Jul 8
WICKED MASTERLIST
Hey, Jealousy
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WICKED MASTERLIST
Hey, Jealousy
Breathed Back To You
After taking Fiyero’s place in the Wizard’s punishment for helping Elphaba escape, you are left broken and dying until Fiyero carries you to Kiamo Ko, where true love and Elphaba’s magic bring you back with a kiss.
Requested by @anyadouc44
The first thing you noticed was how quiet everyone had gone.
Not truly quiet. The Emerald City was never quiet, not even when fear had settled over it like smoke. Somewhere in the distance, people were still shouting. Boots still struck stone. Orders still snapped through the air. Somewhere, something was burning.
But in the courtyard itself, in the terrible moment after Fiyero threw himself between Elphaba and the guards, the whole world seemed to draw one sharp, horrified breath.
You stood frozen beside Glinda.
You saw the soldiers seize him.
You saw the way he fought, wild and furious, not with the polished grace of a prince but with the desperate strength of a man who had finally chosen something worth losing everything for.
You heard Elphaba scream his name.
You heard your own voice a second later.
“Stop!”
No one listened.
They drove him to his knees with the butt of a rifle. One blow to the ribs. Another to the face. A third that sent him sprawling onto the stones. Blood streaked from the corner of his mouth. His dark hair fell into his eyes. Still, he pushed up again, coughing, glaring, defiant.
It would have been easier if he had looked frightened.
Instead, he looked furious.
Instead, he looked brave.
Instead, he looked like the man you had married.
The captain barked an order. Two more soldiers grabbed his arms, hauling him upright, dragging him across the courtyard toward the waiting horses, toward the open road beyond the gate, toward whatever public punishment the Wizard’s men had planned.
Toward death.
You moved before you thought.
“Take me instead.”
The words rang out sharper than you expected, almost calm.
Everything stopped.
The captain turned. His face was blank beneath his helmet.
Fiyero’s head snapped up so fast it looked painful. “No.”
You ignored him, though it nearly broke you to do it.
“You want someone to make an example of,” you said, louder now. “Do it with me.”
The captain narrowed his eyes. “And why would we?”
Because I’m his wife.
Because I know Elphaba.
Because I would rather die myself than let him suffer another blow.
But you were not fool enough to say any of that plainly.
“You’ve already beaten him in front of half the city,” you said. “If what you want is spectacle, if what you want is obedience, then a public punishment for the wife of the traitor prince will serve you better.”
The words made Glinda let out the smallest, strangled sound beside you.
Fiyero fought so hard against the hands pinning him that one of the soldiers struck him again.
“No!” he shouted, blood bright on his teeth now. “No, don’t you dare, don’t you dare look at them, don’t you dare say yes to this.”
But the captain was already considering it. You could see it in his face. Not cruelty, exactly. Worse. Calculation.
A woman tied up in the fields as a warning. A wife paying for a traitor’s sins. The sort of story that spread quickly, ugly and useful.
He stepped toward you.
“Do you understand what you’re offering?”
Your heart pounded so hard you thought it might crack your ribs from the inside.
“Yes.”
He studied you for another long second, then nodded once.
Fiyero made a sound you had never heard before. Not anger. Not fear. Something rawer than both.
They let go of him only long enough to force him face down onto the stones and pin a boot between his shoulders while they seized you.
You didn’t fight.
If you fought, they would hurt him again.
So you let them wrench your arms behind your back. You let them bind your wrists so tightly your fingers went numb. You let them drag you past him.
You turned your head once as they hauled you by.
His eyes found yours.
There was blood on his lip, bruising already dark along his cheekbone, and horror so naked in his face it nearly undid you.
“I’ll come for you,” he rasped.
One soldier shoved your shoulder hard enough to stumble you forward. “Move.”
Still, you looked back one last time.
“I know,” you said.
Then they dragged you away.
They took you past the city and out into the wide, empty fields where the wind never seemed to stop.
By dusk the sky had gone the bruised purple of old plums. Tall dry grasses hissed against one another. The wooden pole waited at the crest of a rise, stark against the fading light, already planted deep into the earth.
You understood then that this had been prepared long before you ever arrived.
Perhaps it had been meant for him.
That thought made your knees nearly give out.
The soldiers laughed when you stumbled.
They tied your wrists above your head, rough rope biting into skin already rubbed raw. The pole was uneven, the ground beneath it rocky and slanted. Your shoes slipped in loose dirt. The wind pulled at your dress and hair, whipping both across your face until you could barely see.
One of them struck you across the ribs for swaying too much.
Another called you a traitor’s whore.
The first lash of the whip stole your breath.
By the third, you could no longer stop the cry that tore from your throat.
They beat you for what felt like hours, though it could not have been that long. Your back, your shoulders, your legs, your side. Every strike turned the world white and hot and distant. The rope held your full weight when your knees buckled. Your shoulders burned like they were being pulled from their sockets.
You bit your lip bloody to keep from begging.
Not because you were brave.
Because somewhere under all the pain, one thought remained stubborn and clear.
Not him.
Please, not him.
The wind grew worse as night deepened. It screamed over the fields, cold and merciless, jerking your body against the pole. Rain threatened but never came. Your hair lashed across your swollen face. Blood slicked your skin under ruined fabric.
At some point the soldiers lost interest.
They left you hanging there.
A warning.
A punishment.
A story to tell others.
You didn’t know how much time passed after that.
You drifted in and out. Sometimes you thought you heard voices. Sometimes you were sure you saw your old rooms at Shiz, warm and lamplit and safe. Sometimes you heard Glinda laughing, bright as bells. Sometimes Elphaba’s low, dry voice correcting some absurd piece of nonsense from a textbook.
Sometimes you saw Fiyero as he’d been on your wedding day.
Soft-eyed.
Smiling.
Looking at you as if the whole world had, at last, become interesting.
That was the cruelest memory of all.
The wind shoved hard from the left.
Your foot slipped on the incline.
For one suspended second, you felt the whole weight of your body twist wrong.
Then your heel came down on nothing.
A rock.
A sharp, awful crack tore through you.
Pain exploded at the base of your spine, so bright and violent that you couldn’t even scream at first. Then it came, ragged and broken, and after that you could feel nothing below your waist at all.
Nothing.
Not the ground.
Not your feet.
Not the cold.
Just agony in your back and the terrible, sickening knowledge of what had happened.
You hung there trembling, gasping, the world shrinking to a tunnel of darkness and wind.
“Oh,” you whispered to no one. “Oh.”
After that, dying felt very close.
Fiyero found you by moonlight.
You didn’t hear the horse first. You heard him.
Your name, cracked apart by panic.
Then boots pounding through grass.
Then his hands.
“Hey. Hey, look at me. Look at me.”
You forced your eyes open.
He was there, breathless and filthy and shaking so badly you could feel it where his hands cradled your face. There were bruises blossoming across him. Blood still stained his collar. His eyes were wide with horror.
For one wild second, you thought you were dreaming him.
“Fiyero,” you breathed.
His face crumpled.
“Oh, my love.”
The soldiers were gone. Whether he’d killed them, outrun them, or found you after they abandoned the post, you did not know. You only knew that he was cutting the ropes with frantic hands, cursing under his breath when the knots stuck, catching your weight as your body sagged bonelessly forward.
Pain screamed through your shoulders. You cried out.
“I know, I know,” he said, voice breaking. “I’ve got you. I’ve got you. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”
He lifted you into his arms.
You tried not to, but you made a sound then, a small broken thing, because the movement sent fire up your spine and left emptiness beneath it.
His eyes searched yours instantly.
“What is it? Where?”
“My back,” you whispered. “Fiyero, I can’t feel my legs.”
He went still.
For a moment he looked as though someone had struck him dead center in the chest.
Then his jaw locked.
“No,” he said quietly, with terrifying conviction. “No. Stay with me.”
He carried you to the horse. He mounted with you held against him, one arm braced around your waist, the other guiding the reins. Every jolt of the ride was agony. You buried your face in his torn coat and tasted blood, sweat, leather, and the salt of your own tears.
He rode like a man possessed.
The dark stretched on forever. The wind clawed at both of you. More than once you faded and came back only because he kept saying your name.
“Stay with me.”
“You’re all right.”
“I’ve got you.”
“Please.”
That last one sounded different.
It sounded like prayer.
By the time the silhouette of Kiamo Ko rose black against the night sky, your breathing had gone thin and shallow.
The castle loomed like a secret pulled from shadow. Dim light glowed in a high window.
Fiyero dismounted before the horse had fully stopped.
“Elphaba!” he shouted, voice echoing against stone. “Elphaba!”
The doors opened.
She appeared framed in candlelight, sharp-featured and wild-eyed, and whatever words she had been about to say died the instant she saw you in his arms.
Glinda was behind her a second later, hand flying to her mouth.
“Oh, no,” Glinda whispered. “Oh, no.”
Fiyero carried you inside.
Your head lolled against his shoulder. The world had grown soft at the edges. You could hear them speaking, but their voices seemed to come from far away.
“She’s freezing.”
“There’s blood everywhere.”
“Put her here, quickly.”
You felt a bed beneath you. Hands. Cloth. Pressure against wounds. Someone crying.
No. Not someone.
Fiyero.
You pried your eyes open again.
He was on his knees beside the bed, clutching one of your hands between both of his as if he could anchor you here by sheer force.
“Elphaba,” he said, and there was nothing princely in him now, nothing polished, nothing but desperation. “Do something.”
Her face was pale beneath the candlelight. She looked at the wounds, at the bruising, at the terrible angle of your body, and for the first time since you had known her, Elphaba looked afraid.
“I can heal some things,” she said softly. “Not this. Not all of this. She’s too far gone.”
“No,” he said.
“Fiyero.”
“No.”
Glinda was crying openly now, hands pressed to her lips. “There has to be something.”
Elphaba stood frozen for one taut second, then turned sharply toward the far table where her grimoires and bottles lay open in a spill of parchment and glass. She began rifling through them with feverish urgency, muttering under her breath in a language that made the candle flames twitch.
You watched Fiyero instead.
His hair was disheveled. Blood had dried at his temple. His hands, usually so steady, shook around yours. He bowed his head over your knuckles, breathing as if each inhale hurt him.
“Don’t do this,” he whispered. “Don’t leave me. Please, don’t.”
You wanted to tell him it wasn’t his fault.
You wanted to tell him you had made the choice willingly.
You wanted to tell him that loving him had never felt like a burden.
But speech had become difficult.
So you only squeezed his hand as hard as you could.
His head snapped up.
He saw your effort, and tears spilled over despite the way he tried to hold them back.
“Elphaba,” Glinda said suddenly. “Anything.”
Elphaba stopped.
Slowly, she looked over her shoulder.
There was something strange in her expression now. Some impossible thought taking shape.
“It’s not a healing spell,” she said carefully. “Not exactly.”
Fiyero was on his feet at once. “Then what is it?”
She hesitated.
Old magic moved strangely in Oz. Everybody knew that. Stories lingered. Symbols mattered. Words had weight. Intent had power. Love, perhaps most of all, if one was foolish enough to believe old songs.
Elphaba’s eyes went to you, then to Fiyero.
“There are enchantments,” she said quietly, “that can bind life to breath. Borrow it. Carry it. Offer it.”
Glinda stared. “You mean…”
Elphaba swallowed. “If I place the spell correctly, his kiss could become the vessel. Breath passed from one soul to another. A restoration. A calling back.”
Fiyero didn’t even blink. “Do it.”
Glinda caught her breath. “Elphaba, if it goes wrong…”
“I know.”
“Do it,” he said again, fiercer now. “Whatever it costs, do it.”
Elphaba moved to him.
“Sit.”
He obeyed instantly, kneeling beside the bed again. She cupped his face with both green hands, her voice dropping low as she began to speak words that bent the air around them. The candle flames stretched tall and blue. The windows rattled in their frames. Somewhere outside, the wind answered.
You could not understand the language.
You only felt it.
Magic slid over your skin like heat before a storm. The room seemed to pulse around you. Fiyero’s lips parted on a sharp inhale as Elphaba traced two fingers over his mouth, over his throat, over the center of his chest.
Her voice rose.
Glinda gripped the bedpost so hard her knuckles went white.
The final word cracked through the room like thunder.
Then silence.
Elphaba stepped back, breathing hard.
“It’s done.”
Fiyero turned to you at once.
For the first time since he had found you in the field, he looked frightened in a way that had nothing to do with soldiers or blood or death.
This fear was deeper.
Older.
The fear of loving someone enough that the thought of losing them hollowed out the whole world.
He reached for your face with trembling hands.
“My love,” he whispered.
You barely felt his fingertips against your cheek.
His forehead touched yours.
“I’m here,” he said, tears slipping freely now. “I’m right here. And you listen to me. You don’t get to leave. You don’t get to be brave for everyone else and leave me behind. Do you hear me?”
Your lashes fluttered. Breathing hurt. Everything hurt. Yet through it all, the sound of his voice still found you.
“Come back to me,” he said, voice shattered. “Please.”
Then he kissed you.
Softly.
Desperately.
Like a vow.
For one suspended heartbeat, nothing happened.
Then magic rushed through you.
Not like lightning. Not sharp. Not violent.
It came warm.
It came golden.
It poured through his mouth into yours like sunlight breaking open after endless winter, like the first full breath after drowning, like life itself remembered your name and came racing back.
Your chest arched.
Air slammed into your lungs.
Pain flared, fierce and cleansing and real. Not the distant numbness of dying. Real pain. Real blood. Real breath. Your fingers twitched. Your legs jolted. Your whole body shuddered with the shock of being pulled back from the brink.
Fiyero made a broken sound against your lips and kissed you again, as if he could not help it, as if now that he had you back he needed proof.
When he drew away, you gasped in a ragged breath.
The room erupted.
Glinda sobbed aloud. Elphaba stumbled back against the table, one hand over her mouth in stunned relief.
But all you saw was him.
Fiyero staring at you as though he could not believe you were still here.
“Hi,” you whispered weakly.
He laughed then. Half sob, half laugh, entirely wrecked.
“Hi?” he choked out. “That’s what you’ve got for me?”
You would have smiled wider if you had the strength.
“It’s a good start.”
He bent over you, pressing trembling kisses to your forehead, your cheeks, your mouth again, every touch reverent and disbelieving. Tears fell warm against your skin.
“I thought I lost you.”
“You didn’t,” you whispered.
His hands framed your face. “Never do that again.”
Despite everything, a faint laugh scraped its way out of you. “I’ll do my best.”
Glinda made a watery, offended sound from somewhere near the foot of the bed. “That is not funny.”
“It’s a little funny,” Elphaba said hoarsely, wiping at her own eyes.
You looked past him then, to your friends. To Glinda, bright and heartbroken and loving. To Elphaba, exhausted and fierce and impossible. To the strange, shadowed sanctuary of Kiamo Ko.
Then back to your husband.
He kissed your knuckles and pressed them to his heart.
The beat beneath your hand was wild and strong.
“Rest,” he murmured. “You’re safe now.”
Safe.
The word wrapped around you like a blanket.
You let your eyes close, not because you were slipping away, but because for the first time since the courtyard, since the field, since the wind and the rope and the crack of bone, you believed him.
The last thing you felt before sleep took you was Fiyero’s hand in yours and his lips pressed softly to your temple, as if he still needed the reassurance of touch.
As if true love had brought you back, and he did not intend to let you go again.
Well the reader is fiyero's wife and she is also friends with both elphaba and glinda and she is pregnant and when her husband is arrested and was beaten by his peers for siding with elphaba she decided to take his place and let's just say they didn't hang her that well and the wind was hard and the whipping too that she lost balance didn't saw a rock and broke her back and this caused premature labour. Her husband came running to her he carried her in his arms to elphaba's place and she gave birth to their only child a daughter but from bloodloss she died. But maybe elphaba can save her due to fiyero's desparate begging and crying
When Green Meets Crimson
The morning had started like any other in the small cottage you shared with Fiyero on the outskirts of Shiz. You'd woken to find him already dressed, standing by the window with that faraway look in his eyes—the one he'd developed ever since Elphaba had been declared "Wicked" by the Wizard's regime.
"You're thinking about her again," you said softly, your hand instinctively moving to the swell of your belly. Six months along now, and your daughter made her presence known with frequent kicks and rolls.
Fiyero turned, his handsome face creasing with concern and something darker—guilt, perhaps. "She's out there alone, being hunted. And I'm here, safe, doing nothing."
You rose from the bed, wrapping a shawl around your shoulders as you crossed to him. "You're not doing nothing. We've been sending supplies to her contacts, spreading the truth about what really happened at the Emerald City—"
"It's not enough." His voice was fierce. "She's my friend. One of my oldest friends. And Glinda..." He shook his head. "Glinda is trapped playing the role of the Good Witch while her heart is breaking. This whole situation is impossible."
You took his hand, squeezing it gently. "I know. But we're doing what we can. And when the baby comes—"
A sharp knock at the door interrupted you. Then another, more forceful. Then the sound of wood splintering.
"Fiyero Tigelaar!" A voice boomed from below. "By order of the Wizard of Oz, you are under arrest for treason and conspiracy with the Wicked Witch of the West!"
Your blood turned to ice. Fiyero's face went pale, but he immediately moved in front of you, protective. "Stay here," he whispered urgently. "Don't come down. No matter what you hear, stay—"
But you were already shaking your head. "I'm not letting you face this alone."
"Think of our daughter." His hand cupped your face desperately. "Please. I'll handle this. I'll talk my way out. You know I always do."
Before you could argue further, guards flooded up the stairs. There were at least six of them, all armed, all wearing the Wizard's insignia. The captain—a broad-shouldered man with a cruel mouth—looked between you and Fiyero with disgust.
"Well, well. The traitor prince and his wife. We've been watching you, Tigelaar. Your little supply runs, your meetings with known Witch sympathizers. Did you really think we wouldn't notice?"
"I don't know what you're talking about," Fiyero said smoothly, that charming smile sliding into place. "I'm a loyal citizen of Oz. Whatever information you've received is clearly mistaken—"
The captain's fist connected with Fiyero's jaw so suddenly that you screamed. Your husband stumbled back, blood already blooming at the corner of his mouth.
"Don't lie to me," the captain snarled. "We have witnesses. We have evidence. You've been aiding the enemy of Oz, and you're going to pay for it."
"He hasn't done anything wrong!" you cried, pushing forward despite the guards moving to block you. "Elphaba isn't wicked—she's good and kind, and the Wizard is the real criminal here. He's been lying to all of Oz!"
The silence that followed your outburst was deafening. The captain's eyes narrowed dangerously.
"So you're complicit as well. How touching." He gestured to two of his men. "Take them both."
"No!" Fiyero lunged forward. "Leave her out of this. She's pregnant, for Oz's sake. She has nothing to do with—"
A club to his stomach cut him off. He doubled over, gasping, and you watched in horror as the guards descended on him, fists and boots flying. You tried to reach him, but strong hands grabbed you, yanking you back.
"Fiyero!" Your scream echoed through the cottage as they dragged you both out into the cold morning air.
---
The prison yard of the Emerald City was a place of nightmares. You'd been separated from Fiyero immediately upon arrival, thrown into a dank cell with only a thin blanket and a bucket. For hours—or was it days?—you'd heard nothing but distant screams and the shuffle of guards' boots.
Your daughter rolled anxiously inside you, responding to your elevated heartbeat, your fear. You tried to stay calm for her sake, tried to believe that somehow this would all work out. Glinda would hear what had happened. She'd use her influence to free you both. She had to.
But when the guards finally came for you again, dragging you out into the harsh afternoon sunlight of the yard, all hope evaporated.
The prison yard was packed with people—guards, prisoners, and spectators all crowded around something at the center. You could hear shouting, the ugly sound of mob mentality taking hold. And then you heard him.
Fiyero's voice, strained and defiant: "She's not wicked! She's the bravest person I've ever known, and history will prove that you're all on the wrong side—"
His words were cut off by the sound of impact, followed by cruel laughter.
"Where is he?" you demanded of the first guard you encountered, yanking your arm free from his grip with more strength than you knew you had. "Where is my husband?"
The guard—young, barely more than a boy—looked almost sympathetic for a moment. Then his expression hardened. "The Witch-lover? Being taught a lesson about loyalty. Cap'n says he needs to understand what happens to traitors."
Your heart hammered against your ribs. "Take me to him. Now."
"Can't do that, missus. Orders are—"
But you were already moving, pushing past him, using your slight frame and the bulk of your pregnancy to slip through the crowd. People gave way reluctantly, some with looks of pity, others with contempt. You heard whispers following you:
"That's his wife—"
"She's with child—"
"Should've thought of that before she took up with a Witch sympathizer—"
The crowd finally parted, and the sight before you stopped you cold.
Fiyero was on the ground in the center of a ring of guards and prisoners. His once-pristine blue tunic was torn and bloody, his face swollen and bruised. His arms were raised defensively as boots and fists continued to rain down on him, each impact accompanied by jeers and accusations.
"Witch-lover!"
"Traitor to Oz!"
"Should be you hanging, not her!"
But what broke your heart was the look in his eyes—not fear, but defiance. Even beaten and bloody, he refused to recant, refused to denounce Elphaba. That was the man you'd fallen in love with. The man who stood by his convictions no matter the cost.
"STOP!" Your voice cracked like thunder across the yard, surprising even yourself with its power. "STOP THIS AT ONCE!"
The mob turned as one, and you saw recognition flicker across several faces. You were known here—not just as Fiyero's wife, but as a woman of substance in your own right. You'd grown up in Emerald City society, had connections throughout Oz's upper echelons. And more importantly, you'd never hidden your friendships with both Elphaba and Glinda, even when it became dangerous to claim them.
The captain from that morning pushed his way forward, his expression darkening when he saw you. "What are you doing out of your cell?"
"What does it look like?" You stepped forward, every instinct screaming at you to run to Fiyero, to shelter him with your own body. But you forced yourself to stand tall, to meet the captain's eyes with all the aristocratic disdain you could muster. "I'm stopping you from beating an innocent man to death."
"Innocent?" The captain laughed, ugly and harsh. "He stands accused of treason. Of providing aid and comfort to the Wicked Witch of the West. Of spreading seditious lies about our beloved Wizard. That's not innocent—that's a hanging offense."
From the ground, Fiyero's voice emerged, broken but defiant: "Don't... don't listen to him. Go back inside. Think of the baby—"
"I am thinking of the baby." You kept your eyes locked on the captain even as your peripheral vision caught Fiyero trying to struggle to his feet, only to be kicked down again. "I'm thinking about what kind of world I want to bring her into. One where speaking truth is considered treason? Where loyalty to friends is a crime? Where the powerful can crush the righteous without consequence?"
A murmur ran through the crowd. You pressed your advantage.
"Everything my husband has done, I have supported," you continued, your voice carrying across the yard. "Every choice he made to help Elphaba—a woman who has been unjustly vilified and hunted—I agreed with. Every word he spoke against the Wizard's tyranny, I echoed. If you seek to punish someone for these so-called crimes, then I am equally guilty."
"No—" Fiyero's protest was immediate and desperate. He'd managed to get to his hands and knees, blood dripping from his mouth to the dirt below. "No, don't do this. Don't—"
"Then you'll share his fate," the captain said coldly. "Though I wonder if you'll be so brave when it's your neck in the noose."
You felt your daughter kick hard inside you, as if in protest. Your hand moved instinctively to soothe her, and you saw several guards shift uncomfortably. Beating a man was one thing. Hanging a pregnant woman was another entirely.
But you'd seen the fanaticism in the captain's eyes. He was a true believer in the Wizard's propaganda, and true believers were the most dangerous people of all.
"If it means standing by my principles and the people I love," you said quietly, "then yes. I'll share his fate gladly."
"NO!" Fiyero finally managed to stand, swaying dangerously. His left eye was swollen shut, and he held his ribs gingerly, but his voice was strong with desperation. "You can't do this. Our daughter—she needs you. I need you. Please, please don't—"
But you were already moving forward, already surrendering yourself to the hands that grabbed you roughly. The guards were less brutal with you than they'd been with Fiyero—your pregnancy granted you that much mercy—but they weren't gentle either as they dragged you toward the wooden platform that had been erected at the far end of the yard.
A gallows. They'd built a gallows.
The reality of what you'd done hit you then, turning your blood to ice water. You'd been so focused on protecting Fiyero, on taking the punishment meant for him, that you hadn't fully considered the implications. They were going to hang you. They were going to kill you and your unborn child.
"Wait!" A new voice cut through the chaos. "Wait, please!"
Glinda materialized at the edge of the crowd as if from thin air, her pink dress brilliant against the drab prison yard, her blonde hair perfectly coiffed despite the wind. She looked every inch the Good Witch, beautiful and ethereal and utterly out of place in this den of violence.
"Glinda!" Relief flooded through you. Of course she'd come. She always came through when it mattered most.
But the look on her face as she hurried forward, her eyes taking in your predicament and Fiyero's injuries, was one of pure anguish. "What's going on here? Why is this woman being arrested?"
"Official Wizard business, Miss Glinda," the captain said, though his tone was notably more respectful. "The wife of the traitor Fiyero has confessed to conspiracy with the Wicked Witch. Justice must be served."
"Justice?" Glinda's voice rose, trembling with emotion. "This is barbarism! She's pregnant—anyone with eyes can see that. You can't seriously mean to—"
"The law makes no exceptions," the captain interrupted coldly. "Witch sympathizers are to be dealt with harshly, to set an example. Those are the Wizard's orders."
You saw Glinda's face crumple, saw her reach for arguments that wouldn't come. What could she say? She'd spent months carefully building her position as the Good Witch, playing the role the Wizard needed her to play in order to maintain what little protection she could offer. If she pushed too hard now, she'd lose what influence she had.
"I'm sorry," she whispered, and you could see she meant it. Tears streamed down her perfect face. "I'm so sorry. I'll find a way to fix this. I promise. I'll speak to the Wizard, I'll—"
"We both know that won't work," you said gently. You managed a small smile despite everything. "It's all right, Glinda. This isn't your fault."
"Take her up," the captain ordered.
The guards hauled you toward the platform, and that's when Fiyero lost whatever fragile control he'd been maintaining. He lunged forward with a roar, somehow finding the strength to break free from the men restraining him. He made it three steps before they brought him down again, but those three steps were enough to reach you.
His hand found yours, gripped it desperately. His blue eyes—one nearly swollen shut now—locked onto yours with devastating intensity.
"I love you," he said, his voice breaking. "I love you more than anything in this world. You and our daughter—you're everything. Everything. Please don't do this. Please—"
"I love you too," you whispered back, squeezing his hand one last time. "I love you so much. And whatever happens, know that I'd make the same choice again. You're worth it. Our daughter will know that her father was a good man who stood up for what was right."
"Please—" It was a sob now, raw and broken. "Please, I can't lose you. I can't—"
They tore you apart then, dragging you up onto the platform while guards held Fiyero back. His screams of protest echoed across the yard, and you forced yourself not to look back at him. If you looked back, your resolve would crumble.
The executioner—a large man in a dark hood—stood waiting at the top. He looked uncomfortable as you approached, his eyes flickering between your face and your pregnant belly.
"I don't want to do this," he muttered as he positioned you under the noose. "This ain't right."
"Then don't," you said simply.
"Can't refuse orders," he replied, but his hands shook as he lifted the rough rope. "I'm sorry, missus. Truly."
The hemp was scratchy against your neck as he positioned it, and you had to fight every instinct that screamed at you to fight back, to run, to protect your unborn child at any cost. But running would mean Fiyero's death instead. And if you had to choose between your life and his, you'd choose his every time.
"Any last words?" the executioner asked quietly.
You looked out over the crowd, finding Fiyero's eyes in the sea of faces. Finding Glinda's tearful gaze. And you thought of Elphaba, somewhere out there in the Vinkus or beyond, fighting her own lonely battle against tyranny.
"Long live the Wicked Witch," you said clearly. "And may history remember who the real villains were."
The platform dropped.
---
Time did strange things when you were falling to your death.
You'd expected the snap, the quick end that came with a properly executed hanging. But something was wrong—immediately, terribly wrong. The noose hadn't tightened correctly around your neck. Instead of dropping cleanly through, you felt the rope slide and catch awkwardly, jerking you sideways instead of down.
The wind that had been building all afternoon chose that exact moment to transform into a gale. It caught you like a leaf, swinging your body wildly on the too-long rope. Your arms flailed instinctively, trying to find purchase in empty air, and then your back struck something hard—the edge of the platform, you realized distantly.
The impact drove the air from your lungs. You heard something crack—a sound like breaking branches—and white-hot agony exploded through your spine.
But you were still falling. Still swinging. And now gravity was pulling you down toward the packed earth of the yard floor, and there was nothing you could do to stop it.
You hit the ground with devastating force. Your back—already compromised from the platform strike—connected with something even harder. A rock, your dimming consciousness registered. One of the large decorative stones that lined the yard's perimeter.
The sound of your spine breaking was almost drowned out by Fiyero's anguished scream.
For a moment, you felt nothing. Blessed numbness spread from your neck down, and you thought perhaps this was death coming for you—gently, after all the violence.
But then sensation returned, and with it, agony beyond comprehension. Your back was on fire, every nerve ending shrieking in protest. Except... except you couldn't feel your legs. You tried to move them, tried to kick, to do anything, but they remained stubbornly still.
Paralyzed. You were paralyzed.
And then came the wetness between your thighs—warm and undeniable. The pressure in your abdomen that you'd attributed to your daughter's usual movements suddenly intensified into something else entirely.
No. No, no, no.
"Someone help her!" Glinda's voice cut through the chaos. "Sweet Oz, someone cut her down!"
"The baby," you managed to gasp, your voice barely a whisper. "The baby's coming."
Everything erupted into chaos then. You were vaguely aware of the executioner cursing as he cut the rope from your neck. Of guards arguing about what to do. Of Glinda screaming orders in a tone of voice you'd never heard from her before—all traces of the bubbly Good Witch gone, replaced by pure command.
And then Fiyero was there, his battered face appearing above you like a guardian angel. Tears streamed down his cheeks, mixing with blood from his split lip.
"I've got you," he said, his voice shaking. "I've got you. You're going to be okay. Both of you are going to be okay."
He lifted you as gently as he could, but even that small movement sent fresh waves of agony through your broken body. You screamed, couldn't help it, and felt your daughter respond with a violent kick—or was that a contraction? You could no longer tell where one pain ended and another began.
"Where are you taking her?" the captain demanded, moving to block Fiyero's path.
"Somewhere she can get help," Fiyero snarled, and there was something dangerous in his voice now—something that made even the captain step back. "Unless you want the death of a pregnant woman and her child on your conscience. Is that what the Wizard's justice looks like? Murdering babies?"
The crowd had gone silent, and you could feel the shift in the air. Whatever bloodlust had driven them before was fading, replaced by horror at what they'd witnessed. This wasn't justice. This was butchery.
"Let them go," Glinda said, and her voice carried the weight of every ounce of influence she possessed. "Let them go, or I will personally ensure that the Wizard hears about this atrocity. I'll make sure all of Oz knows what happened here today. Is that what you want?"
The captain hesitated, clearly warring with himself. Finally, he stepped aside.
"You have one hour," he said tightly. "Then we're coming after both of you."
Fiyero didn't waste time responding. He was already running, cradling you against his chest as gently as he could manage while still moving at speed. Each jostle sent fresh agony through your spine, and you felt warmth—too much warmth—spreading beneath you.
Blood. You were bleeding heavily now.
"Fiyero," you managed to gasp out. "Elphaba. Need... need Elphaba."
"I know," he said, and you heard the fear in his voice. "I know, love. Just hold on. Please, just hold on a little longer."
Behind you, you heard Glinda's voice calling out: "I'll meet you there! I'll bring supplies!"
You tried to stay conscious, tried to focus on anything other than the pain and the wrongness of your body. But darkness was creeping in at the edges of your vision, and the pressure in your abdomen was building to an unbearable crescendo.
Your daughter was coming, whether anyone was ready or not.
---
Elphaba's current hideout was a crumbling cottage deep in the woods northwest of the Emerald City—far enough from civilization to be safe, close enough to still gather intelligence. Fiyero had been here once before, smuggling supplies, so he knew the way even in the fading afternoon light.
By the time he kicked open the door, you were barely conscious. The world had narrowed to a pinpoint of awareness: pain, warmth, wetness, and Fiyero's voice above you, repeating over and over that you were going to be fine.
"Elphaba!" His shout echoed through the small cottage. "ELPHABA, I need you!"
There was a crash from the back room, and then she emerged—the Wicked Witch of the West in all her green glory. She wore a simple black dress, her long dark hair pulled back from her face, and her eyes widened in shock when she saw what Fiyero carried.
"Sweet Oz," she breathed. "What happened?"
"They tried to hang her." Fiyero's voice broke on the words as he carefully laid you on the cottage's only bed. "She took my place—told them she was equally guilty—and they tried to hang her, but something went wrong. She fell. Hit her back on a rock. And now—now the baby's coming, and there's so much blood, Elphie. There's so much blood."
Elphaba was already moving, her green hands gentle as she examined you. You tried to focus on her face, on her dark eyes filled with fierce concentration, but another contraction hit and you arched off the bed with a scream.
"Her spine is broken," Elphaba said, her voice tight with controlled panic. "I can feel the fractures. And yes, she's in active labor. This is bad, Fiyero. This is very, very bad."
"Can you fix it?" He was hovering at your side, one hand gripping yours so tightly you thought your bones might break. "Your magic—can't you—"
"Not while she's giving birth. Any magic I try to use to heal her spine could interfere with the labor, could hurt the baby." Elphaba's jaw clenched. "We have to deliver the child first. Then I can try to heal her. If..." She didn't finish the sentence, but you heard it anyway. If you're still alive.
The door burst open again, and Glinda rushed in, her arms full of blankets and supplies. Her perfect hair was disheveled now, her pink dress stained with dirt and tears, but her blue eyes were sharp with determination.
"I brought everything I could," she said, dumping her supplies on the table. "Clean cloth, water, some medical herbs from the palace stores. Is there anything else—" Her voice caught when she saw you on the bed. "Oh. Oh no."
"Glinda, I need you to help me," Elphaba said, and there was no time for their usual awkwardness, no time for the complicated history between them. "We need hot water, clean cloth, and I need you to keep Fiyero calm enough that he doesn't fall apart."
"I'm fine," Fiyero said, though his voice was shaking.
"You're very clearly not fine," Glinda said gently, moving to his side. She touched his arm, her small hand on his bruised and bloodied skin. "But that's okay. None of us are fine right now. We're all here for her, though. For both of them."
Another contraction hit, stronger than before. You felt the pressure building impossibly, felt your body trying to do what it was designed to do despite the catastrophic trauma it had endured. Your back was numb now—you couldn't feel anything below your chest except for the overwhelming sensation of your daughter trying to be born.
"I need to push," you gasped out.
"Not yet," Elphaba said firmly. She had positioned herself at the foot of the bed, her green hands already stained with your blood. "Not until I say. Your body is already in shock—if you push too soon, you could hemorrhage even worse. I need to make sure everything is positioned correctly."
"I don't think... I have a choice," you managed between gritted teeth. The urge to push was overwhelming, primal, impossible to ignore.
"Yes, you do." Fiyero leaned close, his forehead pressing against yours. His tears fell onto your face, warm and wet. "You're the strongest person I know. If anyone can control this, it's you. Just breathe. Breathe with me. In... and out. In... and out."
You tried to follow his rhythm, tried to focus on anything other than the unbearable pressure. Glinda appeared on your other side with a cool cloth, gently wiping the sweat from your forehead.
"You're doing so well," she murmured. "So well. Your daughter is going to be so proud when she hears this story someday."
"If," you whispered. "If she hears it."
"When," Glinda said fiercely. "When she hears it. Don't you dare give up now."
Elphaba worked quickly between your legs, her green face set in concentration. You felt her magic—just a touch of it, gentle and warm—helping to ease the way, to protect your daughter from the worst of the trauma.
"Okay," she said finally. "Okay, on the next contraction, you can push. But listen to me carefully—you need to push with everything you have. Your body is failing, and we don't have much time. This needs to be fast."
You nodded, unable to speak. The next contraction was already building, a tidal wave of pressure and pain.
"Push!" Elphaba commanded.
You pushed. Pushed with every ounce of strength remaining in your battered body. Pushed until you saw stars. Pushed until you heard Fiyero's voice breaking as he encouraged you, until you felt Glinda's hand squeezing yours, until you heard Elphaba's sharp intake of breath.
"Again! I can see the head. Come on, one more!"
You didn't think you had anything left to give. Your vision was darkening, consciousness slipping away like sand through your fingers. But somewhere deep inside, you found one last reserve of strength—the strength of a mother who would do anything for her child.
You pushed again.
And then—a sound. The most beautiful sound in the world.
A cry. Small and indignant and absolutely, perfectly alive.
"It's a girl," Elphaba said softly, and there were tears in her voice. "You have a daughter."
Through the haze of pain and exhaustion, you watched as Elphaba gently cleaned your baby, as Glinda wrapped her in the softest of the blankets they'd brought. She was tiny—premature by several months—but her lungs were clearly strong based on her angry wails.
"Let me see her," you whispered. "Please."
Elphaba placed your daughter carefully in your arms, and the world narrowed to just this: the weight of her against your chest, the sound of her cries softening as she recognized your heartbeat, the perfect curve of her tiny ear.
She had Fiyero's eyes—you could see it even though she'd barely opened them. And there was a hint of his smile in the curve of her mouth. But her nose was yours, and the stubborn set of her chin.
"She's perfect," Fiyero breathed, his hand coming to rest on his daughter's head, so gentle it barely constituted touch. "She's absolutely perfect."
"Hello, little one," you murmured. Your voice was getting weaker, you noticed distantly. And the cottage was growing darker, even though Glinda had lit candles throughout. "I love you. I love you so much."
"Don't," Fiyero said sharply, hearing the farewell in your tone. "Don't say it like goodbye. You're going to be fine. You're going to be—"
But even he could see the blood. It soaked the bed beneath you, dark and damning. Too much blood. Far too much.
Your daughter whimpered, and you managed to press a kiss to her forehead. She smelled like hope and new beginnings and all the things you'd never get to see her do. First steps. First words. First day of school.
"I'm sorry," you whispered to her. "I'm so sorry I won't be here. But you have the best father in all of Oz. And you have Auntie Elphaba and Auntie Glinda. They'll take care of you. They'll make sure you grow up knowing—"
"Stop." The word was torn from Fiyero's chest. He turned to Elphaba, his eyes wild. "Fix this. Please. Please, you have to save her. You're the most powerful person I know. You can do this. You saved me from the Gale Force. You can save her."
Elphaba's face was a mask of anguish. "Fiyero..."
"PLEASE!" He was openly weeping now, all pretense of composure shattered. One hand held yours with desperate strength, the other reached for Elphaba. "I'm begging you. I'll do anything. Anything. Name your price. I don't care what it costs me. Just save her. Save my wife. Our daughter needs her mother. I need her. Please, Elphie, please—"
"If there's any way..." Glinda moved to Elphaba's side, her hand finding the Witch's. "Any spell, any magic at all. We can't just let her die. Not after everything she sacrificed."
Elphaba closed her eyes, and for a long moment the only sounds in the cottage were your daughter's soft whimpers and Fiyero's broken sobbing. When she opened her eyes again, they blazed with determination and something that looked like fear.
"There is a spell," she said slowly. "Old magic. Older than the Wizard, older than Oz itself. It's not meant to reverse death—that's impossible even for me. But if I act now, right now, before she crosses over completely..." She moved to your side, her hands hovering over your chest. "I might be able to call her back. Pull her life force back into her body, give her the strength to heal."
"Then do it," Fiyero said fiercely.
"It's not that simple." Elphaba's voice was quiet but firm. "This kind of magic always demands payment, Fiyero. Always. It might be her pain—healing could hurt worse than dying. It might be her memories—she might not remember us, or this, or anything. It might be her future—she might live but be forever changed. And it might..." She swallowed hard. "It might be my power. This could burn out my magic entirely. I could lose everything that makes me who I am."
"Elphie, no—" Glinda started.
"I don't care," Elphaba interrupted, and there was steel in her voice. "She took a noose meant for Fiyero. She stood up for me when the entire world called me Wicked. If there's even a chance I can save her, I have to try."
You wanted to protest, wanted to tell them it was all right, that you'd had a beautiful life and a beautiful love and now you'd given them the greatest gift. But you couldn't speak anymore. Your daughter was growing heavy in your weakening arms, and Fiyero gently took her, cradling her against his chest while keeping his other hand locked with yours.
"Do it," he whispered. "Whatever it costs. Do it."
"I'll need both of you to help," Elphaba said, looking between Glinda and Fiyero. "This magic requires life force, energy, will. I can provide most of it, but the spell will be stronger if all of us are channeling power into it."
"Tell us what to do," Glinda said immediately.
Elphaba quickly arranged them: Glinda at your head, hands resting on your temples. Fiyero at your side, one hand holding yours, the other pressed over your heart. And Elphaba herself positioned over your broken body, her green hands beginning to glow with an otherworldly light.
"When I start the chant, I need you both to think of her," Elphaba instructed. "Think of your love for her, your hope for her, your need for her to stay. Pour all of that into your touch. Let it flow through you into her. Don't hold anything back."
"Will it work?" Fiyero asked, his voice small.
"I don't know," Elphaba admitted. "But I'm going to try."
She closed her eyes and began to chant in a language older than time—words that hummed with power, that made the air itself vibrate. The green light spreading from her hands intensified, growing brighter and brighter until it hurt to look at directly.
You felt it enter you like liquid fire, spreading through your veins, finding every broken place, every torn vessel, every failing organ. It hurt—oh God, it hurt worse than anything you'd experienced yet, worse than the fall, worse than the labor, worse than death itself might have been.
But it was also working.
You felt your spine beginning to knit itself back together, vertebrae grinding against each other as they fused. Felt torn muscles reweaving, ruptured blood vessels closing. Felt life flooding back into limbs that had been numb and useless.
And you felt something else too—the presence of your friends. Glinda's love, bright and fierce as sunshine. Fiyero's devotion, deep as the ocean. And Elphaba's power, green and growing like the forest itself, wrapping around you like armor.
The chanting grew louder, more desperate. Elphaba's voice was raw now, and you could feel her pouring more and more of herself into the spell. Too much. She was giving too much.
"Elphie, stop," you tried to say, but your voice wouldn't work yet.
But Glinda had noticed too. "Elphaba, that's enough! You're going
to burn yourself out!"
"Almost there," Elphaba gritted out between clenched teeth. "Just... a little... more..."
The green light reached a blinding crescendo—and then vanished.
Elphaba stumbled backward, caught by Glinda before she could fall. Her skin had gone pale—or as pale as green skin could go—and she was breathing in ragged gasps. But she was smiling.
"Did it work?" Fiyero asked desperately, looking down at you.
And then you gasped—a huge, shuddering breath that filled your lungs completely. Your eyes flew open, clear and aware. And most importantly, when you tried to move your legs—they moved.
"It worked," you whispered, your voice hoarse but functional. "Oh Oz, it actually worked."
Fiyero made a sound between a laugh and a sob, carefully passing your daughter back to you before gathering you both in his arms. "You're here. You're really here. Both of you. My girls. My beautiful girls."
Your daughter had fallen asleep during the ordeal, apparently exhausted by being born. She slept peacefully against your chest now, her tiny fist curled against your skin, completely unaware of the miracle that had just occurred.
Glinda was openly crying, supporting Elphaba's weight as the Witch swayed on her feet. "You did it," she said, looking at Elphaba with something like awe. "You actually did it."
"We did it," Elphaba corrected weakly. "All of us together." She managed to shuffle forward, leaning heavily on Glinda, and placed one green hand gently on your daughter's head. "Welcome back. Both of you."
"Thank you," you whispered, looking at all three of them—your husband, your friends, your family. "Thank you all. I don't know how I'll ever—"
"You don't have to thank us," Glinda interrupted gently. "That's what family does."
For a long moment, no one spoke. You simply lay there, holding your daughter, surrounded by the people who had literally pulled you back from death's door. The cottage was warm and safe, and outside the windows, the sun was beginning to set, painting the sky in shades of pink and gold.
Finally, Glinda cleared her throat. "She needs a name, doesn't she? Your daughter."
You looked down at the tiny miracle in your arms. This baby who had been born into violence and pain, but who had also been the catalyst for such an outpouring of love and magic. This child who would grow up knowing that sometimes the world was cruel, but that there were always people willing to fight against that cruelty.
Several names flickered through your mind. Natalia, after your mother. Seraphina, meaning "fiery." Aurelia, meaning "golden."
But then you thought about what had just happened. About Elphaba's green magic pulling you back from the brink. About Glinda's bright love. About Fiyero's desperate hope. And you knew there was only one name that would fit.
"Hope," you said softly. "Her name is Hope."
Fiyero's breath caught, and he pressed a kiss to your temple. "Hope," he repeated, trying it out. "Hope Tigelaar." He looked down at his daughter with wonder. "It's perfect."
"It's more than perfect," Elphaba said quietly. She'd regained some of her color now, though she still leaned on Glinda. "It's a promise. After everything that happened today—all the cruelty, all the injustice—Hope is exactly what Oz needs."
"What we all need," Glinda added, reaching out to gently stroke Hope's tiny hand.
Hope chose that moment to wake, her eyes—definitely Fiyero's blue, you could see now—blinking open and focusing on your face. She didn't cry, just looked at you with the intense, knowing gaze that newborns sometimes had, as if she could see straight through to your soul.
"Hello, little Hope," you whispered to her. "Welcome to Oz. I know it seems scary and dangerous right now, but I promise you—there's also love here. And magic. And people who will fight for what's right, no matter the cost." You kissed her forehead softly. "You're going to grow up strong and brave. And you're going to help change this world for the better."
Hope's eyes drifted closed again, apparently satisfied with this greeting.
"She'll need to be fed soon," Elphaba observed practically. "And you need to rest and regain your strength. You've been through an ordeal that would have killed most people."
"I died," you pointed out with a weak smile. "Or at least came very close to it."
"And came back," Fiyero said fiercely. "You came back to us. To me. To our daughter." His voice broke on the last word. "I thought I'd lost you. When I saw you fall, when I saw all that blood... I thought my whole world had ended."
"I'm here," you assured him, squeezing his hand. "I'm not going anywhere. Not if I can help it."
Glinda had bustled over to the cottage's small supply of food, pulling out bread and cheese and dried fruit. "Everyone needs to eat something. Including you, Elphaba. That spell took a lot out of you."
"I'm fine," Elphaba protested, but her swaying contradicted her words.
"You're very clearly not fine," Glinda said firmly. "Sit down before you fall down. That's an order from the Good Witch."
Despite everything, Elphaba smiled. "You really do enjoy bossing people around, don't you?"
"Only when they're being stubborn and self-sacrificing," Glinda retorted, but there was warmth in her voice. She pressed a piece of bread into Elphaba's hand. "Eat. That's not a request."
As Glinda fussed over Elphaba and Fiyero carefully adjusted the blankets around you and Hope, you felt something settle in your chest—something that felt suspiciously like peace.
Yes, you were fugitives now. Yes, the Wizard's forces would be searching for you. Yes, there were a hundred dangers waiting out there in the wider world.
But right now, in this moment, you were alive. Your daughter was alive. You were surrounded by people who loved you enough to defy death itself.
And that, you decided, was more than enough.
---
The cottage in the Vinkus was small but cozy, tucked into a valley where the winds couldn't reach and the Wizard's eyes couldn't find. Fiyero had used his connections to secure it, and all four of you—five, counting Hope—had settled into an uneasy but functional rhythm.
You stood by the window now, Hope nestled against your shoulder, watching as Elphaba and Glinda worked in the small garden they'd planted. Despite their vastly different approaches—Elphaba methodical and precise, Glinda enthusiastic but haphazard—they'd somehow made it work. Much like everything else about their relationship.
Hope cooed softly, and you smiled, pressing a kiss to her downy head. She'd grown in the past three months, filling out from the too-small premature baby into a healthy, happy infant. Her eyes were still that brilliant blue, and her smile—when she deigned to share it—was pure Fiyero.
Speaking of whom...
The door opened, and your husband entered, his arms full of firewood. He'd grown a beard in the past months, and his hair was longer, but his eyes still lit up the same way whenever he saw you and Hope.
"How are my girls?" he asked, setting down the wood and crossing to you.
"Perfect," you said honestly. You leaned into him as he wrapped his arms around both of you. "Absolutely perfect."
He kissed you softly, then Hope, then you again. "I love you," he murmured against your hair. "Both of you. More than anything."
"We love you too," you replied.
Outside, Glinda's laughter drifted through the window, followed by Elphaba's dry response. You couldn't make out the words, but you could hear the affection underneath.
Hope waved her tiny fist, apparently demanding attention, and Fiyero gently took her from you. He cradled her against his chest, swaying slightly in the way that always soothed her.
"Do you think she'll remember any of this?" he asked quietly. "When she's older? The danger, the running, the hiding?"
"I don't know," you admitted. "But I think she'll remember the love. The way we all came together to protect each other. The way we chose hope over despair, even when it would have been easier to give up."
Fiyero nodded slowly. "Good," he said. "Because that's what I want her to know. That no matter how dark the world gets, there's always a reason to keep fighting. There's always hope."
You leaned your head against his shoulder, watching your daughter's eyes drift closed in her father's arms, and smiled.
"Yes," you whispered. "There's always Hope."
And outside, the wind picked up, carrying with it the scent of growing things and the promise of change. Somewhere out there, Oz was still hunting for the Wicked Witch. Still spreading lies about good and evil.
But here, in this small cottage, there was only truth: that love was stronger than hate, that hope was stronger than despair, and that sometimes, the wicked ones were those who wore crowns and called themselves good.
Your daughter would grow up knowing that. And someday, when she was ready, she would help change the world.
But for now, she slept peacefully in her father's arms, surrounded by people who had defied death itself to keep her safe.
And that was enough.
That was more than enough.
That was everything.
Together Forever
Wicked x Female! Reader
Summary: Friends should be together forever, right? So why are you trying so hard to get away from them the moment everything is falling apart?
Characters: Elphaba, Galinda/Glinda, Fiyero, Nessa, Boq and [Your name]
Warning: Yandere themes - Obsessive, possessive, sexual?, english is not my first language so there might be some incorrect grammar and spelling.
Author's note: I haven't written anything in a while so I'm definitely rusty, there is a possibility that a second part might happen but I'm currently back in the Avatar fandom right now lol.
"Knock knock," The familiar voice of your friend, Fiyero says in that annoying tone of amusement he uses when it was time to annoy you.
You rolled your eyes but didn't move from your position on your very own workshop or rather the classroom that you begged Madame Morrible to have specifically for you and all your stuff, i.e sewing machine, fabrics and etc.
Your fingers worked efficiently as you sewed two fabrics together using your handy threads and needle.
"I told you to knock on the door, Fiyero." You merely said, squinting your eyes as you worked.
The prince lets out a feign groan of annoyance, "working again? really? it's time to take a break, pretty girl." He moved closer to you, hands moving to grip your waist and chin placed on your shoulder as he watched you concentrate or rather... try to concentrate with his movements and all. "C'mon, let us spend time together... just us two." He whispers in your ear, tightening his grip on your waist.
His touch, his words and the close proximity was making you shiver in which he didn't fail to notice considering the growing smirk on his face. "It's been so long since we've been together without Galinda and the others." His breath fanned your neck as he moved even closer, brushing hips lips against your skin. "Makes me miss our time at Winkie Country together where it's just the two of us."
Before you could utter a word, the door burst open and another familiar voice came in. It was your blonde friend, barging inside your work room similar to how she barged inside your life even with the amount of times you pushed them away.
You can hear Fiyero let out an annoyed sigh at the sight of Galinda and your other group of friends as he pulled back, "just great." he mutters, taking his hand off of your waist.
"Oh dear Oz, did we interrupt?" Galinda tilts her head to the side, smiling 'innocently' at the two of you. Elphaba gave you an apologetic smile as Boq and Nessa immediately moved to stare at your designs in awe.
"Ye-"
"No," You immediately said, cutting off Fiyero as you place your needles on the table. Might as well stop with all the company coming in. "You didn't interrupt anything," You added as the Winkie prince lets out a small huff, crossing his arms which the others didn't seem to notice as they kept their attention onto you.
Elphaba steps closer, "We're planning on going to the Tulip fields at Munchkinland, do you want to come with us?" She asked.
Your fellow Munchkin friend nods, giving you a shy smile. "Y-yeah, seeing as you've never been to Munchkinland before... I mean- you and Fiyero.." He stammers out, cheeks heating up in embarrassment at the gaze you and the rest gave him, and mostly flustered due to your gaze specifically. "wa-wanted you t- you and Fiyero! you b-both to.."
Your green skinned friend cleared her throat, interrupting his ramblings as Fiyero rolled his eyes, Galinda trying to hide her laughter and Nessa letting out a sigh. "Do you want to come?" she asked, secretly hoping you'd agree, looking at you. "You don't have to though," she adds even though she clearly wants you to come.
And that's where you find yourself in the said field, blanket placed on top of the grass as you and your friends sat down. Feeling the wind blowing your hair, your eyes closed momentarily at the feeling of peace.
You were oblivious to the looks they were giving you, how much they wanted to savour the moment forever... of you being with them, no matter how much they wanted it to be just you and them specifically without the others.
The tulips and the sun just accentuated your beautiful form even more.
Galinda smiled, dimples showing as a genuine feeling of happiness surrounded her entire being. 'I am so happy!' she thought, wishing this feeling would never end as she stared at you.
Everyone thought this.
Everyone thought how badly they want this to never end and even though you always seemed annoyed by their presence, they and you knew deep down that you felt happy.
"It's beautiful," Nessa said softly as her gaze turned away from you to look at the flowers.
Your eyes opened, "It is... I never thought Munchkinland was this beautiful." You said as you turn to Boq who immediately looked away, cheeks heating up once more.
Fiyero hums, moving closer to your form. Hand moving to your head so that you were leaning on his shoulder, "You're a much better view than some land." He whispers, voice husky as his lips brushed against the skin of your forehead.
You rolled your eyes, ever the flirt. He lets out a yelp before laughing when he felt the harsh jab you gave him on the side with your elbow. The others only snickered at the sight with Elphaba smiling, a happy and genuine lift of her lips as she watches your reaction.
If only this moment would stay like this forever.
The Monster and the Prince ~ PROLOGUE
Fiyero x Frankenstein inspired! OC
Fandom: WICKED
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic depictions of violence
Summery:
“Can you tell me a story?” Dorothy asked as they walked, cradling Toto in her arms as the small dog dozed.
The scarecrow thought for a moment, his mouth sullen in deep thought. How did it seem like he was thinking when he claimed to have no brain. “I know one,” he said after a while. “It’s a story from long ago, and all those who are in this story are gone now.”
She nodded her head and a bubbly thought arrived in her mind. “So this is a true story!” She excitedly inquired. “Oh how I love true stories!”
The Scarecrow chuckled at her excitement, his eyes glistening with a hidden sorrow. “It all started with a girl in a silver mask stepping off the boat to Shiz…”
An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works
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Note: If there is anyone searching for a fic on Fiyero having a painful transformation ☝️ it’s in the prologue.
A/N - Not a comeback, but I was overwhelmed with feelings and made a very short drabble. Reader is a Deer Woman, but all that's mentioned in this is ears. Yeah, there's more lore for this ship. Have 150+ words.
-
It was a shock to the system, but she rushed to him regardless, cupping his cheeks as the ears on the top of her head twitched, forward in alert.
“You’re alive. You’re…” her fingers traced the lines in the burlap that replaced the smooth skin that she’d known before. His blue eyes were dark brown, just as soft as ever, but a jolting shift. His hair was yellow straw, rough where it had once been soft.
“I’m here,” the smile on his lips was apologetic and the slightest bit insecure, a tilt to his lips that she’d seen before and recognized as uncertainty, like she would be disappointed.
Like he wasn’t the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen.
“You’re gorgeous.” She leaned forward, lips brushing his own, the texture another change that would take getting used to, but she didn’t mind it in the slightest. He was here, and he was hers, and he was beautiful.
Hi there! Happy to see your requests are open and that you saw "Wicked For Good" because I am officially in love with Fiyero, as I think loads of people are. 🥰 I would like to request prompt #10 from your Love Confessions list, only if you have the time and are able. Please and thank you. xoxo 😘
Oh he's quite the looker isn't he? I hope this is what you wanted and you enjoy it! Thank you for requesting 🫶🏻
“What part of ‘I want you, and only you’ do you not understand?”
Ozdust
Y/N watched as Glinda sat next to Fiyero for Dr. Dillamon's class. Glinda's shiny blonde hair flower perfectly on her shoulders as she tossed her hair. Y/N frowned as Fiyero got sucked into her trance. Her stomach turned with jealousy as she watched their bodies move closer and bump into each other.
Y/N had feelings for Fiyero, just like every girl and guy at Shiz. The second her eyes landed on the Prince she was smitten. He was gorgeous, polite, and so dreamy. With the whole world in his hands, Glinda was the obvious choice. Y/N couldn't blame him for that, but she wished it had been her. She tore her eyes away as Dr. Dillamon entered the room. Fiyero slowly turned his head to sneak a look over to Y/N. Her attention was on Dr. Dillamon and Fiyero took his time to admire how beautiful she looked. He did his best to pay attention to class but he found his attention on her.
The class ended and Y/N packed up to leave. She was stopped when Fiyero coughed. She looked up and noticed he was far closer than before.
"Hi," he said gently. His voice was music to hear ears, one simple word and she could listen to him talk for days.
"Hi, Fiyero," she said politely. She couldn't help but look over his shoulder and see Glinda giving him a suspicious look.
"Ozdust is tonight, are you coming?" He asked
Y/N frowned slightly. "No, I wasn't planning on it."
Fiyero seemed to be sad by the news and it made her heart flutter. "Well, what if I ask you to go with me?"
Y/N wasn't sure if she heard him correctly. She stared at him in shock and he chuckled.
"I'd love to," Y/N smiled. She was positive she had never felt this happy in her life. He mirrored her smile and picked up her hand. She held her breath as he moved his hand to his lips and gave it a soft kiss.
~~~~
The start of the dance was beautiful. The ballroom was gorgeous and Y/N hadn't seen anything like it. The fact that the Prince was on her arm was an added bonus. She felt shy as everyone watched them walk in together, and some people whispered. She understood why, she wasn't Glinda. They danced and laughed. She could feel herself fall harder for him and it seemed he was going to be there to catch her.
Until Glinda showed up. She wore a beautiful pink dress and her hair was styled down. Her blonde hair practically shined underneath the lights. Her determined eyes set on Fiyero as she walked over to them. Y/N was intimidated and slightly stepped back.
"Fiyero, may I speak with you for a moment?"
"Be right back," Fiyero said to Y/N with a comforting smile. His eyes told her to relax and she tried. She tried to give them privacy but couldn't help to look over as they talked. It seemed slightly heated as Glinda stomped her foot and her arms wailed everywhere.
Then they kissed. Y/N felt her heart shatter as Glinda gripped to Fiyero's suit. She didn't bother to waste more time. She picked up her dress from the floor and ran to the exit.
~
Y/N harshly wiped her face as she cleaned off her ruined makeup. She wasn't sure why she continued to play into the fantasy of Fiyero being in love with her. She heard rapid knocks on her door and quickly opened it. She was shocked to see Fiyero on the other side with sad puppy eyes.
"Fiyero?"
"You run fast," he said as he welcomed himself into her room. "You left before I could talk to you."
"It seemed you were too occupied to have any conversations," Y/N sassed and closed the door. Fiyero softly chuckled and smiled.
"I do find your sharp tongue attractive but right now I need you to listen with no interruptions," Fiyero directed. He raised his eyebrow to question her. She pursed her lips together and nodded. She tried not to focus on the fact he liked that about her. "I invited you to the dance because I wanted to talk to you."
"Then why were you glued to Glinda's side all night?"
"I believe I asked for no interruptions," Fiyero said firmly. Y/N sighed but obeyed. "Glinda was glued to my side, there's a difference. But she's not what I want to talk about. We spent a night together and we told each other how we felt. And yet, you doubt me."
"May I speak now?" She asked.
"The floor is all yours, darling."
"It was a great night and I did believe you. I dreamed of you feeling the same way and it felt too good to be true. And I showed up to the dance today in a beautiful dress just to get your attention and all you saw was her. She's all you ever see Fiyero!" Y/N said as she got teary eyed. "I don't blame you. I could never be like her."
Fiyero quickly walked over to her and cupped her face. He stared passionately into her eyes. “What part of ‘I want you, and only you’ do you not understand? I don't want Glinda. I'm in love with you. Just stop fighting." He placed his forehead against hers and moved his hands to grip her hips. "I shoot her down whenever she tries. And I told her tonight she needed to stop forever because I was never going to change my mind. I want you." She held her breath as he looked down at her lips. It was almost like a spell washed over her and she melted into his hands. Her eyes desperately begged him to close the small space between them.
"You kissed," Y/N said as her voice broke.
"She kissed me. I rejected her, I promise," Fiyero begged. His eyes were watery and she could see the fear in them, fear that she was going to walk away.
"I want you too, Fiyero," she whispered.
"Then don't hold back," he said and pulled her into a passionate kiss. She felt fireworks erupt in her stomach as she tasted his soft lips. She didn't want the kiss to ever end.
Oh Captain, My Captain
Fandom: Wicked: For Good (Movie Adaptation)
Pairing: Captain of the Gale Force!Fiyero x Reader
Rating: 18+ MDNI
Tags: Fluff, Smut, Uniform Kink, Fingering, Unprotected P in V Sex, Multiple Orgasms, Slight Dom/Sub Vibes, and Explicit Language
Word Count: Around 3000
Written For: Shadow's Kinktober 2025 and @sweetspicybingo
Squares/Prompts Filled: G4 - Uniform Kink for Shadow's Kinktober 2025 | O1 - Uniform Kink for Sweet and Spicy Kink Bingo
Requested By: @a-quick-request from this ask
Dividers By: @/saradika-graphics
A/N: My loves!! I'm back! I'm so happy to be home again. I know October has since passed, but I will be honoring and posting all those Kinktober fics I promised. I have a lot of the requests started so stay tuned while I get them finished and posted. I hope all of you enjoy them even though they're extremely late. I'm so sorry for that. I do hope all of you will forgive me. I adore you all ❤️ And without further ado, enjoy a feral Fiyero Tigelaar...
You should have been finishing your hair.
You should have been putting on your shoes, or your jewelry, or doing literally anything other than standing frozen in the doorway of your bedroom with your lips parted like you’ve just had the wind knocked out of you.
But Fiyero was buttoning his uniform jacket.
And nothing, not the brightest constellation, nor Elphaba's magic, nor the Wizard himself, could’ve dragged your eyes away from his reflection.
His back was to you at first, broad shoulders stretching the deep emerald fabric as he shrugged it onto his body, rolling it into place with a soft flex that made the seams strain for a passing moment. Gold embroidery shimmered over him in the early morning light. His hair was slightly messy from sleeping beside you, but the uniform…oh, it did things to you.
He reached for the next button.
You made a sound that was soft, involuntary, undeniable.
He froze.
Slowly, very slowly, he turned his head toward you, expression shifting from casual focus…to curiosity…to a knowing, devastating smirk that hit you low in your stomach.
“Sweetheart,” he murmured, voice deep and warm enough to melt steel, “you’re staring.”
Your throat went dry. “I-I wasn’t...I mean, I was, but you look-”
“Go on...”
He faced you fully now, fingers pausing at the top button, leaving his jacket teasingly open at the collar. “Tell me what I look like to you.”
You swallowed. “Dangerous.”
A quiet hum left him. Pleased. Predatory.
He lifted his chin, eyes dragging down your body in a slow, claiming sweep.
“Come here.”
Your legs moved before your mind caught up. Heat rushed through you, pooling thickly low between your thighs. He didn’t touch you at first, he just watched you approach, chest rising with restrained breath as if he could already smell the want rolling off your skin.
When you stopped in front of him, he dipped his head, nose brushing your temple.
His voice grazed your ear like velvet and smoke.
“Kneel.”
A command, gentle but absolute.
You shivered.
And then you obeyed, kneeling at his feet as if your body had been carved for this moment.
His gloved thumb grazed your chin, tipping your face up to him. The authority in his eyes made you feel small in the sweetest, most devastating way.
“You can’t focus when I wear this, can you?”
“No,” you whispered, breath shaking. “Not even a little.”
“Hm.” His thumb stroked your lower lip. “Good.”
He unbuttoned his jacket, letting you see every inch of tanned skin revealed beneath. His abs tightened as he slid the jacket off his shoulders, but he didn’t drop it, he draped it over your hands.
“Hold that for me.”
You trembled. “Yes, Captain.”
His breath hitched.
And then he was on you, lifting your chin with one hand while the other curled behind your head, pulling you in for a kiss that stole straight through your bones.
His mouth was commanding, devouring, angled with perfect dominance as he deepened it. Your hands clutched the fabric helplessly, the scent of him filling your lungs, fresh air, warm sun, and something uniquely Fiyero.
He broke away just long enough to murmur against your lips:
“I’m going to fuck you on this floor.”
Your pulse thundered.
He didn’t ask, he guided, one hand cupping the back of your head as he eased you onto your back, laying his emerald-and-gold jacket beneath you so you’d feel the weight of his rank against your skin. He settled between your legs, one knee pressing them open while his fingers skimmed up your inner thigh.
“So needy already,” he murmured, smiling against your throat as he kissed down it, slow and claiming. “Just from watching me dress.”
You gasped when his fingers found heat, slick, swollen, and aching.
He groaned.
“That’s for me?” he whispered. “All of this?”
“Yes! Fiyero, please!”
He kissed the hollow of your throat. “I’ve got you.”
And then he slid two fingers inside you, deep and precise, curling just right, and your cry broke into his mouth. He caught it with a kiss, swallowing your sounds as he worked you open. His thumb circled your clit, coaxing pleasure through you in steady, overwhelming waves.
“Hear that, baby?” he murmured. “Hear how much your pussy drips for me?”
Your hips lifted helplessly. His body pinned you effortlessly, his breath warm against your cheek.
“Look at me,” he commanded softly.
Your eyes met his, stormy blue, molten, starving, and that alone nearly pushed you over the edge.
He felt the way you tightened around his fingers.
His voice dropped to a growl.
“Cum for your Captain.”
Your orgasm crashed through you, shaking you from your fingertips to your toes. His fingers didn’t relent, he carried you through it, praising you in a low stream of words that melted you entirely.
When you finally slumped against the floor, trembling, he kissed your cheek gently.
“Good girl.”
But he wasn’t done.
He freed his cock from his trousers, settling his hips between your legs with a low, needy groan. His tip brushed your entrance, slick and hot, and your breath stuttered.
“Tell me how badly you want me to fuck you,” he whispered.
“I need it so bad. I always want you.”
He pushed in slow, inch by inch, burying himself inside you until he was seated fully. Your gasp mingled with his shuddering breath.
He wrapped your legs around his waist and lowered his forehead to yours.
“I’ll go easy,” he murmured. “But make no mistake-”
He drew back and thrust deep, slow, claiming.
“-you’re mine.”
His rhythm was controlled, steady, relentless in its intensity. Every snap of his hips angled perfectly, making your breath break in soft whimpers. His hands cradled your face, his thumbs brushing your skin with absurd gentleness despite the strength in his movements.
“I love how you look splayed across my colors,” he whispered. “I love how you look under me.”
“Fiyero-”
“Say my name when you cum,” he breathed against your lips. “Say it so the whole damn palace hears.”
You shattered.
He held you through it, fucking you through your orgasm until he swore under his breath, “fuck...sweetheart...” and spilled inside you with a deep, shaking groan.
He collapsed over you, careful not to crush you, pressing his face into your neck as he caught his breath.
After a long, trembling moment, he lifted his head and smiled softly.
“I fear you've ruined me,” he whispered.
You stroked his cheek. “Only fair. You ruin me daily.”
He kissed you before brushing your hair back from your forehead.
“Next time,” he murmured, “I’ll put the uniform on even slower…just for you.”
The morning after he’d taken you on the floor, on top of his own uniform jacket, you woke to the lingering ache of him in every muscle. The beautiful, satisfying soreness that came from being thoroughly ravished.
Fiyero had left early for patrol, but not before kissing you murmuring, “Rest. I’ll be home before you miss me.”
You missed him within minutes.
All day, you couldn’t stop replaying the way he’d looked at you yesterday, hungry, proud, completely undone by how much you wanted him in uniform.
So you decided to surprise him.
When late afternoon sunlight streamed warm and gold across your bedroom, you slipped onto the bed…wearing absolutely nothing beneath his Captain of the Guard jacket.
The emerald fabric swallowed your shoulders and fell open just enough to reveal a teasing stripe of bare skin, the gold embroidery glinting against your thighs.
You lay back against the pillows, legs parted just enough, heartbeat fluttering in anticipation.
Finally, you heard Fiyero’s boots in the hall.
The shift of his sword belt.
His voice calling gently, “Sweetheart? I’m-”
He stepped into the room.
The rest of his sentence never made it out.
He stilled. Completely. Like someone had reached into his chest and squeezed.
His eyes dragged over you in one slow, devastating sweep, the jacket, your bare legs, your exposed throat, the tilt of your hips framed perfectly by his uniform.
When his gaze snapped up to yours again, something inside him went dark and bright all at once.
“Sweet Oz…” His voice cracked roughly, disbelieving. “Is it my birthday?”
You giggled sweetly. “Welcome home, Captain.”
The sound he made was a growl, torn straight from his chest.
He was on the bed in seconds, knees sinking into the mattress as his hands bracketed your thighs, pulling you down beneath him. His fingers dug into the fabric of his jacket on your body, gripping it like he needed to make sure it was real.
“You put this on,” he murmured, “just for me?”
“Yes.”
His breath shuddered.
He didn’t kiss you.
He devoured you.
His mouth crashed onto yours, desperate and hot, stealing the breath from your lungs. His hands slid beneath the open front of the jacket and found nothing but bare skin.
When he realized you were completely naked underneath, he pulled back just enough to look, his pupils eclispsing his irises, chest rising and falling with unsteady hunger.
“You’re…fuck…sweetheart, you’ve got nothing under it.”
His thumb brushed your hip.
“You’re wearing my rank and nothing else.”
You nodded, whispering, “Because you ruined me yesterday.”
He hissed through his teeth.
His hand slid between your thighs, and the second he felt the heat of you, the slickness, he nearly broke.
He cupped you firmly, thumb circling your clit with a claiming pressure that made your back arch.
“You’re already soaked, Oz, did you start without me?”
Your voice broke on a gasp. “No...was waiting...wanted you-”
He leaned in close, lips at your ear.
“Good. Because I’m going to take you apart.”
His fingers teased your entrance. one slow drag that made your thighs tremble, and then he slid them inside you, deep and filling, curling exactly where he knew you needed.
You cried out, clutching the collar of his own jacket around your body.
“That’s right,” he whispered against your mouth. “Hold onto me. Hold onto my colors. Let me hear you.”
He pumped his fingers hard enough to make the bed frame shudder, his thumb rubbing your clit. Every thrust coaxed another sound from you, helpless whimpers, soft pleas, broken moans that only fed his frenzy.
“You look so good like this,” he rasped. “Spread out in my coat, taking everything I give you.”
Your climax built fast, too fast. His uniform on your skin, his scent all over you, his voice in your ear.
“Fiyero! I’m gonna-”
His fingers continued to fuck you relentlessly.
“Oh, you’re gonna cum,” he growled, “but you’re gonna wait until you're stretched around my cock.”
He withdrew his fingers, leaving you aching, and unfastened his belt.
He freed himself, thick and already dripping for you, and pressed the head to your entrance with a groan so raw it vibrated through his chest.
“You did this to me,” he whispered. “You. Lying here like a dream.”
Then he pushed in.
Slow only for the first inch, and then he snapped his hips forward with a deep, fierce thrust that stole your breath. His hands pinned your wrists above your head, the sleeves of his jacket slipping down your arms as he held you in place.
“Look at you,” he breathed. “Taking me so deep...so perfect...Oz, sweetheart...”
You could barely breathe it felt so good.
He pulled out halfway, then slammed back into you with a force that made the headboard strike the wall. The jacket fell fully open beneath you, emerald and gold against your skin as he fucked into you with raw, hungry possession.
“You’re mine,” he growled, thrust punctuating every syllable.
“All.”
thrust
“fucking.”
thrust
“mine.”
Your orgasm hit so hard your vision blurred.
Your cry broke, high and desperate, his name spilling from your lips in ragged pleas. Your body clenched around him, trembling uncontrollably.
Fiyero swore, sharp, bitten off, and thrust three more times, deep enough to make stars burst behind your eyes, before he shattered with a low, guttural moan, burying himself inside you as his body shuddered over yours.
For a long moment, he simply held you, breathing hard, face pressed to your chest, hands trembling where they cupped your thighs.
Then, softly he lifted his head and kissed your cheek.
“I don’t deserve you,” he whispered. “But I am never, ever, letting you go.”
He eased the jacket back over your shoulders, covering you gently before settling beside you and pulling you into his arms.
“Tomorrow,” he murmured against your neck, “I want you to wear the hat too.”
Fiyero Tag List: @my-queen-rhaenyra-targaryen @a-quick-request