99 problems, but a wet dream ain’t one | katsuki b.
summary: katsuki had a wet dream about you — and now he can’t get the image out of his head, no matter how hard he tries. and when you find out? you’re sure as hell not making it easy for him.
warnings: best friend!katsuki, best friend!reader, reader is shameless, reader is down BAD, teasing, flirting, cursing, dirty talk, wet dream, smut, blowjob, gagging, spit, dom!katsuki, bratty!sub!reader, degradation, “this is a bad idea” typa fic, MDNI;
wc: 2,3k
Katsuki Bakugou has a best friend problem.
And it isn’t the kind of problem that can be solved by just talking about it, like normal friends do.
No. This is pretty difficult to solve.
Why?
One, because Katsuki doesn’t even talk about feelings or problems most of the time. He just bottles them up until something new appears and then forgets about whatever bothered him before.
And two, he definitely won’t talk about how a wet dream with his best friend made him feel.
Yeah. A wet dream.
He hasn’t had one of those since he was a fucking teenager, and it makes him feel so stupid. He is a grown man, for God’s sake. An established pro-hero. A respected one. And more recently?
A fucking loser.
A loser who now struggles to even meet your eyes while you’re having a simple conversation, because every time he does, he remembers how you looked in his dream — naked and sweaty and so fucking eager to suck him off.
And of fucking course his mind wanders further—
Would your mouth feel that good in reality?
Would it turn him on that much to have you on your knees between his legs?
Would your moans really sound that divine while doing your best to bring him towards pleasure?
Will—
“Earth to Katsukiii,” you suddenly speak, waving a hand in front of his face, pulling him out of his thoughts and making him jolt slightly, his body shifting backwards on the couch.
“What!?” His head snaps towards you instantly, his hand coming up to slap yours away, ignoring the warmth that lingers from the brief contact.
“I have been talking to you,” you frown, scooching closer to him, leaning forward slightly, trying to catch his gaze. “What’s the matter?”
“Nothin’,” he shrugs, but his body tenses the moment your chest brushes against his arm.
“You’re even pissier than usual,” you remark with a raised brow, studying him carefully. He scoffs.
“You’re imagining things,” he replies way too fast.
You frown deeper, squinting your eyes as you shift even closer, intentionally closing the space between you. You don’t miss the way he immediately leans away.
“Why do you run from me?” you ask, tilting your head.
“I like my space, weirdo,” he mutters under his breath.
“I like your space too,” you tease, nudging your knee against his.
He instantly moves his knee away.
“Shut up and watch this damn movie,” he rolls his eyes, trying to focus anywhere but you.
“Kats.”
No answer.
“Katsuki,” you insist again, leaning in and poking his cheek with your finger.
You feel it — the tension.
You notice the way his hands curl, palms balling into fists as he takes a slow, deep breath, clearly trying to keep himself together.
“What’s up with you?” you push again, your voice softer this time, but more insistent. You move even closer, until he’s practically cornered at the end of the couch, your body fully pressing into his.
“Tell meee,” you drag out, nudging him lightly. “What’s bothering you?”
“You’re bothering me,” he finally snaps, his tone sharp and annoyed, making you blink in surprise. “Even in my fuckin’ dreams,” he adds with a frustrated groan, dragging a hand through his hair, making it messier than it already was.
“What?” you ask, caught off guard. “You dreamt about me?”
“Are you deaf?” he rolls his eyes, letting out a short, dry chuckle.
Then—
Something shifts.
A slow, almost mischievous grin spreads across your lips.
“What kind of dream did you have?” you ask, lowering your voice slightly as you lean closer, your gaze locking onto his.
Before he can react, you move.
In one smooth motion, you swing your leg over him, then the other, settling yourself directly in his lap, your thighs resting on either side of his muscular legs.
His mouth parts slightly, frozen halfway open, one eye twitching as he stares up at you, completely caught off guard.
“Come on,” you push again, shifting slightly on his lap, your clothed core brushing against his crotch through his jeans.
“Did you have a wet dream?” you ask playfully, clearly teasing, not thinking anything of it — but the moment he flinches, looking away instead of snapping back at you, your smile falters just a bit.
“Did you really have a wet dream of me?” you ask again, this time more serious, your eyes searching his face.
“Piss off,” he mutters, avoiding your gaze.
“Oh my god… I want to know right now,” you nudge him again, more insistent this time.
“I ain’t telling you shit, now get off of me,” he says, though his hands find your hips, gripping them instinctively.
You place your hands over his, pressing them down, smirking slightly.
“You know… if you tell me what it was about… maybe I can help,” you shrug casually, as if you didn’t just drop that.
He stares at you, completely dumbfounded, like you just said the most insane thing he’s ever heard.
“You gotta be joking,” he says, forcing a smile that doesn’t quite reach his eyes.
“Why would I be? It’s not like I don’t find you hot or anything,” you add, shifting slightly again in his lap.
That stirrs something in him.
He hisses under his breath, his grip on your hips tightening without him even realizing it.
“I’m still not telling you,” he mumbles, jaw clenching.
“Okay…” you hum. “I’ll guess.”
You take a moment to think, then—
“Was I on all fours? Were you fucking me from the back? I know you like doggy style… or maybe something else? Like missionary? Or cowgirl?” you ramble, mostly to yourself, watching his reactions closely. “How about—“
“It was a goddamn blowjob, now shut up,” he groans, his head falling back against the couch with a dull thud.
“Oh,” you pause, blinking. “A blowjob,” you repeat thoughtfully, tilting your head slightly.
“How was I able to fit all of that in my mouth?” you add, genuinely thinking about it.
He groans louder this time, hands leaving your hops and dragging them down his face.
“You are killing me, woman,” he mutters, voice strained, making you giggle softly.
“So you want it?” you ask, watching him closely.
He makes a pause, completely baffled.
Then—
“The hell? Who asks their best friend to suck them off?” he snaps, glaring at you.
“Who dreams of their best friend sucking them off?” you shoot back instantly, raising a brow.
“Smartass,” he scoffs.
“Pervert.”
“Oh, I’m the pervert? Not you, who’s been grinding on me for the past minutes?” he shoots back.
“I only suggested it because you seem stressed lately,” you say, your tone softer now, but still teasing. “And you clearly don’t wanna talk about feelings. Maybe I can help some… other way… you know?”
He goes quiet.
Really quiet.
His brows pull together as he stares at you, his expression shifting into something more serious, more conflicted — something you can’t quite read.
You’ve never seen that look on him before.
Not like this.
There’s hesitation.
Something heavy sits behind his eyes.
“You better not make me regret this,” he mutters finally, his voice lower now.
Your brows lift slightly, tilting your head. You didn’t know what to make of this words.
“Wha— what?”
His hands tighten on your hips, making you shift against his crotch for the nth time.
“Get on your knees.”
“Now?” You ask baffled.
“Yes, now. I’m in the mood and it’s your fault,” he reminds you.
You bite your lip to repress a smile.
Instead of a snarky comment, you just nod quietly and get off his lap. He spreads his legs wider the moment you move, watching you closely as you lower yourself onto your knees, settling between his muscular thighs.
Your palms come up to touch them, fingers gripping the material of his jeans as you slowly move them up and down, feeling the tension in his body, trying to ease it just a little.
You take your time.
Slowly moving upward, dragging it out, making it feel like it takes forever to reach his crotch… then his belt.
You start unbuckling it, your movements slow, all while looking up at him — watching the way he stares down at you, jaw tight, lips pressed together, hands resting stiffly at his sides.
You slide the belt out of the way, then undo his zipper, finally revealing his black boxers. Something hard brushes against your hand and he hisses above you, his breath catching.
Your fingers dip under the material and drag it down, exposing his happy trail that leads down to his cock. His own hands come down to help, pushing his jeans and boxers lower, lifting his hips just enough. The fabric bunches at his thighs, out of the way.
And then—
His cock springs free.
Long. Thick. Prominent veins running along the length of it. The tip flushed a reddish color, already leaking with pre-cum.
“C’mon, dig in,” he mutters, a smirk tugging at his lips as his hand comes to tangle in your hair, pushing you slightly forward.
You don’t rush.
You lean in slowly, pressing soft, open-mouthed kisses along the sensitive skin, feeling the way he reacts instantly — his breath hitching, a quiet hiss slipping past his lips as you glance up at him through your lashes.
Your tongue slides out, dragging along his length, long, intentional strokes, collecting the pre-cum as you go. His fingers tighten in your hair.
“Don’t— be such a tease, damn it,” he grits out, voice rougher now, the veins in his neck more visible as he looks down at you.
You let out a quiet chuckle, but you give in.
Enough teasing.
You part your lips and guide him in, taking him into your mouth slowly, inch by inch, relaxing your jaw as you go, until the tip presses against the back of your throat.
You pause there for a second, breathing steadily through your nose, adjusting — letting your body relax around him.
Then you start moving.
Slow at first.
Pulling back just enough before taking him in again, setting a rhythm, your tongue flattening along the underside, tracing the veins, working with each movement.
Spit and pre-cum mix together, making everything smoother, your lips sealing tightly around him.
All the while, your eyes stay on him.
Watching everything.
The way his teeth catch his lower lip. The flare of his nostrils. The crease forming between his brows as he tries to hold himself together. Low grunts slip past his lips, restrained, controlled — but you can tell he’s holding back.
That only makes you pick up the pace.
Your head starts bobbing more steadily, your movements more confident, more precise. Tears sting lightly at your eyes from the burn of your throat, but you don’t stop — you just adjust your breathing, keeping the rhythm consistent.
You want to hear him.
Really hear him.
“You happy now?” he asks, breath uneven, voice rough. “Having a mouth full of me?”
You let out a muffled moan around him in response, the vibration traveling through him as your tongue moves again, your pace never faltering.
“You greedy brat,” he chuckles, though his voice strains. He knows you — you like this, like putting on a show, like pulling reactions out of him.
His hips twitch upward when you increase your speed, your nails digging slightly into his thighs to steady yourself as his fingers tighten in your hair.
Sweat starts to bead at his forehead, sliding down as strands of blond hair stick to his skin.
“Mhm— keep— keep going,” he finally groans, his control slipping just a bit more.
You keep the same pace, consistent, precise, working him up without losing rhythm, your tongue and lips working together, spit and pre-cum already dripping down your chin. But is all worth it when you feel it—
The twitch.
The tension building.
A few more precise movements, a slight change in pressure, and then—
He breaks.
“Fuck, fuck, gonn a—“
His words are cut off as a low, deep moan escapes him. He releases, his body tensing as he spills hot loads of cum into your mouth. He closes his eyes at the feeling, barely able to keep his lips sealed.
For a moment, he doesn’t move, his orgasm washing over him, then — he finally looks at you. You were still on your knees, still sucking and slurping like your life depended on it.
“Fuckin’ hell— you’re takin’ everything,” he lets out a weak, breathy laugh. And it was true, you make sure to not let anything go to waste.
You suck him dry.
And he lets you — for a short while.
Only when the sensitivity kicks in does he tug at your hair, trying to catch his breath and helping you catch yours.
“Shit— too much—” he groans, needing another second to breathe, to recover as you pull away, licking your lips slowly, cleaning the corner of your mouth with the back of your hand as you look up at him.
Taking him in.
He’s leaned back against the couch now, hair messy, chest rising and falling steadily, his cock flushed and glistening, resting against his stomach now. His pants and boxers are still pushed down around his thighs as he spreads his legs, taking a lot of space like usual.
But he wasn’t the only one looking messy… he noticed your state too.
And fuck if it wasn’t the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen.
Your hair was deshiveled from his grabbing, your cheeks were flushed, lips plump and glistening with fluids… you looked so fucking pretty like this — on your knees for him, having his cum down your throat and looking at him with teary eyes — a sign of how hard you tried to take him.
You remain on the floor even if it wasn’t the most comfortable place, still close to him.
“So…” you finally break the silence softly.
His eyes snap back to yours, still catching his breath.
“Was this better than your dream?” you ask with a raised brow and a teasing grin.
But he won’t give you want to want. He already gave you enough.
He just scoffs at your question, rolling his head slightly to the side, trying to hide his smile.
“Fuck off.”
