pasta express

Strange Happenings - Ch. 2

Originally posted by reylo-musings

Summary: Deciding this concept is totally mini series worthy! After agreeing to take him in, you decide to start introducing Kylo to his new home. The most mundane part of your days suddenly become entertaining as you try and get Kylo to understand it all.

A/N: I know not all readers are from the states, but for the sake of visuals of a store that had it all Target just made sense, lol

Beep! Beep! Beep! 

Your alarm blared loudly as you hazily fluttered your eyes open to see the red 10:00 blinking at you. Finally fishing your arm out from under your pillow, you swung it over and hit the off button. Releasing a groan, you pulled back under the covers, relishing in the warmth of the sheets. 

Hearing a soft snore off to the side, you remembered your guest. You rolled over to the other side of the bed to see if Kylo was asleep on the floor. Sure enough as you peered over you saw his large frame curled up in the blankets, his hair sprawled out over his pillow and his mouth just barely open with the softest sounds of snores escaping his lips. You smiled at the sight, remembering how grateful to you he had been for you taking him in. 

Just as you went over the thought again you saw him stir. The sounds of joints popping and cracking followed by a bear like yawn filled the room as he started sitting up right, turning on his side. Propped on his elbow he looked up at you with heavy eyes and a barely noticeable smile. 


He simply hummed in response with a nod. You laughed softly, “I think we need some coffee.”

Deciding you were too exhausted to cook and your guests pale complexion called for some real nourishment that didn’t entail kids cereal, you took him to a local diner. Even the 2 minute walk down the street turned into an adventure for Kylo. Just like a kid walking through a candy store his eyes were all over the place, glimmering with curiosity. Though his questions were persistent, you found them adorable. 

Why are we stopping? Did that little box just tell me to wait? Where do those drains go? Are there always this many cars? What’s that furry little creature doing in that woman’s bag? What’s a happy hour? Can we go later? Why are your roads so primitive? Don’t you have hover crafts yet? How do those people get all of those images on their clothes? You have entire stores for just mattresses? What’s that smell? How can a business be open 24 hours? Don’t they sleep?

Once you were finally seated in the booth, you watched him fall silent as he stared intently at his menu. The look on his face seemed so serious, yet you were sure he just had no idea what anything on the menu was. His eyes scanned up and down the plastic pages slowly, biting his lip in concentration. Clearing your throat he looked back up at you. 

“Personally I’d go for the pancakes.” 

He looked back at the menu, intently reading the description, processing the words. You could only imagine how much he was struggling to understand what any of it meant. There had to be some similarities between your worlds, but you wouldn’t be sure with how much there was to compare. There had to be things like wheat, water obviously, but everything else you didn’t give a second thought could be entirely new to him. The possibilities intrigued you. A moment later he simply nodded in approval of your suggestion. 

“The picture looks good.”

Was he really staring at the picture of pancakes for that long? Whatever works.. 

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I reckon we’ll be just fine - George Weasley

Pairing: George x reader

Requested by anon

Request: Could you do a one shot of the reader (best friends with George Weasley) showing up at the Weasley’s door after the war to comfort the family bc of Fred’s death? And eventually (time lapse maybe?), George and the reader fall in love and she helps him start to live life again, and they live happily ever after? Maybe super fluffy and flirty with talks of lots of babies and just a super happy future life? Thanks so much…I love your work :)

Note: I reckoned the wizarding world would’ve made it possible for same-sex couples to have biological children too… don’t ask me how tho XD But just so you know that even though kids are mentioned you should be able to read it whichever gender you are/identify with :)xx

The blue door to the Burrow looked like nothing had changed. You feared going in, yet you couldn’t give yourself the time to hesitate. The horrible sadness after Fred died left a hole in your chest, one amongst the many others you had lost, and here was the core of all that aching.

It was Ron who opened; shining up when he saw that it was you, but the smile quickly faltering when he remembered why you first and foremost would be here.

“Hi, Ron,” you stepped closer with your arms a bit raised and he quickly enveloped you in a tight embrace, a little longer than your normal hugs would’ve lasted.

“George is in the living room,” Ron said, his voice noticeably raspy.

You thanked him softly, stepping past him into the kitchen lit up by the morning sun; finding your way to the dark living room where you could vaguely see a figure laying in a fetus position on the couch, a duvet pulled over the head.


Placing your hand on top of the person’s side and kneeling down next to the couch, you whispered his name again. This time you could feel him move under, and the duvet is pulled down to reveal very messy red hair and a pair of puffy eyes peering out from underneath. At the sight of you they glanced with tears.

“He’s gone, Y/N,” George whispered.

“I know, I’m so sorry,” you reached out for his hand and he gripped it tightly, the tears in his eyes flooding over.

Then he’s suddenly buried in your neck, sobbing as you try to hold him and your own tears back.

“Will you stay?” he asked with a weak whisper.

You stroke his messy hair and swallowed the lump of grief in your throat. You had to be strong for him right now - for your best friend who’s lost his brother. If you heart had broken, his had been ripped out and teared to shreds. 

“Of course, George. Of course I will.”

“Honey, I’m home!” you sing, closing the door to the apartment above the shop. The sun had started to set and left the apartment wrapped in a soft darkness; the only light source being in the kitchen, from which a tall person grinning widely showed up wearing a cute apron.

“Well, welcome home, darling,” George walks up to you and presses a soft kiss to your lips; his eyes locks with yours after he breaks it, smiles for a second before returning to the kitchen with teasingly swaying hips. You shake your head in laughter, dat ass tho.

A sweet smell reaches your nose. “What are you cooking? It smells like pancakes but I don’t wanna get my hopes up.”

His laughter echoes out followed by the name by a spaghetti dish that, even if it doesn’t compare to pancakes, it’s one of your favourites. You let your howling stomach lead you into the kitchen. 

“How was your day?” George asks as you start setting the table.

“Quite good, except that I ended up taking care of young Harper Thomas-Finnigan…” George frusts with laughter as you put weight on the three last words and send him a knowing look. “Apparently Seamus had gotten sick so Dean brought him to work - since the kindergarten had that outbreak of Merlin knows what - only to have an emergency and being called out to London Eye where some wizard apparently thought it would be a great idea to ‘speed it up a little’ for for his daughter,” you sigh with a small chuckle. “So anyway, I had to take care of a three-year-old who kept drawing on important papers and accidentally sending paperplanes with fingerdrawings, using ink he spilled over my entire desk, to every department. Let’s just say that’s not something I look forward if I ever have a kid.”

“Yeah, we could just adopt an older one, just casually skipping all the diapers and all-nighters,” George says cheery and sits down at the table.

“We?” you ask with a crooked grin. 

“Well, yeah… Haven’t you thought about it?” George teases, seeming confident but a slight blush was spreading over his cheeks. 

“Maybe…” you tease back, “But after today having biological or adopting a kid younger than twelve doesn’t really feel like its going to happen.”

“Yeah, our kids would be much worse than Harper, of course. It won’t matter what age they’re in, I mean with me as one of its parents there really is no hope for either of us surviving. What would you even name such a demon?” He bites his lip with a wide smile and takes another bite of the pasta. With a thoughtful expression he waves the fork slowly in the air as he speaks,  “I think maybe… Bertie. Like the beans. Androgynous and dangerous.”

“I kinda like it, though I think everyone might connect the bean-dots too… What would Bertie, be short for anyway? Robert? Berthil?”

“Oh, no, we’d hafto find them a name so embaressing that Bertie is they only name they’ll go by; it would be Bertumus- OR BERTMURPHIUS,” he gasps at his brilliant idea you break down in laughter at the absolutely idiotic name and his facial expression. George can only manage to keep a straight face for a few seconds before he too starts to laugh loudly, and judging by how you didn’t seem to be able to stop you probably were too tired to have a normal sense of humor. You wipe away a tear and try to calm yourself with a shaky, deep breath. 

Your gaze focuses on George once more when your vision was clearing up; he was still frusting with laughter, hands buried in his hands. It strikes you, as it does every day, how extremely lucky you were. To have fallen in love with this ridiculous boy, your best friend. 

“Seriously though,” you say, leaning your cheek against your hand, “I was thinking about Fred.”

George looks up, a twinkle of sadness suddenly in his tears from laughing, “What about Fred?”

“No, eh-” you shake your head, “I was thinking that that’s what we would name the kid: Fred. I mean if you want to, of course? I’m sorry it was just an idea, I just thought since he meant a lot to both of us - I mean he was your brother I don’t wanna- I just…” you let your voice trail away and sigh, looking away from him. Fred was still, after three years, very hard to talk about, especially for George (for obvious reasons). Though his name was often mentioned with love in old stories told by his family and friends, it still wasn’t without pain and tears. Because he should’ve been able to tell the tales of his and George’s adventures himself. His absence was always there like an infected wound; a numbed aching in the background that sometimes pierces through your body she you accidentally touch it. 

Maybe this was a bad idea, if it hurt now, how much wouldn’t it urt if you named your child- 

“I would like that, a lot,” George interrupts you worries, eyes glancing with what you know wasn’t laughter this time. You reach out your hand over the table to take his. “Thank you.”

“Well,” you choke back your own tears, “As long as they don’t quite live up to their namesake’s passion for mischief, I reckon we’ll be just fine.” 

Laughter breaks through and makes a few more tears roll over his cheeks before his face is split by a wide grin. “I love you, so much - you know that right?”

You lift up your intertwined hands and press a kiss onto his. 

“I know. I love you too, George, so, so much.” 


A/N: i’m keeping this short so you may feel more inclined to give this a chance - the au that is - was - agatha/simon. but it’s also not actually au because in GTL’s world it’s canon. this stuff is always confusing me tbh.

hello, it’s me

Her finger hovers over Simon Snow on her phone.

Penny sent her his new number two weeks ago. She’s done this every morning for two weeks.

It’s been three years, but she still can’t forget. Penny calls it ‘obsessive’. She wants to call it something else, like ‘love’, but she’s never been a fan of clichés and that’s the biggest one she can think of.

She knows how this ends. In happiness, or in heartbreak. Although - can you really have your heart broken by the same person twice in a row?

That’s the work of a moron, Agatha, she sternly reminds herself, but she still stares doubtfully at her phone, at that number, wonders if today is the day.

It occurs to her that pining is yet another cliché she can’t stand, so she taps the little message button with her finger and types in Simon’s number and she tries to pretend her hand isn’t shaking.

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