“May I Take Your Order?”

A Femboi Hooters choose-your-own-adventure style fic, by the people, for the people, indulging in a smorgasbord of ships and kinks as we delve further into our weekly special. A focus on krbk, but with many side dishes and appetizers.
Here’s how this is gonna work:

Sections will be divided between polls as the story unfolds. At the beginning of each section, depending on results of previous decisions, new tags will be added and the storyteller may shift between perspectives, which will be noted at the start. https://twitter.com/nextdoortosatan/status/1319668924078804994
If there’s a pair you don’t like or a kink that doesn’t tickle your fancy, you are free to skip over the section to the next poll and await further instructions.

But I promise dessert to all brave enough time venture forth from here.

And away we go~
/It’s tough being beautiful/, Bakugou reminded himself as the two rugby dipshits from table 3 smacked his ass on the way out the door.

They better have left a good fucking tip, and he didn’t mean another hastily-scrawn excuse for a penis drawing on a napkin.

He’d burn it.
The blond sighed, propping up his chin against his fist. He watched the glass door swing shut, leaving him standing alone at the entryway podium in wait for another clueless nobody, another handsy extra to come remedy him of his boredom.
Such is the curse of being a “hostess” at a restaurant where the voyeuristic hiring manager, the only woman around (a dark-haired and ravenously lustful she-witch they lovingly referred to as ‘Midnight’), only hired men.
And not just men, but lithe, supple, baby-faced twinks, cursed to spend an eternity having to pick orange spandex wedgies out of their asses and hoping their pierced nipples don’t make a less-than-tasteful appearance out of the hem of their crop tops when they don’t want them to.
He was loathe to admit it, but this job wasn’t the worst. It wasn’t so bad being fawned over by slimy and greasy-fingered dudes who just wanted to cop a feel.

He understood the desire.
He let a hand fall and skim the seams of his stomach, the divets and ripples where muscles rose and fell along his slender torso.

It wasn’t easy getting a physique like this, and it deserved to be praised. /He/ deserved to be praised.
It would be hard to resist a hot piece of meat this fucking tantalizing, and he didn’t mean the barbecue wing special.
Who could resist this prime cut, these chiseled abs and an ass toned so enthusiastically that if he clapped them cheeks too hard, he’d rip open a hole in the cosmos?
Or at least tear open a fat new hole in somebody’s wallet, but that wouldn’t be a complaint. He could do with a lil spare cash.

And that was the least that wandering fingers could give him.
The blond’s red eyes flashed up as the door opened. A couple and their daughter.

/Daughter? Who the fuck brings their daughter to a sleezy pisshole like this?/
But he plastered on that twitching smile all the same and uttered out the proof of his enslavement, just three little words that confirmed his indoctrination into a mindless, soulless husk of a man.

“Welcome to Hooters.”
He looked them up and down and grabbed a couple menus from a slot on the wall behind him. “Table for 3?”

“Yessir, my wife, my daugh--”

“Great. Right this way.”
He passed off the menus to a flustered newbie with a mop of unkempt curls atop his head before resuming his post, cheek reconnecting to hand as he heard the distinct babble of that green-haired idiot Deku leading their guests to their table.
What on earth did he do to deserve spending his Friday night like thisl?

He was a good person.

He’d only punched Kaminari twice this week, and the second one was only because Sparky got in the way of him punching Deku, so it was his own fault really.
Fuckin’ freckly doe-eyed lookin’ ass was basically a magnet for his fist.

They wouldn’t have even gotten scolded if Deku hadn’t walked in front of Bakugou’s punch right when he was practicing his right hook. Bakugou wasn’t /actually/ even gonna punch him that day.
The daydream of punching him was good enough, but /NO/, Deku just /had/ to scamper in front of his closed fist right as Midnight strolled through and get them both scolded.

And then he couldn’t even take a punch right. “Fuckin’ louse.”
He had to be careful, though. If he grumbled his complaints too loud, no doubt he’d get fired...or sent to another anger management class. It wouldn’t be the first time.

He just had to avoid any more idiocy in case--
“Hey, Kacchan!”

WHO THE F-- Bakugou shot up from his slouch, arms scrambling and knocking over a mug full of pens in the process.

At least it wasn’t the basket of mints. He’d spill Deku before he spilled those fuckin’ mints.
“Sparky,” Bakugou deadpanned, as soon as he’d recovered some dignity, ignoring his harsh white-knuckled grip on the edges of the podium.

When on God’s green earth had that fucker snuck up on him like that?
Not like Kaminari could get lost in a crowd, not with the sharpie-dyed lightning bolt in his hair or the way his shirts always fit two sizes too small, just enough to hug his tight chest and show off his heart-shaped nipple tags.
And yet, somehow that coy prick had gotten so close that he was leaning one elbow on the podium, cocking his ass up in the air like a proud chicken as he breathed his coo of “Blasty” right into Bakugou’s face.

It smelled like bubblegum and dick.
“And why, may I ask—and I may—are you at my hostess stand,” Bakugou hissed.

The electric blond’s shit-eating grin only made his grip on the wood that much tighter and he was already feeling the tell-tale signs of an impending headache.
Kaminari leaned in and propped both elbows on the stand, cupping his cheeks delicately in between his palms.

“I just wanted to say hi to my three favorite hosts.”

“There’s only one of me, dipshit.”
“One of you and two of your tits.” The shorter blond stuck out his tongue and winked before backing out of reach with a cackle as Bakugou swung at him. “Better watch that punchin’ arm or else it’ll be three whacks this week and I’ll have to revoke your good boy card.”
“Oy, fuck off. Don’t you have anywhere better to be?”

Kaminari seemed to take that in stride. “Well, Shinsou /is/ working the bar, so I /could/ be there…”

“BUT--” he continued, letting his hands drop from the podium so he could make a dramatic flourish with his arms. “My favorite drink on-tap is off limits until we’re both on break.”

“If you come back on the floor covered in piss, I swear to fuckin’ God--”
“DEAR GOD!” Kaminari gasped. “How /dare/ you, sir! How foul! How /debauched/!”

He twirled around and bent backwards over the podium, closing his eyes and draping his arm over his face like a telenovela star. “I’ll never do that again! Not after last time!”
Bakugou rolled his eyes and removed his hands from beneath where his coworker was having his tv moment. “You’re fucking disgusting.”


“His cum, Bakugou!” The shorter blond rolled his eyes right back as he righted himself. “I want that sexy son-of-a-bitch to bake a molten lava cake right in my asshole.”
Bakugou wheezed and stumbled backwards, trying to cover his definitely-not-a-laugh with a fake vomiting sound. “/Disgusting/. No wonder you’re such a prick. You are what you fuckin’ eat.”

“Touché, but that doesn’t explain why you’re such an asshole.”
This time when Kaminari dodged an angry swat, he pursed his lips and clacked imaginary acrylics against his palms. “Truth hurts, don’t it?”
“What? You want me to throw a fuckin’ party just because you’ll open your legs for anything with a pulse and I won’t?” Bakugou spat.

This moron always knew just how to push his buttons. He walked a fine line between being delightfully stupid and delightfully strangle-able.
Looked like it was gonna be more of a choking day, but he’d like that too much.

“PLEASE. You? Bakugou Katsuki? Throw a party?” Kaminari scoffed. “We can’t even get you to sing ‘Happy Birthday’ to the kids.”

“Because it’s stupid.”
“You afraid of balloons or somethin’?”

“No, idiot.” If Bakugou rolled his eyes any harder, he’d see his brain. Stupid-ass question didn’t even warrant a response, but Kaminari wouldn’t leave that easy. “I just hate children.”

“Damn, bro, hurtin’ my feelings over here.”
“You’re not a fucking child, Kaminari.” /Well.../

The blond in-question popped his hip and sprawled one hand over it. “Tell that to my daddy.”
“You don’t have a daddy. And that purple-headed insomniac doesn’t count.”

Kaminari opened his mouth to banter back, and he just seemed ready for his retort when the glass doors opened, both blonds turning to give their best customer-service smiles to their newest customers.
But Kaminari choked on his spit.

Their eyes bulged as they watched the door swing open and shift silently closed in the wake of its passersby. Both blonds fumbled to do their jobs and say something, anything, but their gazes were snared on their new guests.
Bakugou’s jaw dropped ever so slightly, not enough to show off how much saliva was starting to pool in his mouth, but enough to be noticeable if anyone got within kissing range.
He didn’t have time to consider the possibility before Kaminari spun around and slapped him on the shoulder.

“I didn’t have a daddy,” He admitted under his breath. He gulped, and it looked to Bakugou like a shiver ran up his spine. “But I’m about to.”
Two pats on Baku’s shoulder and Kaminari zoomed away into the dining hall, only turning around to shout a quick “Make sure you send them to /my/ table!” over his shoulder as he raced away, faster than lightning.
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