Chapter Text
It’s been only a month since her heat, but Glinda feels the ache of Elphaba’s absence like a wound that won’t heal. Since the Alpha had broken her heat, something in her has shifted—something deep and primal, something she doesn’t have a name for. It feels like a bond, even though she knows there isn’t actually one, no matter how much she had begged for it. No matter how much she wanted it.
No, there is no biological tie to Elphaba. Not officially. And yet her instincts twist tighter with every day apart, as if her body didn’t get the message. As if her soul is too stubborn to listen.
She’d waited until Elphaba was gone late that night, until the flicker of green disappeared through the distant trees, before letting herself collapse into little cries that evolved into full-body sobs she hadn’t been expecting. She hadn’t expected any of it— Elphaba showing up, the way her body had thrilled at how Elphaba embraced those filthy Alpha instincts, and how much she’d wanted that. Or the unbearable, aching emptiness that followed, knowing she couldn’t make Elphaba stay.
That night, she had touched every part of her skin Elphaba had claimed, silently begging it to hold the memory longer.
Each day since has been a quiet torture, moving through routines and responsibilities at the palace like a ghost. She can’t reach Elphaba. Can’t even say her name aloud. There’s no safe way to ask where she is or if she’s even alive. And so, each night, Glinda leaves the door to her balcony unlocked, just in case. Hoping Elphaba will come to her again. Hoping she’ll understand the message if she does, no matter how quietly it’s sent. But there’s no answer, not even a visit.
Now, Glinda finds herself in Munchkinland—a place she’s grown to hate, not for its buildings or location, but because it’s still home to Nessarose, and by extension, all the terrible memories of what Elphaba endured here under her Father and the ignorant munchkins.
It sickens her to smile for these people who would gladly see Elphaba captured and punished, or worse. But she does it anyway, it’s what she’s been trained to do.
But this is her duty. To make an appearance at some festival of tradition featuring a grand performance, and a closing speech by her to promote new Ozian policies. She’s the manufactured symbol of peace, of goodness. She plays the part well even when she’s splintering inside.
Tonight they’ve placed her in a high, private viewing box-type suite, far above the crowd, where she’s to enjoy the performance and deliver her speech when the time comes.
Truthfully, she’s grateful for the distance away from the masses. She prefers not to mingle more than she already has to. As they announce her name, a spotlight cuts through the evening air and finds her. She steps forward to the stone railing, into the warmth of the light, wearing a flowing pale pink gown that sparkles subtly beneath the light. The crowd roars and so she smiles, poised, practiced, and perfect.
But the moment the spotlight fades and her figure slips back into shadow, the smile disappears. Her shoulders drop tiredly, weighed down by responsibility. Her chest feels heavy with a hollowness she’s known for years, but now it stings with fresh ruin. Before her heat, before she knew what it meant to have Elphaba not just satisfy her, but fill her in a way that made her body feel whole—Glinda had already quietly belonged to her.
Through the last few years, her heart had ached for Elphaba in quiet, steady ways. In brief encounters with updates exchanged like contraband, in the way she replayed every fleeting touch as if it meant something more. In the way she always held hope that Elphaba would reach out time and time again.
But her recent overwhelming heat changed everything. It shattered the fragile boundary between longing and need. Now, having had Elphaba, having really had her, felt her pressed deep inside her, seen the look on her face as she gave in, even just for a night—it’s all worse now. The emptiness cuts deeper. Her body remembers too much. Her instincts confuse it for something permanent, something promised. And now, all she has is absence.
So she tries to carefully guard her heart, the way she always has. Against Elphaba’s sharp edges. Against her silence. Against her insufferable need to do everything her own way. But the truth is that Glinda would give herself over completely and fully, if only Elphaba would ask.
A few dim candles flicker in sconces behind her, offering little warmth, leaving her surrounded by the shadows. The light from the stage far below glows faintly, but it’s distant, disconnected.
There’s a very faint trace of a familiar scent in the air that is a bit earthy, a bit sharp. She tells herself she’s imagining it. That she’s just remembering.
A Munchkinland attendant steps into her private box-suite, bows stiffly, and asks if she needs anything or for him to stay.
“No, thank you,” she says with her Glinda the Good voice. It’s pleasant and melodic, airtight. The voice that makes people believe her even when she’s lying.
The door shuts softly behind him, and silence falls again.
She folds her arms across her waist, staring out over the crowd, utterly alone in the dark. At least it’s peaceful tonight, she thinks.
Suddenly—a hand clamps over her mouth.
Glinda jerks back, eyes flying wide, her cry caught and strangled beneath something warm—but there’s nothing there. Her breath catches in fear. No shape. No hand.
Something wraps around her middle—an arm, she thinks—yanking her back into what feels like a body. But there’s no one there.
She looks down—no arm across her, no hand at her mouth, no body behind her as she twists to look. Only shadows.
Nothing in her line of sight. No shape, no flicker of movement. Just firm pressure. Heat. A definite presence.
Her heart slams against her ribs. She lets out a muffled, panicked sound—tries to call for help, but it dies under the hand that’s already muffling her, pressing harder against her mouth to silence her as the arm around her squeezes her tighter.
She’s alone. She knows she’s alone. This isn’t possible.
Her body thrashes in protest, instinct before reason. But the arms don’t budge. They hold her firm, relentless.
She reaches up to pry the hand away and her fingers connect with skin.
Warm and solid. She can feel the contours of knuckles, the firm press of a palm over her lips, the edge of a sleeve brushing her cheek. There’s no question—someone is holding her.
Her heart lurches. Panic claws at her chest. Her body keeps reacting, twisting against the hold, but it’s useless. They are all around her, real and solid yet invisible.
She tries to turn again, to see anything—anything—but her body is locked tighter in place by invisible arms. Her breath quickens. Another muffled, frightened cry slips from her throat.
A voice breaks through. Low. Smooth. Dangerous.
“Shh,” it breathes a soft, hot exhale against her ear. “They’ll hear.”
She freezes. She knows that voice well. It pierces through the fog of panic like a thread pulled taut.
Elphaba.
Her whole body immediately stops fighting. Her breath shudders out of her slowly, gradually. The fear twists into something else. Still intense, but no longer terrifying.
She can’t see her but she knows. It’s her.
Of course it is.
Glinda takes a pause, breathing in deeply, the familiar unique woodsy musk of Elphaba becoming more recognizable now that she’s aware of her presence. And then everything stops as she smells something even stronger. Alpha.
Earthy, grounding, smoky and sharp. Calming, demanding submission. It floods her senses, hitting her like a wave as it curls around the edges of her awareness, forcing her body to remember what it still aches for, as if she could forget.
Her knees nearly give out as her body reacts, she doesn’t even try to fight it. Her back presses tighter into the invisible form behind her—Elphaba, her mind screams, Elphaba Elphaba Elphaba—
Elphaba’s hand is still over her mouth. Glinda reaches for it again slowly, this time not in fear, but to feel. Her fingers trace over knuckles, the angle of a wrist, the long sharp nails.
Elphie.
She’s here. She’s actually here. Something akin to hope flutters in her chest.
Her muscles begin to soften and relax. Her breathing becomes more even, less labored. Her skin burns. Her thighs press together, involuntarily.
Something raw and buried inside her begins to unfurl, building steadily with fervor.
No bond. No claim. But her body doesn’t seem to know the difference, it simply recognizes My Alpha is here.
She fully succumbs and melts back into the hold, surrendering to the trap of it—whatever this is, whatever it’s becoming.
Behind her, Elphaba hums quietly, smug and reassured. “There you go, my sweet. That’s better.”
Her breath ghosts across Glinda’s neck, causing heat to pool between Glinda’s legs. The hand over her mouth loosens, not quite releasing, but light enough that Glinda could speak if she really needed to. Could pull away. Could scream.
But she doesn’t, not yet.
She just stands there, trembling, caught between a quiet fury and loud relief, soaked in the scent of an Alpha who has left her alone for weeks and still has the audacity to hold her like this.
And Elphaba can feel the moment Glinda gives in. The heat rising off her skin. The sweet Omega scent that’s already replying to hers.
There’s so many questions Glinda wants to ask. How long has Elphaba been here tonight, where has she been for weeks, has she missed her the way Glinda misses her —
Elphaba leans in closer, invisible and intimate, lips brushing the shell of Glinda’s ear. All questions go out the door as Glinda’s mind goes fuzzy with desire.
“I was curious,” Elphaba murmurs softly but her words are razor-sharp. “If I could still touch you like this.”
Her hand wrapped around Glinda shifts lower, pressing knowingly against the top of Glinda’s thigh.
“If you’d still let me.”
The words hang in the air—cruelly teasing, controlled and calculated. But they’re not empty. They’re the closest thing to a question Elphaba can ask. The closest thing to vulnerability she can muster.
Elphaba’s voice breaks slightly at the edges. It’s quiet, almost too quiet. Glinda can sense the crack in the bold mask that the Alpha wears. Elphaba could’ve returned before this. But instead, she disappeared. And now she’s here, demanding proof that she’s still wanted before she’ll let herself be known.
Elphaba’s hand stills, not moving, hesitating. Because she won’t take what isn’t given. Not with Glinda, not ever. Even if her Alpha instincts ache to claim, her conscience won’t let her take what isn’t freely given.
Glinda’s breath stutters. Her mind screams to stay angry, to resist, to pull away, to make Elphaba earn it after she’s made Glinda suffer in silence for a month.
But her body is already answering for her. She doesn’t flinch. Doesn’t retreat. She presses backwards, keening at Elphaba’s touch, releasing a little moan in consent as she nods slightly with a muffled mhm.
Elphaba exhales sharply, almost a groan, the sound caught between hunger and relief.
“That’s what I thought,” she whispers, wrecked and reverent. Her hand at Glinda’s thigh slides back up over her center, up over hips.
The hand over Glinda’s mouth slides down, gripping her jaw with firm precision.
Fingers press into her skin, tilting her head back and to the side, guiding her, positioning her.
She gasps softly, lips parting on instinct. She can’t see what’s coming. Can’t brace for it. And that makes her ache even more devastatingly.
Elphaba’s mouth crashes against hers. The kiss is sudden, filthy, and consuming. Her tongue pushes past Glinda’s lips, licking into her with purpose, with hunger, with something closer to desperation buried beneath the control.
Glinda moans into it, reflexive, completely helpless as her that heat builds in her core. She’s blind to Elphaba’s approach. All she can do is feel.
It’s not gentle. Not coaxing. It’s a claim in it’s own way. And she’s already too far gone to resist.
Elphaba pulls away, leaving Glinda breathing hard, lips parted, the ghost of her mouth still burning against her own.
Then, Elphaba shifts against her. Glinda feels her move slowly, with just a trace of pressure. Elphaba’s head lowers to the curve of her neck, her lips and teeth grazing the skin right over her pulse, over where a claim mark should go. The contact is light but dangerous. Intentional. She seems to pause before she runs her teeth over it, teasing a bite (Glinda could swear she feels her shake). But her teeth never sink in.
Glinda whines instinctively, breath catching. Before she can make another sound, Elphaba’s hand slaps back over her mouth.
“Shh,” she murmurs into Glinda’s ear. “There are people all around, aren’t there? Just on the other side of these walls. If you’re loud…”
Her voice is low. Almost sweet. Almost. “…they’ll hear you.”
Glinda’s stomach twists with something hot and humiliating and she falters at that. Elphaba’s mouth curves into a slow grin against Glinda’s skin as she feels Glinda twitch. Then Elphaba adds quietly, seemingly amused, “Unless that’s what you want.”
I only what them to hear if I’m yours, Glinda thinks to herself, her gut twisting at the thought of it. But if I’m yours, they can never know.
Her chest thrums deeply, painfully at the sentiment.
Elphaba brings her hand down slowly, fingertips trailing off Glinda’s lips to tilt her head slightly, allowing more access as her mouth returns to Glinda’s neck—not gentle now, but ravenous. She sucks harshly at the sensitive skin, then laps at it with her tongue, hot and possessive.
Glinda clenches her teeth, barely stifling a moan, shifting her thighs together as she feels slick begin to gather between her legs.
Suddenly, everything stills and she feels Elphaba’s lips leave her neck, much to her displeasure.
Elphaba steps back just enough to place both hands firmly on Glinda’s hips guiding her forward two steps towards the railing.
Glinda gasps. The inability to see Elphaba makes it all worse—disorienting, maddening. She has no idea what Elphaba will do next. It hits her once again that she’s completely at her mercy.
Elphaba’s hands begin to move again, deliberately and commanding.
One glides down Glinda’s arm, finding her wrist and guiding it forward, placing Glinda’s palm firmly on the stone railing. Elphaba then takes the opposite hand and follows suit before she slides her hands back down to her Omega’s hips.
Glinda feels her fingers curl around her, sharp nails pressing in, as Elphaba pulls her back just slightly so her hips jut out, back arching. She seems to align Glinda right where she wants her.
Glinda gasps at the shift in weight, the cool air brushing under her skirt as she’s drawn into an extended position, lengthening her chest forward. A firm palm presses between her shoulder blades, pushing down.
Not hard. Just enough.
“Bend over for me.”
The words are filthy. Possessive. Undeniable.
Glinda shudders, breath catching on the edge of a moan. She hesitates, but only for a second. Only because she wishes for something more first, something sentimental and soft to thinly cushion the rough edge. And then she gives in and obeys like her body wants and craves to.
She lets Elphaba press her forward until her torso hovers just above the stone railing, elbows resting on it, hands gripping the edge. Her breath comes in shallow bursts. Her whole body burns .
Glinda gasps.
There’s a sudden movement behind her—hands bunching the fabric of her dress, shoving it up over her hips in one swift, practiced motion. She feels the air hit the back of her thighs, then higher on the bare skin of her backside kissed by the night air, exposed.
A strangled sound catches in her throat. Her eyes flutter shut. She doesn’t dare look back. There’s nothing to see anyway. But she feels everything.
Hands trace up the backs of her legs, slow and unhurried, parting her cheeks as they climb over the curve and expose her flimsy damp lace underwear clinging to her soaked cunt.
Glinda inhales sharply as she the hands continue roaming and she feels a sharp tug at her lace. Not cruel, but confident—pulling it to the side, just enough, just far enough to leave her hole bare.
Glinda chokes on a moan, her knuckles white as she grips impossibly tighter.
Her legs tremble. Her whole body pulses with the impossibility of it—being touched like this by someone she can’t see, bent over in a gown while a whole province celebrates just below.
Elphaba’s voice slides in as her hand slips between Glinda’s legs, fingers coating themselves in slick. “So wet for me.”
It’s almost a growl, low and dark. Not mocking, just true. Glinda almost squeals, biting her tongue violently, as she feels the pad of Elphaba’s finger, and the faintest tip of her nail, drag up and down slowly through her wet lips, back and forth, hitting her clit once or twice before pulling away. She waits with bated breath before she hears a sucking sound followed by a soft groan. Her cunt clenches, realizing Elphaba is tasting her off her fingers.
A hand curls back around Glinda’s hip, firm and possessive as Elphaba groans softly.
“You missed this, didn’t you?” Elphaba murmurs, just loud enough for her to hear, stroking the skin beneath her thumb. “I think you did.”
Glinda’s eyes squeeze shut. She presses her hips back instinctively, chasing contact, chasing her but she’s only met with resistance and air, Elphaba’s hands holding her in place.
Elphaba leans in somehow—close enough for Glinda to feel her lips brush her ear.
“How many nights did you lie there thinking about me?” she whispers, lips grazing her ear as she speaks. “Leaking all over like this. Did you try to touch yourself, or did you know I was the only one who could make it stop?”
And Glinda, despite herself, whimpers. She trembles against the railing, chest tight, throat thick with something she can’t name. Her body is already answering—wet, open, ready, but her mind—
“I thought about you every night,” Glinda whispers, truthfully. It spills out of her, raw and urgent, as if she’s trying to profess her vulnerability like a badge of honor. As if it might make her worthy of being claimed, of being loved too. Her voice is cracked open, breathless. Not defiant, just ruined. “I waited.”
She swears Elphaba’s hand tightens on her hip—just slightly. Like she’s the one trembling now. She presses on, one more truth.
“I couldn’t stop.”
Behind her, Elphaba’s breath falters. Her hand slips away too quickly, only to return, higher, brushing Glinda’s hair gently to the side. Her thumb lingers at the nape of her neck, rubbing once, tracing to where a claim would go, slowly. Then it’s gone again.
Glinda gasps as hands glide up the backs of her thighs again. This time they feel hungry, not hesitant—rising over the curve of her once more, grabbing, spreading again. But, this time they just hold her exposed, keeping her open, no hand moves to feel her.
The cool breeze licks over her soaked skin, making her shiver and she’s not sure if it’s from the air or how vulnerable she feels. Her underwear is still pulled to the side—useless now—and her lips are slick, dripping, throbbing with every breath.
She dares a glance back—only to see nothing. She closes her eyes. Tries to focus on the only thing that’s tangible: feeling.
Then, after a moment—a kiss. Wet and filthy, softly pressed to the inside of her left thigh. Then another. And another. Lips. Tongue. Teeth. Slowly trailing higher dragging along the skin. Glinda moans quietly, breath shuddering.
“Gods, you’re dripping everywhere,” Elphaba growls, her voice dropping deeper into that low, dangerous register that only comes out when she’s truly gone. Alpha-deep. Possessive. Brutal. Her scent leaks out, and it’s thick and domineering though slightly restrained as if she’s trying not to flood the room.
Glinda whimpers as quietly as possible as she breathes it in. It’s enough to make her muscles soften once more, her knees nearly buckling for the second time. The filthy words go straight through her, heat flooding her belly, tightening between her legs. She tries to brace herself.
Her whole body knows who’s touching her, who’s about to ruin her. She swallows a sob, hips rocking back slightly—offering—even before she realizes she’s doing it.
“Please,” she breathes softly. She’s not sure if she says it out loud.
Without any warning, or sign, she feels it suddenly—Elphaba licks her.
From clit to entrance—her tongue presses firmly, moving slowly, soaked in heat. The angle forces her to press upward, tongue firm and flat, dragging through Glinda like she’s savoring her.
Glinda gasps, sharp and broken, muffled against her own arm as she tries to stifle it.
Her hips jolt forward instinctively, trying to reflexively escape the overwhelming contact. But Elphaba’s hands are still holding her open, grabbing tightly, keeping her in place. Her hands pull Glinda back farther as if in response to her trying to wriggle away.
Another lick. Slower this time. Rougher.
And another.
Glinda sobs out a moan, trembling under the steady, possessive rhythm.
Every time Elphaba’s tongue flicks over her clit, her knees go weak, and helpless tremors shake through her thighs. But there’s no escape. Not from this. Not from her.
Elphaba groans against her, deeply and utterly wrecked, and the vibration makes Glinda cry out again.
“Ahh—Elphie—”
Another lick. Poking her tongue into Glinda’s dripping hole. A soft nip on her rear as she retreats for a second that makes Glinda convulse. The only thing keeping her upright is the railing beneath her hands and the Alpha’s hands gripping her tight.
Elphaba teases her entrance with her tongue as she goes back in, licking over and pushing against it, inside, again and again.
“Elphie—please—please—” her voice as quiet as she can keep it, laced with unfiltered desperation.
She’s right there. Right on the edge, quickly worked up after a month of craving. And Elphaba knows it, her tongue is merciless as she pushes her right to the edge. .
One more lick, dragging through her like she’s tasting her for the last time.
Then suddenly, Elphaba pulls away.
Glinda gasps, a strangled, high-pitched sound rips out of her, still muffled, into her arm as the pressure vanishes. Her hips jerk back involuntarily, chasing after the contact like it might come back if she just begged hard enough.
“Elphie—” she whispers, wild and cracked, whipping her head back to look only to face a disappointingly blank view.
There’s no answer. Just movement—deliberate. She hears the shift of body and breath behind her, feels fingers sliding around her hips and then dipping lower. Elphaba’s hand snakes forward, and Glinda trembles.
She doesn’t know what’s happening until she feels it. The soaked fabric of her underwear—still clinging between her folds—gets caught, tugged from the front. Elphaba pulls it upward, not hard but snug, dragging it right into her, over her clit.
A whimper tears from Glinda’s throat at the strangely rough sensation. The sudden pressure, the lace fabric damp, imprecise, relentless—makes her whole body twitch.
The fabric grinds against her with every tiny movement. Elphaba’s hand stays there, pulling it taut, slowly rocking it back and forth. Friction. Slick heat. Not quite enough. But so close. She buries her head again as she tries to just take it quietly, the torturously slow teasing.
“You were about to come for me already, weren’t you?” Elphaba murmurs, finally speaking. Her voice is low and sinful, breath hot against Glinda’s ear now, close again, devastating. “Now look at you. All desperate and eager.”
Glinda chokes on another moan, her hips twitching helplessly against the motion. The fabric rubs just right, messy and raw and maddening. Her legs are shaking slightly, her knuckles white on the railing.
“Please—” she gasps. “Please—just—”
“No,” Elphaba growls. Her hand gives one last cruel pull, the fabric dragging hard against her clit, and then lets it snap back into place. The loss of pressure makes Glinda cry out softly, broken.
Elphaba stands. Slowly. Like she has all the time in the world.
“Not yet.”
Glinda swallows hard, her forehead pressed to her arm, her body trembling with denied release.
Then she hears it—the rustle of fabric. Elphaba lifting her own dress, Glinda’s too—it feels like Elphaba moves slower than usual, like she’s savoring the moment.
One hand yanks Glinda’s soaked panties down, slow and clinging to her thighs.
Then, without warning, the thick, bare press of Elphaba’s cock, hot and heavy, slips between Glinda’s slick thighs, perfectly aligned with her entrance.
Glinda gasps, hips arching back without thought, begging silently. But Elphaba doesn’t push in. Not yet.
Instead, she slides it slowly, cruelly, along Glinda’s soaked slit, dragging the head through wet, slick folds, over her entrance, then away again. Over and over.
Each pass makes Glinda whimper. Her walls flutter around nothing, aching, desperate to be filled.
She presses back harder, trying to chase it, but Elphaba’s grip on her hips is firm.
“Is this what you want?” Elphaba murmurs, voice low and wrecked. “This what you’ve been thinking about every night while you waited?”
Glinda nods, fast and frantic, cheek pressed to her arm, voice small and cracking.
“Yes—please—”
Elphaba drags the head of her cock against Glinda’s entrance again, pushing just enough to part her as she quietly lets out half a gasp half a needy whine.
“Have you been good for me?” she murmurs, voice low, rasping.
Glinda nods, frantic, face flushed and hidden in the crook of her arm. Still, Elphaba doesn’t move.
“Did you really miss me?”
The question lands differently. It’s not filthy, not mocking, just low and quiet. Bare. Like she needs to hear the answer, like she’s been wanting to ask since she arrived.
Glinda nods again, smaller this time.
She looks back, even though she can’t see Elphaba —she wants Elphaba to see her. She doesn’t know where to look, but she tries her best.
Her voice breaks free, soft and wrecked. “I did. Every day.”
Elphaba exhales like it hurts. Her grip on Glinda’s hips tightens, and the silence stretches just a moment too long.
Something inside her shifts. Her voice drops, sharp and cutting. She pulls away from that soft, wounded edge, back into dominance, back into the rhythm she knows how to control.
“Do you want me to take you?” she asks, her voice dipping into something rougher now, though there’s an underlying pain that Glinda can identify. “You want my cock in you—even if I have to leave again?”
Glinda doesn’t look back this time, turning back ahead, pressing her face into the crook of her arm, prepping herself. She just swallows hard and replies quietly.
“I’ll take what I can get.”
Not a plea. Not surrender. Just the truth, worn soft with waiting and longing
The words cut through Elphaba’s desire like a knife.They knock the air from Elphaba’s chest like a punch she didn’t see coming.
Her Omega isn’t begging—she’s offering herself for less than she deserves, and it breaks something in Elphaba that was already close to splintering.
Her Alpha snarls in response, primal, possessive, instinctively demanding she claim, mark, fill, do something to make Glinda forget what it means to ache and hurt. But her heart… gods her heart twists under it.
Glinda deserves more than this. More than dark corners and hidden hands. More than Elphaba wrecking her like a secret.
Elphaba hesitates just a second too long. Glinda peeks her eyes back, and Elphaba sees those devastatingly shimmering doe eyes, begging silently to be filled, to be claimed.
She has no right to touch her like this.
And still—she does.
She pushes in anyway to help them both move past the lingering ache of not being able to stay. When she’s inside, it’s harder to remember the impermanence of it all.
Her cock pushes in, painfully slow. Thick and splitting her open inch by inch. Not like how fast she had rutted into her last time. She lets out a low, possessive groan. Buries herself inside Glinda’s trembling body with a groan caught halfway between hunger and regret.
Glinda presses her face back into her arm, trying to quiet the wrecked sob that leaves her throat the moment she feels it—her walls stretching, finally, the full pressure making her shake from the inside out.
Elphaba’s hands tighten at her hips, anchoring them both, but her chest aches. Because she can feel it—Glinda wants more. Deserves more. And she’s still taking Elphaba anyway.
That’s the worst part. That Glinda still wants her, even like this.
She knows she’s probably leaving a bruise where she grips her. Knows Glinda will likely be sore tomorrow. But it’s the only way she knows how to stay, by making sure Glinda can’t forget her even after she’s gone.
Elphaba doesn’t speak. She just presses deeper, filling her to the hilt, until Glinda can’t breathe, can’t think, can only feel Elphaba inside her.
A strangled sound catches in her throat. Her fingers curl around the railing edge so hard they ache.
She’s full. So full. Finally.
And Elphaba is still.
Just holding her there, cock buried all the way in, deep, hips flush against Glinda’s ass. Her hands bruise her hips like she’s afraid to let go. For a moment, there’s nothing but the sound of both their ragged, heavy breathing. Desperate and on the edge.
Elphaba holds her there for a breath longer, deep and unmoving, letting Glinda feel every inch of her. Stretched. Claimed. Held in place like she belongs there.
She pulls back, ever so slowly, like she’s testing the waters, just an inch or two, and thrusts. Heavy, with force, like she’s owning.
Glinda’s breath leaves her in a sharp gasp.
Another thrust. Then another. Each one knocks something loose in Glinda. Her balance, her thoughts, her control.
On the fourth thrust, her knees finally give out. She collapses forward against the railing and Elphaba’s grip holds her hips up in place like she knows Glinda won’t dare move them without her say.
Then Elphaba thrusts into her again, much harder this time, and Glinda lets out a choked, high moan before she can stop it. Too loud. Far too loud.
It echoes off the stone, sharp and unmissable.
Elphaba’s hand snaps up as she snaps forward, chest pressed to Glinda’s back. Her hand slams over Glinda’s mouth from behind.
“Shh,” she growls, voice tight against her ear. “You have to be quiet. Be good, Glinda.”
And gods, her name. Not a pet name, not a filthy whisper. Just Glinda. Said like it means something. Said like she’s hers.
Glinda releases a muffled moan into her palm, completely humiliated and ruined as Elphaba starts a steady pace of slowly pounding into her, getting a little faster each time. A steady sound of the slap of her thighs against Glinda’s hips
“That’s it, quiet…gods Glinda, you’re taking me so well,” Elphaba rasps, so quietly it’s almost a whisper. “Good…my sweet…Glinda.”
And that’s what breaks Glinda— her name falling from Elphaba’s lips in broken pants like she’s important, like she’s special.
Her whole body seizes, her release tearing through her in silence, scream swallowed by Elphaba’s hand, body convulsing as her cunt tightens around Elphaba’s cock.
Elphaba groans behind her like it takes everything not to fall with Glinda—but she doesn’t stop. She fucks her through it. Drags her through every spasm, every shiver, until Glinda is nothing but tremors and wreckage, open and pliable.
But Elphaba doesn’t pull out.
She stays right there buried deep to the hilt inside her, stilling. Elphaba removes her hand from over Glinda’s mouth slowly, still collapsed over her, bringing her chin to rest on Glinda’s shoulder lightly.
“Elphie?” Glinda whispers, turning her head in the direction of Elphaba’s face, unable to actually see her. Her lips pout at the lack of solidity, a sharp pain in her chest at the lack of any visible sign of her Alpha.
A startled breath hitches in Glinda’s throat —Elphaba’s hand suddenly closes around her jaw, fingers digging into her cheeks. Her thumb strokes lightly, almost too gently.
Elphaba makes a quiet noise, crossed between a hum and a growl. Like the sound of restraint slipping.
“You look so pretty like this,” she murmurs, voice velvet-drenched and wrecked. Opened up for me, still so tight.”
Her grip tightens. Her hips roll forward, cock nestled deep, reminding Glinda how full she is as she whimpers. She sinks in deeper, and Glinda twitches with a gasp, clenching, helpless to stop it.
She roughly turns Glinda’s face back forward, pushing with her hips, forcing her to stumble one step closer to the railing with a gasp.
“They have no idea,” Elphaba murmurs in her ear, keeping Glinda’s gaze forward. “They have no idea what you do to me. What I do to you.”
Glinda wonders what they would find more abhorrent—the fact that Glinda let’s the wicked witch split her open and fill her, or the fact that she lets her do it over and over because she cares for her. Because she loves her.
“Lean into the railing,” Elphaba orders softly, and Glinda obeys, her chest hovering over it, elbows perched lightly. Elphaba hums contentedly, releasing her face. They’re still in the dark, walls on either side of them jutting out just a bit farther to protect from any prying eyes on either side. But they’re closer to the edge than before, although Glinda reminds herself it’s just her, really. Visibly alone yet ruined.
She feels Elphaba’s hand leave her face and settle at her waist. She feels her fingers begin to slide up over and across her chest, palming at her breasts over the fabric, running a thumb over a hardened nipple through the dress.
Glinda arches into her hand automatically, flushing when she hears Elphaba let out a little satisfied hum. But then Elphaba’s hand creeps higher to the edge of the bodice, where it sits at the swell of her chest. She can feel the tip of her nails against her skin at the top of her chest.
Her hand tugs once at the dress, pulling downwards, then stops. Glinda’s breath hitches as her body tenses for a moment, her face trying to turn but Elphaba forces it forward.
Her voice slides into Glinda’s ear—low, teasing, dangerous.
“Should I?”
Glinda freezes. They’re in the shadows. Hidden. The crowd far below is roaring with laughter and music and oblivious noise.
But the mere thought—the possibility— that someone might look up and see her like this, bent over, wanton with pleasure with her Alpha’s cock still pulsing inside her— it makes her Omega instincts flicker like lightning under her skin.
Her thighs tighten involuntarily, slick smearing between them as her cunt squeezes tighter around Elphaba’s cock—needy, possessive, as if trying to keep her there forever.
Elphaba chuckles under her breath, teasing and quiet.
“No one’s looking, Glinda. But it feels like you want them to be.”
The gown is tugged again—rougher this time, lower. One breast spills free, her nipple tight from the cold air and the high of her release.
Glinda’s scent rises the moment her breast is bared—an Omega’s helpless response to being exposed, seen, possessed. She doesn’t dare move, impaled and shown off.
She feels Elphaba rest her head again on her shoulder, humming like she’s admiring her work.
“Gods, you’re perfect like this,” Elphaba murmurs, voice tinged with something more holy than filthy reverence. She scents Glinda with potent pheromones, dizzying her as her eyes flutter. “Letting me do this.”
Her palm curves around the swell of Glinda’s breast. Sharp nails tease her nipple, slow, wicked—drawing a strained, stifled whimper from Glinda’s throat.
“I want to see all of you.”
Then Elphaba leans in tighter, her hips pressing forward just enough to remind Glinda she’s still not done.
“Do you want them to see what I do to you?” she whispers. “Do you want them to see how you look when I make you full, make you beg?”
Her hand shifts, thumb brushing over Glinda’s other nipple through the gown, loving how responsive Glinda is as her back arches and she trembles beneath her, slick leaking out of her filled cunt down her legs,.
“I’ll drag this dress down right here. Let your perfect little breasts bounce while I rut into you. Is that what you want, my sweet?”
For a beat, Glinda doesn’t move. Her breath hitches, caught somewhere between fear of exposure and unadulterated need to be claimed so filthily.
The world feels far away—the crowd below, the walls around them, the starlight above. There’s just Elphaba, still deep inside her, still waiting.
She could say no. She could pull away. She could stop this at any moment.
But instead, her voice cracks softly, honestly.
“Yes.”
Elphaba stills, as if she wasn’t expecting that response.
“Let them see what you turn me into.”
Elphaba exhales a choked groan, half-devotion, half-hunger, and grinds, slow and deep, dragging herself against oversensitive walls still fluttering from the first climax. Her hand paws at Glinda’s chest, pulling the dress down messily, her other breast slipping free as she’s exposed to the cold night air.
“Elphie don’t rip it—ah!”
Glinda squeaks as Elphaba pinches her nipple at the same time as a forceful thrust, her body jolting again. Her thighs clench. Her body weight presses forward into the railing for balance. She lets out a high pitch moan, unmistakably loud. The sound scratches at every nerve in Elphaba’s spine—instinct screaming to bite, to claim, to end this ambiguity of belonging.
Glinda’s overstimulated, shuddering, but Elphaba keeps her hips in motion, unrelenting, soaking in every twitch.
“You’re being loud,” Elphaba warns quietly, panting in her ear. “I think you want them to hear.
Elphaba’s hand curves around her breast—rolling, tugging, twisting—while the other drags her upright away from the railing, pulling her back against the firm line of her body.
Glinda gasps, legs shaking, barely holding herself together. She’s panting hard now too, her head lolling back against Elphaba’s invisible shoulder, her mouth open around every breath.
And then wrecked and shaking, Glinda whispers, “You like showing them.”
A moan slips out of her, helpless. But she presses on, feeling Elphaba still just for a moment, “You want them to see how I fall apart for you.”
A ragged noise escapes Elphaba as she rolls Glinda’s nipple between her fingers until her Omega whimpers.
“You want them to know—ah—that my body…is yours—don’t you?”
She’s shuddering harder now, her voice catching, falling apart. Her words are broken up by stuttering little whimpers and moans.
“You want them to see…how wet I get for you….how easily I…take—Elphie!—ah—your cock.”
Elphaba growls like she’s losing control, her hips beginning to snap off rhythm, her hands losing precision, as if all she wants is to grab on to Glinda and hold her stuck to her.
But Glinda pushes further, desperate for that more, aching, half-broken. “Say it.”
Glinda’s voice catches. She doesn’t mean to say it—but it rips out of her anyway, “Say I’m yours.”
She exhales a choked breath as she succumbs to the building pressure coiling inside her, slowly approaching another climax more intense than the last.
Elphaba’s hand holding her up tightens. She leans in, lips brushing her ear, voice all grit and restraint.
“You know you are, as much as you can be.”
Her restraint is thin, her nose coming down to bury itself in her neck. Her cock thrusts slow slightly, as if she’s trying to reclaim control, deliberating.
Elphaba stills for a moment, heavily scenting Glinda right above the claiming spot, making her clench helplessly, losing feeling in her legs. Elphaba drags her teeth over the spot once before pulling back slightly. “I can’t. I won’t be able to stop.”
“Say I mean something,” Glinda begs, voice broken and raspy, her longing louder than her pleasure.
The silence that follows is sharp enough to cut.
For a moment, Elphaba doesn’t move. Doesn’t speak. She almost says it. Almost says everything. But if she does, she knows she won’t be able to leave this time.
“Glinda…” Rough and quiet. Just her name. But it lands like a broken confession, filled with unbearable longing. She kisses the skin of her neck like a broken apology.
And then Elphaba’s walls seem to rise once more—hand bruising, hips pulling back—and when she drives in again, it’s harder. Filthier. Like she’s trying to bury what almost slipped out.
The tenderness vanishes. She ruts into her like it never happened.
Just shoves Glinda forward again, keeping her bent and spread, and fucks her deeper, harder, like the only answer she knows is possession. Like ruin is the only language she speaks fluently.
She works Glinda right back toward the edge, her motions exact, brutal in their precision. Every thrust, every press of her palm, ever pinch and swipe from her fingers, is calculated to unravel her. To make her body forget the question and remember only the shape of being filled.
But possession isn’t the same as claim.
And Elphaba feels an agonizing ache seeping into her bones, flooding her gut. That primal itch. That terrible, clawing ache in her chest.
Her Alpha demands to claim Glinda, to make sure nobody else could ever have her this way. Needs to claim. Every muscle in her body coils tight with the demand. Her scent spikes, heady and territorial, drowning in Glinda’s own. The sweet, submissive cry of her Omega dripping slick and need around her cock like a plea makes her weak, makes her teeth ache, makes her muscles tremble.
She groans through gritted teeth, breath ragged, heart pounding like she’s in battle. Glinda’s scent is thick and high and full of trust and want. It shouldn’t be. Not after everything.
Her mouth is practically salivating as she hovers again over her neck, right at the spot. That perfect place. The skin is warm, soft, pulsing. Her fangs press against it, just barely. One bite. One second. That’s all it would take to seal it forever.
Her body begs for it.
Her Alpha howls for it.
And for one terrifying moment, she almost does it.
Glinda feels it. Not just the pressure of Elphaba’s mouth, but the tension. The hesitation. The way her Alpha’s breath shakes against her skin. Her body goes utterly still—breath held, heart in her throat—because for one suspended, aching moment, she feels it.
Elphaba’s about to bite her.
Her Omega stirs in the deepest part of her, instincts flaring so fast she nearly sobs, trying not to beg for it. Her walls flutter around Elphaba’s cock, her scent continues to pour out, her body arches—begging. Her neck tilts, offering as she keens.
She’s ready. She wants it. She’s sure.
But Elphaba doesn’t. Can’t.
Her jaw locks. She wrenches herself back from the edge. Her mouth leaves Glinda’s skin. Her cock stays buried deep, but the bond—the bond remains untouched, Glinda unclaimed.
The moment passes. Elphaba’s mouth lifts from her neck. Her hips keep moving, steady and unrelenting, but it’s not the same.
Not now. Not after that. Glinda doesn’t say anything. She can’t. Her lips part like she wants to, but nothing comes out. The silence in her chest is deafening.
Her body still shakes, nerves buzzing from the denial, from the pressure building in her core. Her Omega instincts flutter wildly, confused—riding toward another climax while still aching for something more permanent.
Her cunt clenches around Elphaba’s cock with every stroke, but her mind spins irrationally, flooded with base thoughts. Why didn’t she bite? Why didn’t she finish it?
The ache that blooms in her chest has nothing to do with being filled and rutted into.
And yet, her body chases the sensation anyway.
Elphaba holds her fast, rutting into her with everything she has—everything but the one truth Glinda needed to hear.
And it wrecks her. She buries her face deep again over her scent gland, grunting and gasping as she refrains from letting her teeth slip out anymore. She can’t. She can’t but gods she wants to so badly. It’s not fair, it’s not fair—
Glinda’s quivering around her, gasping at the sensation, hips arching, thighs spasming.
It’s overwhelming, it’s too much. Elphaba tries to pull herself back, tries to clear the fog in her head. But it’s impossible—not with Glinda, writhing and trusting. Her scent is thick with surrender, and Elphaba’s instincts are screaming to bite, to mark, to finish this.
She’s so close to giving in. She wants it. Gods, she wants it. Maybe they could figure it all out—
A distant voice. An amplified hum through the courtyard speakers. Glinda’s name.
Elphaba freezes.
The world rushes back in. The balcony. The lights. The open air. The risk.
Glinda’s still bent over the railing, exposed, on the edge—hers. Elphaba’s chest heaves. She wants to give it to her. Wants to stay buried inside her, press her down and let the world know.
But she can’t. She can’t take and leave her like this. Not out here. Not so vulnerable to the world.
So she does the one thing her instincts scream against.
She pulls out.
No warning. No slowing.
Just gone.
Glinda cries out—choked, strangled—her whole body jerking forward in shock. Her cunt clenches around nothing, aching, desperate, empty.
“No—!” The sound rips from her throat, loud and pained, before she even realizes it. Her hips buck back, chasing friction that isn’t there.
But Elphaba doesn’t push back inside, instead she stills Glinda’s hips, like she’s putting them back in place. A silent calm down, the kind bordering on patronization.
There’s a beat of awful silence where the only sound is Glinda’s indignant cries and whimpers, and Elphaba’s strained attempt to catch her breath. But as the silence settles, Glinda hears it.
A voice, distant and tinny, amplified from the festival stage below. Her name. They’re talking about her, repeatedly, introducing.
Her speech.
But the world is still spinning and her body is still begging and none of it feels real.
Elphaba wants to reach for her. To explain. But there are no words soft enough to make this okay. Her voice finally breaks through—low, ragged, almost pained, “You have to give your speech soon.”
Glinda flinches as her stomach drops. The words are wrecked. They’re true but cold. Elphaba could’ve said anything else. Anything gentler. Anything comforting. But she doesn’t. She could hold her for a moment, could help her come down slowly. But she doesn’t.
Something already splintered inside Glinda cracks open wider. The heat drains from her chest. Her hands still grip the railing like a lifeline, her whole body trembling, fucked open, unfinished, and visibly alone. Still bent over. Dress hitched up, chest flushed and bare. Her skin’s on fire, her cunt soaked, her heart—stripped raw.
Used. That’s what it feels like. Because all she’s done is offered herself up, all of her, and all Elphaba’s done is take what she wants, and left the rest.
Glinda feels invisible fingers tugging her underwear back up, straightening it out as much as possible, pulling the gown back down. Soft. Careful. Like she’s being put back together.
Like she’s being dressed, not held. She flinches as Elphaba grazes a sensitive patch of skin as she pulls the dress down.
She wrenches away from the touch, turning toward empty air, breath shaking.
“Don’t,” she says, voice breaking. “Just—stop—don’t do that.”
Silence. Nothing to see. No one to yell at. But she keeps going.
“Just go, Elphaba, ” Her voice lowers, sharp. She waits for a moment. But there’s no sound. No footsteps. No breath. No sight. She wants to scream, to yell at her, to pound her fists against her when deep down she knows it’s all cruel. Not just Elphaba. The situation. The paths they are on, and the way they don’t cross.
Elphaba lingers nearby, cloaked in invisibility. It had felt clever, but now, it feels starkly, bitterly cruel. The trick that protects her is the very thing that makes her untouchable, unreachable, as Glinda pulls herself back together.
She watches her Omega’s eyes, searching but downcast, like she doesn’t know where to look, afraid to search and see nothing. Or worse, see that she’s still being watched.
Elphaba can’t stand it.
She wants to speak—say something, anything—but for all her smart remarks and sharp-tongued quips, her words have abandoned her now. She has no barbed wit left to wield, no sharpness to hide behind. There’s nothing clever about this. Nothing she can say to make it better. She can’t just tell her they’ll finish this after, that they’ll go home and pick things up where they left off. It’s not so easy, not so simple. Can’t even promise her a claim, can’t promise to give her all of her the way Glinda seems to offer.
She could reach her hands out, she could try to hold her, but it already feels like she’s pushed the limit. Pushed what she should’ve left alone. The reality settles in. The ache to claim fades, replaced by something quieter, crueler: the need to soothe.
It hurts, watching Glinda cover herself. Quickly, for time’s sake, with a breath that exhales just a little too long. She pulls the dress back over her exposed breasts. Smooths it down like it might undo the fact that she was opened, taken, and left raw. The way she presses the fabric flat, like she’s trying to erase what happened, makes something twist in Elphaba’s chest. She’s seen Glinda fix herself in mirrors before. But never like this. Not like she’s trying to put herself back together.
Then the sounds from below return—laughter, voices, the stirring crowd—and Glinda winces. Just barely. But it’s enough. Elphaba sees her flinch. Sees her shoulders stiffen in that way she only does when she’s about to pretend she’s fine. Then Glinda turns, too gracefully, too perfectly, and walks toward the ledge to prepare for her speech.
And that’s when Elphaba smells it.
Faint at first. Lingering. Then it swells. Sharp. Acidic. Tearing at her chest.
Distress.
Her Omega is distressed. It hits her like a blade to the chest.
Elphaba’s stomach curls. Her throat tightens. Her nose scrunches at the instinctual bite of it—like the scent had been trying to hide, but now it’s bleeding into the air, impossible to ignore. It curls around her like guilt—thick, sour, earned.
No. No, it wasn’t supposed to be like this.
A whine catches in her throat, soft but feral. But she swallows it back, the sound raw against her teeth. Instead, she scents the air. Slowly. Carefully.
A thin thread of calming pheromones weaves from her skin, subtle and deliberate. Not enough to saturate the room, not enough to be noticed if someone else walks in—just a whisper of comfort, meant only for Glinda.
She watches. Waits.
But Glinda doesn’t turn. Doesn’t soften. Her scent still burns at the edges. Still carries that bitter note of discomfort. Elphaba doesn’t know if it helps.
She watches her Omega pull herself together, even as she falls apart in silence. Watches her take one final breath and step toward the ledge like nothing happened.
Elphaba slips back toward the shadows, but she doesn’t go far.
She makes a decision right then, no matter what it takes— she’s not leaving Glinda alone tonight.