Chapter Text
Katsuki Bakugo turns his Subaru into the Chik-Fil-A parking lot on a mission to fuck a homophobe over.
He surveys the couple of order takers outside as he pulls into the drive-thru until a familiar one catches his eye. He's seen the dumbass multiple times when passing by, his green curls drawing Katsuki's attention. They sprout out from under his usual neon visor and he's got that sappy godforsaken smile that never leaves his face on. He looks way too innocent, disgustingly flowery and bright-eyed. It makes Bakugo want to gag at the sheer positivity rolling off of him in waves. Especially when it comes from someone who works for this place.
Katsuki decides to pull into Smiley's lane.
“Hello! Welcome to-" He doesn't let the man finish.
“Oi, bitch, how does it feel?”
The worker doesn’t so much as flinch. “Warm with a faint breeze. Perfect! Why?”
Was he fucking with him?? “That’s not what I meant, you moron.”
“Oh, I’m sorry. I misunderstood. Would you please clarify the question?”
Katsuki's teeth grind together. “I meant, how does it feel to look like a toddler's uneaten side of broccoli?”
“I wouldn't have it any other way. Now, what can I get for you?”
This motherucker's constant smile could rival All Might's, for shit's sake. Fine, time to initiate Step 2, then. Katsuki had spent time studying the menu, of course. He knows an order stupid enough to annoy Midoriya (he finally read the nametag). “Give me a deluxe chicken sandwich, but without the cheese, lettuce, and tomato.”
Midoriya just blinks back for a second. “So, you would like a classic chicken sandwich?”
“No, dumbass, weren’t you listening the first time?!” He's rather proud of his Karen impression.
“Of course! Number two without everything except the pickles it is.”
Not even a crack in the smile yet. Come on, I'm running out of time here, cry or whatever already!
A car beeps behind him and he promptly flips them off while demanding, “Give me Sprite to drink, but make it 1/3 Hi-C and 1/3 Lemonade.” Katsuki sees Midoriya typing away, probably trying to get out the drink instructions, but doesn’t wait before barreling on. “I want three Chik-Fil-A sauces, two Polynesian, and one ranch. Got it?”
“…Got it” Midoriya says absentmindedly while making furious taps on the iPad, doing his best to keep up. His grin dims just the slightest bit with the intense concentration.
Now’s the perfect chance for the icing on the cake. “Are you done yet?!”
Bingo! It's just like 'Are we there yet?" and that always drove even my old man insane-
“Uh, yes! Could I have your name, please?”
Dammit, he's still being all polite! Is he even human??
“Lord Murder.”
“…Did you say Lloyd-“
“I said, LORD. MURDER.” It was some dumb name his friends had teased him with in high school.
Midoriya does twitch this time, probably at Katsuki's ridiculous volume. He considers it a gift from his mother.
Haha, suffer, you dick.
Still, Katsuki is blinded by a returning smile. His smirk turns into a glare, the kind that used to put even his high school gym teacher on edge. Those fuckers are known for being tough as nails. Surely, Midoriya will-
“Sorry about that! Have a great day, Lord Murder.” And then the asshole waves him down the line and walks away. Bastard.
Katsuki's hands spark against the leather steering wheel. He's failed his damn mission. He doesn't consider it his fault, though, since Midoriya is clearly just built fucking different. It's infuriating. How can anyone be so damn happy-go-lucky to fund a company that supports conversion camps?? Hell no, Katsuki would have to try again tomorrow.
…After he repairs his tenth steering wheel.
—————
Izuku looks towards the next customer in line as the window on the black Subaru SUV rolls down. A blonde man seemingly around Izuku's own age leans out the window, allowing the wind to ruffle through his soft and fluffy spikes. One hand is turning down the volume on a Pierce the Viel song while the other is supporting his head with a very muscular arm. Eyes like rubies glare from an angle just right for the sunlight to hit them and set them aglow.
Christ on a bike, he’s hot. “Hello! Welcome to-“
“Oi, bitch, how does it feel?”
Andddd he’s a dick. Too hot. Should have known.
However, Izuku can't afford to call him out on the "I'm a douche" vibes he immediately read from that singular question and the look on his face. Izuku would just have to power through what was obviously going to be a sucky customer experience. That didn't mean he had to play along, though. “Warm with a faint breeze. Perfect! Why?”
Acting dumb seems to piss Sexy Shithead off. Good.
“That’s not what I meant, you moron.” Snarled teeth reveal fang-like canines and holy crap, why are walking red flags so attractive??
“Oh, I’m sorry. I misunderstood. Would you please clarify the question?” He asks as politely as possible.
“I meant, how does it feel to look like a toddler's uneaten side of broccoli?”
Izuku honestly had to supress a chuckle at that. Was he supposed to feel insulted or something?
“I wouldn’t have it any other way.” Izuku's smile is more genuine now as he holds back his amusement. “Now, what can I get for you?”
“Give me a number two sandwich but without the cheese, lettuce, and tomato.”
“So, you would like a number one classic sandwich?” It's literally what you just asked for, but in people-who-read-the-fucking-menu language.
“No, dumbass, weren’t you listening the first time?!”
"-dumbass, you can’t do a single fucking thing right. Just FOCUS-"
Izuku forcibly shuts the voice out. This guy is suddenly a lot less fun. Izuku can’t afford to let his customer service front drop right now. He needs this job and he can't have any sort of reports of bad service to his employers. Lord knows they'd fire him at the drop of a hat.
“Of course! Number two without everything except the pickles it is.”
A car suddenly honks its horn from behind them and he can't help but jump, head whipping around to look. A greying, rich as hell looking man is scowling and tapping his watch at Izuku. You bitch, now I just want to go slower.
Oh crap, Sexy Shithead is talking. "-sprite to drink, but make it 1/3 Hi-C and 1/3 Lemonade." Izuku is clicking Beverages, Sprite, trying to make a comment about the different mixtures but oh my god he's still going. "I want three Chik-Fil-A sauces, two Polynesian, and one ranch. Got it?"
Taptaptaptap go his fingers as he tries to keep up with the demands. This man was seriously testing both Izuku's anxiety and ADHD. His angry ordering is only stressing Izuku out more, and his incredibly distracting eyes won't stop staring at him. Izuku loses focus on his composure just a little. His mind is a whirlwind of recounting the order requests, "don't mess up," and "oh no, he's hot."
Oh, right, he was asked a question. "...Got it..."
Taptaptap
"Are you done yet?!"
Motherfucker. "Uh-" Taptap "Yes! Could I have your name, please?"
"Lord Murder."
...
What.
I had to have heard wrong.
"Did you say Lloyd-“
“I said, LORD. MURDER.”
Oh mah gawd he's loud. Though they're screaming from the yelling, Izuku refrains from covering his ears- "You're so weak, I'll cut off your hands if you try to co-" because he will admit to being intimidated by no man, thank you- "It's just a little noise, man u-" SHUT UP.
To make up for his mental lapse, his reflexes force his smile brighter. He refocuses just in time to see Sexy Shithead's face morph into a scowl. Actually, scratch that; it forms into a fucking death glare that looks like he's imagining slowly skinning Izuku alive at this very moment.
What a friendly man! I'm not concerned at all!
"Sorry about that! Have a great day, Lord Murder." Izuku promises to let himself cackle over that name with his coworkers later while they're closing the store and dishing gossip.
Izuku gestures to Sexy Shithead (there's no way he can seriously call him Lord Murder, even just to himself) to move down the line, already anxious to take the next angry customer's order.
He's distracted moments later by a loud pop and crunch coming from somewhere down the line.