#jester!soap

[blueperry123]

Your king + queen + jester ghoap x reader fic? Drabble? Anyway it’s worked its way into my head and I can’t think straight, you’re amazing!!

Thank you ahhh > _ <

The morning sun crept through the velvet curtains, gold spilling across the royal chamber.

And there he was. The King. The fearsome, untouchable Ghost.

Pinned. Absolutely pinned.

Simon lay flat on his back, crown nowhere in sight, mask discarded on the bedside table. His arm was hooked protectively around you, your face tucked against his chest, crown of your hair a mess against his skin. On his other side, Johnny was sprawled like a starfish, one leg thrown haphazardly across the King’s waist, mouth open as he snored softly.

Three bodies knotted together under one blanket, the kingdom’s greatest secret: its monarch didn’t sleep alone.

“Simon,” you mumbled against his sternum, voice still groggy. “Court… in an hour.”

“Don’t remind me,” he muttered, eyes still closed. His voice was rough, almost petulant. “Five more minutes.”

From the other side of the bed came a muffled, sleep-drunk laugh. Soap cracked one eye open, hair sticking in every direction. “If we’re late again, the council’s gonna start a revolt. ‘Specially if they find out it’s ‘cause their glorious king’s been playin’ little spoon.”

Simon tensed. “I am not the little—”

“Yes ye are,” Soap cut in gleefully, tightening his arm around him like a koala. “Look at ye, all cozy and cuddled. Adorable.”

You bit back a giggle, propping yourself up just enough to kiss Simon’s jaw before he could argue. “He’s right. Adorable.”

That earned you both a scowl dark enough to curdle milk—though the tips of his ears flushed scarlet.

Then came the knock. Loud. Impatient.

“Your Majesty? Council is assembled!”

The three of you froze.

You could practically feel Simon’s soul leave his body as he shoved at Soap, who only clung tighter, laughing into his shoulder. “Go on then, mighty king, lead us to duty with bedhead and love bites.”

You were already stumbling out of bed, yanking a robe around your shoulders, trying not to laugh. Simon was half-dragging, half-carrying Soap off him, growling curses under his breath while you searched for his crown.

Minutes later, the three of you stumbled out of the royal quarters. You, still tying your robe; Soap, bells crooked on his half-buttoned motley; and Simon, hair mussed, jaw tight, crown slightly askew.

To the world, he was the unshakable monarch.

To you and Soap? He was just your grumpy king who’d woken up late because his consort and his jester wouldn’t stop cuddling him.

And God help the council if they ever found out.

[burgundysnow]

This post here. It had me reeling and it’s giving off Galavant vibes?

I couldn’t find the part where they say “and the jester is sleeping with your wife!” But this pretty much sums it up Here. Word count: 0.8k

So now I’m thinking about big stern behemoth of a man king!Price. He married you because he had to. He needed a wife before he took the throne. You were the only woman smart enough to actually play an instrument and learned how to write. 

You had little royal blood in you after years of generations being watered out, but you knew enough about politics that you were his first choice every time. 

Price didn’t even necessarily like you. You think he might have tried once or twice with eating dinner together but you just didn’t click. 

And don’t even get me started on the sex. You could hear him. Every night, fucking a new harlot. Sometimes they would stay until morning and slip out the back. But you heard everything. You supposed it’s good he didn’t fuck you like that. In fact, he hasn’t slept with you at all. 

Everything about being a queen is boring. You get to hear people complain about their problems all the time. The first time, you really felt for the people who didn’t have enough food. The second time too. Guilt nawed at you if you didn’t do anything to help. 

But come the 507th person complaining about there not being enough chickens. You felt guilty. That you didn’t feel guilty anymore. But even that feeling went away soon. Too soon for your liking.

And that’s the thing. Price is nice, but he’s strictly business. He works and works for his kingdom. He’s boring.

The only good part of your day, (Other than your baths.) Was when jester!Soap came to entertain everyone. What a silly name. Soap was so effortlessly funny you really couldn’t help but swoon. He even had a funny accent. 

“Knock knock.” 

It was silent for a moment until a guard from your left spoke up. 

“Who’s there…?”

“Banana.” 

“Banana who.” 

“Knock knock.” 

You could tell the crowd was weary. Was this the best guy the king could bring in? Telling knock knock jokes? The reason Soap hasn’t gotten fired was all on you. 

“Who’s there?” 

“Banana!” 

“Banana who!” 

“Knock knock.” 

This back and forth actually had you giggling. A small smile appeared on your face but you tried to hide it with a frown. Soap saw though it though, And he sent you a soft smirk from across the room. 

“Oh who’s there you bloody moron!” 

“Orange.” 

“Orange who?” 

“Orange ye glad I dinnae say banana?” 

His voice, the way he presented it. His funny costume with the bells. It make you go into a fit of giggles on your throne. Everyone else dryly chuckled but you. You were the one that giggled the most. 

“Get this guy outta here!” 

“Nae nae! I got more where tha’ came from. Luckily ye dinnae get to see tha’ place.” 

Oh and his quips. His quips were the best. Always making you wonder what was insinuated underneath it all. 

One time. When you were really very sick, you asked your husband if the jester could come in. He didn’t hesitate to let the Scottish man in. No one really thought you needed a chaperone. Because he’s the jester. And no matter how stupid he is, Soap would never do something like that to the kings wife. Right?

But the whole kingdom was wrong. It happens more than once when Soap sneaks into your chamber late at night. Sometimes you just giggle at each other. But most times it involves sex. 

And the sex includes the giggles 

Johnny has seduced you with perfectly timed jokes and groan worthy dad jokes. But his funniness isn’t the only good quality he has.

After taking off all this silly costume, (was that a stray card in his boxers?) there was a large man. A man with muscles as fine as wine and nothing was funny about those hard ridges. 

There’s a scar at his thigh that you yet to have asked about. But you’re worried if you did, you get a joke as an answer. 

And his cock— fuck it was perfect. It curved upright hitting that perfect spot inside you every time. You’ve never really dreamed about what sex with your actual, husband would be like. But you’re sure it won’t be as good as this. 

And that’s another thing. It’s so wrong. You’re married. To the king. If he finds out about you and the jester he could have Soaps head cut clean off. You don’t really know that but you assume. 

So you’re left to lurking and prowling around the castle. Quickies in closets and giant guest rooms that have never been used. A hand over your mouth to keep your noises muffled. And does he ever make you scream. 

Soap has this best friend. The executioner. Ghost. It’s weird how they’re so different. Simon is quiet and has a longing for bloodshed. While Johnny is funny and upbeat. But they talk constantly when they’re not busy. 

And who’s to say if Johnny accidentally lets something’s slip about the queen’s breathtaking pussy. Though, now the only way Simon won’t tell the king about your endeavors, is if he gets a taste of that perfect pussy too. 

[blueperry123]

Inspired by the fact that when I look in the mirror I see a clown 🤡

The throne room was suffocating, but not from the heat.

Simon lounged like a predator beside you, legs spread, one hand loose on the armrest. His expression masked, but his gaze never left you, not when you laughed, not when you leaned forward to whisper something to a minister, not even when Johnny cartwheeled across the marble floor to scatter the tension.

You shifted in your throne, smoothing your gown over your knees. Simon's eyes followed the motion like he could peel the fabric away just by staring.

"Majesty," Johnny crooned from below, dropping into an exaggerated bow that left him sprawled at your feet. His grin was wicked, sharp, teeth bared.

"Allow me to kiss the hem of yer gown."

A hush fell. Nobles stiffened, horrified. He'll be executed. Surely this is it.

But Simon said nothing.

And you - oh, you tilted your chin, just slightly.

"You may."

Johnnys lips brushed the silk at your ankle. Too soft. Too lingering. His gaze flicked up, catching yours, bright with mischief and something filthier.

You swore you felt his breath against your skin through the layers of fabric.

From beside you, Simon's knuckles flexed on the throne.

"Careful," he warned, voice a low growl that slid through the chamber like smoke.

Johnny smirked against your gown, voice muffled but taunting. "Aye, I know my place." His tongue darted out, just enough to wet the fabric. Gasps rippled through the nobles. "On my knees."

You hid your smile behind your hand, feigning demureness. Simon's gaze burned into you like punishment promised.

No one moved. No one dared breathe.

Because in that moment, every soul in the court understood:

You weren't just Queen. Simon wasn't just King. Johnny wasn't just Jester.

This was a trinity.

A dangerous, unholy devotion that everyone could feel but no one could name.

And if they stared too long at the way Simon leaned closer, at the way johnnys mouth lingered too near your skin, at the way you looked between them.

It felt obscene. Like trespassing. Like watching something meant for locked doors and silken sheets.