I Wonder If Shakespeare Had Fanfiction?

I wonder if Shakespeare had fanfiction?

Glass Onion (2022) + Art

“Straight? I hate the word. As I hate hell, all Montagues, and thee.”

— Tybalt Capulet’s inner monologue at some point

For context, My kid had to choose a person to write a book about, kind of like an autobiography but second grade style. Anyways, all the kids chose musicians and athletes, like modern folks… but my kid…

My kid chose William Shakespeare 😅

This is super convenient because I have a headcanon request that revolves around Shakespeare 💅 also the history nerd is me is *heavy cat breathing*

Also low key, high key interested in how this kid knows about Big Will 🤨

SOAPGHOST & KISSES

When they kissed for the first time, it was almost…casual. Like it wasn’t this weighty thing they’ve been hanging around the precipice of.

Ghost had had a long day spent with Price pouring over paperwork and maps, tossing out ideas for their next missions and remedies for issues they had in previous ones. He was exhausted, mentally, and trudged back to his room on heavy feet, more files he was supposed to look over under his arm.

When he got there, he’d barely had the time to set the files down on his desk before there was a knock at his door. Upon opening it, he found Johnny, and was stepping out of the way to let him in without a second thought; he was always welcome here, in Simon’s space.

Johnny was holding a mug of tea in his hands, which he offered to Ghost as he told him he knew he’d had a long day and thought it might help. Simon shucked his gloves off, dropped them on top of the discarded files, and accepted the steaming mug from Johnny’s warm hands. Long comfortable with Johnny, he pulled his mask up and took a sip of the tea, no longer wary of Johnny’s tea making abilities now that he knew Gaz was coaching him under the table.

The tea was made perfectly to his preference, and he kept the mug against his lips as he swallowed, prepared to take another swig. Johnny grinned, pleased with Simon’s reaction. And Simon swallowed the second sip slowly, something happening in his chest that he couldn’t place. It wasn’t just the warmth of the tea working its way through him. It was a different kind of warmth; it was an ache. An ache for Johnny and his smile and his affection.

Simon glanced away from Johnny long enough to set his tea down on the desk beside him, already reaching for Johnny with his other hand. Johnny’s brow wrinkled with confusion without budging his smile, but he didn’t pull away as Simon slid his palm over the side of his jaw. He kept his eyes on Johnny as he framed his face and that lovely smile between his hands, watching for signals.

Johnny caught on quick, his smile dimming as he realized what Simon wanted, disbelief flickering in his expression before the clear want swept through. Johnny’s hand came up slowly to hold on to Simon’s wrist, and he knew he had permission.

So Simon leaned down and kissed him. Sweeping up Johnny’s lips in his own did nothing to abate the ache in his chest, instead only caused it to spread, to become heavier.

Johnny started to fucking smile even as he kissed Simon back, and while Simon didn’t mind feeling his smile, it made it harder to kiss him. Then Johnny pulled back enough to tell him his mouth tasted like tea, to which Simon said he couldn’t see how that was what’s important at the moment. But the words only made it part of the way out of his mouth because Johnny started to kiss him. Over and over, breaking to smile and make comments and to take in the look on Simon’s face.

And Simon was getting sick. The room tilted around him slightly, as if something inside of him was orienting itself towards Johnny more permanently. The ache in his chest was taking over his entire body like a fever, like his body was begging for Johnny to relieve the aches with his touch. Simon lost all the strength to move, caught in Johnny’s orbit with no intention to be let go on either of their sides. He was helpless in his want to do nothing but let Johnny kiss him—to kiss him back when he lingered long enough for him to.

When Johnny was temporarily satisfied, he gave Simon one last lingering kiss he was able to reciprocate before he tugged Simon’s hands off his face. Simon was told to finish his tea while it was hot because Johnny had worked too hard to make it for it to go to waste. Then Johnny went over to Simon’s bed, picked up a random book from his side table, and settled in.

Just like that. Simon was shocked by how easy it’d been to kiss Johnny. How casually Johnny had handled it, not because he didn’t understand what he was being given, but because he did, and he was willing to let it not be a big deal if that’s what Simon wanted.

The fourth time they kissed, Johnny was the one to seek Simon out, and the kiss they shared wasn’t quite like the ones they’d shared up until that point.

Soap was being sent out on a mission that didn’t involve Ghost, and he was getting ready to leave when he found Ghost alone in Price’s office, getting the paperwork sorted and filed. Johnny was quieter than usual as he came into the room, and Ghost chalked it up to the pre-mission quiet Soap sometimes lapsed into. He was wrong, because Johnny asked him a bit timidly if he could get a kiss before he left.

Simon, helpless to deny Johnny anything on a good day and absolutely powerless against the sudden shyness, set the papers he was holding down and tugged his balaclava completely off his head. He shoved it into his jacket pocket as he crossed the space between him and Johnny, who was studying Simon’s face as he always did when it was bare, like he wasn’t sure he’d get the chance again.

Simon pulled Johnny in by his waist, grateful for the fact he’d taken his gloves off to make sorting papers easier, and Johnny anchored himself with his fingers in Simon’s hair. He kissed Johnny deeply and deliberately, tracing the shape of his body with his hands as if he could brand the prints into his flesh to be used like armor, protecting his reason to live while he was away from him.

They didn’t have long, so they couldn’t linger like they wanted to. Simon broke off first, then he pressed another kiss to Johnny’s forehead, one that said please come back to me in one piece. Johnny hugged him tightly and briefly before he stepped out of the safety of Simon’s arms, flashing a grin as he left the room along with a comment about how he’d see him in a week.

By the tenth kiss, Simon had acclimated to the new intimacy and was starting to learn, about himself and about Johnny.

Johnny couldn’t keep quiet even when he was being kissed, and Simon was having the immense pleasure of discovering all the musical noises Johnny could make. Simon paid close attention to what he did that caused the deep groans and the bitten-off whimpers so that he could cause them on command. They, along with the feel of Johnny’s mouth on his and his hands on his body and in his hair, became a drug that Simon was quickly and dangerously getting addicted to.

Simon liked tasting Johnny’s smile, liked feeling his ragged breath against his face, liked the feel of his skin against his. Liked that instinctual snap of Johnny’s hips against his own that happened when he started to feel pent-up. Liked the way Johnny clawed at his shoulders, his waist, his hips as he tried to get Simon closer, even if they were already pressed so tightly against each other there wasn’t even room for air between their bodies. He liked the way Johnny’s lips ended up looking, swollen and dark and wet with their saliva, and liked the way his own mouth throbbed like a new bruise.

Kissing Johnny, as it turned out, didn’t give Simon a gut-wrenching awareness of his own vulnerability like he’d feared. It didn’t feel like what am I doing, what am I risking. It felt like dropping a weight off his shoulders, felt like a sigh. Kissing Johnny felt like a homecoming, and it’d been so very long since Simon had felt at home.

My boy :(((