pausing.
Gods, what could she even say to Glinda to make things even the tiniest bit better? Her mind drifts to how things spiraled out of control once more, moments after Glinda had looked her in the eyes and said “I’m so happy”.
It had just all happened so fast. The Wizard, his lies and manipulations, the proof of his ugly, horrifying cruelty right before her eyes. And then Fiyero had just run in and surprised her in an overwhelming way, a way that she’s been waiting for someone, anyone (or maybe just one person, specifically) to do—but there had been no time to sit with any of it.
She supposes on some level she left assuming Glinda would be fine in the way that she always is, the way Fiyero keeps insisting she will be. After all, Glinda had chosen her place in their world, in that gaudy palace with the Wizard and her newfound popularity and servants and friends and constant praise.
In Elphaba’s mind it has always been black and white. A simple, clean line with Glinda safe and distant in every way on one side, and Elphaba far on the other.
But now it’s hard to see it that way, the line and their positions blurring with feelings and context. It forces her to face the crippling truth—that maybe Glinda’s emotions and feelings aren’t as shallow and convenient as she’s wanted to believe. That maybe it’s not as black and white as it seemed, and the truths in the gray are the ones that hurt them most of all.
With the same stubborn, grim resolve she’s brought to every difficulty in her life, she pushes forward, determined to make things right.
Elphaba quietly ascends the stairs, not giving herself any more time or pause to think further.
But as she reaches the last step, she falters.
Glinda is still in her wedding dress. She sits slumped over at her vanity, elbows and arms braced against the tabletop, her face buried in her hands as she fights for steady breath. Her shoulders shake with each uneven exhale.
The room around her is a small disaster with her heels kicked off in different directions, her veil discarded carelessly on the floor.
Glinda exhales a soft but sharp breath with a cry, her body trembling with it as she rubs at her eyes.
Elphaba freezes where she stands, the ache in her chest flaring painfully at the sound.
Glinda sighs and lifts her head from her hands, attempting to sit up, eyes glancing toward the mirror in front of her—
Her entire body visibly freezes, going rigid as her breath catches in her throat. Her eyes in her reflection lock onto the set of wide, apologetic, green eyes staring behind her. Elphaba.
Glinda’s brows furrow. Her lips part in a stunned inhale as she tries to process what she’s seeing. Elphaba is the last person she wants to see right now, and she’s also somehow the one she longs to be near the most.
Her expression shifts in rapid flickers—confusion, then realization, then something unbearably tender—before it all collapses into pain and rage. Her jaw tightens, mouth drawing into a hard, trembling line.
Glinda pushes up abruptly from the vanity stool, swaying slightly as she finds her balance before turning fully to face Elphaba. She straightens her shoulders in a weak attempt at composure she clearly doesn’t possess. Her eyes harden defensively, sharpening into a heated stare.
“You have a lot of nerve coming back here,” Glinda’s honeyed voice is shot and broken—lower than usual, raw, fracturing at the end.
Elphaba tries to keep eye contact, to hold her gaze. But the intensity of Glinda’s stare, the sheer amount of pain in it, makes her flinch, and look away for a moment. All words abandon her, coherent thoughts fail her.
“I…” Elphaba manages to say but nothing follows.
Glinda raises an eyebrow, irritation cutting through her exhaustion as she slowly crosses her arms. She stares her down with an unwavering gaze, ruthlessly steady.
Elphaba feels small under her gaze. Chastised, exposed, filled with the instinctive need to repent. To earn back even a fraction of the way Glinda used to look at her…sweetly, tenderly. Like she was precious, like she mattered.
Elphaba feels foolish for not having fully savored it at that time, for not having been able to hold it properly then.
“Galinda, I am so—” she starts, reaching for familiarity, but Glinda’s face darkens instantly.
“Don’t,” Glinda all but growls, her voice raspy and low, warning. Her throat bobs once before she visibly steels herself.
“Don’t say my name like that,” Glinda’s voice sharpens, cracking slightly as she takes a step toward Elphaba.
“Like what?” Elphaba asks, her voice impossibly soft. She regrets it the second Glinda’s eyes flash, indignation sparking, her jaw twitching.
“Like you care,” Glinda snaps hotly. Her eyes burn bright with bitterness.
“I do care,” Elphaba insists, the words coming out pleading. She tries to make her voice as gentle as possible as she steps forward, desperate. “More than you know.”
Glinda holds her gaze for a long, excruciating moment before she tears her eyes away, shaking her head as if she can physically dislodge and refute the idea.
“You care,” she echoes, almost laughing darkly—but it’s a humorless, broken sound. Her throat works slowly around the words, like she can’t quite believe she’s saying them out loud. “Well. That was an awfully funny way of showing it. My best friend and my fiancé, committing treason and running off together in some sordid little affair on my wedding night.”
She flicks a look back at Elphaba, and Elphaba tries not to flinch under the weight of that betrayed, wounded glare.
“I told you it wasn’t like that,” Elphaba argues weakly. “I didn’t plan for any of that to happen—”
“Oz, Elphaba, spare me,” Glinda seethes, cutting her off as she holds her hand up. “All these years I was worried about you, and you were just…waiting for Fiyero to run away you.”
“No, I—I didn’t—not like that,” Elphaba stumbles, tripping over the words. The worst part is, Glinda isn’t entirely wrong. She has been waiting—for someone to choose her, to prove she isn’t foolish for wanting more.
But as she looks at Glinda with her veil crown still threaded through her hair, mascara tracks smudged and half-wiped, her whole face ruined over Elphaba’s choices and actions—something in her buckles. The words on the tip of her tongue aren’t the explanation Glinda needs, but it’s the only truth she can reach.
“I missed you,” she says instead, voice small but unwavering.
Glinda’s face softens ever so slightly, her doe-eyes widening with surprise.
Elphaba hadn’t said those words to her earlier. Glinda knows this for a fact, because she had longed to hear them. But she had been too overwhelmed and caught off-guard to say them first, afraid that Elphaba wouldn’t return the sentiment.
She’s missed Elphaba every day since they’ve been apart, harboring hope in her heart that her Elphie would find a way for them to coexist together again. Hope that one day she’d be able to have her best friend by her side once more, to cling to and hold. She longed for the presence of the one person she could be her truest self around.
But just as quickly as she softens, she feels her bitter anger creep in the edges. She’s been ambushed by Elphaba twice, now three times, over the course of the night. Felt stripped of control no matter how many times she tried to claw it back. She looks down once more, inhaling softly with a thin, breathy exhale.
“You came here. To me. On my wedding night,” Glinda speaks slowly, deliberately swallowing as she pauses, as if she’s considering her words carefully. She tilts her chin up, eyes pinning Elphaba sharply. “You knew it was happening.”
Elphaba can only nod in affirmation stiffly, bracing. She can sense there’s more.
“For a moment I thought…that maybe you came because you wanted to fix things,” Glinda tells her quietly, looking at her with that haunted pained look in her eyes. She pauses for a beat. “With me.”
“I came for the Animals,” Elphaba insists softly, her chest twisting. “Not for Fiyero, or you, or anything like that.”
“And yet—there you were, on my balcony,” Glinda’s mouth curls into a sardonically bright smile as she gestures vaguely downward with a flick of her hand. Her breath shudders. “And I was foolishly happy to see you.”
“It wasn’t foolish,” Elphaba argues, firmer, but her tone remains gentle. She steps forward without realizing it. Her nerves are alight, wanting desperately for Glinda to understand. Her voice trembles with urgency. “I didn’t plan on that either but I had to see you.”
Elphaba exhales softly, taking another tiny step. “How could I not?”
Glinda looks away, swallowing as her jaw tightens, clearly having more to say.
Even now, in this precarious moment, Elphaba finds her eyes drawn to all the little details—the sharp line of Glinda’s profile, her lips and the way they part slightly, the bare skin disappearing into the low cut of her dress. She watches as Glinda slowly uncrosses her arms, hands holding each other in front of her. When she turns her head back to face Elphaba, her eyes are shining, wide and wet.
“I was so relieved I could’ve cried,” Glinda tells her quietly, her voice tipping back up to it’s higher register, tiny and soft for a moment. She breathes deeply before continuing. “I spent my night convincing you to stay with me. To work with us.”
Elphaba’s brows draw together as her expression twists in pain. She wants to step forward and comfort her, to smooth it away, but she forces herself still.
She hates the word ‘us’, despises it—she doesn’t want Glinda lumped in anywhere near the Wizard, physically or by association.
Glinda lets out a small, humorless laugh but it’s an uncomfortable, bitter sound as she forces a broken little smile.
"I was happy, Elphie. Really, truly happy. I thought…if I could convince you to stay, then no matter what happens with the Wizard, or with Fiyero, at least…” her voice trails off, warbling for a moment. She clears her throat, visibly bracing herself. “…at least I’d have you again. And I thought…”
Elphaba’s heart thuds achingly as she watches Glinda’s nose scrunch and her lips press tightly together with a small twitch. She’s seen the very expression once before, in the tower, right before she left her all those years ago—Glinda attempting to hold herself together, trying desperately not to cry.
“I thought you’d chose me,” Glinda manages to get out, even though her chin trembles.
“It wasn’t about you,” Elphaba’s tries to amend but her voice breaks on the words because even as she says it, she knows a part of it was. Her shoulders curl in, hands moving as she speaks. “I did want to stay—”
“I went to marry him…” Glinda ignores her protest, continuing on but her voice starts to flatten, sounding hollow. “Thinking everything was going to be alright.”
Her throat tightens; she has to look away for a second.
“And then,” she continues, her voice barely above a whisper. “The next thing I know—he’s with you— and you’re looking at each other like—like—“
She huffs out a breath, hand cutting sharply through the air as if that might help her find the words. Nothing comes. She meets Elphaba’s eyes again, and this time there’s a sharpness under the hurt, her wide-doe eyes filled with accusation.
“I spent my wedding night trying to keep you,” Glinda says, voice filled with a bitter ache, her words sharp and pointed. “And you spent it running off with him.”
Elphaba flinches like she’s been struck. “I didn’t mean for any of that to happen—"
“It seems like you did—” Glinda steps in closer, and Elphaba instinctively backs up. But Glinda’s advance is steady and relentless.
“No—I didn’t choose that—I came back—” Elphaba fumbles over her words, and actually stumbles backwards, her foot catching on the edge of the rug as Glinda keeps pushing forward.
Elphaba nervously brings her shaky hands up, palms half raised instinctively, holding them in front of her as if to halt Glinda’s movement. Glinda stops abruptly, suddenly aware of how close she’s gotten to crowding her. The gesture is more to shakily try and calm the situation than to protect herself. As Elphaba lifts her hands, the grey cardigan slides off one shoulder, slipping down to her elbow.
Glinda’s gaze drags down before she can stop it, following the slipping cardigan, and Elphaba watches her eyes visibly react. They flicker back up to meet hers, Glinda’s mouth parting in disbelief, before her gaze drops again, sweeping over Elphaba’s body and really taking in her state of undress for the first time: the thinly knitted babydoll type bodysuit—practically sheer and more like lingerie than a nightdress, the crooked way the fabric sits just a little wrong, like it was yanked back into place in a hurry, the way she’s barefoot like she’s leaped out of bed.
Glinda’s breath stutters as her mouth falls open in disbelief. For a second, Glinda doesn’t look angry. She looks stricken, distraught—like she might fold in on herself instead of exploding.
“You came back,” her voice is quiet, devastated. She gestures weakly with one hand, a loose wave that takes in Elphaba’s whole body. “Looking like this?”
“I had to come back, I-I—I saw you, crying—” Elphaba rushes to explain, her words tumbling over each other.
Glinda’s brow arches sharply, a wounded, humiliated look flashing across her features before it disappears beneath a fiercer frown.
“I do not need your pity,” Glinda snaps, pointing at her as anger starts to build beneath the quiet pain.
“No I—I’m trying to explain,” Elphaba raises a hand a little higher, trying to diffuse the tension. “If you’d just let me—”
“Explain what, exactly?” Glinda cuts in hotly, voice fraying but rising steadily. “Explain how you left with Fiyero on my wedding night and still have the nerve to come back here—dressed like some Oz-damned—some Oz-damned…bed-warming mistress—like—like—”
Her hands start moving again, sharper and bigger with every word, like she’s trying to fling the image out of her own head. She steps in without really meaning to, backing Elphaba up until her shoulder blades hit the wall with a dull thud.
“—like this is something you can talk your way out of? Like I’m supposed to stand here and listen politely while you tell me it isn’t what it looks like—”
“It’s not—it isn’t—“ Elphaba stutters, flattening herself as much as she can into the wall behind her.
But Glinda isn’t having any of it, pushing forward heatedly. “You didn’t even have the decency to put clothes on—“
“No I—” Elphaba cries out, trying desperately to get a word in but Glinda’s barreling forward harder and harder.
“—I mean what even is this—“ Glinda rants, face scrunching, pressing forward closer as her hand shoots out to grab the cardigan—
Elphaba flinches. For a split second, all she understands is Glinda’s hand coming at her, the look on her face, the wall at her back. The overwhelming effort of unsuccessfully defending herself emotionally hits hard as panic spikes and her magic snaps.
Glinda’s body freezes before her fingers can grasp the knit, her body stopping in it’s momentum forward mid-reach, mid-step.
Elphaba exhales sharply, realization crashing over her at what she’s done as she stares at Glinda’s face right in front of hers—eyes widening, frozen in shock and disbelief. Glinda’s breath catches and the only thing she’s able to move are her eyes and mouth. They’re so close, yet Elphaba feels so far from Glinda still. Her chest heaves anxiously as she looks to Glinda in a panic.
“Glinda—“ Elphaba’s eyes widen impossibly. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to—“
Glinda manages a tiny, indignant sound from her throat, her lips parting as her eyes glare at Elphaba. Her jaw tightens slightly.
“Elphaba Thropp,” she grits out, voice shaking with fury and humiliation, “how dare you use your magic on me!”
Elphaba flinches, shrinking back an inch. “I didn’t try to—it just—happens when I’m panicked—”
Glinda’s eyes search her face, locked onto her. Her glare sharpens, but there’s a faint tremor under it.
“Did you think I was going to hurt you?” her voice cracks with the question, and there’s less anger in it and more disbelief, more of the tender Galinda she misses.
“No,” Elphaba shakes her head rapidly. She pauses for a brief second as she thinks for a moment but comes to the same answer more decisively. “No. I know you wouldn’t. I know you wouldn’t hurt me.”
Glinda doesn’t answer. Her lips press together as she swallows, taking that in. Her hand is still suspended inches from Elphaba’s arm; she flicks her gaze to it, then back up.
“I’ll just… unfreeze you now,” Elphaba blurts, a little breathless. She closes her eyes for a moment, exhaling as she releases the magic.
She opens them just in time for Glinda to squeak and stumble forward into her, that outstretched hand catching in the cardigan while the other flies up to brace on Elphaba’s bare shoulder. With a small gasp, Elphaba’s hands immediately fly up to steady Glinda, grabbing on to her waist and catching her simultaneously, fingers gripping tenderly.
“Careful,” Elphaba whispers softly, but as she tilts her chin up to look directly into Glinda’s eyes, she’s caught off guard by the steady intensity of her gaze once more. Wide brown eyes bare into Elphaba’s green ones, raw and searching, like she’s asking without words do you understand what you’ve done to me?
Elphaba doesn’t have a verbal answer. She only stares back apologetically for an aching beat, regret in her eyes before she ducks her head deferentially. The silence between them goes heavy. Cautiously, Elphaba let’s go of Glinda, her hands falling from her waist.
But Glinda doesn’t let go or move away. She merely shifts on her feet, readjusting her grip—one hand settling more securely on Elphaba’s shoulder, the other still fisted in the knit
“Sorry,” Elphaba breathes out quietly, practically mumbling, while her gaze stays averted. She’s not even sure what she’s apologizing for at this point—for accidentally using her magic on Glinda, for the tumultuous night, or for something else entirely.
Glinda’s fingers start to move. The hand clutching the cardigan eases, thumb and forefinger catching the edge and peeling it back. She draws the knit aside, sliding it down Elphaba’s arm, exposing more of the lacy fabric underneath and the flimsy strap barely clinging to her shoulder.
Elphaba’s breath hitches. She blinks and looks up just in time to see Glinda’s eyes drop, really taking her in now: the sheerness of the piece, how little it actually conceals. Elphaba feels suddenly, acutely naked in front of her, stripped of the only actual cover she had. Her shoulders curl in ever so slightly, reflexively trying to make herself smaller.
Glinda lets the knitted sweater fall from her fingers. Her other hand drifts to the closest lacy knit strap, brushing along it, knuckles grazing the skin of Elphaba’s chest before she seems to catch herself and pull back.
“You wore this for him,” Glinda says at last, voice quiet and wrecked, eyes fixed somewhere around Elphaba’s collarbone instead of her face.
“Not—not exactly,” Elphaba stammers. “I just… happened to be wearing it…”
It sounds flimsy even to her own ears.
Glinda doesn’t bother to answer. Her thin fingers come up instead, catching Elphaba’s chin and catching her head with a firm, deliberate grip.
“Wh—” Elphaba starts, but the word dies as Glinda tilts and turns her face away. Out of the corner of her eye, Elphaba watches Glinda’s gaze land low on her neck—on a dark bruise she remembers must be blooming there. Her cheeks begin to heat up, feeling exposed the longer Glinda lingers, shame and guilt creeping up.
Glinda’s fingers turn Elphaba’s face back to her abruptly. Her brown eyes are wet but burning.
“Did you sleep with him?” Glinda asks. Her voice sounds sharper than she means it to, but underneath it there’s a fragile note. Her eyes plead silently for the answer to be no.
“Yes but I—” Elphaba starts but Glinda makes a wounded sound, something between a gasp and a cry, letting go of Elphaba and jerking back like she’s been burned.
Elphaba rushes to explain, “I didn’t mean for him to hurt you like that—”
“Oz I don’t care about Fiyero!” Glinda waves her hand, dismissing her ex-fiance’s name. Her voice pitches higher with pure distress, her brows knitting in frustration as her face twists. “You—Elphie—you couldn’t wait more than a few hours before taking him to bed?!”
She physically recoils from her own words, the truth and realization hitting her harder with each passing second, another distraught noise breaking from her throat.
Elphaba’s hand shoots out to grab at her wrist, desperate to catch her and protest. Glinda’s eyes fly to her grip before meeting her gaze again, lips parted with hurt.
“It all just happened so fast,” Elphaba tries to finally explain, tugging Glinda a little closer. “I wasn’t thinking —”
“Well—clearly!” Glinda snarks, frustrated. Elphaba flinches but doesn’t let go of her wrist, trying to let her fingers soothe the skin there.
“Please Galinda, surely you understand how I—how something like that could be so—sudden and overwhelming—” Elphaba’s voice shakes, begging for understanding. “No one’s ever wanted me like that before…”
Glinda just looks at her, something pained and dangerous in her eyes. Her chest rises and falls slowly.
She doesn’t fully understand why that hurts so much to hear, but it does. The same way the whole night has been unbearably painful an a way she’s never experienced before.
Her gaze drops briefly to Elphaba’s fingers on her wrist. When she looks back up, there’s a colder, guarded look in her eyes. She turns her hand just so, neatly twisting out of Elphaba’s grip and freeing herself with a small, controlled motion. It’s not harsh, but it’s very clear she’s reclaiming her space.
When she speaks again, her voice is small but icy. “Did you enjoy it?”
“What?” Elphaba asks, caught off guard by the question.
But Glinda merely raises her eyebrow, letting the question hang. Elphaba’s throat works for a moment as she contemplates. “I—yes but…not…not the way I thought I would.”
“Hm,” Glinda lets out a tight little hums in a way that is absolutely not pleased. Elphaba knows the sound well even though it’s been years. “So. The sex was bad, and you came running back here. Is that it?”
“No,” Elphaba replies immediately, shaking her head. “That’s not—Glinda it’s not about that. It was…not bad. He was kind and he tried—that wasn’t the problem.”
Glinda scoffs, wounded. “Oh, well, I’m so glad he tried.”
Elphaba shakes her head again. She’s desperate to get this right.
“When he turned on the Wizard—when he said he was coming with me—in front of everyone…” she swallows thickly, stumbling through it, “in front of you…that meant a lot. I thought because he wanted me—if I just…if I could be with him—I mean, it’s Fiyero—I’d feel…like I was…good. Like I’m not like what everyone says.”
Elphaba drags in a deep breath, trembling under the vulnerability of it all. “So I did and it wasn’t that it was…bad—some of it was good—it just didn’t feel…completely right.”
Glinda stares at her, and Elphaba can see something behind those eyes working, something suddenly clicking. Her mouth tightens, lips pressing together as the pieces rearrange.
“In front of me…” Glinda works the words over slowly. Her eyes narrow, brows arching slowly as her voice sharpens. “Why did that matter so much? That he said it in front of me?”
Elphaba is caught off guard, frozen by the specificity of the question. “Because—I— it—”
Glinda presses closer, betrayal and hurt right there on her face. “You wanted to hurt me?”
Elphaba shakes her head frantically. “No. No, I didn’t. I told you—”
Glinda cuts her off, voice rising, “So what, then? You wanted to prove something to me?”
Elphaba pushes off the wall slightly, lurching into Glinda’s space, as the words rip out of her, “Maybe—maybe I just wanted to prove—for once—that someone like him could pick someone like me.”
Her delivery isn’t cruel, but it’s earnest, and more vulnerable and honest than anything else she’s said,
Glinda just stares at her for a long moment, breathing hard.
“Someone like him…” Glinda repeats, her voice gone breathless. Her eyes search Elphaba’s face. Another realization flashes through them, sharp and devastating. “Someone like him—like me, you mean.”
As she speaks, she presses in, reclaiming the space Elphaba tried to take. She doesn’t quite pin her, but she pushes in so close that Elphaba has to flatten back into the wall and tip her chin up to meet her eyes.
“You wanted me to see it,” Glinda quiets her voice, that dangerous edge lingering. She tilts her head slightly, observing. “Didn’t you?”
Elphaba swallows hard, her lashes fluttering as she struggles to hold eye contact. She turns her head, shaking it once. “That’s not—I didn’t—”
Glinda’s hand comes up and catches Elphaba’s chin once more, tilting her gaze back to face her.
“Don’t look away,” Glinda commands. Her voice is quiet but sharp, precise and clear in the way she always is. Her thumb strokes the skin along her jawline once, keeping Elphaba’s gaze on her. “Answer me. You wanted me to see that someone like him could pick someone like you?”
“I—” Elphaba nervously tries to turn her head away but can’t, Glinda’s grip tightening ever so slightly, gaze intensifying. “Y-yes. I wanted you to see I wasn’t wrong for leaving or just…that wicked, hideous thing on the posters—”
“Elphie, I know that—” Glinda interjects, her eyebrows furrowing in saddened disbelief as her face scrunches.
“—that I could be wanted, too,” Elphaba finishes, voice small. She tries to twist her head out of Glinda’s grip so she doesn’t have to face her. But Glinda doesn’t let her, holding firm.
Glinda blinks once, her eyes still wet, her jaw tightening as she swallows back her feelings.
She processes what Elphaba is saying, a slow revelation occurring. Slowly, she lets go of Elphaba’s chin, but her hand doesn’t leave. It slides up to cup her cheek, thumb brushing once over the freckles and then staying there, holding her in place. Elphaba’s eyes widen. An impossibly innocent, awed look fills them as she gazes at Glinda with a questioning longing.
Glinda finds herself utterly captivated by the way Elphaba’s full lips part slightly, her teeth peeking out as her breath stutters. She leans in a fraction closer.
“And who is it,” Glinda asks, her voice dropping low, letting her thumb continue to soothe the warm green skin beneath it, “that you wanted to be wanted by?”
Elphaba stares at her in silence, her cheeks flushing dark green, heating up from Glinda’s touch and the direct question. Her gaze drops to Glinda’s lips before she can stop herself. Her own lips part more as if to speak but no words come out.
Glinda notices her gaze immediately, her breath hitching.
Elphaba’s eyes flick back up to Glinda’s, widening when she realizes Glinda’s clocked her staring.
“I see,” Glinda murmurs with new awareness. Her voice is almost neutral. Almost. A hint of smug satisfaction has slipped in at the edges.
“No—I—” Elphaba tries to backtrack.
“No?” Glinda raises her brow, narrowing her eyes.
“I mean it’s—I do—”
“Don’t lie to me,” Glinda cuts her off, quiet but sharp. Her voice is still heated, but there’s a tremor of want threaded beneath it now. Her hand brushes back a loose braid out of Elphaba’s face. “You didn’t want just anyone to pick you. You wanted me to see. You wanted me to want you.”
Elphaba’s whole body goes taut, blinking rapidly.
“Glinda, I—” Elphaba begins to say, but she can’t formulate words beyond that—not no, yes, or anything in between. Her heart is thumping, racing, overwhelmed by their sheer proximity and the stark vulnerability.
Because, afterall—it’s true. Hearing her muddled feelings explained clearly and named so plainly forces the realization that this is the truth she’s been avoiding all along.
Suddenly, the lights begin to flicker. Glinda turns quickly to see various objects around the room on surfaces beginning to lift ever so slightly, levitating just barely into the air. She whips her gaze back to Elphaba, looking at the trembling, overwhelmed girl in front of her.
“Am I frightening you?” Glinda asks quietly, her voice more subdued.
She’s about to pull back when Elphaba shakes her head quickly, bringing her hand up to grab onto Glinda’s that is still cradling her face. She fumbles before holding it tightly, taking a shaky breath.
Glinda strokes her cheek again, trying to ground her, as Elphaba holds tight. With her opposite hand, she leans in close and plants it on the wall next to Elphaba’s head. “Are you afraid of the truth?”
Elphaba doesn’t react besides dropping her gaze, lips parting slightly as she exhales, shaking her head but the room keeps humming with her energy.
“Don’t be afraid. Breathe,” Glinda prods quietly but firmly, leaning in closer as she lets her thumb stroke gently again. Elphaba inhales deeply with a quiet shaky exhale.
The lights slowly steady once more, items clattering down softly. Glinda hums in approval.
“Elphie,” Glinda tries again quietly, her breath so close it grazes over Elphaba’s lips. She waits until Elphaba manages to lock eyes with her again. “Why did you come back?”
Elphaba’s fingers curl and grip onto Glinda’s hand tighter, blinking rapidly.
“Because it felt wrong,” she confesses quietly. “What we did to you. And…after we…finished, I felt…strange. And then I saw you.”
Glinda’s thumb stills against her cheek.
“Saw me?” she echoes, brows furrowing together.
“In a vision…you were on the floor, crying,” Elphaba says, her free hand lifting to her chest. “A-and I could feel it—in my chest. It hurt, like it was being ripped open. And then you said my name…because I hurt you—”
“You heard that?” Glinda murmurs, eyes searching her face. There’s a flash of what Elphaba can only interpret as embarrassment but Glinda schools her features quickly.
Elphaba nods, eyes filled with apologies. “I couldn’t just stay there. I had to come back. I had to try and make things right.”
Glinda traces the line of Elphaba’s jaw as she seems to think through it, thumb making a slow, maddening pass.
“You wanted to make things right,” Glinda repeats, her voice going a shade sharper.
“I needed you to know I care,” Elphaba rushes out. “That I didn’t do it on purpose—I didn’t mean to hurt you, Galinda, I swear. I didn’t just run off with him and forget you, I—”
Glinda cuts in, low and precise. “What do you want from me, Elphie?”
Elphaba’s hand grips hers even harder, tugging it from her face to her chest as she holds it with both hands, cradling it tight. She looks back up at Glinda shakily.
“Please forgive me,” Elphaba manages to get out, her voice just barely above a whisper.
Glinda goes very still. She studies Elphaba’s face, expression mostly unreadable save for the faintest hint of uncertainty peeking through. She doesn’t step back, but she doesn’t soften either; she just stays close, jaw tight, eyes boring through Elphaba
And in that moment, all Elphaba wants is for Glinda to look at her sweetly again, like she’s her Elphie and not some wicked person who’s hurt her beyond repair. The desperate need in her chest begins to bubble and spill over; there’s nowhere else for it to go.
With a trembling grip, she lifts Glinda’s hand, guiding it up with a small, jerky motion. Glinda’s gaze follows like a hawk. Elphaba presses her mouth to the center of Glinda’s palm with a clumsy, lingering kiss. It lands like a plea, like an instinctual move rather than anything practiced.
“I’m so sorry, Glinda,” she mumbles against her skin. Her hand shakes, and her breath comes ragged in little bursts over Glinda’s fingers. She’s so focused on kissing the soft, warm skin that she doesn’t register how shallow Glinda’s own breathing has become, little puffs of air brushing her face.
Elphaba moves on pure instinct. Even with the events of tonight, she’s never done anything like this before, has no idea what she’s doing—just the one thought looping through her mind: apologize, make it right. Her lips drag higher, planting messy kisses along the base of Glinda’s fingers, then the tips, each one.
“I—I never meant to hurt you,” she whimpers, her voice catching on the words. No matter how badly she was hurting, no matter how desperately she wanted Glinda to see her, she never wanted to put her through that kind of pain.
“I just want to make it right,” she spills, each apology punctuated by brief, uneven kisses, trailing down to the delicate skin of Glinda’s wrist. “I didn’t know—I’m sorry…”
The thought dies off as she kisses it again. A tear slips free before she can stop it. She hastily brings Glinda’s wrist back to her chest, pinning it there with both hands, clinging tight.
“I don’t know how to fix it…” she’s breathing too fast, almost trembling with the effort to get the words out.
When she finally looks up, she startles. Glinda stares back at her, eyes blown wide and dark, something molten and dangerous moving under all the hurt.
“Oz,” Glinda breathes, almost to herself. With her opposite hand still pinned to the wall, she tenderly rubs the skin once at Elphaba’s sternum where her hand sits before slipping out of her grip. She brings her fingers up to hold Elphaba’s face, wiping the tear gently first before she lets her thumb trace over Elphaba’s lips slowly. “You have no idea what you’re doing, do you?”
Elphaba stares up at her apologetically, before slowly shaking her head in confusion. Glinda’s gaze fixes on where her thumb is dragging across Elphaba’s lip, tugging at the soft fullness like she can’t help herself.
“What you’re doing to me…” her voice fades as she leans in. She presses her thumb in a little harder; Elphaba’s breath hitches, her fingers curling around Glinda’s wrist as she kisses the pad of her thumb.
Glinda hums low and soft, thoughtfully, before she pushes her thumb past her parted lips.
Elphaba’s green eyes fly open wider, a soft, startled sound catching in her throat as she looks up at Glinda. For a quick moment, neither of them moves—just Glinda’s thumb resting on her tongue, Elphaba’s breath goes shallow, their gazes locking.
Then, slowly, almost tentatively, Elphaba lets her lips close around it before she can stop herself. A tiny sound escapes her throat, half gasp, half whimper, fully instinctual, as she keeps her innocent stare fixed on Glinda.
The sight knocks the air out of Glinda’s lungs. Her fingers twitch, but she keeps her hand steady, letting it sit there just long enough to feel the warm, nervous press of Elphaba’s mouth around her thumb.
Then Glinda moves. She slowly draws her thumb back a fraction, then pushes it in again, testing. Elphaba’s lips follow helplessly, her eyes going even wider as she gives the barest, unsure suck, another small noise slipping free.
Glinda watches with rapt attention. She watches as Elphaba’s green cheeks darken, her expression flustered and unguarded. She feels Elphaba’s fingers clutch anxiously at her wrist, her mouth slowing as if she’s suddenly not sure what to do next. Glinda finally eases her thumb back, dragging it from between Elphaba’s lips. A thin sheen catches the light. Her gaze dips to it before she deliberately wipes it once over Elphaba’s lower lip, then lifts her hand to smear the dampness along the curve of her cheekbone, marking her.
“Look at you,” she says softly, almost matter-of-fact, thumb resting against her skin. “Begging me to forgive you while you do that.”
Elphaba’s lashes flutter as she blinks, her doe-eyes staring with helpless innocence. She nods once, cheek trembling.
“Please,” Elphaba begs softly, her expression earnest. “Tell me how to fix it.”
“The truth,” Glinda murmurs, voice hoarse, her eyes scanning over every inch of Elphaba’s face she holds it. Her gaze drops to her chest for just a moment, lingering, before snapping back up. She feels Elphaba’s fingers slip from her wrist as she tightens her cradled hold, tilting her face up.
Glinda’s eyes are dark and intense but not cruel—just focused. “Start with the truth.”
Elphaba wonders if anyone else—Fiyero, even—has ever been the subject of Glinda’s intense, full attentive focus like this. It feels sharper than a blade, like she’s being seen through, every little flinch and breath memorized. It’s unnerving and somehow comforting all at once to stand here emotionally open and vulnerable and let Glinda really see her true self, to hand that part of herself over.
“You say you want forgiveness…” Glinda’s voice drops, precise and low, cutting cleanly through her thoughts. “Is that all you really want from me?”
Elphaba swallows thickly, “I—I just… I didn’t mean to hurt you, I—”
“That’s not what I asked,” Glinda murmurs, quiet but unyielding, her thumb softly but deliberately stroking the skin beneath her cheekbone. “What is it you really want?”
Elphaba can feel the answer burning on the back of her tongue, hot and insistent. She wants to say it—you, I want you—but the sheer weight of it chokes her. Years of unrealized longing, suddenly dragged into the light, catch in her throat and hold her there fearfully, trembling and silent.
Glinda leans in, eyes studying her every movement. She knows Elphaba, knows her Elphie needs gentle encouragement sometimes when it comes to self-reflection. Knows that sometimes Elphaba’s truths and feelings are more obvious to those who take the time to understand and pay attention than they are to her.
“Elphaba,” she says, her voice firmer now. Her usual airy authority is stripped down without pretense, sharper and stronger. It’s barely a whisper, but Elphaba hears it loud and clear. Glinda brings her other hand from the wall to cradle the other side of her face so both hands hold her still. “Look at me.”
Elphaba’s gaze jerks back up to hers. There’s a new energy flourishing that Elphaba suddenly identifies, burning beneath the surface of Glinda’s fingers—like her carefully restrained touch is restless, eager to freely feel and roam.
“Be brave,” Glinda urges softly but determinedly. “You can do it. Tell me what you want.”
Elphaba’s lips part, and at first nothing comes out, only a shaky little breath. But then, ever so quietly, Elphaba manages a trembling but sure, “You…”
It’s almost inaudible, but Glinda feels it against her fingers where she’s holding her jaw. Her eyes flash—hurt, want, vindication all in one hard swallow.
Glinda let’s out a ragged breath she didn’t know she was holding as she drops her forehead against Elphaba’s, like she can’t get close enough. She makes a pained little whine, her nose brushing Elphaba’s back and forth in a slow, restless rub.
Her fingers clasp tightly at Elphaba’s cheeks, pulling her a fraction closer, keeping her pinned before.
“And yet…” Glinda’s voice is quieter, cutting through clean and clear. Her gaze searches Elphaba’s face intensely, sweeping down to her neck. Elphaba tenses as she feels one of Glinda’s hands slide down, brushing the skin where Fiyero bruised it. “You went to bed with him.”
Her voice is barely above a whisper, it’s a statement said with quiet grief. She only briefly touches the mark before bringing her hand back up.
Elphaba nods once, worry and shame creeping back into her features as her eyes scrunch. She tries to turn her face to hide into Glinda’s palm, but Glinda doesn’t let her. She firmly turns Elphaba’s face back to keep her gaze.
The blonde’s jaw works as she seems to contemplate the idea of it all, calculating something Elphaba can’t quite understand.
Elphaba can’t help but find Glinda’s sharp, controlled expression intimidating yet simultaneously thrilling.
“He was the first have you, wasn’t he? After all these years of you waiting…” Glinda asks, voice hoarse and thin. Elphaba shrinks, unable to deny the truth.
Glinda’s words cut sharp, but it’s her eyes that do the most damage, betraying the cool edge of her voice, exposing the heartbreak trembling just underneath.
“You opened your legs for him didn’t you,” Glinda continues, her fingers twitching slightly against Elphaba’s jaw. “Let him have you fully?”
Elphaba’s cheeks flame instantly, the bluntness sending heat prickling down her neck. She can barely find her voice as her eyes drop, face held terrifyingly still by Glinda. Her wide-brown eyes are filled with devastating jealousy.
“…yes,” Elphaba whispers. Her lips tremble. Her gaze flitters nervously as her breath shudders.
She dares to lift her gaze back up only to see Glinda swallowing hard, closing her eyes for a moment. When Glinda opens them again, they’re darker, shimmering with loaded emotion. Her voice is quieter now, almost reverent.
“Did he make you come?” Glinda asks voice unwavering but her eyes give her away once more, searching and pleading for another answer she wants desperately to hear.
Elphaba feels her heart pound in her chest, slightly mortified and slightly electrified by the loaded, blunt question.
She may not be around people much these days, but she understands the intimacy Glinda is wielding—how each question she asks reaches deeper, closer, stripping away what little privacy she has left, leaving her emotionally bare to Glinda.
“No,” Elphaba breathes, shaking her head once.
He hadn’t. As inexperienced as she may be, she knows what a climax feels like and she knows that while it had felt good in certain moments, she had been hovering, getting close to the edge, but never taken over.
Glinda’s face shifts immediately. Her chin tilts up, eyes lighting up with relief before her gaze sharpens into something intent and possessive. Wild. A look in her eyes that Elphaba recognizes, a glimpse of the chaos that’s always lurked beneath Glinda’s polished surface.
The blonde leans in, like she can’t hold back any longer. When she finally speaks, her voice is rough-edged and low, cracking with emotion. “Good.”
Glinda surges forward, kissing Elphaba with a fervent force that steals the air from her lungs. It’s nothing like anything Elphaba has ever experienced. It’s different from Fiyero—it’s so much more.
Glinda’s lips are softer, fuller, but her kiss is firm, insistent. Needy. She presses in like she can’t get close enough, her hips pinning Elphaba tighter against the wall.
Elphaba makes a tiny sound, something between a squeak and a moan, as her hands fly to Glinda’s waist, grasping blindly, trying to anchor herself.
“Elphie,” Glinda breathes in between kissing her, her lips still brushing Elphaba’s. “You’re mine.”