chef!sukuna who’s still lower in the rank than he wants to be, but so close to being a sous. tonight is his night to do the night’s special dish, finally. he earned this. he knew that if the head chef just let him, he could create the best dish ever served at this damn place.
so, he does just that.
he’s immediately scolded, the dish uses too many ingredients, the head says. too much to prepare. too ambitious. even though he used all of the left over ingredients from the menu’s usuals. 0% waste, 0% additional cost.
sukuna curses, taking a deeper drag of his cigarette. “make sure no table gets that shit,” he hears, with his fists clenching at his sides. ill go to the gym after this, he thinks, yeah, punch the fuck out of that bag.
it turns out that only table 8 has the dish, your table. the server messed up and now they’re crying in the back to the porter because they’ve been fired on the spot. “i told you not to fucking take it! have you never done expo-“
sukuna stalks calmly to the shaking waiter, “show me table eight-“ he sighs, levelling the head chef with a glare, sukuna was much larger, much stronger than him, difference in rank or not. he stood down, stalking down the other side of the kitchen with a huff. “ignore him, i wanna see who’s eating my dish, come on, let’s go.”
a reassuring pat to the shoulder from sukuna was almost enough to make him cry even more. sukuna kind of hated everyone.
“just there, chef. the couple, bedside the pillar on the left…its um…her, chef.” he grins, watching how transfixed the normally gruff man is, “your girl heh heh.”
“shut up,” he says, but he smiles a little.
he watches you, sat opposite some guy you hardly look interested in, you’re beautiful, the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen, as always, his eyes are drawn to you, no other woman could compare.
he watches you slice through his dish, the fork at your lips, as soon as it reaches your mouth you make a noise of such rapture, a sudden quiet falls upon the floor of the restaurant.
it’s almost weird how heat rushes low at the sight and the sound, he can’t remember the last time anyone else fired him up like this. he never took himself to have any kind of food fetish, either. yet watching you eat his dishes always seems to be an erotic exchange he never anticipates.
“oh…him? think they’re married?”
“i don’t think so.”
that man seems to hiss at you, eyes on his watch, barely touching his dish. “i wanted pizza downtown, god.”
you shake your hand in dismissal, shoving another forkful in your mouth. “i wanted this, i always want this.”
sukuna let’s out a breathy fuck, and the server practically faints.
no one was immune to sukuna’s charm, then, it seemed.
“oh, fuck, table 7 saw me. fuck, chef ive already been fire-“
“go and give them a reason not to fire you. go, go to your table kid, it’s still yours, right?”
the table beside you seems to have called him over, asking for the same dish you seem to believe has came from heaven, telling anybody who asks.
sukuna can’t help but enjoy the lively affair, as the restaurant manager tries to explain over and over to more and more tables that the chef special has been cancelled. oh, how he loved this little bit of chaos.
“why?” your voice clatters through the cacophony like a piece of silverware on crockery. “this dish is phenomenal, the best ive ever eaten here and in this city, in this country-“
“miss-“
“taste it! can you not taste the hard work? the thought? its the best thing ive ever eaten. the chef who made this has impeccable taste and talent.”
your laughter rings through the place at your partners embarrassment. sukuna is about to pry himself away and head back into the kitchen, leaning on the side of the bar and then…your eyes meet, another forkful is waiting before those glossed lips. another sweet sound of joy rings through the air.
now you see him, huh?
your smile is sweeter than agave, “it’s you.”
your words are lost on everyone around you, but to sukuna he hears them as if you whispered them right against his ear.
sukuna was a tall, broad, and unquestionably handsome man, unmissable out of his chef whites, invisible in them, somehow. obscured by the ambient lighting of the restaurant.
you near him, like a moth to a flame, a sensual air to the way your hips flick toward him. “you-“
the head chef storms through to the restaurant floor, the door slamming you both into the corresponding wall. his large arms wrap around you, his hand cups the back of your head.
he slowly retracts his hand, and your chest rises as you resist the urge to press your cheekbone into his palm, “are you okay?”
his voice is deep and addicting, dark and dripping down your throat.
you’re beaming at him, like he’s an angel, like he’s somebody you already adore. he gifts you a lover’s laugh, “you seem to be the only satisfied person in the building tonight.”
“seems like you’ve satisfied me sir.” you wink, still letting his aura press you into the wall, he cages you in with his arms.
“oh?”
“last thursday. that soup, you made it, didn’t you…?”
“sukuna,” he answers for you, “maybe.”
“seafood special last month?”
“yes, and your name?”
for some reason he’s out of breath, you’re so close, so fancy in your silk dress, clad in jewellery that sparkles even under these dimmed lights. “reader, you…you’re a genius.”
“so you came to thank me personally?” he leans closer, swiping sauce from the corner of your lip. it lingers on his thumb, his eyes chase yours as he licks it. “how sweet of you.”
633 notes
·
View notes
Ok also I just need to talk about this somewhere because it's been on my mind for 5 months now. The different ways that Curt and Owen dealt with the grief and the loss post fall will forever be my roman empire. Because while Curt and Owen are so similar, their coping styles are the exact opposites.
Post fall Curt is so hurt that he hurts himself more so that no one will ever have to feel the way he does ever again. Curt is convinced now that the only thing that surrounds him is chaos and death and destruction and hurt. He's so hesitant to trust another person post fall, not necessarily because he can't trust anyone but because trust tends to be a 2 way street, and the last person who trusted him died Infront of him and it was his fault. He is terrified of someone having the same fate as his true love, his former partner so he hides away, drinks himself to rock bottom, does anything he can to not recover because he can't bear the thought of someone going through this same pain and it being his fault
Owen on the other hand takes his pain out on everyone around him. He was abandoned by the one he trusted and loved. He has never felt more alone in his life, and while Curt wanted no one else to feel his pain, Owen wanted everyone to feel his pain. He wanted everyone to be in the same turmoil that he was. He killed and slaughtered 1153 people so that they would all feel his pain and their loved ones would know what it felt like to be abandoned, it made him not as alone. If everyone was feeling what he was feeling he wasn't alone. Yet again while Curt couldnt trust anyone post fall, neither could Owen but for opposite reasons. Curt couldn't trust other people because he couldn't trust himself. Curt was scared of hurting other people. Owen couldn't trust other people because he was scared of getting hurt. The last man he trusted, was the reason his life got overturned.
I just think it's neat how they coped with the same tragedy in the exact opposite ways. Curt destroyed himself so he couldn't destroy anyone else and Owen destroyed everyone so that he wouldn't feel the pain of being destroyed himself
32 notes
·
View notes