Dysfunctional [Tsukishima Kei x Reader]
If you got a dollar every time you felt an overwhelming desire to punch Tsukishima Kei in face, you’d fuck up the economy. But, no, life doesn’t work like that. Instead, here you were, shooting the upsized douchebag a fake smile as you took his order.
“What’ll it be?” you asked for the sake of pissing him off, because he knew that you knew what he was about to order. It wasn’t like he actually ordered anything else other than strawberry shortcake. God, maybe that’s the solitary thing his minute, asshole heart is capable of loving.
“The usual,” he grunted out without taking as much as a glance at you.
“And what might that be, sir?” you chirped, taking note of how he winced in annoyance by the end of your question.
“Oh, I’m sorry. I forgot that your brain’s incapable of basic recall,” he flouted, as he plastered a hubri