29-year-old Shanghainese-Parisian girl, INTx, SlytherClaw || Doctor Who | Taskmaster | Musicals | Les Mis (Valvert) | Atla & Lok | TLoU || Currently obsessing on: Reece Shearsmith and Raphael (bg3). Formerly on: Astarion (bg3), Thomas Andrews (Titanic), Travis Hackett (The Quarry) and Leroy Jethro Gibbs (NCIS).
A/N: For @wiznt-he-wonderful as part of our Wicked movie celebration Secret Santa event! Hope you enjoy this fic gift <3
Summary: Lucky enough to hired as the Wizard's personal assistant around the palace, you are struggling to conceal an obvious crush on him, leading you to discover that it does in fact become quite personal.
Warnings: minor NSFW, age gap, unprofessional boss/employee relationship, Animal death mention, slight manipulation, power imbalance, insecurities
Word Count: ~3,154
"Hey, uh, did you get this morning's paper?" the Wizard calls from the huge dining hall, which is awash in his signature colors and a pitched high ceiling letting in muted streams of late morning sunlight.
He's currently seated at the gilded gold throne-like seat at the head of the table nearly as long as the room itself, a bit silly since he usually eats alone and rarely hosts large gatherings, especially as of late with the Wicked Witch on the loose.
"Sure did, your Ozness," you chirp, rushing over with a fresh copy of The Daily Ozian that smells sharply of ink.
"Ah, thank you. Did you also order 200 more copies of those new leaflet designs to be printed?"
"Yes, sir, they're rolling hot off the presses now and will be pasted all over Munchkinland tomorrow."
"Good. You're such a peach, you know that right?" he praises.
And, as expected, you blush. The blood flows up and colors your cheeks a pink rosy hue that reminds him of the clouds sometimes at dusk, fluffed across the sky like cotton candy.
He knows what he's doing openly flirting with you inside the palace walls; ever since you'd been hired to assist his great and terrible Ozness, a position you were very fortunate to get in the first place and continue to take with great honor and levity, but are humble as pie about because it's not in your place to brag. Ego is strictly reserved for the Wizard and him alone. Yet...
"It's pretty lonely at the top," he admitted the first day you came to work for him.
"I need a trusted employee now more than ever, yes, but honestly besides that, I could just use some nice company that isn't only revolving around formal meetings and political business," he explained with a sheepish nature you didn't expect from such a leader with immense power.
"But, sir, it's not part of my-"
"Job description, yeah I know. Uh, just improvise with it okay? I won't ask too much of you."
You'd agreed, tentatively, afraid of repercussions, but as he reminded you, nothing that happened under his watch would he unintentionally let go public. If any staff care, they're not permitted to gossip at all. Madame Morrible, the Wizard's closest confidant, keeps her distance and lets you be, but every so often you feel the chilly wind of her silent whipping disapproval down your neck.
But the Wizard always tells you not to worry about her or anyone who judges.
"I didn't hire you to please my staff or close acquaintances, only me. As long as you withhold a sharp tongue and behave within reason, I see no reason why anyone should cast opinions. You seem like a sweet girl, so just be yourself."
So here you are, pouring a glass of freshly squeezed orange juice for your boss as he settles in to read, flicking the paper open briskly.
"There's another skirmish in Quadling Country, big surprise there. That backwater dump is good for nothing except ruby mining."
He squints at the page, and you bite back the suggestion that he may need reading glasses, afraid to offend or nag him. He knows, but like many, refuses to accept the drawbacks of getting old.
"Huh. Do you know that crocodiles swallow small stones to improve their digestion?"
"No, sir, but that's fascinating."
"Not when they're accidentally ingesting the rubies!" the Wizard scoffs, rustling the black and white pages in clear disgruntlement.
"Oh dear."
He turns the paper, shaking his head in exasperation as he's prone to lately, but it's not your place to offer criticism. You may give gentle suggestions and guidance on his orders and agendas, but that's all.
"You read the Glamity Flair fashion rag?" he asks suddenly after taking a generous gulp of juice.
"Sometimes," you admit with a shrug.
"What's in their latest issue?"
"I'm afraid I'm behind on reading."
"Really? A pretty thing like you doesn't keep up with the latest trends? I find that hard to believe."
His left eyebrow flicks up and you quickly fan your still flaming cheeks in embarrassment while he's hidden behind the newsprint, nose practically pressed in-between the pages.
Initially, you figured you were just smitten with his natural charisma and authority. After all, who isn't? But the longer you stay and the more overly friendly he is, the acceptance of admittance of infatuation rears its horned head, piercing through your nervous heart. You don't want to lose your job because of this silly school girl crush, but the irony is the one can fire you is the culprit of cultivating such desires of love.
Love! Oh, how ridiculous. You aren't in love. That's preposterous. Utterly scandalicious. That's... front page headlining material.
You peek over at him from unnecessarily straightening the folded cloth napkins embroidered daintily with "OZ".
"Hmm? You don't know?" he continues his trivial imploring and you shake your head.
"Well, I'll tell ya. Green hair highlights. You should try some."
You unfortunately cannot tell if he's joking or not in this instance, so you simply nod your head politely in response and work to change the subject.
"You haven't touched your bacon, your Ozness. Would you like me to send it back to the kitchen?"
He grunts before speaking in a ill disguised conflicted tone.
"Uh, no. I mean, I might have a couple bites."
You know why he's acting dodgy about it, even though he had permitted it to happen in the first place: the bacon is made from a political prisoner Pig brought in for slaughter as punishment for "squealing" to the other Animals about an escape route out of Oz. A few kitchen staff had walked out at the crack of dawn today in protest, deciding that quitting their jobs was the right course of action after it went too far.
The Wizard clears his throat uncomfortably, buried in his paper. This is your cue to leave, as he usually just dismisses you after the routine of paper and checking to make sure he's enjoying his breakfast, but not today.
He abruptly plops the paper down on the table, flattening it.
"You wanna shadow me today?" he proposes.
"More than the usual, I mean. I expect you following me around, uh, like a duckling until I have a closed meeting at least." He laughs and a warm tingling crawls through your insides.
"I won't be a nuisance, sir?"
"Honey, you're the best nuisance."
You huff an undignified laugh and blink, looking away fervently to hide the deepening flush.
"You feeling okay?" he asks with concern lacing his voice.
To your mortification, he reaches over and insists on putting the back of his very warm, very large hand to your clammy heated forehead.
"Gee, you're sure running a temperature. Afraid we might have to reschedule our time together for another day if you've got a bit of, ahh, fever." He tsks, shaking his head in disappointment.
"This time of year, by Oz, it's a doozy for illnesses. You better not stay out of doors and I highly recommend drinking my special remedy."
You gape at him, rendered speechless, and he grins cockily from his seat.
"Well?" he prompts, toying with you like a cat.
"I, oh, I'm not ill, your Ozness. I, I'm just a little flustered," you choke out, feeling your heart flip flopping against your ribcage.
"You don't say." He chuckles, and the chair screeches as he pushes back, getting up.
The Wizard looms over you at his full staggering height that is meant to be intimidating, but there's nothing but kindness lining his handsome aged face. His grey moustache twitches and he extends an arm, guiding you out of the dining hall.
"Come take a look at my miniatures, I need a second opinion on where to place a new house."
"Oh, alright, your Ozness."
His grip on your arm tightens as he takes you to the throne room, where you first encountered his massive machine head.
It had been a strange hiring process, more of an audition than a job interview, looking back on it. For the first time ever, the palace issued an official statement from the Wizard himself stating he was looking for a full time personal assistant with at least some experience in service and 21+ years of age, and to only apply in person. Of course, many applicants showed up (most of them just wanting a rare inside tour of the palace and to get a glimpse of The Wonderful Wizard), the line snaking far out the palace doors and the wait had been excruciatingly long, peppered with anxiety and self consciousness of watching many of the other women in line dolled up to the nines and preening like peacocks, clearly hoping dressing to impress would win out over any skill or intelligence.
When it was finally your turn to confront the huge head in the throne room and it bellowed for you to introduce yourself and why you believed yourself qualified for the job, you tried to give out your practiced speech, but fumbled several times, and started to walk out when he called you back. You stood nervously for a couple minutes just staring up at the giant imposing head, feeling his real eyes beaming through somewhere else behind the curtain, and wondered what he could possibly be seeing in you that you couldn't.
You were then shortly dismissed and left, winding your way back down the immense halls past the extended line of hopefuls, some who were muttering a rumor about single young women being preferred. Of course, you happened to be that.
Weeks passed and you didn't hear back or any news of a result at all, and you decided to forget the whole notion. Perhaps there were too many candidates or the Wizard changed his mind on hiring someone at all, for surely he must fear for his safety and what better way for an potential assassination by accidentally hiring the wrong person who would get closest to him even if there was a basic background check?
But then, one fine early sunny Saturday morning after you'd just woken up, an Emerald City Palace guard came to your door with an urgent letter straight from his Ozness himself. Stunned, you opened it to see a crisp formal letter in looping green cursive stating you were the chosen applicant and were to start on Monday! And so you've been here ever since, the Wizard generous enough to designate a private room and sleeping quarters to move into so you wouldn't be coming and going (for upmost secrecy of course).
"Now look at this," the Wizard says presently, drawing you out of your ruminating.
"I'm thinking of moving this house over to Munchkinland instead of in the city. It just doesn't fit; look at the modest architecture, one story with a thatched roof... What do you think?"
It seems ridiculous that you're being paid to assist in such a trivial childish way, but you will do anything for your Wizard.
"I think it's much better suited there, how about right next to the road here?"
"Really? With all the traffic?"
"Or nestled amongst the others in a grove," you amend and he seems pleased, plopping it down exactly there.
"Perfect. Now..." He moves over to another section with a replica of the palace itself and picks up his own custom figurine, placing it atop a turret, tapping the tip of "his" head.
"Hmm." Spinning abruptly, he turns to you with a twinkle in his warm brown eyes. "You know what we're missing here? A figure of you!"
"Oh, I couldn't possibly-"
"Why not? You're very important to me and yet I feel like I barely know you." He pivots, all sense of humor leached.
The Wizard fixes his intense gaze upon you and you feel the heat like the sun under it, and there's a beat of tense silence.
"You know why I picked you? Out of hundreds of viable folks?"
"No, sir."
"You weren't trying very hard to impress me like everyone else, putting on a show. Trust me, I know what it's like to do that and be surrounded by showbusiness. You have a real authenticity and are unafraid to screw up and let someone fix it. I like being able to fix things, tinker with them... mold them to how I want."
He slowly reaches for your arm and takes your hand, stroking the knuckles with a feather touch. "Besides that, I find you naturally rather cute and charming when you aren't fumbling like a foal around me."
You open your mouth to speak, not sure what exactly, but he continues, rambling on rather quickly like the chugging of a train.
"And I hate to, uh, ask such a personal question of you, and of course you may object, but now I must know this..." He runs his smooth tongue over his lips and your heart beats twice as fast.
"Would you be interested in kissing me?" He leans down and tips forward, brushing a stray strand of hair behind your ear before holding your waist in a semi-firm grip.
"I..." Your voice dies altogether, so you give a simple tentative nod instead.
There's no time to comprehend when he reels you in to his body and the crushing force of his lips land on yours, the passion long overdue. You can feel his warm tongue wriggling hungrily to breach your closed lips and after a second in which your brain analyzes how morally correct this is before coming to the conclusion of just throwing caution to the wind, you lend him access, which feels thrillifying and terrifying at the same time. Writhing tongues intertwine, an awkward moment of teeth clashing, the whiskers of his bristly facial hair tickling your upper lip, the exchange of salvia with the tangy aftertaste of oranges and hot breath that seems to hold the same weight of a blood pact, the electrical sparks that are nothing to do with ingenious inventions...
The Wizard's hand snakes up your side, briefly kneading your right breast before settling on cupping the back of your neck, bringing you even closer to him so you're enveloped in his welcoming green tailored coat with a heady scent, while the other glues itself to your left cheek with a possessiveness that growls through his firm fingers for the moment: You're mine.
His form rocks into yours slightly, starting to move a leg around so you're suddenly in very near contact with a pressing bulge nudging through his verdant pants against the waistband fabric of your skirt. He hums around your mouth, the kissing becoming sloppier, frantic. You try to match his pace, but he's so fast and capable and you're so lost and failing and oh no - what if he realizes you might not be what he's looking for? What if he knows you hadn't initially signed up for this and won't want you even if you desire him now? What if he's only playing with your emotions?
The Wizard feels you slacking in the momentous exchange and all at once, he disconnects and pulls away, breaking the kiss like a spell.
You feel the telltale stinging of salt water filling your eyes, threatening your makeup. He cocks his head, watching your floundering to not break down in front of the most wonderful man you've certainly ever worked for and even ever met, but the waterworks are like a gushing fountain turned on: they spurt out, unstoppable.
"Hey, hey, now... Please don't cry, doll," he whispers urgently, still holding onto your frame like he's afraid you'll melt away if he lets go.
"I'm so sorry, your Ozness, it's just, I don't, I can't, oh you must think dreadful of me!"
The broad base of his thumb swipes one of the runaway tears dead in its tracks down your cheek and he gingerly wipes it on his breast pocket of his vest, right near his heart.
"Never had a woman cry after I kiss her," he mutters to himself and you let out a shaky sob, feeling guilty.
"It's not the kiss, it's just... so new to me."
"No one's ever kissed you before?" he asks in genuine surprise.
"Not properly, at least. And least of all someone as yourself."
"Well then, I'm delighted." He hums happily, gently squeezing your waist.
"You are?"
"Yes. Are you?"
You sniff, glancing away at his miniature land setup and hide a giggle at how absurd a location this is for a make-out.
"I'll understand if this is too much for you and you chose to remain strictly professional." The tone of his voice, however, begs differently.
It's easy to get wrapped up in what he wants, as it's basically your entire job to cater to his whims after all. You have to force yourself to think, what do you want? Is this okay?
You gaze up at him in nothing but love and infatuation, your choice made despite the cons of such an interpersonal relationship... But perhaps with his assuring that nothing will "get out publicly" and the teasing flirting and overt compliments have really been him all along, buttering you up for this extra position.
"I think I am ready... No, I know I am," you finally disclose a bit breathlessly.
His answer is to peck your cheek with a gentler kiss before trailing off downward, rubbing your neck pleasantly.
"That's good," he purrs in your ear, claiming the prize of your affection.
You bury your face into his chest, hugging him back fondly, a part of you floating out of body in disbelief that this is really happening. That the Wizard of Oz picked you out of hundreds of citizens to be romantic with?
Suddenly, he stiffens and whips back spritely, his face obviously distracted.
"What time is it?"
You check the dainty heart shaped gold wristwatch (a gift from him which now you think about it, further confirms your earlier theory) and read off the time as being a quarter to noon. The Wizard's a late riser and always takes forever to get ready so breakfast borders into lunch.
"Noon? Oh, I've got to meet Madame Morrible for tea to discuss business at Shiz, I nearly forgot." He takes both your hands, bending to kiss them.
"I will return this afternoon and I'm so sorry to leave you here, doll, but I must get going! She does not excuse lateness very well!"
"Oh my, yes, of course," you respond in a tizzy.
The Wizard spins on his heel and starts to walk quickly with an errant spring in his step back out towards the center of the throne room, when he pauses, throwing a meaningful glance over his shoulder.
"Hey." His voice is so commandingly soft, it stops you from wringing your hands in uncertainty.
"I'm glad I hired you," he says with a dazzling wink.
After a moment, you return the favor, giving a smile he finds as sweet as honey and a wink of your own, blinking the last drop of moisture away.
one of the most clever and manipulative things the wizard did in the movie was the "it's gonna be you and me, and, hey, if it'll make you happy, possibly your friend."
not only is he winning glinda's loyalty by promising to advance her career, but the way he dangles glinda in front of elphaba sets up her rejection of him and his regime as a rejection of her relationship with glinda
now from elphaba's and out perspective, this obviously isn't what she's doing. she's rejecting the wizard primarily because of his unjust treatment of the animals. i also think she hates to see glinda being used like that, dangled in front of her like some prize she gets for cooperating
but from glinda's perspective, they're getting everything they've dreamed of and elphaba's throwing it all away. i know she felt like that "no" was a rejection of her and their dreams of being together as much as it was a rejection of the wizard. and this feeling isn't entirely fair; she rejects elphaba's offer to get on the broom and she's allowing herself to be locked in a guilded cage and used for the wizard's own political aims, but that feeling of rejection still exists. just like how elphaba understands that glinda can't get on the broom, but she can't help but be hurt by it
it's a small thing, but it's such a clever way of driving a wedge between them and manipulating them
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