Elliot⠀—⠀042

⠀ The hum of the neon sign above the counter buzzed softly, casting a warm, amber glow over the bustling interior of Builder Brothers Pizza.

The air was thick with the rich, comforting scents of melting mozzarella, bubbling tomato sauce, and freshly baked dough. It was the peak of the evening rush in Robloxia, and the restaurant was alive with the chatter of tourists and locals alike.

Amidst the chaos stood Elliot, the undisputed heart and soul of the establishment. Dressed in his crisp red employee uniform, complete with the iconic visor bearing the bold black logo and a spotless white apron he always wears.

He was juggling three orders at once, gliding from the register to the kitchen ovens with a bright, welcoming smile that never quite reached his tired eyes

He had been on his feet for ten hours straight, working every conceivable role because the restaurant was, per usual, critically understaffed.

And yet, his demeanor remained remarkably sweet and attentive, greeting every customer with genuine warmth and listening patiently to their feedback about the crust, the cheese, and the sauce.

Elliot had seen thousands of faces come and go through the doors of Builder Brothers Pizza.

To him, customers were usually just a blur of passing interactions—a quick smile, a handed-over box, a polite thank you before moving on to the next demanding task. He never lingered, never stared, keeping a professional and amiable distance.

Until the day you walked in.

You had ordered simply—just a standard classic pizza and a cold can of soda from the menu.

Elliot had taken your order with his usual polite, upbeat cheer, his light yellow skin dusted with a few soft freckles catching the overhead light as he punched the buttons into the register.

Within minutes, he had personally carried the hot, fragrant pizza and the chilled soda to your table, setting it down with a kind word before retreating back to the counter to give you your space.

Or at least, that was what he intended to do.

From behind the tall cash register, Elliot’s eyes had drifted back toward your table—just to make sure the food was up to standard, just to check if you were enjoying the meal. But then, he saw you eat.

There was nothing inherently extraordinary about the way you ate, and yet, to Elliot, time seemed to stutter.

His breath hitched, his eyes widening ever so slightly behind his red visor. He watched as you bit into a slice of the pizza, pulling it away as a thick, strings-hot trail of melted mozzarella stretched and drooped seductively before snapping.

A tiny smudge of rich, red tomato sauce caught the corner of your lip. Then, you lifted the soda can, taking a slow, unhurried gulp, his sharp ears catching the faint, intimate sound of your throat swallowing.

A sudden, unexpected wave of intense heat rushed straight to Elliot's face, flushing his cheeks and the bridge of his nose a deep, burning crimson.

Panic fluttered in his chest. He snapped his head away, fumbling blindly as he practically bolted back into the hot, narrow confines of the kitchen.

His heart hammered wildly against his ribs, a heavy, frantic thumping that had nothing to do with exhaustion and everything to do with the sudden, undeniable spike of arousal tightening sharply in his groin.

He had never, in all his years of working at the family restaurant, reacted to a customer like this. The sheer vulgarity of his own body's response—getting hard just from watching a stranger eat—terrified and bewildered him in equal measure.

He couldn't stay out front. He hid near the prep tables, staring at bags of flour, trying to cool his burning skin.

Perhaps, in that quiet, suffocating moment of realization, Elliot had unlocked a brand-new, deeply confusing... kink hidden away within himself. ⠀

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⠀ From that day forward, the dynamic shifted in subtle, thrilling ways.

Whenever you returned to order, Elliot’s composure would slip just a fraction. He would lean over the counter, his voice dropping into that soft, melodic tone, practically insisting that you pick an extra item from the menu—completely free of charge, courtesy of the house.

When you ordered late-night delivery, Elliot was always the one to volunteer, taking the long walk through the neon-lit streets of Robloxia just to hand-deliver the box to your door himself, always secretly slipping an extra can of soda into the bag as a quiet, lingering gesture.

And looking back, he hadn't even realized what he was doing.

Without quite understanding the compulsion, he was slowly, methodically feeding you, deriving a strange, twisted sort of euphoria from watching you consume everything he offered, fueling a secret obsession he barely had the words to name.

Today felt no different from the routines that had quietly shaped his life over the past few weeks. The bell above the door chimed softly as the evening rush began to wind down, and there you were.

You stepped up to the counter, your presence immediately pulling his attention away from the stack of receipt papers in his hands.

You wanted the usual.

A pepperoni pizza and a cold soda.

Elliot’s eyes lit up instantly, a familiar, fond warmth washing over his features before a faint, betraying blush crept up his pale cheeks, dusting his skin pink.

He caught himself, clearing his throat softly as he gripped the edge of the counter, fighting to regain his usual confident, professional composure before flashing you a sweet, engaging grin.

"Hey again,"

Elliot says, his soft, melodic voice carrying a hint of eager playfulness as he leans forward against the counter, his red visor dipping just slightly. His cheeks flush a deeper shade of rose, his freckles standing out against the warm pink of his skin as he looks right at you.

"You know the drill! You should really pick something else to add to your order today, on the house—seriously, I insist, and it's free. So... what else are you craving?"

⠀

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