#time skips

for a brief moment, tamsy went quiet. it was rare for him to stop joking, but a confident smile soon appeared on his face. “a jester,” he said simply, as if he had already known the answer for years.

you blinked in surprise. “a jester? really? i thought you’d want to become a knight or maybe a royal advisor.”

“why would i want to be those?” he laughed. “jesters are much more interesting. people think they’re only there to entertain, but they have the freedom to say things no one else can. they can make a king laugh one second and expose someone’s ugly side the next.”

you looked at him carefully, noticing the confidence in his eyes. “you sound like you already know you’ll become one.”

“because i will,” he replied without any hesitation. “i’m good at reading people. i know how to make them trust me, how to make them laugh, and how to make them reveal things they don’t want others to see. i have the potential for it.”

you could only laugh softly at his confidence. “you really do think highly of yourself, don’t you?”

“someone has to,” he said with a playful grin. “and besides, when i become the greatest jester this kingdom has ever seen, you’ll be able to say you knew me before everyone else did.”

you smiled at his words, not realizing that behind his childish jokes and charming attitude was a boy who had already learned how powerful a mask could be. but to you, he was only tamsy — the one person who looked at you as yourself rather than the forgotten royal standing in someone else’s shadow.

and years later, tamsy had become exactly what he said he would be, the kingdom’s jester, but not in the way people usually meant it, since his presence no longer felt like entertainment alone but something closer to control wrapped in laughter.

something the court grew used to without ever questioning it; he moved through royal halls with bells on his sleeves and an easy smile that made even the most careful nobles relax their shoulders around him, and yet you noticed how nothing about him was truly careless anymore.

and how every joke seemed placed with intention, how every pause in his speech gave people just enough time to reveal more than they meant to.

and how he never forgot anything he heard even when others laughed it off, as if his mind was collecting pieces of everyone slowly without them realizing it was happening, and when you finally saw him after one of his performances.

standing alone in a corridor where the sound of the court couldn’t reach, you called his name softly and he turned with that same familiar grin that used to feel comforting but now felt like it was being worn rather than felt.

“you were watching me again,” tamsy said, leaning back against the stone wall like he had nowhere else to be, spinning a small charm between his fingers as if even silence had to be occupied when he was around, and you frowned slightly because he always said things like that so easily now, like observation was just part of breathing for him.

“i wasn’t watching you,” you replied, though it didn’t sound convincing even to you, and he laughed under his breath like he already knew the answer before you gave it, tilting his head as his eyes lingered on your face a little too long for it to feel casual.

“you always say that,” he said, voice light, almost teasing, but there was something steadier underneath it now, something that made it feel less like childhood teasing and more like testing a reaction.

“but you never look away fast enough to actually mean it.” you crossed your arms, trying to ignore the way he had started doing that more often, speaking like he was reading things that weren’t being said out loud.

“you’ve changed,” you told him again, softer this time, and for a moment the charm in his hand stopped moving entirely before he smiled wider, almost politely, like he had prepared for that exact sentence.

“everyone changes,” he answered simply, “i just stopped pretending i didn’t notice things.”

there was a silence after that, not heavy but not comfortable either, and tamsy pushed himself off the wall slowly as if deciding whether he wanted to stay or leave, though he never truly looked like someone who was in a hurry anymore.

and when he spoke again his voice lowered just enough that it felt like it belonged only to you instead of the empty corridor.

“do you think i became this by accident?” he asked, and you blinked because the question didn’t sound like a joke, which was rare now, and you hesitated before answering, “i think you chose it,” you said carefully, and he hummed like that was an interesting response rather than a correct one.

stepping a little closer but not enough to make it obvious to anyone else who might have been watching from a distance.

“i chose it because it works,” he said quietly, “people trust jesters more than they trust knights, more than they trust advisors, more than they trust royalty,” then he smiled again, softer this time but sharper underneath.

“they lower their guard when they think someone is only meant to make them laugh,” and you felt something uneasy settle in your chest as he said it so casually, like it wasn’t something he learned but something he had always known.

when you tried to speak again, he raised a finger lightly as if stopping you wasn’t rude if it was done gently.

“don’t worry,” tamsy said after a moment, tone shifting back into something lighter, more familiar, like he was placing the mask back on just enough for you to recognize it, and he stepped back again as if distance itself helped him stay composed.

“i’m still me,” he added, though the way he said it didn’t fully answer anything, and you let out a quiet breath because part of you wanted to believe that more than anything else.

even if another part of you had already stopped trusting how easily he could switch between warmth and calculation in the same conversation; he glanced toward the end of the corridor where voices from the court echoed faintly, then looked back at you with a small grin that almost resembled the boy you used to know.

“besides,” he said, lightly tapping your forehead the same way he used to when you were younger, “if i ever become unbearable, you’ll be the first one to complain.” you rubbed your forehead, trying not to smile, “you already are unbearable,” you muttered, and he laughed for real this time, bright and effortless.

like nothing had ever changed at all, but as he turned to leave and the bells on his sleeves chimed softly with each step, you noticed how even his laughter now felt like something performed perfectly enough that no one would ever think to ask what was underneath it.

the next day, the royal meeting is held like usual.

with the same cold room, the same polished floors, the same nobles sitting like they already know what they’re going to say before anything even begins, and you can feel it even before your sibling speaks, that strange kind of tension that comes when someone has decided they’re going to change how they’re seen.

even if the whole world has already decided what they are.

your older sibling stands in the center of the room, hands folded tightly in front of them, and for once they don’t sound like they’re trying to earn approval, they sound like they’re trying to take back something that was never really given to them in the first place.

“i won’t be the kind of princess everyone expects me to be,” they say, voice steady but tight at the edges, “i don’t want to be perfect anymore… i want to be myself, even if that means i fail at it,”

and for a second, the room actually goes quiet, not the polite kind of quiet, but the kind where people don’t know what to do with honesty when it doesn’t come wrapped in praise or tradition.

and tamsy is already smiling before anyone else reacts.

he doesn’t interrupt right away, not at first, because he knows timing better than most people in the room know truth, and he lets that silence stretch just long enough for it to start feeling uncomfortable, like a breath that hasn’t decided whether to end or continue.

then he tilts his head slightly and steps forward like he’s only there to make things easier for everyone, like he’s doing what he always does, being the harmless jester who keeps the room from getting too heavy, “oh,” he says lightly, almost amused, like he’s reacting to something small instead of something important.

“that’s a dangerous thing to say in a room full of people who decide what ‘you’ means,” and a few nobles shift in their seats, not fully laughing yet, but already unsure whether they’re supposed to take it seriously or not, and that’s where it starts to fall apart.

he keeps going, not directly against your sibling, never directly, because tamsy never needs to be direct when he can just bend the atmosphere around someone instead.

“it’s funny,” he continues, pacing a little as if he’s thinking out loud rather than performing, bells on his sleeves chiming softly every time he moves.

“how everyone suddenly becomes very honest right when they realize honesty doesn’t come with instructions,”

and now someone actually laughs, just a little, too early, too uncertain, and that laugh spreads in the wrong direction, not because it’s funny, but because people don’t know where else to put their attention anymore.

and slowly, the weight your sibling tried to build in the room starts to get pulled apart in pieces, not destroyed loudly, just loosened until it can’t hold itself together.

you can see it happening from where you stand, the way your sibling’s expression changes slightly when they realize people aren’t holding onto their words the way they were supposed to, the way the court starts drifting back toward tamsy without even noticing it’s happening.

because he’s already turned the moment into something else, something lighter, something easier to digest, something that doesn’t demand reflection, and he keeps smiling the entire time like nothing is wrong, like he’s just doing his job, like he’s just making sure the room doesn’t get “too serious.”

and by the time your sibling finishes speaking, it doesn’t feel like a statement anymore, it feels like something that passed through the room without landing anywhere at all.

afterward, when the meeting moves forward like nothing happened, tamsy falls back into place beside the others like he didn’t just reshape the entire moment, like he didn’t just decide what people would remember and what they wouldn’t.

when his eyes briefly find yours across the room, there’s that same familiar softness for half a second, just enough to feel like the boy you used to know is still somewhere under all of it, before it disappears again behind that calm easy smile.

and later when you finally catch him alone, he’ll already know what you’re going to ask before you even open your mouth, and he’ll answer it the same way he always does, like everything he did was harmless.

like everything you saw was just you thinking too much, like nothing important was ever taken away at all.

you’re in your room when the noise of the court finally stops echoing through the castle, but your thoughts don’t, because even now you can still see the way the meeting ended.

the way your sibling’s words didn’t settle the way they were supposed to, the way people smiled in the wrong places and laughed at the wrong times like the moment had been gently pulled out of shape without anyone agreeing to it.

and it makes your chest feel tight in a way you can’t fully explain, because it wasn’t loud enough to call it an argument and not clean enough to call it a success, it just felt wrong in a quiet, lingering way that stayed with you longer than it should have.

the door opens without a knock.

tamsy steps in like he’s always been allowed to, like your space is just another stage he can walk onto whenever he wants, and he closes the door behind him gently, almost politely, as if nothing about him ever has to be rushed.

when he looks at you, he’s already smiling that familiar smile, the one that never quite matches what he actually means, “you look like you’ve been thinking too hard again,” he says lightly, tilting his head as he walks further in, letting his gaze drift around the room before settling back on you like he’s already decided what this conversation is going to become.

you sit up a little straighter, trying to hold onto the feeling you had in the meeting, the discomfort, the confusion, the part of you that still didn’t like how easily everything shifted when he started speaking, “you didn’t have to do that,” you say, voice quieter than you intended, and he pauses just slightly, like he’s considering the shape of your sentence rather than the meaning of it.

“do what?” he asks, even though you both know exactly what you mean, and that alone already feels like the first step away from honesty.

“you know what i mean,” you continue, a little firmer now, “they were trying to say something real. you didn’t need to turn it into a joke.” for a moment, tamsy doesn’t respond, and the silence he leaves behind doesn’t feel empty.

it feels measured, like he’s choosing where to place his words before he speaks them.

then he smiles again, softer this time, almost patient, as if you’re the one who missed something obvious, “i didn’t turn anything into a joke,” he says calmly, stepping closer, hands behind his back, “i just made sure the room didn’t misunderstand what they were seeing.”

you shake your head slightly, because that isn’t what it felt like, not even close, “you made them laugh at her,” you say, and there’s a small pause after that, the kind that would normally invite correction, apology, anything softer—but tamsy doesn’t soften, he just studies you for a second longer, like he’s watching you try to solve a puzzle he already finished.

“no,” he replies gently, almost kindly, “they laughed because they were relieved,” and he tilts his head a little, as if explaining something simple, “people don’t like honesty when it doesn’t come with permission.”

your fingers tighten slightly in your lap, “you always say things like that,” you murmur, more to yourself than to him, and for a moment his expression changes just enough that it almost feels like something real is about to show through.

but then it settles again, smooth and controlled, and he walks a little closer until he’s just near enough that you can’t ignore him, but not close enough to feel trapped.

“you’re too kind,” he says softly, like it’s not an insult but a fact he’s observing about you, and you look up at him as he continues, voice lowering just slightly.

“you think people are speaking to be understood,” he says, “when most of them are speaking to be seen,” and there’s something unsettling in the way he says it, like he’s not guessing, like he’s already tested it too many times to doubt it now.

you stand your ground anyway, “that doesn’t mean you had to make it worse for her,” you say, and this time there’s a sharper pause, because that’s the first time you’ve actually named it directly.

tamsy’s smile doesn’t disappear, but it changes—becoming thinner, more deliberate, like something being held in place rather than felt.

“worse?” he repeats quietly, almost amused, and he lets the word sit there between you before continuing.

“i didn’t make anything worse,” he says, “i just showed what was already there.” then he looks at you for a longer moment, like he’s trying to decide how gently he needs to explain something you’re refusing to see.

when he speaks again, his voice softens in a way that feels almost intimate, almost wrong in how calm it is.

“tell me, my dear,” tamsy says, stepping just slightly closer now, enough that the air between you feels different, measured, “can a heart still break once it’s stopped beating?” (hehehe corpse bride reference..)

the question doesn’t land like poetry the way it would in a storybook, it lands like a conclusion he’s already reached long before you asked anything, like he’s not asking you to think, but to accept, and for a moment the room feels too quiet.

like even the walls are waiting for your answer that he doesn’t actually need, because his eyes already tell you he believes the answer is no.

and then, as if the question was never the point at all, his tone shifts again, lighter but no less certain.

“you still look at people like they’re what decides your worth,” he says softly, almost disappointed, “you shouldn’t,” and he tilts his head slightly, watching you with that same calm focus he had in the meeting, like you’re the only thing in the room he actually needs to understand properly.

“i’ve always seen you differently,” he adds after a pause, and the way he says it isn’t warm in the way it should be, it’s final, like he’s stating something that’s already been true long before you were aware of it.

“not like them.” he steps back just enough to give you space again, as if he never took it in the first place, and his smile returns fully now, easy and familiar, “i always saw you as the real princess,” he says simply, like it’s not a compliment, not a manipulation, but just reality finally being spoken aloud.

and even after he leaves the room the same way he came in, without hesitation, without disruption, you’re left sitting in the quiet that follows, realizing that the worst part isn’t what he did to your sibling in the meeting.

even what he said to you just now, but how easily he makes his version of the world sound like the only one that makes sense.

later in the day, after the meeting has already dissolved into its usual routine of quiet footsteps and distant voices, but the air still feels wrong in a way you can’t quite settle.

like something was said earlier that never fully finished existing, and you’re still trying to place where it went, when your older sibling finds you alone in one of the castle corridors, their expression tighter than usual, not angry at first, but unsettled in a way that doesn’t hide itself well anymore.

“you’re always around him now,” they say immediately, not even bothering with greeting, and you blink slightly because it sounds less like a question and more like something they’ve been holding in for a while, waiting for the right moment to spill out.

“the jester,” they add, as if saying his role makes it sound less dangerous, but it doesn’t, not in the way they’re looking at you.

you shake your head a little, confused, “i’m not always around him,” you answer, but they don’t look convinced, and that alone makes something in your chest tighten, because it feels like they’ve already decided the shape of the truth before you’ve even spoken it.

“people are acting strange,” your sibling continues, stepping closer now, voice lowering slightly like they don’t want to be overheard, even though there’s no one else around.

“they look at me differently after yesterday,” their jaw tightens, and for a second their voice cracks just slightly, “like i said something wrong just for wanting to be myself.”

you hesitate, because you want to tell them it wasn’t like that, that it wasn’t their fault, that the room just shifted, but the words don’t come out cleanly, because you remember the meeting too clearly, and tamsy standing there like he was shaping the air everyone was breathing.

your sibling watches your face for a reaction and takes your silence the wrong way.

“did you tell him something about me?” they ask suddenly, sharper now, and that question hits harder than you expect, because it isn’t just suspicion—it’s the beginning of connection being questioned, of trust starting to crack in a direction you didn’t prepare for.

“no,” you say quickly, almost too quickly, and you see their expression flicker like they’re trying to decide if they believe you or not.

“then why does it feel like everything changed after he started paying attention to me?” they ask, quieter this time, but more dangerous in its honesty, and you don’t have an answer that makes sense without sounding like you’re defending him.

there’s a pause between you both, heavier now, and your sibling looks at you for a long moment like they’re trying to find something familiar in your face, something that used to make sense to them.

“you don’t see it,” they finally say, voice lower, almost tired, “you think he’s harmless because he smiles when he does things.”

you open your mouth to respond, but nothing comes out fast enough.

and that hesitation is what stays with them.

they step back slowly, not fully leaving yet, but already pulling away in a way that feels more emotional than physical, “just be careful,” they say finally, though it doesn’t sound like advice anymore.

it sounds like a warning they don’t know how to aim properly, and then they turn and walk away before you can fix anything that already started to bend.

and you’re left standing there longer than you meant to be, realizing that for the first time, your sibling isn’t just upset with what happened in the meeting—they’re starting to connect you to it, even if they don’t fully understand how or why, and somewhere deep down, you already know this is going to get worse before it gets clearer.

when the next royal meeting arrives with the same heavy quiet it always carries, the kind of silence that feels practiced rather than natural, like everyone has already decided what kind of day it is supposed to be before anything is even said.

your older sibling stands among the court again, but this time there is something different in the way they hold themselves, not confidence, not exactly fear either, but a carefulness that wasn’t there before, like every word they might say has to pass through a filter first before it is allowed to exist.

tamsy notices it immediately.

he is already there, of course, already in place like he belongs to the room more than anyone else does, leaning slightly to the side as if he has all the time in the world, bells on his sleeves still, that same easy smile still resting on his face.

but his eyes are quieter than usual, sharper in a way that doesn’t match the tone he uses when he speaks, and when your sibling begins to talk, trying carefully to continue what they started days ago.

trying to reclaim the space they lost in that earlier meeting, tamsy lets them speak just long enough for the room to start listening again.

“i only meant that i want to be seen as myself,” your sibling says, voice steadier than last time but not as strong as they want it to be, and for a moment it almost works, almost settles into the room properly.

but tamsy has already decided otherwise.

he shifts slightly, just enough to be noticed, and lets out a soft laugh that doesn’t sound loud, just perfectly timed, like it slipped out by accident.

and that small sound is enough to pull half the attention in the room away from your sibling instantly, because people here are trained to follow him without realizing they’re doing it.

“ah,” he says lightly, tilting his head like he’s amused rather than involved, “it’s interesting how people always say they want to be seen as themselves,” and he starts walking slowly, circling the edge of the space like he’s thinking out loud rather than performing, “but the moment someone actually looks at them closely, they call it unfair.”

your sibling stops speaking mid-sentence.

not because he told them to, but because the room already stopped listening—and that’s the difference.

you can feel it immediately—this isn’t the same as before. it’s not careless interruption or playful distraction. it’s precise. controlled. like he’s reacting to something only you and he know exists.

your sibling tries again, a little sharper now, forcing their voice back into the space, “that is not what i meant—”

but tamsy is already there again, gently stepping into the gap between their words and the room’s attention. “see?” he says, smiling faintly, “even now, they correct how they’re being understood instead of why they aren’t being understood.”

a few nobles shift, some uncomfortable, some amused, but all of them listening to him instead of your sibling, and your sibling’s expression tightens, not because he insulted them directly, but because nothing they say is landing anymore unless he allows it to.

and for a brief second, tamsy’s gaze flicks—not to the court, not to the king, not to anyone important—but toward you. just for a moment, then he looks away again, still smiling.

“it’s not easy,” he continues casually, “wanting to be seen,” and his tone softens just slightly, almost like sympathy, almost like understanding, but there’s something underneath it that twists it the wrong way, “especially when people are already used to seeing you as something else.”

your sibling goes still. because that doesn’t sound like a joke anymore, it sounds like a conclusion the room is being guided toward.

and slowly, without anyone directly agreeing to it, the atmosphere shifts again—the same thing that happened before, but more refined this time, less accidental, more intentional, like the idea of your sibling being “unsettled” or “overthinking” is being gently installed into everyone’s perception one sentence at a time.

and tamsy never raises his voice once, never needs to.

he just keeps smiling like he’s doing nothing at all, like he’s simply watching a conversation unfold, while quietly deciding what it will become by the time it ends.

the room goes completely quiet after he says it, so quiet that for a moment you almost think you imagined the words yourself, because leaving is the kind of thing people joke about when they're frustrated, the kind of thing children whisper during bad days before forgetting about it the next morning.

but tamsy doesn't look like he's joking, doesn't look amused, doesn't even look particularly dramatic for once, and somehow that's what unsettles you the most.

he simply sits there across from you, watching your reaction with the same patient attention he gives everything else, as though he already knew exactly which part of you those words would reach before he ever spoke them aloud, and you stare at him for a moment before letting out a small laugh that sounds much weaker than you intended.

“you can't be serious,” you say, shaking your head slightly, but tamsy only tilts his own head in return, bells softly chiming as he moves. “why not?” he asks, voice calm, almost curious, as if you're the one saying something unreasonable.

you open your mouth to answer before realizing you don't actually know where to begin, because there are too many reasons, too many responsibilities, too many expectations tied around your life like chains you've worn for so long that you've stopped noticing their weight.

“because people don't just run away,” you finally say, and tamsy immediately smiles, not because you've convinced him, but because you've given him something to work with.

“people do it all the time,” he replies smoothly, leaning back into his chair as though this is the most ordinary conversation in the world.

“they run away from responsibilities, from expectations, from marriages, from wars, from themselves. they're constantly running. the only difference is that most of them lack the courage to admit that's what they're doing.”

you frown at him, because somehow he always manages to twist things into shapes you weren't expecting, and you hate that part of you understands what he means even when you don't want to. “that's not the same thing,” you argue quietly, and he shrugs one shoulder.

“isn't it?” he asks, his eyes never leaving yours.

“tell me, what exactly are you staying for? the people who ignore you? the court that barely remembers you're in the room until you speak? the family who only notices you when they need something from you?”

his words aren't cruelly spoken, which somehow makes them worse, because there is no anger in them, no obvious malice, only certainty, and certainty is much harder to fight against.

you look away from him after that, your gaze drifting toward the window where moonlight spills across the floor, because it feels easier than looking directly at him when he's talking like this, and for a moment neither of you speak.

then you let out a small breath and pull your knees closer to yourself. “it's not that simple,” you murmur.

“maybe not,” tamsy replies immediately, “but it's also not as complicated as you've convinced yourself it is.”

and there it is again, that feeling that he's slowly pulling apart every excuse you've built over the years and laying the pieces in front of you one by one, examining them until they stop looking as solid as they once did.

he rises from his chair then, crossing the room slowly until he reaches the window, resting one hand against the frame as he looks out over the sleeping kingdom below, and when he speaks again his voice is quieter than before, softer in a way that almost sounds sincere.

“do you know what i think?” he asks, though he doesn't wait for an answer. “i think you've spent your entire life waiting for permission.” you blink. “permission?”

“to be happy,” he says simply. “to be selfish. to choose something because you want it instead of because everyone expects it from you.” then he glances back over his shoulder, and there's something strange in his expression, something almost frustrated beneath the usual smile.

“and the worst part is that they don't even deserve that loyalty from you.”

your chest tightens slightly at that, because despite everything, despite how unsettling he can be sometimes, despite the things he says that leave you questioning yourself for hours afterward, he is still the one person who always notices when you're hurting, and tamsy seems to recognize the hesitation crossing your face because his expression softens almost immediately.

“you don't have to decide anything now,” he says lightly, stepping away from the window again, and just like that the intensity fades enough to let you breathe.

“i'm merely offering a solution.” his grin returns, easier now, familiar enough to almost feel comforting. “besides, imagine it,” he continues, spreading his arms dramatically.

“no royal meetings. no nobles. no endless ceremonies. no standing behind someone else while they collect all the attention.” he pauses, watching you carefully.

“just you.” and for some reason, those two simple words linger in the room longer than everything else he's said tonight, because nobody has ever really offered you a future built around you before.

everyone else talks about duty, legacy, responsibility, expectations. tamsy talks about escape.

and that's what frightens you most, because as impossible as his idea sounds, as ridiculous and reckless and unrealistic as it should be, you find yourself wondering what it would feel like. just for a moment.

just long enough. and tamsy's smile widens slightly the second he notices the thought cross your face, because of course he notices, and he doesn't push any further after that.

he doesn't need to.

instead, he walks toward the window once more, preparing to leave the same way he always arrives, and before climbing out, he glances back at you one last time.

“think about it, my dear,” he says softly, almost playfully, though you know him well enough now to recognize when something matters to him more than he's pretending. “the world is much larger than this palace.”

then he disappears into the night, leaving you alone with the silence, the moonlight, and the dangerous realization that for the first time in your life, the idea of leaving doesn't sound impossible anymore.

so that night, after the meeting finally ended and the palace halls began emptying, you returned to your room with a strange heaviness sitting in your chest.

because no matter how hard you tried to stop thinking about it, your mind kept replaying the expressions from earlier, the whispers between nobles, the sideways glances, and the way your sibling looked when they realized the room was no longer listening to them the way it once had.

you were sitting by the window when it suddenly slid open and a familiar figure climbed inside without warning. “you really should start locking this,” tamsy said casually as he stepped into the room, brushing off his sleeves before making himself comfortable like he belonged there.

“and ruin your favorite hobby?” you replied, earning a grin from him. “fair point,” he laughed before immediately leaning forward with visible amusement.

“you should've heard everyone afterward, though. honestly, they practically did all the work for me. one noble spent half an hour talking about your sibling's confidence, another wondered if they were always this dramatic, and there was even an advisor trying very hard not to agree with any of it while agreeing with every word.”

he laughed to himself, clearly entertained by the memory, while you could only stare at him. “that's not funny, tamsy.” “isn't it?” he tilted his head. “people are fascinating. all it takes is one little crack and suddenly everyone starts staring at it.”

his tone was light, playful even, but you found yourself looking away, because the longer he spoke, the worse you felt.

for a moment, neither of you spoke. tamsy noticed immediately. he always noticed. “what's wrong?” he asked, and when you muttered a quiet “nothing,” he only sighed dramatically.

“you've never been a convincing liar.” you let out a tired breath and rested your chin against your knees.

“i don't know,” you admitted. “i'm just tired.” his expression softened slightly. “of what?” and the answer escaped before you could stop it. “everything.” the room grew quieter after that.

“i'm tired of this place. i'm tired of always standing behind someone else. i'm tired of feeling like nobody actually sees me.” your voice dropped lower with every sentence until you were barely speaking above a whisper.

“everyone looks at my sibling. everyone talks about my sibling. everyone remembers my sibling. sometimes i feel like i could disappear tomorrow and nobody would even notice.”

the words hurt to say aloud, but once they started coming, they wouldn't stop. “i just want a normal life. i want people to know me because i'm me, not because of my title, not because of my family, not because i'm standing next to someone more important.”

tamsy was completely silent. no jokes. no teasing. no clever comments. he simply watched you with an intensity that made your chest tighten, like he had been waiting years to hear those exact words. then, after a long pause, a slow smile spread across his face.

“then let's leave.” you blinked. “what?” “let's run away.” he said it so casually that it almost sounded ridiculous. almost.

“tamsy, be serious.”

“i am serious.” and somehow that was what unsettled you most. he stepped closer, bells softly chiming with every movement. “why stay somewhere that makes you miserable?” he asked. “because this is my home.”

“is it?” he replied immediately, and before you could answer, he continued.

“a home is supposed to see you. a home is supposed to know you. a home isn't supposed to make you spend years begging for attention that should've been yours from the start.” you looked away from him, unable to answer, and his smile only softened.

“they don't see you,” he said quietly. “they never have. but i do.” something about the certainty in his voice made your chest ache.

“come with me,” he continued, lowering his voice as though he were sharing a secret meant only for you. “we'll leave this place behind. no meetings. no expectations. no standing in anyone's shadow. just you.” his gaze never left yours.

“isn't that what you've always wanted?” and for the first time since he entered your room, you couldn't think of a single thing to say.

so when the night felt strangely quiet, almost as if the entire kingdom had fallen asleep just for the two of you. your bag sat beside your bed, already packed long before tamsy arrived, and when he climbed through the window and noticed it, he stopped mid-step.

for once, there wasn't an immediate joke waiting on his tongue. he simply stared at it before looking at you, and slowly, a smile spread across his face.

not the exaggerated grin he wore in court, not the teasing smile he used when he wanted to annoy someone, but something smaller. softer.

“well,” he said quietly, “look at that.” your heart was beating so hard you thought he might be able to hear it. “i can't believe i'm actually doing this.” tamsy's eyes never left yours. “i can.”

for a moment, neither of you moved. suddenly the reality of everything felt crushing. leaving meant abandoning the only life you had ever known.

it meant leaving your room, your family, the gardens, the familiar hallways, all of it. doubt crept into your chest so quickly that it almost made you freeze.

tamsy noticed immediately. of course he did. he always noticed.

“hey,” he said softly, stepping closer. “look at me.” when you did, his expression had lost most of its usual amusement. “if you didn't want this, you wouldn't have packed that bag.” his hand slowly reached for yours.

“you don't have to keep asking for permission anymore.” your throat tightened slightly. “what if this is a mistake?” tamsy's smile returned, small and confident. “then it'll be our mistake.”

the climb down from the window felt unreal. every movement made your stomach twist with nerves, but the second your feet touched the ground, tamsy immediately grabbed your hand. not loosely. not casually.

his fingers slipped between yours and held on tightly as if he had absolutely no intention of letting go.

“come on,” he whispered, and before you could even process it, he was already pulling you forward. the two of you broke into a run through the darkness, laughter escaping him the moment the palace walls started disappearing behind you.

your heart pounded in your chest, your legs burned, and your hair whipped around your face as you ran beside him, but for the first time in years, you felt lighter there was no meetings, no expectations, no nobles, no one watching your every move.

just you and him racing into the unknown.

“we're actually doing this!” you laughed breathlessly, nearly tripping over your own feet. “we're actually doing this,” tamsy echoed, sounding far too delighted about the situation.

he squeezed your hand tighter and pulled you around a bend in the road. “try not to fall behind, my dear. i'd hate for our grand escape to end because you tripped over a rock.”

“you're impossible.”

“and yet you're still running away with me.” “unfortunately.”

“see? you're already happier.” his grin was impossible to miss, even in the darkness.

eventually the palace became nothing more than a distant shape on the horizon.

the kingdom that had once felt so huge now looked strangely tiny from where you stood.

both of you slowed to a stop at the top of a grassy hill, breathing heavily from running so far. your hand was still in his. neither of you seemed eager to let go.

below the hill stretched roads you had never traveled before, forests you had never explored, and towns you had never even heard of.

the entire world suddenly felt open.

for a while, neither of you spoke. then tamsy glanced toward you and smiled. “so,” he said, squeezing your hand once more. “where should we go first?” you opened your mouth to answer, but before a single word could leave you, a distant voice suddenly echoed from somewhere behind the hill.

“there they are!”

both of you froze.

tamsy's eyes widened, while your heart immediately dropped. and then, to your horror, his grin somehow got even bigger.

“oh,” he said, sounding far more excited than concerned. “this just got interesting.”

A few days later when Logan had another, Goslyn wakes up Wade too. They find Logan awake and sweating in his bed. Wade quickly goes to get a glass of water which Logan drinks it down like a man parched. Goslyn slides into his bed like before but so does Wade. At first, Logan is confused but his tired, animal brain smells them together and their complimentary scents seem to calm him. His Alpha wants to mark them both being pack but Logan ignores it for now. Wade cards his fingers through his hair, his fingertips periodically rubbing his scalp while Goslyn slowly but firmly rubs up and down his chest. Logan leans into Wade’s touch. Wade says nothing and continues his action. Once in a while, Goslyn scratched his chest a few times before returning to rub. As Logan relaxes, he rolls on his side facing Goslyn allowing Wade to be the big spoon. Wade inhales slowly to stop himself acting overexcitedly. He quickly cozies up to Logan, wrapping an arm around his chest and nuzzling the top knob of his spine while slowing down carding his hair.

Goslyn cups Logan’s face and rubs his cheek with their thumb. “You’re safe here, Logan. No one is gonna hurt you. Not anymore,” they promise.

He appreciates the words but trouble always finds him. He pushes that away for tonight.

Sleepy Logan gives Goslyn a sweet tired smile and leans into kiss into their palm. Goslyn reciprocates the kiss by pecking one on his chest. “Sleep,” they gently command. He nods, beginning to hear Wade lightly snore behind him. Goslyn snuggles up against Logan, nuzzling their cheek against his hairy chest and sighs. Their left hand rests at his side and a foot rubs between his calves. He wraps his arm around their back, holding them against him and on Wade’s forearm. He witnesses them placing a few kisses on Wade’s textured arm. “Night, love,” Goslyn quietly says into Wade’s arm. Wade murmurs unintelligibly in his sleep. Goslyn subtly removes the light from the room to make sure Logan sleeps well

The next day Goslyn wakes up first and returns light to the norm in the curtain-dim room. They watch Logan sleep a few minutes before cupping his chin and lightly scratching his beard. He hums appreciatively. Their hand falls back to his chest and nuzzles against him again before relaxing into him. Logan purrs quietly, lulling Goslyn back to sleep.

A little while later, Goslyn wakes up to find Logan’s bed cooling and empty. Sitting up and stretching, they slide off the bed and head out into the living room. They find the two men sitting next to each other on the couch, drinking coffee while watching tv. Wade’s arm is across the back of the couch, carding his fingers through Logan’s hair, and scratching his scalp with his blunt nails. Goslyn smiles, glad that Logan is getting used to their touch. Trusting them. They see sometimes it can be hard for him to accept. He finds it easier to take from them than Wade. That’s ok. It’s a work in progress, they remind themself.

In the evening once in bed, Wade was the big spoon to Goslyn’s little spoon. He relaxed and waited a few minutes as they laid in the dark before kissing along their neck. Fingertips traveled up the inside of their shirt along their stomach to their breast. He held it in his warm and textured hand, massaging it. He began to suck and nibble the sensitive spot below their ear. Goslyn moaned-hummed and shifted closer to him.

Wade smirked against their neck as he moved to nibble on their ear while his hand began to lightly pinch and gently pull their nipple. After a few seconds, a sleepy Goslyn became squirmy against him. They whimpered, feeling Wade’s clothed erection against their buttocks. “Daddy,” they quietly whined.

“Shh, I got you, little bunny,” he quietly cooed. Wade is able to play them like an instrument after many years together.

He pulled down his underwear and shorts in one go to his thighs, taking out his hard cock before pulling their panties down. Goslyn shifted, easily wet and leaking from his teasing, angling their hips and trying to make their entrance easier to access.

Wade held his cock, wetting the head a bit with their slick before slowly pushing into them all the way. He held back a moan as Goslyn pushed their head into the pillow groaning into it. He started a slow pace, listening to Goslyn’s breath turn into panting, lifting their leg to his hip, and feeling them move to meet his thrusts. He nuzzled into their neck, nipped, kissed and licked the sensitive spots. He pinched their other nipple, harder and pulled further, driving a gasp from them as they arched into his hand.

“There they are,” he smirked, breathed into their ear and licked the rim, sending a shutter down their spine. His pace sped up, the muffled sound of skin against skin as Goslyn met him. “Harder,” Goslyn begged, shifting their pelvis for him to reach deeper. Wade leaned back, scooted down a little to make sure he made Goslyn feel amazing. “Like that, baby they?”

“Yeah,” they whisper-breathed as his cock rubbed against their g-spot over and over and over again with every thrust. His hand slid up their chest, out of their collar to lightly hold their throat. He could feel Goslyn’s pulse speed up under his hand further. Goslyn could feel that pleasurable coil wind tighter and tighter low in them. His other hand shifted down, delving toward where they were joined. Goslyn held on to his forearm through their shirt, digging their nails into it as they drew closer to their release.

He gathered some of their wetness on his hand before finding and wrapping his hand around their small hard cock, stroking from base to tip to push them towards the edge in mere seconds before their walls squeezed around his cock. Goslyn silently gasped as they were launched over the precipice. Their cock coating Wade’s hand in their spend.

Wade groaned, keeping the punishing pace, his steady stroking of their cock. When Goslyn finally was able to stutter and moaned, biting their lip trying to keep it down. Their thighs trembled, toes curled, and pushed their back into his chest. Whimpering at the intensity, their walls so sensitive as Wade fucked into them driving towards his own peak.

“So good,” he huffed. “The best pretty they-dy I’ve ever known,” he praised, thrusting harshly into them as his orgasm hit him hard. Shooting rope after rope against their gummy walls with each thrust. He rumbles a moan into their hair, panting as his hips kept moving. His stroking never stopping Goslyn’s own, extended their orgasm until his was finished.

Wade stilled his hips, remaining inside them as the two panted. He slid his hand from their throat, out of their shirt and fixed it. His other hand came to his lips to lick and suck his hand clean with an appreciative hum. He wiped his had on his shirt before he took their calf and lowered their leg, adjusting to remain within. Wrapping his arms around them, nuzzling into their hair. It took a few minutes before their breathing calmed.

“Fuck, Wade,” Goslyn quietly exclaimed.

He smiled. “I did that already,” he chuckled before planting a few kisses on the side of their head and face. Goslyn giggled, scrunching up their freckled nose.

“I could go again,” he offered into his ear.

“We’re not playing how many orgasms before I pass out right now,” they informed. “I’m too tired.”

Wade pouted but relented. “Ok but you’re cockwarming me to sleep.”

Rolling their eyes with a small smile on their lips, they nodded. “Ok, Daddy,” they smiled into their words.

Wade pressed Goslyn’s back against his chest as he wiggled to get deeper. Goslyn inhaled sharply before relaxing again when Wade stilled.

“Love you, Wade.”

“Love you too, bun bun.” He placed a kiss into their hair.

Unaware their noises were disturbing their enhanced hearing and smelling roommate, despite their attempts at muting their voices, their combined scents and their smell of sex went straight to Logan’s dick.

His alpha demands to join his pack mates and change their dynamics as their alpha. He pushed his alpha away, resisting the urge, tried to ignore them, but his enhanced senses were working against him as his cock thickened up while his mind conjured images of the two naked and fucking.

Wade thrusted into Goslyn’s wetness as he bit and sucked on their neck and shoulder. Plucking at their nipples. When Goslyn moaned “harder”, his knot started to inflate. He quietly growled and stuck his hand into his underwear, the contact relieving.

Logan wrapped his hand around his thick, long alpha cock, pumping it from base to tip, and rubbing his thumb over the slit collecting the drops before going down again. He panted and rumbled at the pleasure from the images in his mind and the sounds of their love making.

He could smell how close they were to their orgasms. He hummed at the smell. His pumping turned to thrusts into his wet hand as he too was surprisingly close to his own.

It was Wade’s voicing, “So good” that pushed Logan over as his other hand shot to wrap around his knot. He moaned as they did, rumbling through rope after rope of his spend landed on his naked stomach and chest. Massaging his knot, growling at the extended pleasure, and making such a mess on himself.

Lost in the throes of his orgasm, hearing the two panting began to calm him. He slowed down as his own peak neared its end. When he could let go of his knot, he held on to his dick, panting heavily. He slowly released his still hard dick. His refractory period is practically non-existent. When his spend began to cool, he was reminded he needed to clean up. He rolled to the side of the bed, grabbed the shirt he wore today and cleaned himself up as best he could, too tired to do much else.

He smiled tiredly at Goslyn’s “I’m too tired” and chuckled. No shit, he thought. You ain’t the only one. It’s been a long time since Logan even had an orgasm, let alone on the other side of a couple that were enjoying themselves.

He tossed the cum-covered shirt towards his hamper, rolled over, and quickly fell asleep.

It’s been nearly two weeks since Logan started living here when Goslyn’s own sensitive nose picked up his mustiness that started to develop. They knew this could be very embarrassing and shameful to bring up. Wade was out walking Mary, so they texted him explicit detailed instructions as to not embarrass Logan with a threat of no sex for two weeks including during their usual monthly cycle days (more on that coming soon).

When Wade came home with Mary, he was holding a large paper bag. Logan was sitting with Goslyn watching a documentary on technology through the ages.

“Hey, I grabbed some lunch for us and a few other things,” he stated. Goslyn giving Wade the stink eye as a warning.

Logan raised his eyebrows at Wade’s words. “You didn’t need—“

“Don’t worry about it,” Wade interrupted, heading to the kitchen table. “Gozzy wanted Asian so thought why not all three of us.”

Goslyn got up, motioned for him to join them, and walked to the kitchen table. Logan walked over to find several take out boxes, a few toiletry items, and some pantry items. Goslyn grabbed the pantry items and put them away before returning to the table. Wade was in the kitchen grabbing utensils and plates for them all as Logan examined the toiletry items.

“Oh, that’s right,” Goslyn began. They picked up a big bag of wipes and held it out to him. “Wade was supposed to show you some of his and mine toiletries and bathroom stuff for you to see if you wanted to get anything else. Sensitive noses can be hard to manage.” Logan tilted his head, taking the bag of wipes and examined it.

“So, these are unscented and made for sensitive skin. If you pull one out, you’ll find they’re huge. They’re body wipes so if you’re too tired or just wanna relax or something but wanna get refreshed, they’re great for that. Wade and I both use them, especially Wade when he gets back from a mission. No tracking blood in the apartment.” Logan was taking in what Goslyn said. He knew he was beginning to get a bit musty, able to smell himself, and his issues with water would come to the forefront at some point. He wonders if this was their way of saying they noticed but he liked they were giving him alternatives.

Wow, Goslyn is stupidly accepting.

They held up the other items and explained them. They opened two of them to wave under his nose. “These are products I use that are either unscented or lightly scented so as not to overwhelm you. I get headaches when scents are too strong and I figured with your sensitive nose you might have similar issues,” Goslyn explained matter-of-factly.

“Oh, ok,” Logan stated, unsure what they were looking for from him.

“They don’t work for hair,” Wade added, setting the plates and utensils down.

“No, there are other stuff for hair if you wanna refresh without bathing but I just recommend going under the faucet to wash and condition that way,” Goslyn apprised. “If you wanna try that, let me know and I can help you or show you how I do it. It’s why we have a detachable shower head actually.”

Logan was so confused. He is certain this is them telling him he stinks without saying it, but they’re giving him alternatives to actually getting in the shower or bath tub. The coil in his stomach loosens at not being attacked or pushed to get clean like expected. He can feel his cheeks warm, keeps his eyes down with a small nod. “Thanks,” he quietly agrees.

Goslyn smiles. “Hey, we’re lazy in this apartment. We just like to be smart about it.” Logan looked up at them, small smile on his lips and chuckled.

“Enough chitter chatter. I’m hungry,” Wade complains, scooping food on his plate.

“You’re just upset you’re not the one talking,” Goslyn playful attacks him and flicks his bald, textured head.

Wade squints his eyes at them. “Don’t make me get Deadpool.”

Goslyn slowly backs up grinning wide. “Oooo, Deadpool, the merc with a mouth. What’s he gonna go? Talk me to death.” Logan snorted, rolling his eyes.

“So, you’re gonna be a brat?” Wade asked, his voice deeper, smoother, and crossed his arms, leaning back on a hip. Logan noticed the change, curious what this was.

Goslyn didn’t reply, mimicking Wade’s posture and stance. Wade maintained eye contact with Goslyn. Logan slowly took bites of his food, watching the couple. He wonders how physical they get and if this is a kink thing.

Wade’s eyes changed. His face and body relaxed as he slowly walked over to Goslyn. “Goslyn,” he began.

Goslyn frowned, uncrossing their arms.

“Are you manic?” He questioned.

Goslyn looked down and away for a few moments before squinting their eyes. “Fuck,” they calmly stated before turning and heading into their bedroom.

Wade looked at Logan who quirked his brow. “Bipolar,” he apprised. “60/40 they don’t realize they’re manic. Discussed how to determine and bring it up.” Logan nodded, understandingly as he delved into his food. Wade sat down and joined him.

In the afternoon, Logan learned how a manic Goslyn behaved.

Goslyn went into the bedroom for a few minutes while Logan and Wade were watching The Golden Girls. Suddenly, Wade jolted and gasped. “Ow.”

Goslyn’s head popped out from the bedroom in Wade’s Deadpool mask. “Baby knife,” they cackled and slammed their bedroom door shut.

Wade pulled out ‘baby knife’ from the side of his head and glared at it with a deep frown. Logan laughed out loud. Wade nearly ran into the bedroom to find it empty. “Fucking shadow demon,” he cursed. He walked out with a huff. “Get ready to be stabbed a lot. They’re in shadow mode. They can be anywhere.” Logan looked at him with his brow deeply furrowed, looking around.

Wade gasped in pain hearing Goslyn laughing before finding a knife stabbed in his left shoulder. Logan’s and Wade, of course, missed seeing them. “Cunt!” Wade yelled. Cackling came from behind the tv before silence fell.

“So, they become Deadpool when they’re manic?” Logan inquires.

“So-o-ometimes,” Wade waffled. “And sometimes they’re a cumdumpster and other times they will nonstop talk until you want to kill yourself.”

“So, they become either a shadow sadist, a libido on legs, or you?” Logan simplified.

“Pretty much,” Wade agreed.

“Pretty much?” Logan leaned forward, resting arms on his knees and shook his head.

“We-e-ell,” Wade began.

“What the fu—.” Fake haughty laughter interrupted the man and a knife plunged in the center of his back. Wade busted out laughing, holding his gut and slowly fell off the couch.

That’s pretty much how the day went until nightfall.

“I can’t stab them. I can’t hold them. What do we do?” Logan growled.

Wade looked away, tapping his chin in faux thought.

“Wa-a-ade,” Logan growled in warning.

Logan and Wade ate, a persistent feeling of being watched getting to them. They left a plate of dinner on the kitchen table set up with silverware and two of Goslyn’s favorite sodas, Tropic Sprite and Surge. The two waited on either of the width of the apartment.

Wade explained that if they could get the Deadpool mask off of Goslyn this would stop, probably. Wade decided not to tell Logan about the one and only time when they were in depressed mania and how he got tortured. Maybe another time…or not.

They did get the Deadpool mask off Goslyn but they started talking and info dumping and cuddling with the two as they talked. Logan gave a small smile and shook his head.

They both listened to Goslyn, responding in appropriate places and had the conversation. Wade had to get up and get their food, feeding them as they talked because they were so absorbed, they obviously either didn’t feel hungry or wanted to stop. Either way, Wade was gonna make sure his love was taken care of. Logan, on the other hand, remained engaged and would pause, pointing out when a new spoonful was ready for them. He ended up becoming in charge of their drink, making sure they drank after so many bites.

It was a bit rough for a few days until Goslyn seemed to return to their usual.