He Is Like Deeply Engraved In My Brain Atp.

he is like deeply engraved in my brain atp.

buying you time || part 1

past! neil perry x reader, present! charlie dalton x reader

1960 – A Kingdom Without a King

Welton Academy still stood, unchanged, but it no longer felt like home.

You had returned, though you weren’t sure why. Perhaps it was because some part of you still belonged to the past, trapped in the halls where laughter and poetry once reigned. The world had moved on, but your heart remained behind, tangled in memories that refused to fade.

Neil Perry had been gone for over a year now.

The weight of him pressed against your ribcage, an ache that never dulled. Time had passed, seasons had changed, but grief remained—woven into you like Penelope’s shroud, stitched together by day, unraveled by night.

And Charlie Dalton had been watching.

Waiting.

The boy who had never known patience now stood by your side, silent and steady, never pushing, never demanding. Just… there.

You weren’t sure how much longer he would wait.

And you weren’t sure if you wanted him to.

⸻

1959 – The Game

“You don’t have to do this.”

Neil grinned at you, mischief flickering behind his eyes. “Where’s the fun in that?”

You rolled your eyes, watching as he lined up his shot. The Dead Poets had taken refuge at the Dalton estate for the weekend, and Neil had challenged Charlie to an archery contest. A terrible idea, really, given that neither of them had ever touched a bow before.

Charlie leaned against a tree, smirking. “Come on, Perry, show me what you got.”

Neil raised the bow, drew back the string, and let the arrow fly. It wobbled through the air before plummeting into the dirt several feet away from the target.

Charlie burst into laughter.

Neil turned to you, utterly unbothered. “That was just a warm-up.”

You shook your head, smiling. “I think you’re better at monologues than marksmanship.”

He leaned in, eyes twinkling. “Lucky for you, I’m very good at monologues.”

Charlie groaned. “Please, spare us.”

Neil ignored him, turning back to you, his voice dropping into something softer. “Do you think I could do it?”

You frowned. “Do what?”

“Win the throne.”

You studied him, the way his hands tightened around the bow, the way his shoulders tensed. This was a game, but for Neil, it was something more. A challenge. A test. Proof that he could defy the fate his father had set for him.

“Of course you could,” you said.

Neil smiled, but it didn’t quite reach his eyes.

Charlie noticed too.

Later that night, as you sat by the fire, Charlie nudged your shoulder. “You really think he could win?”

You looked across the room, where Neil sat reading, the flickering light casting shadows over his face.

“I think he already has.”

⸻

1960 – The Unfinished Letter

You found it in Neil’s old copy of Hamlet, the pages worn from his touch.

The ink was smudged in places, as if he had hesitated while writing, but the words were clear.

“Father,” it began.

“I know you will never understand, but I cannot live the life you want for me. I tried. I swear I tried. But my heart does not belong to textbooks and law degrees. It belongs to the stage, to poetry, to the kind of love that makes life worth living. I cannot keep pretending to be someone I am not. I have been buying myself time, hoping I would find another way. But time is running out.”

“I am sorry.”

“I love you.”

It wasn’t finished.

It never would be.

Charlie found you later, sitting on the floor of your room, the letter crumpled in your hands. He didn’t say anything—just sat beside you, waiting.

After a long silence, you whispered, “I should give it to his father.”

Charlie exhaled sharply. “What do you think that’ll change?”

You swallowed hard. “I don’t know.”

“Then don’t do it.” His voice was gentle, but firm. “You think he deserves this? After everything?”

You closed your eyes. “No.”

Charlie sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. “Then let it go.”

You shook your head. “I don’t know how.”

Charlie hesitated before reaching for your hand.

“Then let me help.”

⸻

1959 – The Last Performance

The theater was alive.

The air thrummed with energy, with the weight of a thousand unseen eyes. The audience sat in hushed anticipation, waiting for the curtain to rise.

Neil stood at the center of it all, his presence electric, his voice steady.

“O, she doth teach the torches to burn bright!” he declared, his words ringing through the space.

You watched from the wings, breath caught in your throat. He was radiant, every inch the king he had always longed to be.

When the play ended, when the applause roared like thunder, he found you backstage, his face alight with triumph.

“I did it,” he whispered.

“You did,” you breathed, pressing a kiss to his lips.

And for one perfect moment, the world was his.

⸻

1960 – The Storm

It rained the night Neil died.

A storm, violent and unrelenting.

You had run through it, breathless, desperate, slipping on the wet ground as you stumbled toward his house. Charlie had been right behind you, cursing under his breath, but you had barely heard him.

By the time you arrived, the world had already gone silent.

Neil’s mother was standing in the doorway, her face pale, her hands shaking. She had not spoken a word as she stepped aside, letting you and Charlie inside.

The house smelled of gunpowder.

Of smoke and sin.

You hadn’t screamed. You hadn’t cried. You had simply stood there, staring at the body of the boy you loved, knowing in your soul that time had finally run out.

⸻

1960 – The Final Choice

You stood at Neil’s grave, the cold biting at your skin.

“I never thought it would come to this,” you whispered.

The wind howled in response.

Charlie stood a few steps behind, waiting, always waiting.

You turned to him, your voice barely above a whisper. “How did you do it?”

Charlie exhaled slowly, shoving his hands in his coat pockets. “Do what?”

“Let him go.”

He was quiet for a long moment before he said, “I didn’t.”

You frowned, but he shook his head. “You don’t let go of someone like Neil. You just… learn to live with the hole they left behind.”

You swallowed the lump in your throat. “Does it ever stop hurting?”

Charlie gave you a sad smile. “Not really.”

You looked back at the gravestone, the name carved into the marble like a wound that would never heal.

Neil Perry.

“I don’t know how to live without him,” you admitted.

Charlie took a step closer, his voice steady. “Then let me teach you.”

You turned to him, really looking at him for the first time in months. His eyes were different now, shadowed with grief, but there was something else there too.

Something like hope.

You hesitated, then reached for his hand. His fingers curled around yours, warm and steady.

Maybe, just maybe, it was time to let go of the past.

Maybe it was time to start again.

And as Charlie squeezed your hand, anchoring you to the present, you thought—perhaps Neil would have wanted that too.

sweet feels || james hook x reader

|| note: this is not canon and this is just a figment of my imagination

|| pairings: james hook x reader

|| fluff

|| from the author: loved writing this

-fic under the cut-

"you have stolen my heart"

The corridors of Merlin Academy were alive with activity as students buzzed with excitement about the upcoming Castlecoming. It was the talk of the school—who would wear what, who would go with whom. But you weren’t worried about any of that. You had something—or rather, someone—much more important on your mind.

James Hook.

You smiled at the thought of him, the pirate with the charming smirk and the mischievous glint in his eyes. Despite your royal upbringing, you had fallen for him, and he for you. It had started with stolen glances and teasing banter, but over time, your connection deepened, and before you knew it, you were inseparable.

As you walked down the hall, your thoughts were interrupted by the familiar voices of Uliana’s crew. They were gathered near the entrance, laughing and joking as usual. Uliana, the sister of Ursula, was at the center, her presence commanding attention.

“There she is!” Morgie, the son of Morgana, called out, spotting you. “Our favorite royal.”

You chuckled as you joined them, greeted by the warmth and camaraderie you had come to cherish. Despite the differences in your backgrounds, Uliana’s crew had welcomed you with open arms. You were one of them, and you wouldn’t have it any other way.

“So, what’s the plan for today?” you asked, slipping into the easy rhythm of their banter.

“We were just talking about the ball,” Hook said, sidling up to you with that signature grin. “Thinking of sweeping you off your feet on the dance floor.”

You rolled your eyes playfully, but your heart fluttered at his words. “You wish.”

“Hey, don’t be too sure,” he teased, wrapping an arm around your waist. “I’ve been practicing.”

“Sure you have,” you quipped back, leaning into his side.

But before the conversation could continue, Bridget, the princess of Hearts, approached, looking more serious than usual. You immediately noticed the tension in her posture.

“Bridget, what’s up?” you asked, concern lacing your voice.

She glanced at you, then at the others. “There’s something I need to talk to Uliana about.”

The crew quieted down, sensing the shift in mood. You watched as Bridget and Uliana exchanged words, the conversation hushed but intense. You didn’t catch everything, but you heard enough to know that Bridget was troubled by something Uliana had said or done.

When the conversation ended, Bridget turned to you. “(Y/N), what do you think?”

You knew Bridget well—she wasn’t one to make a fuss over nothing. If she was upset, there was a reason. “I’m on your side, Bridget,” you said firmly, knowing that your loyalty to your friends meant everything.

Uliana seemed taken aback by your response, but before she could say anything, Hook stepped in. “Let’s not get into a fight over this. We’re all friends here. Except for pinkie over there.”

You nodded in agreement, relieved that Hook was there to diffuse the situation. “Yeah, let’s talk this out.”

Eventually, the tension eased, and the crew found a way to resolve their differences. Bridget smiled at you, grateful for your support, and Uliana gave you a nod, understanding that you had to stand by your friend.

Later that evening, as the sun dipped below the horizon, you found yourself standing with Hook on the edge of the school grounds, the soft glow of the setting sun casting a golden hue over everything. He had his arm around you, holding you close.

“You know,” he began, his voice gentle, “I wasn’t sure about us at first. I mean, you’re a royal, and I’m... well, I’m me.”

You turned to look at him, surprised by his sudden seriousness. “Hook, don’t say that. We’re perfect for each other.”

He smiled, his eyes softening as he gazed at you. “Yeah, we are. I’ve got the feels for you, (Y/N).”

You laughed softly, your heart swelling with affection. “I’ve got the feels for you too.”

The moment was perfect—just the two of you, wrapped in each other’s warmth. You knew that whatever challenges came your way, you would face them together. Because, in the end, it wasn’t about where you came from or who you were supposed to be. It was about the way he made you feel—happy, cherished, and completely yourself.

And with him by your side, life was sweeter than ever.

Step 13 || Gregory House & James Wilson

Paring: Greg House x gn!reader x James Wilson

Summary: short blurb about reader's long night routine

Warnings: none

Word Count: 0.3k

༶•୨♡୧┈┈•༶༶•┈┈୨♡୧┈┈•༶༶•┈┈୨♡•༶

You hear feet shuffling towards the bathroom; pausing your routine you turn to watch as Wilson leans against the door frame.

"What step are you on now?"

You don't answer him right away a little out of embarrassment but mostly because you didn't actually know. However, House seemed to be watching you closely as he answers Wilson's question from his spot on the bed.

"Step 13."

You and Wilson turn to stare at House dumbfounded. He looks up from his book and gives both of you a questioning look.

"What?"

You and Wilson glance at each other before breaking out in a fit of giggles.

"Wow you loooovvvee me!"

House shots you a dirty look but before he can get out an equally snarky remark Wilson is walking towards him.

"It's fascinating that you complain about how long their nightly routine takes, but you know every step. Which means you have to have been watching them closely every night to know their exact steps!"

"Oh come on! I don't----"

"Hey now wait a minute."

You cut House off while walking up to Wilson's side right in front of him and lean down close to his face.

"I always wondered who would replace my products when they were running low. I knew it couldn't be Wilson since he has a panic attack the moment he steps into any Sephora, but I thought you were too "manly" and "heartless" to ever do something like that for me."

You hover your face right next to his ear, "Turns out I was wrong."

You feel Wilson wrap his arms around your waist and rest his head on your shoulder. "Looks like we have a big softy here."

House scoffs at you both and tries to get up from the bed. But you and Wilson are on top of him and are pulling him back down successfully trapping him between your bodies.

You cover his face in kisses and listen to him whine and complain, but when you pull back to look at him, he has the biggest smile on his face.

"We love you, ya big softy."

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