| pairing | chef!sukuna x owner!reader
| summary | You inherited the restaurant. He owns the kitchen. Every clash between You and Ryomen Sukuna sparks tension, danger, and a slow-burning desire neither can control.
| overall content & warnings | MDNI- Modern AU, slow burn (attempt), slightly toxic relationship and conversation with ‘boyfriend’
A/N~ Hello lovelies, I want to say thank you all for your support it really means so much to me, I have some more chapters coming soon and my apologies for taking a million years to upload…and same as always feedback will be appreciated just don’t be rude and if you don’t like it that’s okay. Hate and negativity will not be tolerated. other than that no warnings {for now ;)}
[WATTPAD—> hayley1967kaz25y]
| taglist | @ane5e @ecrindermeister @margolisthesia @shmd-nora @zenaskull
Just two days later the night air was cool, almost deceptively calm.
You stepped out of the restaurant, clipboard pressed against your side, keys dangling from your fingers. The week had left you frayed, shoulders tight, eyes heavy. You exhaled, letting the quiet hit you for a brief moment.
Leaning against your car, dark and imposing. Broad shoulders. A shadow in the dim light. The kind of presence that made the air feel heavy before he even spoke.
"Y/N," Angelo said, voice low, sharp, dangerous. "You think you can just—"
your hand tightened around your keys. Jaw set. Chin lifted. "Angelo...Not tonight," you said, firm but measured.
He stepped closer, just enough to block your path, forcing you to shift slightly. "...You can't keep avoiding me," he growled.
You straightened your stance, trembling slightly but refusing to show it. "...I'm done," you said, voice steady.
Sukuna, inside, noticed everything. He hadn't heard the words clearly at first, just the tone—the low, threatening edge, the quick inhale, the sharp exhale that followed.
Through the kitchen window, through the slight opening of the office door, he cataloged the danger with precise, calculated attention.
The way the man leaned, forcing you to the edge of the car.
The subtle tension in your fingers as you gripped your keys.
The tilt of your shoulders, the slight flare of your nostrils as you held yourself upright.
Not out of care or kindness.
He did it because this man represented disruption. Chaos. Disorder. In Sukuna's world, that was unacceptable.
The man muttered something low and threatening, backing off just enough to disappear into the darkness. You exhaled sharply and stepped back inside the restaurant.
Sukuna remained where he was at the pass, cold and still, hands gripping the edge, jaw tight.
He didn't acknowledge your presence
But he remembered. Every movement. Every inflection. Every micro-expression.
In his mind, he marked it. This man was a variable. A threat. And threats, no matter their nature, demanded calculation.
Sukuna returned to his cleaning, movements precise and mechanical, but his eyes lingered toward the door. Always alert. Always aware.
The slow burn between you and him didn't falter. If anything, it sharpened. The air between you, already taut from unspoken tension, now carried the faint undertone of danger from outside.
He didn't care about your safety—not truly.
And no one—no one—was allowed to disrupt that.
