Chapter Text
Fiyeraba Smut Week 2026
“I NEED YOU”
(touch starved)
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“It’s an … unconventional pairing,” Mrs. Coddle is saying as she walks with a purpose through the hallway of the dorm. Fiyero is nearly running to keep up with her, the one bag he’d brought with him slung over his shoulder as she continues talking, not even glancing back to see if he’s following her.
(He briefly considers slipping out one of the emergency exits and running away, but the last time he’d done that his parents had found him and had him hauled back and, honestly, the lecture hadn’t been worth the mere seventeen hours of freedom).
“But you’re a late transfer and being the Prince of the Vinkus only pulls so many strings when we’re your seventh school,” Mrs. Coddle continues, her voice rising in pitch with every word as if she’s growing more and more nervous the closer they get to his room. “So just keep your head down, don’t complain, and make the best of it?”
It’s more of a question than a statement as she stops in front of room 317, and Fiyero raises an eyebrow as she waves at the door.
“Your roommate will be Ms. Elphaba Thropp, daughter of the Governor of Munchkinland. She’s a … sorcery student.”
Fiyero raises an eyebrow.
“Ms. Thropp?”
He’s never been asked to share a room with a girl before, but given his… proclivities, he thinks that it’s probably been intentional on the part of the schools he’s been enrolled in. He’s heard of roommates of the opposite sex, of course, but he’s never had one himself.
In fact, most times he even has his own private suite.
Not this time, he supposes. Not since he had to transfer partway through the semester.
“We are not worried about your… reputation, in this case,” Mrs. Coddle says, and then has to press a hand over her mouth to keep from either squeaking or laughing, Fiyero isn’t sure which. “It’s unconventional as I said, but… well, you’ll see.”
She throws open the door with flair, shoves the key into Fiyero’s hand, and all but runs down the hallway before disappearing around the corner, her ample figure moving faster than he’d honestly thought possible.
Fiyero watches her go, his eyebrow raised in curiosity.
Huh.
Does his roommate have two heads or something?
Well, no time like the present to find out.
He saunters in, eyes alight with curiosity as he takes in the way that Ms. Thropp has decorated exactly one half of the room. Her bed is made neatly with white sheets and a blue comforter, and the lamp on her bedside table is nearly perfectly centered. There are light, gauzy curtains over her windows, a single cardigan thrown over the chair in front of her desk, and what seems to be, to Fiyero’s best estimate, ten thousand books covering every available surface in the room.
And, huh.
Is that why they decided to make Ms. Thropp his roommate? Do they think she can get him to study?
Because he has to admit, he doesn’t think his proclivities will be a problem, either, if she’s always trying to get him to study.
Eugh.
Nose crinkled, he takes in the rest of the small dorm room.
His side is completely empty, bed made with the type of crisp, white, industrial sheets that make his body itch and his skin crawl. There’s a bedside table next to it with a lamp on top, a desk is shoved into the corner opposite Ms. Elphaba’s with a dresser next to it, and there’s a door halfway between their beds that, if he had to guess, leads to a shared bathroom.
Which — ugh.
A shared bathroom.
He’s not vain or anything, but he does have a lot of hair products and he just hopes that Ms. Elphaba’s makeup and … girl things don’t take up the whole counter.
Sighing, Fiyero walks over to the bed and tosses his bag down on it, eyeing the sheets with undisguised disgust. He hopes his trunks get here before bedtime so that he can swap them out for the silk sheets he prefers. Though, if his usual routine of getting all of the students in the school to go out dancing and drinking works as well as it usually does, maybe he won’t be going to bed alone tonight. Maybe, if he plays his cards right, he can wiggle his way into the bed of a cute girl (or guy, he’s not picky) for a few hours.
He never stays the night, though, so he’s going to need those sheets at some point.
“Ah, fuck this,” he groans, dropping onto the bed dramatically. He throws one hand over his eyes and lets out a sigh that he feels all the way down to his bones.
He’s just so… tired.
Tired of new schools.
Tired of starting over.
Tired of trying, when he knows his best isn’t worth anything and that he’ll be packing up his bags in a few short months to head off to the next school that he knows will only accept him because of who his parents are and not because they see any value in him as a student or even as a human being.
It’s become pretty clear to him, at some point during the last seven schools, that all he’s good for is a quick fuck and a popularity boost for whichever girl or guy he has in his bed that night. He doesn’t stick around, as a general rule, because they don’t once they see how stupid he is, and it’s easier to be the one to walk away than it is to be left alone again.
Stick with the status quo, he reminds himself, pushing his heels into his eyes until he sees stars.
Get spectacularly drunk tonight.
Corrupt his fellow students.
Find someone to spend a few hours with to chase away the loneliness.
Maybe, if he feels like it, go to a class or two tomorrow to see how behind he is this time.
He gives it six weeks, he thinks as he reaches for his pillow and shoves it over his face, breathing in the scent of cheap washing soap and despair.
Six weeks, and then he’s on to the next one.
Rinse, wash, repeat.
He just has to make it—
“You must be Fiyero Tigelaar.”
Fiyero sits up reflexively, the pillow falling from his eyes as he searches for the new voice in the room.
And huh.
Well.
That sure would explain the way Coddle was acting earlier.
Ms. Elphaba Thropp does not in fact have two heads, however she is green from head to toe, which —
Oz, she might be the most captivating thing he’s ever seen, and he finds himself unable to tear his eyes away from her, too focused on how her lips are a single shade darker than the rest of her body or how her fingernails flex and tap on her books as she watches his expression carefully.
Ms. Thropp sighs as she takes a step closer to her bed, books clasped to her chest, hair pulled back into a tight braid that falls halfway down her back without a single strand of hair loose.
“All right. Let’s get this out of the way,” she says, voice deadpan as she regards him in the way he thinks one might regard a ketchup stain on their shirt.
Fiyero stands up from the bed, tossing his pillow to the side as he takes a step closer to her, eyes wide.
“No, I am not seasick,” she begins, and he feels his lips twitching into a smile at her clearly rehearsed speech.
“Me, either,” he says, a playful lilt to his voice even as her frown deepens.
Oh, she’s going to be so much fun to tease.
“No, I did not eat grass as a child.”
He doesn’t remember consciously moving, but he’s only half of a foot away from Ms. Thropp when he says, “Oh, you didn’t? I did.”
“And yes, I have always been green.”
Fiyero gives into his instincts and grins widely, clasping his hands behind his back and bouncing a little bit on his heels as he delights in the annoyance on her face.
“And the defensiveness? Is that a new development?”
She stares at him for a long moment, eyes narrowed behind positively charming circular glasses which, he’s just noticed, sit atop a delightful smattering of freckles.
“Hmmm,” she mutters, and then she’s turning around and swishing further into the room, the hem of her black dress flaring as she walks away from him.
He stares after her, eyes sparkling as he tosses his thumb over his shoulder.
“I’m off to meet our fellow classmates. Would you care to join me?”
Ms. Thropp deposits her books on top of a pile that teeters dangerously before turning back to eye him up and down, one eyebrow raised.
“No thanks. I’ve met them all already, and I am… not impressed.”
Fiyero laughs — a real laugh, the kind of laugh that makes his eyes crinkle and something funny bubble up in his chest — as he walks backward, never taking his eyes from her even as he heads toward the door, and it occurs to him, as she settles at her desk and pulls yet another book out of the bag she’d been wearing over her shoulder, what Mrs. Coddle had meant only minutes before when she’d shown him to the room.
We are not worried about your… reputation, in this case.
They’re not worried about him taking her to bed because she’s green, which is the stupidest thing he’s ever heard in his entire life.
If only they knew that her verdigris made her more appealing to him, he wonders if they would have ever been paired together in the first place.
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Fiyero doesn’t return to the dorm until much, much later that night — or maybe it’s the next morning? He’s not entirely sure — but either way, he hadn’t found anyone that enchanted him enough to convince them to go to bed with him. He had made out rather enthusiastically with a cute third year student in the Ozdust bathroom for the duration of several songs before being hauled back onto the dance floor, though, which was nice.
It had been fun at the time, bass thumping and adrenaline coursing through his veins. He’d had a drink or two (or five) and had danced for hours until his feet had begun to hurt, and for a while, at least, he hadn’t felt so alone.
But now here he is again, in the quiet emptiness of his room with the beginnings of a hangover and the knowledge that, tomorrow, he has to try and navigate a new school that’s already halfway through its semester.
It’s always so much harder when the semester is half gone. The students have already paired off into friend groups, the professors have already covered so much that it’s nearly impossible to catch up, and it doesn’t take long for them to decide that he’s just not worth the effort.
This time won’t be any different, he knows, and he sighs as he kicks the door shut behind himself.
His trunks have arrived in the time he’d been gone, at least, and he tries to rifle through them quietly so as not to wake his green (green!) roommate. He only needs his sheets and something to sleep in; everything else can wait until the morning.
It only takes a few minutes before he’s got proper sheets on his mattress and he’s changed into a pair of linen pants for sleep, thank Oz, because his head is beginning to pound and he feels unsteady on his feet.
He collapses back onto his bed and groans, and he honestly and truly plans to go straight to sleep but before he can Ms. Thropp makes a noise and kicks her blankets off, and suddenly Fiyero is faced with what seems like miles of green skin illuminated by the light of the moon. Her nightgown is blue and white, and the color is startling against her thighs where the gown has ridden up from the way she’s tossing in her sleep.
He licks his lips and averts his eyes to the ceiling.
Bad Fiyero, he chastises himself. Eyes off of your roommate. She’s sleeping, for Oz’s sake!
But despite knowing that he shouldn’t, he finds his gaze slowly wandering back to Ms. Thropp’s sleeping form. He traces her curves with his eyes, starting at the bony heel of her foot and slowly, slowly so that he can take everything in, traveling the line of her lower leg, past her bony knees and to where the green skin disappears behind white linen over her thick thighs. His lips part as he travels the devastating curve of her hip, his eyes half lidded as he notices the way the soft material of her nightgown pulls taut over her breasts. He can see the outline of one nipple, he thinks, and he groans as he slaps his heels over his eyes again, pressing into the sockets with enough pressure to burn out the image of her in her sleep clothes, for goodness sake.
“Pull yourself together, Tigelaar,” he growls, and he very purposefully turns in his bed so that his back is to Ms. Thropp and the way that her green skin seems to almost shine emerald in the moonlight.
Mrs. Coddle had said she was a sorcery student, he recalls, and wonders if that explains the way he’s so enchanted by her.
He can still see the curve of her waist and the freckle on her left thigh even as he closes his eyes, though, and he finds himself thinking, as he slowly drops off to sleep, that there is a good chance he is well and truly fucked when it comes to Ms. Thropp.