Work Header

Love Is a Gamble

Chapter Text

“Hey, Red Riot! C’mere for a second, will ya’?”

“Be right there, boss!”

Fatgum couldn’t help smiling to himself as Kirishima’s shouted reply to his shouted question carried across the busy office. The BMI Hero was so happy that Kirishima had joined his agency after graduating UA, and he was proud of the amazing prohero he had become. And not only that, but Kirishima brought energy and encouragement to the office; it was a joy for Fatgum to see him mentoring the new recruits and training them up.

“What’s up, sir? What can I help with?”

Fatgum was pulled out of his thoughts as Kirishima’s signature shock of red hair appeared in the doorway. He gestured for the redhead to sit down with a smile. “Well, do ya’ remember how Suneater an’ I were preparin’ to tackle that mess goin’ down at the new casinos that’ve popped up?”

Kirishima’s expression turned serious, and he nodded sharply. With proheros to protect people, the Kansai region’s local governments had decided a few years ago to allow full gambling within their jurisdictions. It had only been a few months since the establishments had opened their doors, and there were already problems.

Customers were going to the police bloodied and bruised, saying that they had been attacked in their rooms in the middle of the night and had all their valuables and winnings stolen. The local police forces were stumped, and they had called on Fatgum to help.

“Well, ya’ see – it’s such a shame, but Suneater has come down with food poisinin’! Hey, don’t fret,” Fatgum murmured, seeing Kirishima’s worried expression. “The kid’s gonna’ be alright. He jus’ ate a bad piece of oyster he left in his hero suit too long. You know how I’ve warned him about that a few times. But he’s got Mirio takin’ care of him, though, an’ he’s a good kid, too.”

Fatgum smiled wryly at himself; he knew the strong men he had just mentioned had stopped being considered ‘kids’ long ago, but he couldn’t think of them any other way. “But I’m not gonna’ have the support on this case I was hopin’ for. As ya’ can see, I had to unexpectedly use most of my mass last night to take down a bad guy that was much tougher than I was expectin’,” he said with a frown, gesturing to his diminished form.

As if this reminded him to keep eating, he popped a few takoyaki balls into his mouth before continuing. “And the police jus’ sent over a boatload of paperwork to sift through. So, it’s lookin’ like I’m gonna’ handle that,” he said, tiredly slapping a mountain of folders on the side of his desk, leaving a few fingerprint stains.

“Which gets me to the main point: can ya’ handle the on-the-ground work for the casino case, Red Riot? An’ can ya’ rope in someone to help ya’? All our folks are too junior, but I don’t wantcha’ out there alone. If one of yer friends consults for us, I’ll make sure they’re paid.”

Fatgum sat back in his chair and grabbed some more takoyaki. That was a major curveball he had just thrown the kid; the wickedest so far. He was interested to see how the kid would roll with the punches.

Kirishima didn’t disappoint. The redhead jumped out of his seat excitedly, eyes gleaming. “Leave it to me, Fatgum! I can work this for you, so you and Suneater rest up! And I know just the person to call in to help,” he added with an infectious grin.

Fatgum was beaming. “That’s ma’ boy! I knew I could count on ya’,” he said proudly. He gestured for Kirishima to help himself to some takoyaki. “Now, let me make sure yer up to speed with everythin’ on the case…”

That night, Kirishima was more excited than usual for his weekly chat with his best friend from high school, Bakugou Katsuki. Well, his best friend – and secret, long-time crush. Bakugou didn’t know that second part, and Kirishima hadn’t yet worked up the nerve to tell him. Kirishima didn’t plan on telling him tonight, either, but he did plan on trying to get his friend to come help him with this casino case.

“Hey, Bakugou! Can you hear me?” Kirishima was all smiles for the video call.

Bakugou’s video was off this time, though. “One sec’, shitty hair, I gotta’ deal with some annoying extras,” Bakugou huffed on the other end of the line.

Kirishima furrowed his brow in confusion. Where was Bakugou? Why could he hear sirens? He held the phone close to his ear, trying to catch snatches of the background conversation.

“… appreciate you catching… damage to building…”

Bakugou’s responses to whomever was speaking to him were easy to hear, since he was shouting, per usual. “I TOLD THE BASTARD IF HE MADE ME LATE FOR MY CALL, I WAS GONNA’ KILL HIM.” Kirishima quickly moved the phone away from his ear. “BE HAPPY HE’S NOT DEAD AND YOU JUST HAVE TO DEAL WITH A FEW BROKEN WALLS!”

“… scale of destruction… months of repairs…”


“Sorry to make you go through so much trouble,” Kirishima sighed. “But don’t take it out on everyone else, Bakugou.”

“Tch.” Bakugou’s angered face appeared on the screen. In the background, Kirishima could see police crews cordoning off piles of rubble. More than a few glares were being directed at Bakugou’s back. “Don’t you be sorry. Except if it’s for that shitty hair of yours, which you still haven’t changed, I see.”

Kirishima rolled his eyes. This was how Bakugou started every week’s phone call.

“Oi, oi, oi! I saw that!”

Kirishima chuckled. “Well, I’m happy to see that you’re not injured from the fight.”

“Ha, as if that weak piece of shit could’ve beaten me. I’ve spent longer fighting the damn police about supposed ‘property damage’ than the fight took. I ended it fast to make sure I wasn’t late this time – and then they try to ream me out!? Useless bastards…”

Kirishima just smiled as Bakugou grumbled away. His friend had gotten a lot better since they had first met at UA, but the fact remained that Bakugou’s temper had a short fuse, and while he was nicer with his friends, he could still be quite rude to those who hadn’t yet won his respect. It had slowed his rise through the hero popularity rankings, but Bakugou insisted that he would still be at the top someday.

Even though Kirishima felt bad for the public servants on the other end of Bakugou’s tirade, he also felt his heart warm at how seriously Bakugou took their chats. Due to their busy prohero schedules, they only got to talk once a week. Kirishima decided he’d find out which precinct the police were from and send them some gift baskets to try to make up for Bakugou’s outburst.

“Are you doing anything next week?” Kirishima’s question was sudden and interrupted Bakugou’s continuing string of complaints against the officers and the ‘whore mothers who had the audacity to spawn them’ as Bakugou had so eloquently put it.

“Huh? What? Just more of the usual. I’m still in Kumamoto for a few more weeks. Villains down here are weak as shit, but at least it’s a few degrees warmer than up by you.”

“Oh,” Kirishima said disappointedly. “I was hoping you weren’t booked up yet, but now I realize that was silly of me. I was hoping you could help me with a case next week. But-”

“You need help, shitty hair? I’ll be there.”

“But you just said-”

“Fuck what I just said! You heard the way those assholes talked to me, didn’t you!? After I caught that villain!? Screw these guys. I’ll be up by you tomorrow morning; I’ll get a train tonight.”

Bakugou’s face was as grumpy as ever, but Kirishima couldn’t help the wide smile that broke across his face. “Bakugou, thank you! That’s awesome! Oh, make sure to save your train receipt and ticket, we’ll reimburse you for everything!”

Bakugou rolled his eyes. “Obviously, that’s how hiring a freelancer works, idiot. You don’t think I know how to do this? I’ve been doing it for years.”

Kirishima sighed. Since Bakugou was still such a loner, he had decided to forego joining any agency or starting one of his own. Instead, he had opted for a prohero consultant route, which had him on the move very often, working out of many different agencies. He said that was more similar to what All Might did, anyways. “OK, sorry. I was just trying to be professional.”

“Well, don’t! It’s weird!” Bakugou flinched slightly at Kirishima’s hurt expression. “It’s weird, because we’re friends, dumbass, which is a good thing! See you tomorrow!”

Kirishima set his phone down after Bakugou hung up. He smiled to himself. He hadn’t seen Bakugou for months now; it would be good to see him again. Kirishima knew how people thought of the blond, brash hero, but he knew if people could see this side of him – the side that dropped everything to run to help a friend at just a moment’s notice – he knew they’d respect him as the paragon of manly virtue like Kirishima did.

The redhead’s phone buzzed. He glanced down. Bakugou had just sent him a text message.


Kirishima rolled his eyes. He opened up his notetaking app. He wanted to make a note to send a gift basket to the Kumamoto agency that Bakugou was dropping, too. It was basically his fault after all.


Kirishima just blinked. “But, aren’t you always yelling at me to change it?”

A few annoyed explosions erupted from Bakugou’s waving palms. “Well, yeah, but – well, what the fuck are you wearing!?”

Kirishima glanced up at the wig on his head and down at the uniform. “I told you before, this is all for going undercover. I told you the staff had to wear very particular uniforms,” he tried patiently explaining again –

But Bakugou cut him off with his largest explosion yet. “I had no idea you meant THAT! For fuck’s sake, it is snowing outside! And I’m calling you ‘shittier hair’ now!”

Kirshima just shook his head as Bakugou continued to seethe about the redhead’s costume. “Man, sometimes the strangest things set your temper off,” he couldn’t help but chuckle.

Both men were in a room in a casino just outside of Osaka, The Golden Pearl. With help from one of his sources, Fatgum had narrowed down the location of where the next attack would take place, and he had sent them both to the Pearl. (‘How can it be a pearl if it’s gold,’ Bakugou had snarled, incensed by the grandiosity.) Bakugou was meant to canvass the gambling floor as a customer; he had checked into a room and was to try his luck at various tables with money generously provided by Fatgum’s agency.

And Kirishima? As he had explained to his irate friend, he’d be undercover as a new employee, serving drinks to customers at various tables and at the bar. He’d donned a black wig so he wasn’t easily recognizable as Red Riot, and Fatgum’s agency had procured an official uniform for him.

Which Kirishima had blanched at the first time he had seen it. He was used to showing some skin as a practicality – what was the point of repeatedly shredding a costume whenever he activated his Quirk – but this was anything but practical!

Around his hips, all he had was a pair of tiny, black leather shorts that allowed the bottom of his asscheeks to peek out. He didn’t even have a proper shirt to speak of; only a leather collar from which various belts looped around his arms and torso. Black leather combat boots completed the look. Trying to look on the positive side of things, he was happy that they at least gave him some arch support.

Kirishima’s chuckling was interrupted when Bakugou slammed his hands to the wall on either side of Kirishima’s head, smoke billowing upwards from his palms. The redhead’s mouth hung open a little at the anger smoldering in Bakugou’s eyes as he roughly pressed Kirishima into the wall. Wait, no, it wasn’t anger – just what was he seeing in Bakugou’s eyes?

“You are not leaving the room in this,” Bakugou hissed through gritted teeth, giving a yank to one of the belts stretched across Kirishima’s torso.

One of Kirishima’s teeth bit into his lower lip, stifling a gasp as the leather snapped back against his skin. Fuck, he could feel himself getting hard. He gulped. “I don’t know what you expect me to do, Bakugou. This is the uniform-”

“Yeah, for this position! Isn’t there something else,” the blond growled, his eyes roving over every inch of exposed skin.

Kirishima felt his cheeks heat up under his friend’s concerned gaze and as he felt Bakugou’s breath on his cheek. “Well, there’s only one other opening, but…” He faltered and looked away, his blush deepening.

“What? Tell me,” Bakugou demanded impatiently.

Kirishima tried to ignore how his cock jumped and his heart beat faster when his friend harshly gave him a command. “It’s for a dancer. A male dancer. But Fatgum didn’t think that would be appropriate, and he thought since previous victims had been gambling, both of us working the tables would be a better use of time.”

Bakugou staggered back from Kirishima like he had just been punched, his jaw hanging open. Recovering quickly, he angrily gestured at Kirishima’s lack of clothing. “If that’s the fucking uniform for food service, then what the hell could the damn stripper’s outfit be made of!? A fucking loincloth!?”

Kirishima shrugged helplessly at his friend’s shouts. “Yeah, basically.”

Eye twitching, Bakugou threw up his hands, firing off a few contained blasts. “FINE! I’m going to use the bathroom, don’t fucking bother me! Just give me a few fucking minutes to myself, and I’ll meet you down in the lobby, shittier hair!”

Kirishima wanted to respond but was cut short by the shrill ring of the room phone. He frowned, answering it hurriedly. “Hello? … Oh, those noises – no, there’s no problem. It was just the TV, yeah, watching an action movie. … Yeah, of course we’ll turn it down. Sorry for the inconvenience…”

Bakugou slammed the bathroom door in disgust as Kirishima apologized over the telephone. There was no lock, so he leaned against the door. With a grunt, he undid his pants and released his hard cock. He closed his eyes and stroked himself, the image of Kirishima fresh in his mind: those tight shorts, that fucking collar, that blush on his cheeks, how he bit his lower lip. Bakugou stifled a groan, picking up the pace of his hand and thrusting into his own grip.

He could hear Kirishima still on the phone. “So sorry… It won’t happen again… Thank you…” It made Bakugou’s cock even harder; he was such a pervert, he imagined that Kirishima was groveling to him, saying those things to him.

“Ngh… fuck…” Bakugou hissed, as he looked down. He wished Kirishima was on his knees in front of him, tongue out, mouth open expectantly for his load: thanking him for it, begging him for it, in that fucking outfit – “Shit!” Bakugou gritted his teeth and threw his head back against the door with an audible ‘thunk’ as he came all over his hand and all over the tiled floor of the hotel bathroom. There was a very timid knock at the door as he was catching his breath.

“Bakugou? I’m going down to just start my shift, no need to meet me in the lobby, I’ll see you on the floor. … Is everything OK?”

“Yeah, shittier hair. ‘S fine,” Bakugou rasped. As he heard the door to the room open and close, he sighed. How the fuck was he going to make it through this mission?

“Good evening, sir! What can I get for you? I have glasses of champagne, white wine, or red.”

“Just a glass of champagne, thank you.”

“Of course-”


The customer glared at Bakugou and stalked off, most of the contents of the glass dripping down his hand.

Kirishima turned around and fixed Bakugou in a withering stare. “You have got to stop doing that,” he hissed, glancing around the busy casino. “I need to work, and you need to be monitoring the tables. Go over and sit at the lowest ante poker table or something.”

“I don’t know how to play poker. And, what, I’m just supposed to leave you? With all these fucking perverts checking you out?” As if on cue, a man passing by Kirishima looked him up & down, then threw him a wink. Bakugou exploded, “OH, WHAT, ASSHOLE, YOU GOT SOMETHING IN YOUR EYE? HOW ABOUT MY DAMN FIST?”

Massaging his temples, Kirishima sighed heavily. “Blackjack, then? I assume you can count up to 21 since I can and you were better in school than me. But you have got to stop threatening the customers,” he said firmly. “We’ll never get anywhere like this, and then all of this will have been for nothing.” The redhead frowned. “I made a promise to Fatgum, man-to-man. I can’t go back on that!”

“Tch, you and your manly promises… fine, fine, I’ll go. But just wave your hand if one of these perverts gets too handsy and you need help or something,” Bakugou muttered, stalking off with his hands in his pockets.

Kirishima just shook his head, then turned his eyes determinedly to the scene around him. He took in the crowds of people, the flashing lights, the cheers of excitement, the wails of disappointment, the sirens of the slot machines. Bakugou had walked away only a moment ago, but already Kirishima couldn’t find him amidst the noise and jostle of the crowd. Just how did Bakugou expect to keep an eye on him all night? Kirishima absently wondered what had the blond so riled up anyways – well, riled up more than usual.

Kirishima adjusted his tray of drinks on his shoulder and plastered on his signature grin. He didn’t have time to worry about that; he needed to start talking to customers and see if any of them could be the ones behind the recent string of crimes.

A few hours, many drinks served, and many phone numbers received later, Kirishima was exhausted and found himself no closer to a break in the case. Everyone was happy to talk with him, but no one asked him any suspicious questions like about the layout of the hotel or security features or anything. And he tried mentioning the recent robberies to multiple customers he talked to, but no one responded nervously or aggressively.

Kirishima frowned as he surveyed the still-busy floor. Should he try to find Bakugou? Should he try talking to more customers? He wiped a bead of sweat off his brow with a tired sigh. ‘This is tough work! Standing on your feet all night carrying around a heavy tray of drinks is almost tougher than chasing a villain,’ he thought to himself. He wanted to call it a night, but he didn’t want to disappoint Fatgum by not bringing back any useful information.

“Hey, gorgeous. Someone as handsome as you shouldn’t frown, you’ll give yourself worry lines.” A stranger had sidled up next to Kirishima while he was lost in thought.

The redhead tried not to roll his eyes at the man’s trite pickup line and threw on his best smile instead. “Can I get something for you, sir?”

The man cocked his head and leered, a greasy smile spreading across his face. “Hopefully. Are you on the menu, sugar?” He took a step closer to Kirishima.

The redhead took a corresponding step back and swiftly moved his tray of drinks between them. “I have champagne, white wine, and red,” he listed off dutifully with a forced smile.

The customer drew his face into an exaggerated pout. “Don’t make me sad! You’ll give me lines, then – see?” The man lifted his bangs and scrunched up his forehead. “Now, come on, I have a deluxe suite: 1701. Can’t I arrange for some room service?” The man wiggled his eyebrows.

Kirishima felt bile rise in his throat. “I’m afraid I only work the bar and betting tables, sir.” The man scowled fiercely, and Kirishima felt the hairs on the back of his neck rise up. Was this guy seriously not going to take ‘no’ for an answer? He started waving his hand in the air. Maybe Bakugou wouldn’t see him, but hopefully someone would come over. “If you want to place an order for room service, let me get you someone who can-”

“Shut up, you know very well what I want. Now, how much is it going to cost me?”

“Sir, I don’t know what-”

“I’m getting tired of this game. I said how much-”

“THERE you are! I’ve been looking all over for you!” Bakugou’s voice cut through the background chatter and the sound of Kirishima’s own quickened heartbeat. “You tell me to come see you in action at work, and I couldn’t even find you.” The blond’s arm wrapped itself possessively around Kirishima’s waist. “C’mon, come take a quick break with me.” Bakugou’s eyes flitted over annoyedly to the other customer, as if just noticing him for the first time. “Oi, can we help you with something? I’m trying to talk to my boyfriend.”

Kirishima’s breath caught in his throat. ‘B-boyfriend?’ That word from Bakugou’s lips sounded incredible. Bakugou’s skin against his own felt electric.

The man shook his head with a scowl, taking a step back. His eyes flicked nervously between the muscled biceps bulging out from Bakugou’s T-shirt. “No. I was just leaving.”

“Whatever,” Bakugou grunted, pulling Kirishima away. The redhead started to thank his friend, but Bakugou shushed him. “Not yet, idiot,” he hissed, “that asshole is still lurking. Just play along.”

Kirishima closed his mouth into a fake smile as Bakugou led them to an empty table alongside a wall. He glanced quickly over his shoulder; sure enough, that guy was standing at the edge of a crowd of people, still scowling after Kirishima. After the redhead set his tray on the table, he was suddenly pulled backwards down into the booth between Bakugou’s outstretched legs. “H-hey,” he stammered, a blush erupting across his cheeks.

“I said: play along,” Bakugou growled lowly as he started to run his hands up and down Kirishima’s muscled torso. He took Kirishima’s chin in his hands and nipped at his earlobe.

Kirishima couldn’t stifle an audible gasp. Bakugou’s teeth weren’t as sharp as his own, but they still scraped over his skin in a way that was sinfully delicious. Kirishima felt himself grow hard as Bakugou moved his lips down, biting possessively at Kirishima’s neck. The redhead grabbed uselessly at the smooth material of the booth, trying to steady himself.

Bakugou tightened his grip around the hips of the squirming, panting man on top of him. “Can’t hold still, huh?” His voice was husky and deep, each syllable sending waves of desire through Kirishima’s body. “Guess I’ll have to tie you down.” Bakugou bit his friend’s ear again, but this time Kirishima felt the swipe of a hot, wet tongue across his skin, and the redhead couldn’t stifle his groan.

“Oh, fuck, Bakugou,” Kirishima moaned as one of the blond’s hands moved to caress his thigh, the other to cup his pec.

“You’re mine. You hear me? All mine,” Bakugou growled into the redhead’s ear as he bit it. “Do you like when your man takes what’s his? Do you like me claiming you in front of all these people?”

Kirishima’s head was in a haze. Did he like it? As Bakugou had been teasing him, he had been vaguely aware of all the action still happening around them. Patrons continued to breeze by, barely sparing them a second glance as they helped themselves to drinks from the tray on the table and headed to the next game table or slot machine – or back to their own room with someone on their arm. Even still, Kirishima’s skin burned with shame – and something else?

A twinge of forbidden excitement spiked through the lust he was feeling. Did he want everyone to see Bakugou claiming him? Did this turn him on?

Just then, a nameless customer walked by, glanced at the two of them – and a knowing smirk appeared on his face. As he disappeared back into the crowd, that smirk stayed with Kirishima. Yes, he loved it – the rough callouses on Bakugou’s hands, the sharp edge of his teeth, and the fact that everyone could see it was Kirishima that Bakugou was marking.

Bakugou scraped his nails roughly against Kirishima’s thigh, bringing his attention fully back to him. “Oi, I asked you a question. Do you like this? Answer me.”

“Y-yes! Yes, I love it,” Kirishima gasped.

Bakugou chuckled evilly and gave Kirishima’s shoulder a bite. “I knew it.”

Kirishima couldn’t take it anymore. He needed Bakugou to take him somewhere, to fuck his brains out this instant. He turned his head to speak –

Only to have Bakugou tug roughly at his collar. “Did I say you could move? Huh, did I?”

“N-no,” Kirishima stammered, loving every second of Bakugou’s dominance.

“That’s right. So, you just sit right fucking there, like a good boy, while I…” The blond paused, his husky voice trailing off.

“… While you what? Bakugou, what,” Kirishima whined, eager to hear what was coming next.

“Finally,” Bakugou snapped, the normal tone of annoyance returning to his voice. “That creep finally stopped watching us and left.”

“… Huh? What?” Kirishima just blinked, suddenly feeling very cold as Bakugou’s hands left his skin. The noise of the machines and the dealers was all suddenly too loud, the lights far too bright and glaring.

“That creep that was bothering you before. I wanted him to know – er, to think that you were taken. He finally just took the hint and left.”

“Oh… oh, yeah, right,” Kirishima mumbled, tears nearly springing to his eyes. He barely held them back. ‘How could I be so stupid? Of course that’s all this was,’ he thought bitterly to himself. “That was some really good acting, Bakugou. You must’ve really fooled him into thinking you were into it,” Kirishima tried to say lightheartedly. He hoped that none of the bitterness pooling in his chest found its way into his voice.

“Huh, what? I… yeah, well, whatever.” Bakugou’s tone was suddenly petulant. “Your acting could use some work, shittier hair. No one actually moans all needy and shit like that. Like a fucking porn star or something.”

Kirishima stood up slowly from the booth, not turning to look back at his friend. He was sadly marveling at how quickly he had gotten hard – and how rapidly it had gone away, once his brain caught up to the fact that this had all been some fake performance. “Well, I guess I’ll just get some more drinks and get back out on the floor, then…”

Bakugou angrily reached forward, grabbing his friend’s wrist. “Bullshit you will!”

Kirishima turned around in shock, shaking off his friend’s touch like it had burnt him. “What the hell are you talking about? We have a job to do!”

Bakugou shook his head adamantly. “This place is swarming with weirdos. Say you’re sick and you need to leave, then change into some damn actual clothes for fuck’s sake, then meet me out by the rental car in the parking lot. We need to tell Fatgum that we need a new fuckin’ plan. This one puts you in way too much danger.” Bakugou glanced around angrily. “I haven’t heard any good info all night from any of these losers anyways, have you?”

Kirishima sighed glumly. “No, not really.”

Bakugou nodded sternly in response, confident that his affirmed his plan of action. “Exactly. So, go get changed. Watch out for creeps. I’ll see you back in the parking lot soon.” A blush suddenly burst across Bakugou’s cheeks. “And, uh, remind me, do you have a hat? And a scarf?”

“Um, yeah. It’s cold tonight,” Kirishima answered, arching his scarred eyebrow. Why the hell was Bakugou asking him this?

“Good,” the blond muttered, standing up, still not meeting Kirishima’s eyes. “I left some bitemarks on you. Got a bit carried away. We don’t need your boss seeing those.”

“Oh? I thought you wanted everyone to know that I was yours,” Kirishima couldn’t help but tease, despite the ache in his chest.

Bakugou’s blush deepened. “I do – I mean, you are – I mean, fuck, just meet me by the damn car! And would you take off that stupid wig!” The blond stomped off, shoving customers out of his way left and right as he surged through the crowd.