#restaurant au

[when-sanpape-arts]

shuro's terrible, horrible, no good very bad lunch.

restaurant au: 1 / 2

[promptcalender]

Fast Food Worker Dialogue

“Sir, that coupon expired during the Obama administration.”

“We close in two minutes, which is a fascinating time to order fourteen burgers.”

“I asked for two things today: no bus tours and no school classes. And yet, there it is: two busses of school classes pulling into the lot.”

“Did you make the wrong order on purpose just so you could eat it instead?” “Yeah, that was the plan. He didn’t notice though and drove off with my dinner, so we can expect another angry review.”

“Ma’am, I just work here. I’m not involved in corporate decisions, such as changing the menu.”

“Of course, you can absolutely speak to the manager. He’s back there, hiding from customers.”

“If the card reader declines one more payment today, I might just walk into traffic.”

“That’s gotta be a health code violation.” “Surprisingly, it actually isn’t.”

(mumbling under their breath) “Who the fuck orders that before 8am.”

“Sorry for the wait. The kitchen entered a state of civil unrest.”

“I used to have dreams, you know? I went to college. Got a degree and all. I dreamed of changing the world, but then it all changed when I got hit by that bus—” “You know what, I don’t think I actually need the fries with the burger, so I’ll just… I’ll just go.”

[Prompt Calender: May 28th, National Hamburger Day]

[kinned-the-evil]

Chef au because of the Quinn audio where Robby and Abbot own and run one of the best restaurants in Pittsburgh and you just got hired on as a new hostess that just isn’t very good at her job 😕

But that’s okay because Robby and Abbot think you’re just too cute.

“Got my servers angry, baby,” Robby would coo as he shoved his dick down your throat. You’re the on your knees in his office, his pants pulled down just enough to free his dick while your nails dug into his thighs. It’s messy, he’s too big for you to take the whole thing but he’s sure trying. He doesn’t mind fucking yo your hair and makeup, he always gives his favorite girl an extra 10 minutes on her break to get fixed up. “One of our draws is how competent our staff is, if my hostess isn’t seating write them my severs are mad, and if my severs are mad then they don’t give good service. Do you want to fuck up my service? Ruin these people’s night?” He yanks you off his cock as you sputter and gag, already shaking your head. “No sir! I’m so sorry sir-“ you gag again as he shoves back into your mouth. “I know you work hard baby, everyone says you’re just so nice upfront, but I need your little brain to get working.” He flicks your forehead as you suck on him. “Gotta be a quick learner in the restaurant business, and evaluations are comin up. I can’t protect you forever, Jack will start wondering why I’m always singing your praise.”

And at the same time

“You owe my crew some drinks or somethin after tonight sweetheart, my god,” Jack ranted as he pinned you to the wall, your skirt yanked up and leg wrapped around his hip as he thrust erratically into you. The restaurant was closed, just you and him in the kitchen, and Robby in the office, and he’s got you a complete blubbering mess. “To many people seated at once, fucked up two take out orders- the hell were you even doing up there Hu? I hadn’t even fucked you yet and your brain still wasn’t working? Hadn’t even gotten daddy’s dick yet before you were being stupid.” His harsh words and rough thrusts had your fingers digging into his shoulders for dear life as you came. He just kept going. “Daddy’s working hard back here, he can’t stand up there and make sure you do your job. Gotta try harder so Robby doesn’t get angry at my special girl.”

They plant it in your head that it’s a secret from the other, but every time they point a phone at you and you smile dumbly for them , that photo gets sent to their shared album. And their texts about you are filthy.

A lot of the other staff knows, some are angry about the special treatment while others are worried you’re being taken advantage of. But a small part of all of them know that nights are a hell of a lot chiller when you’re on shift because every tiny mistake gets placed on you and they just coo and say they’ll ’talk to you’ instead of anyone else getting yelled at

[deliarts]

So i had an adventure idea. Im expanding on it so prepare

[chaotic-1111-witch]

Service With A Smile

eeeeeee mcr restaurant au with frank X fem reader n probably more messy relationships too. was so excited to start this I literally couldn't wait. may or may not be based off my experience in hospitality but for anonymity reasons I cannot confirm or deny enjoy!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

nsfw minors dni ‼️

one / two / three / four / five / six / seven / eight / nine / ten / eleven / twelve / thirteen / fourteen / fifteen

You began to stir from your sleep slowly, that dreaded feeling of sleeping for a suspiciously long amount of time creeping into your consciousness as you rolled over and adjusted your pillow.

Your eyes snapped open in a panic just before you could drift off again, hurriedly grabbing your phone to look at the time. Your alarm, which had been sounding for so long that it silenced itself, mocked you on the screen. Your shift started in ten minutes.

Mikey had managed to persuade you to go out for drinks with him and your other co-workers after your closing shift the night before, and even though you knew you had class today and an assignment due, it took very little to convince you.

"You're always so stressed," Mikey had said as he was helping you clear a table after a large party had cleared out. "It'll do you some good to blow off some steam."

"I'm stressed because I'm exhausted, Mikes," you sighed, stacking plates as quickly as you could to get the table ready for the next group.

As you picked up the pile of ceramic, the silverware balancing on top of them slipped and clattered to the floor, the noise jarring and silencing the restaurant for a few seconds.

When the incessant chatter of patrons started up again, you squeezed your eyes closed in frustration, then bent down to begin scooping them up.

Mikey walked around the table and crouched down to help, giving you a knowing look.

"Alright! Okay, fine!" You gave in, shoving the silverware into Mikey's hands as he grinned. "I'll come out. Just one drink. Maybe it'll help me chill out."

So you went out, stayed out a little too late, drank a little too much, somehow still made it to class on time in the morning and finished your assignment. You were feeling over confident at the productivity of the day, and decided to treat yourself to a nap before your shift when you got home from university.

Just an hour, you had thought to yourself as you set your alarm. It would still give you 45 minutes to grab some leftovers out of the fridge and run to work. You hadn't factored in that you might sleep through your alarm.

"Shit, shit, shit," you grumbled to yourself as you shot up to sit on your bed, unlocking your phone and pulling up your manager Ray's number.

Gonna be late, please distract Brian for me. I'll buy you a pint to repay you :(

Brian was your boss, and he'd been on your ass for the last few weeks. You exclusively did the closing shift to work around your studies, but you'd been struggling to find a balance between the two since your workload had doubled, staying up later than usual to study and in turn, slacking at work for lack of a better term. Although you and him got along well most of the time, he was a hard ass when he needed to be.

As you were pulling on a pair of jeans, stumbling over the mess of clothes and clutter on your floor, your phone lit up and you dove for it to quickly read the text.

Already on it. Told him I sent you out to run an errand. You're lucky he's in a good mood. I'll keep him in the back, come in through the main door

"Fucking angel," you murmured to yourself, pulling on your work shirt and buttoning it as fast as your fingers would let you. You shoved your apron into your bag along with a pack of smokes, and grabbed an energy drink out of the fridge on your way out of your apartment.

You were flustered and out of breath by the time you rounded the corner of the street where you worked, your cheeks flushed and what seemed to be a permanent frown plastered on your face.

As you approached the restaurant, brows creased together, you stopped out of view of the windows to take a few deep breaths and inhale one last drag of your cigarette before stamping it out.

A voice spoke beside you suddenly, making you jump and spin around to face them. He was leaned against the wall, cigarette in hand, his hazel eyes dragging over you in a way that made your skin crawl.

"What did you say?" You snapped, patience already wearing thin.

"I said you should smile," the guy repeated, like it was the most normal thing in the world.

You snickered, placing your middle fingers on the corners of your lips and pushing your mouth up into a sneer. "Go fuck yourself," you spat, then turned and walked into the restaurant.

You sped towards the back of the restaurant to the bar, keeping your eyes peeled and your head ducked low, looking out for Brian. You just knew you'd run into him if you tried to sneak into the staff room where everyone usually kept their belongings on shift, so you resorted to your tried and true solution.

When you successfully made it to the bar unnoticed, you walked around to crouch behind it, retrieving your energy drink and apron, then shoving your coat and bag into a gap beside a shelf. You made a mental note to move them into the staff room when you went on break so Brian didn't have a chance to notice and call you out.

"You're late."

Your body filled with dread, excuses and apologies ready to spill out of your mouth any second. Before you stood up, you looked behind you, only to be met with Gerard, one of the bartenders. His unruly black hair brushed the collar of his white button down as he spun a bar blade on his finger, amusement etched onto his pixie-like features.

"Fuck sake," you breathed, pulling your apron over your head and tying it tight at the back before finally standing and cracking your energy drink open. "I thought you were Brian, you dick."

Gerard laughed, then handed you a notepad and a pen, which you took from him and tucked into the pocket on the front of your apron. He looked at you properly now that you were facing him and his smile faltered when he read the expression on your face.

"You okay?" He asked, frowning in concern.

You shrugged and ran a hand roughly through your hair, then began to tie it back into a ponytail as you spoke hurriedly, anxious to start your shift and not let Brian see you chatting.

"Yeah, m'fine. Just this asshole outside made a shitty comment and I was already having a-."

Your sentence was cut short when you saw the guy from outside out of the corner of your eye, shrugging off his coat to reveal a clean set of chef whites as he walked towards Brian's office door. Your mouth hung open in disbelief.

"I don't fucking believe it," you laughed bitterly, shaking your head. Gerard waited for you to elaborate, looking between you and the guy from outside, before putting two and two together.

"Wha- oh. Oh, the new guy is the asshole from outside?"

You nodded your head, watching the new line cook as he gave you a quick smirk before knocking on Brian's office door and stepping inside. You clenched your jaw.

"Great," you seethed, before turning to face the back wall and taking a few soothing breaths. When you had calmed down a little, you turned around to face Gerard again, a strained smile on your face. You pointed to yourself. "Is this believable?" You asked through your teeth.

Gerard grimaced, placing his fingers on either side of your jaw to massage a little. "Relax your jaw and I think you're good to go," he encouraged, giving your cheek a little pat before grabbing your shoulders and spinning you around to push you towards the edge of the bar.

You found Ray by the host station, greeting guests with a smile that was a smidge more believable than your own.

"Thanks for covering for me. Where do you want me?" You quickly asked him, and he handed you a bunch of menus and reeled off a list of table numbers that had just been seated.

The entire time you were taking orders, you watched the new line cook working through the window into the kitchen. His stupid short brown hair curled at the sides of his face from the sweat and grease. The sleeves of his chef whites were rolled up to his elbows, the tattoos covering his olive skin were illuminated by the lights as his forearms flexed while he sliced an onion with easy precision.

You were seething, anger bubbling under the surface of your skin. Of course, you didn't let the customer see that, forcing your face to hold your smile like that of a plastic doll. You kept your voice high and cheery, making monotonous small talk with the customers.

You delivered the orders to the kitchen, sticking the paper onto the rail like you always did, shouting out to the chefs to let them know a new order had come in. As you were about to head back out to the front, the new line cook shouted you back, waving the order you'd put on the rail in the air.

"Hey! I can't read this," he said, shoving it into your hand when you approached the pass. "Re-write it."

You scoffed, slamming the small piece of paper down onto the pass and pushing it towards him. "Learn to read," you snapped. "Nobody else has a problem with my handwriting."

"What's your issue?" He retorted, leaning over the pass and resting his weight onto his knuckles.

"You're my fucking issue." You turned to leave, looking back at him over your shoulder as you plastered on your fake smile once again. "By the way, you should smile more," you added, before making a bee-line to Brian's office.

"Come in," Brian called out from behind the door, and you stepped inside, hurriedly closing the door behind you and sitting down at his desk.

"I can't work with the new cook." You started talking before Brian even had chance to greet you. "Please tell me he's temporary until we find someone else."

Brian sighed, leaning back in his chair and placing his hands behind his head. "Y/n, I'm sorry, but he's here to stay." He looked you over, taking in your state, then leaned forward again, resting his elbows on the table.

"I can do some shifts in the kitchen until we hire someone else. I've done it before," you pleaded.

Brian sighed, shaking his head. "I can't take you off the floor, you know that. You're my best server, and I don't have anyone to cover you." He paused. "Why? What's Frank done?"

You chewed on the tip of your pen, debating whether it was worth it or if you should just suck it up. Eventually, you sighed. "Nothing, it doesn't matter. He's just an asshole. We really couldn't get anyone else?"

Brian shook his head. "We've been advertising for months. He has experience, plus he could start straight away." He began to shuffle some paperwork around on his desk, scribbling something down onto one of them before looking up at you again. "Are you alright, y/n?"

The sincerity in his voice caught you off guard, and you hesitated, feeling your eyes begin to water. You sniffed and nodded, wiping your face with the back of your arm. Brian handed you a tissue, his face creased with genuine concern.

"Do you need to take some time off? I can try and shuffle the schedule around." He asked, but you quickly shook your head.

"No! No, I mean, I can't afford to be off. I'll be fine once I submit these last few assignments. Please, don't- I'll get my shit together, I promise. I know I've been a bit all over the place but I really need the money." You forced yourself to sit up straight and look him in the eye as you spoke, hoping your watery eyes served as a persuasive tactic.

Brian nodded slowly, contemplating, before dropping the topic completely. "Did you want to talk about anything else?"

You let out a breath of relief, shaking your head and standing to leave. "Guess I'll go get more acquainted with Frank," you murmured, heading back towards the kitchen to check on your tables' food.

"How's table 20 coming along?" You called out over the pass. Frank ignored you. Bob, the head chef, swatted the back of his head to get his attention.

"Y/n is talking to you," he barked over the whir of the extractor fans, nodding his head in your direction.

Frank looked up and rolled his eyes, meeting your glare briefly. "Five minutes," he yelled to you, grabbing some pans off the hob and bringing them under the hot lights of the pass before starting to plate them up.

You tapped your foot impatiently, leaning against the wall while he took his time placing everything onto the plates.

"There you go, sweetheart," he cooed, pushing the plates towards you. "Made them extra pretty for you."

"I'll be sure to let the customers know," you mumbled sarcastically, stacking the plates up your arms and walking out into the front to deliver the food.

"Can I get you guys anymore drinks?" You asked sweetly, putting on your best please tip me I'm broke face as you spoke. You scribbled down their order and dragged your feet towards the bar to give it to Gerard.

"Saw you go into Brian's office," he stated as he poured a glass of rosé. "Everything okay?"

You nodded, reaching over the bar to grab your energy drink and chug the rest of it. "Just complaining about the new guy. Apparently he's the best we could get."

"I don't know, y/n, he seems alright to me. Maybe you two just got off on the wrong foot." He held his hands up in surrender when you scoffed, your mouth hanging open in disbelief.

"You're just saying that because he's your type" you accused, narrowing your eyes at him as you picked up the tray of drinks.

"No, I'm not," Gerard defended, folding his arms over his chest and jutting out his hip. You held your glare until he relented and let his arms fall down by his sides. "Okay, maybe a little. So sue me."

For the first time since you had arrived at work, you smiled a genuine smile, letting your shoulders relax as you laughed.

Gerard pointed at you, mouth agape in mock surprise, looking around and talking to an imaginary audience. "She's smiling! Oh my god, I thought I'd never see the day."

You sneaked your middle finger up at him as you walked back towards your table, ready to schmooze a big tip and maybe a review to get you back in Brian's good books.

[quarterlifekitty]

High end restaurant AU, anyone….?

Price is the proprietor, of course— keeps things smooth, sweet, and in control. Always ready to meet new guests and keeps himself familiar with all of the clientele. And he’s gone and done the one thing he promised himself he’d never do— he’s stuck on a waitress. You’re new blood here, having mainly worked cafes and a couple of chains before— and you do what every new blood does. You make mistakes. And of course, occasionally the kind of people they serve bring their entitlement with them when they go out to dinner. John is more than happy to come over when he hears a complaint, and more than happy to take over serving one of your tables if you need to have a drink and sit down after receiving some less than kind comments. He’s also happy to quietly urge those people to find somewhere else to eat next time they feel like biting the hand that feeds them.

Simon is the head chef. Could he be anyone else? Constantly on edge, exhausted, and ruling the kitchen with an iron fist. Outside of the kitchen you’d be hard pressed to find him without a cigarette— but the kitchen is his temple. And you’re the newest devotee— fresh from culinary school, which at first he resents. He didn’t get to have a fancy education— he worked for this, long and hard years, his love for the art carried him. But then he sees himself in you. The love of it. Of making meals and feeding people. The way you won’t hesitate to stop a dish as it’s going out the door just to perfect it in a way you’d almost missed. The way you refuse to serve what isn’t up to your standards— you bow to his authority, but you can be hardheaded too. You’re perfectly alright to make people wait if that’s what the dish requires. Everyone knows he’s down bad when he lets you use his £400 knife that’s literally just for deboning fish.

Gaz is the head of waitstaff. Who else could Price trust as his eyes and ears on the customer base? He grooms himself impeccably and you’ll be asking to hear about the specials again just to listen to him talk. His relationship to you is a tragic one. When he sees you walk through the doors, it means one thing: your husband is making an apology. You sit at your same seat, at the same table, while the man uses a fancy dinner as a get-out-of-jail card for every time he lets you down. Sometimes he’ll even do one in advance— like when he was leaving for a two month business trip the next morning and hadn’t bothered to tell you yet— and he’d be missing your anniversary. Kyle is always your server, as you always request. So yes, he gets a front row seat to the sadness behind your eyes as you open another velvet box with sapphire earrings, smiling in an attempt to be kind and understanding to a man who doesn’t deserve it. Does he think about knocking your husband’s lights out and sweeping you off your feet? Every time.

Soap is a simple man. By that I mean he knows how to make steak tartare but he doesn’t have a bed frame. And he is in love with the hostess. Is he supposed to go in and out of the kitchen’s back door when he wants to leave or come in? Yes. Does he go through the front and get scolded by Kyle just so you’ll say hi to him and smile? Of course. This motherfucker isn’t slick. He’s out here fixing your plate for you at family meal and making your favorite whenever it’s his turn to plan it. And whose business is it if he touches himself to the thought of you in the full room refrigerator? Strictly speaking, it’s health and safety’s business, so he doesn’t actually do that for fear of being flayed alive by Simon. But the employee bathroom is fair game!

Nikolai sources all of the 141’s ingredients, which causes him to be familiar with you before he even has a chance to meet you. While primarily a patissier, you’re also often given the task of designing presentation for menu items (Simon is a flavor-above-all-else kind of guy) and coming up with new dessert items. And you have some very creative ideas. He isn’t often on the premesis in person, so you don’t meet him until months into your career at the 141. The way you’re introduced, it clicks for him immediately. “So you’re the one that had me driving across the city for star anise and scrambling to find decent squash-blossoms at the ass-end of their season, pchelka?” And of course, he’s absolutely hooked when he sees how embarrassed and apologetic you are at the prospect of having caused him trouble. Maybe he’ll forgive you if you let him take you out? Have someone besides the both of you worry about the food for once.

[siddyyyyyyyy]

Chef!Simon 'Ghost' Riley who works as the head chef in a three star restaurant. Is very passionate about his cooking and baking, although he prefers cooking. Let's the confectioner handle the sweets.

Chef!Simon 'Ghost' Riley who hates costumers or guests, who think they can outsmart him, by complaining about the 'dry steak', however he simply makes them go home. This way, him and his colleagues have less stress.

Chef!Simon 'Ghost' Riley who gets criticized because of his strict rules in his restaurant by the press. However, he just wants to make sure it's enjoyable and calm. Without any guests trying to get more free food by playing a victim.

Chef!Simon 'Ghost' Riley who hates the press.

Chef!Simon 'Ghost' Riley who hates taking the fresh products from the delivery guy, because he's more than talkative. Always makes anyone else go than himself.

Chef!Simon 'Ghost' Riley who (sometimes) hates his colleagues. Mostly Soap, because he manages to set at least two pans on fire every day and then always ends up staying late to help the cleaning ladies with their job.

Chef!Simon 'Ghost' Riley who once threw a tomato at Soap for pissing him off, then said; »Be happy that wasn't my knife, you wanker!«

Chef!Simon 'Ghost' Riley who sometimes gets carried away and talks more loudly than usual, making some guests question if the work morals are actually okay or not.

»Just follow the damn orders, you carrot!« »If the costumer said 'no garlic', then it means 'no garlic'! I don't need this place to be shut down because of your stupid ass.«

Chef!Simon 'Ghost' Riley who either loves it or hates it when familys with children come in. Asks the waiter or waitress who took their orders about them, being happy if the kid is well behaved.

Chef!Simon 'Ghost' Riley who loves to cook things off the kid's menu, likes to serve it himself when he knows the child/children are nice and not little gremlins.

Chef!Simon 'Ghost' Riley who rants to himself whenever something upsets him in the slightest way.

Chef!Simon 'Ghost' Riley who likes to think that you are his favourite coworker. Knows about your excellent degree, enjoys your food and new recipes and loves the fact that you're always on time. Others can't compare.

Chef!Simon 'Ghost' Riley who likes to gossip with you on breaks over a cigeratte or a cup of tea.

Chef!Simon 'Ghost' Riley who always makes sure that Velvet's desserts are perfect. It's his most loyal costumer, and the sweetest elder lady on earth.

»Of course, we'll make the most sweetest cheesecake as possible.«

Chef!Simon 'Ghost' Riley who wants to put his hands into the mixer after he heard Velvet compliment you, then following up with, »I'm surprised chef Riley hasn't fallen for you already. I'd be distracted in the kitchen if I had to work with you.« Because she is somehow managed to hit a nerve.

Chef!Simon 'Ghost' Riley who tries to make you do other work, like organising the storage room and collecting the deliveries, or even cleaning out the containers outside. Just to be more focused on his work... but you're starting to hate it.

Chef!Simon 'Ghost' Riley who makes Soap shut up with another tomato once he tries to tease Ghost about his 'crush'. Then contemplated with the thoughts of shutting the place down because of his antics.

⟨part 2⟩

a/n: got this idea while reawatching a random series from my childhood, so here you go. hope you enjoyed! (divider @vesearartistry) I'd happily take more requests for this AU, just drop it into my inbox!! Also, he reminds me of Gordon Ramsay.

←MASTERLIST

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[ellecdc]

Hiii could you do reader telling chef!sirius she is pregnant?

<333

sure!

chef!Sirius Black x mixologist!reader who tells him she's pregnant [1.2k words]

CW: pregnancy fic, nausea and throwing up [though not described], discussion of food, bullying Jeffery

You come rushing into the kitchen, lips and gums still tingly from the mouthwash, to stare at your boyfriend accusingly. 

“What are you doing?” You bite out more than a touch harsher than necessary. 

Sirius, for his part, turns from the hob with a spatula in hand to look at you quizzically. What he’s doing is really quite obvious, which he tells you with nothing but a quirk of his brow though you think you clock some sympathy in his gaze as he gives you a once over. You try not to wince at what he might find. 

“I’m making breakfast?” He replies in the form of a question, his eyes returning to yours after completing his initial assessment of you. “You didn’t eat much of your pilaf last night.” 

Your stomach rolls at the mere mention of dinner last night and you close your eyes to take a steadying breath.

“Doll?”

“Can you stop? Please? Cooking. Please stop cooking.” You beg, eyes still shut as you swallow around your gag reflex. 

You hear the dial click and a lid cover a pan. Sirius has the patience and grace to flick the fan on for good measure.  

“Again, love?” 

Your only response is a miserably huffed fuck under your breath. 

“I don’t think you should go to work today.” He tells you then as he steps in front of you, one hand on each of your hips as he draws loving circles into the fat of your sides. Now you feel awful in more ways than one, knowing that you could very well have nine fucking months of this and you can’t very well not go to work just because your stomach is rioting against you; knowing you should have told him why you’ve been so sick this week instead of leaving him to worry. 

But you also can’t help but agree with him, because the mere smell of butter in the pan this morning had you rushing out of bed and towards the toilet; you’re not sure that the smell of alcohol and garlic and- oh god. 

And now your poor, unsuspecting boyfriend is hovering over you as you lean over the sink, dry heaving as he runs the water and rubs your back. 

“I’m going to call Jeffery.” He declares, his hand disappearing from your back in his quest to do just that.

“Wait.” You sputter, pulling your head out of the sink and immediately missing the relief of the running water whizzing past your face. “Wait. Before you do anything, I need to tell you something.” 

His brows meet in the middle and he cocks his head at you. Suddenly it doesn’t matter that he’s in your kitchen wearing plaid pyjama pants that you bought him nor that he’s shirtless; he manages to look formidable as ever as he crosses his arms and leans his hip against the counter waiting for you to continue. 

Right, you think dryly, that’s why you haven’t managed to tell him yet. 

It’s not that you think he doesn’t like kids – he loves kids; he plays a big game of being exhausted by them, mostly, but his love for his godson and his godson’s friends is both palpable and contagious. 

He’s made the odd comment here or there that would clue one into the fact that he’s at the very least thought about having children of his own: “I don’t know what I’d do if my kid ended up being a picky eater”; “remind me to never let a kid of mine do that”; “Harry is never, under any circumstances, allowed to babysit any of my future children”, etc. 

But other than that, the two of you haven’t really discussed what the future might look like together. And now that future isn’t so far out and you’re being forced to confront it.

You’re going to throw up.

Again. 

“I’m pregnant.” You manage to spit out, the end coming out in something of a whimper.

There’s a moment that you think you might have to find the courage to repeat yourself, Sirius’ brows furrowing somehow impossibly further as though you’ve thrown a completely new word at him.

But then his eyes flicker down to your stomach. And then his jaw – previously tense – loosens. And then his brows unfurl and his shoulders fall. 

“...You’re…”

You nod your head. “Pregnant.” It comes out as a whisper. 

His eyes flash up to yours again for the briefest moment before migrating back to your midsection, wide and alert as he uncrosses his arms and stands up straight. 

“You’re…we- I-”

“Sirius?”

“We’re pregnant!?”

You huff a hesitant laugh. “Well I don’t see you spending a third of your day hunched over a toilet bowl but, yes, I suppose you could say that.”

His eyes meet yours again, red-rimmed and glossy.

“We’re pregnant? We’re really… a baby?”

You let out a wet sounding laugh. “Is that okay?”

“Okay?” Sirius lets out disbelievingly, finally taking a few steps towards you; cautious as though he’s afraid you were a mirage that might dissolve should he disturb the air surrounding you. Funny that he’s so delicate when your current predicament comes from him being decidedly less delicate with you. “Is this okay? This is…yes, yes this is okay, this is- this is great, this is perfect. You’re perfect.” 

You’re not quite sure what does it, but he suddenly finds the courage to wrap his arms around you and pull you roughly into him, nearly lifting you off of your feet in the process. 

“You’re pregnant,” he hisses as though he just can’t believe it, holding you out in front of him to look you over again, “we’re going to have a baby.” 

“You think you’re ready for that?”

“Not at all.” He lets out with a laugh, not looking even slightly disturbed by that fact. “Oh my god, okay, alright. I’m going to call Effie, and then Lily. And then we’re booking doctor’s appointments. We’re gonna call Jeffery first, though.”

“What? Jeffery?” You call out, following after him as he disappears into the flat. “Why are we calling Jeffery?”

“Uhm, because you’re not going to work today. Maybe ever again.” Sirius tells you as though it’s really quite that simple. 

“Sirius,” you chide, snatching his phone from him which he allows without much fuss, “I can’t not go to work for the next nine months.”

“Why not?”

“Oh you infuriatingly handsome man.” You groan as you take his face between your hands and press a bruising kiss to his lips. “I will call into work today because I feel like shite.”

“Okay,” Sirius agrees quickly as he snatches back his phone. “And I’m going to call into work today because you feel like shite.”

“Oh for fuck’s sa-”

“Pregnant. Christ, this is the best day ever.” He sighs dreamily as he brings his phone up to his ear. “Bully about the nausea though babe, I’m sorry. We’ll find something for you to eat that doesn’t make you want to- Jeffery! Hi! Listen mate, bad news: you’re gonna have to live without me and Y/N tonight. Yeah, you’re a smart bloke, though; I’m sure you’ll figure it out. Listen, while I have you on the phone, I…”

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