#happy biiiirthday biiiitch

[taetaesbaebaepsae]

heartbeats and tangled sheets

Summary: It’s your birthday, and three men you’ve been seeing provide various gifts.

a/n: This is a birthday fic (belated as fuck) for @illneverrecover​ because I LOVE YOU BITCH I AIN’T NEVER GONNA STOP LOVING YOU BITCH

Warnings: not as much smut as one would think, oral (both m. and f. receiving), some exhibitionism and video sex, public sex, it got soft I’m SORRY JACKIE

Word Count: 2770

12:16AM, December 16th

It's late and you're in bed scrolling through your phone, hoping from a text from a certain someone that you shouldn't be waiting for. 

You shouldn't be waiting for anyone, you think, and you lock your phone with a heavy sigh and throw it down on the bed before hearing a ding and scrambling to pick it up again.

You up?

You roll your eyes but you're grinning ear to ear like an idiot. You are an idiot, but only for Kim Taehyung.

Before you can answer, his contact picture pops up on your screen, a picture you'd taken of him making a peace sign, which was basically every picture, the dork.

Your heart speeds up and you huff out a breath, irritated by how much just him calling affects you.

I shouldn't answer right away, you think, but you're already sliding to answer.

"What if I was sleeping?" You snark in greeting.

"Then I would have woken you up," he drawls, and his voice sounds gravelly, like he's tired or maybe been drinking.

It makes your heart flutter again.

"Jerk," you say, but there's no bite to it.

“Happy birthday,” he murmurs, and your heart, surely there's a physical problem. It shouldn't skip so many beats.

“Thanks, but you’re a little late, it’s after midnight.”

“Shit.” He chuckles low in his throat. “Guess I’ll have to make up for it.”

“Oh yeah? How?” Your skin is already tingling. He is able to affect you so quickly and it stresses you out.

“Hmm.” 

You wait for a long moment but then hear the beep of the phone hanging up and your mouth drops open. Did he just fucking hang up on you?

There’s five minutes of you being shocked and wondering if the call dropped and you should call back and then your phone starts buzzing again, a video call instead. It takes you a moment to answer, fumbling with your phone and grateful you hadn’t yet removed your makeup.

It’s dark at first, and you squint a little, until you see his arm, reaching over to turn on the desk light.

Taehyung smiles, big and boxy and open and there goes your heart flipping around again.

“There you are.”

“Here I am,” you quip, and he laughs and then shifts, and the camera takes a moment to catch up but then you can see he’s in bed, under a white sheet. You can see the broadness of his chest, his collarbones, the line of his neck. He must have the phone propped up on a nightstand or something, because you have the most delicious view of his whole body, his face turned towards you as he lies flat on the bed.

“I didn’t exactly get you a present,” he continues, and the sheet shifts down to reveal the softness of his belly, the dusting of hair below his belly button, and then down further to reveal his cock, thick and heavy, slowly starting to plump.

Your mouth goes dry and you tilt the phone sideways to see better, shifting down in your bed. You’re wearing just a thin tanktop and panties to bed, and your nipples are already starting to harden.

You’ve been seeing a few guys in the past six months, and Taehyung is off and on, given his recent breakup. His sweet brown eyes were so soulful when he kissed your knuckles, told you that he wished he could give you more than stolen kisses and late night knocks on your door, and it isn’t as if you hadn’t heard that line before: I’m just not ready.

But Taehyung had looked so earnest, and you want to believe that when he is ready, you’ll be the first to know. For now, you’re content to keep things casual, since the sex is amazing and you enjoy his company.

“Are you really suggesting that your dick is a gift?” 

“Isn’t it?” He drawls, stroking the gift in question with two long fingers and his thumb, slow, showing off.

The words come out of your mouth before you can think differently.

"Fuck. You got me there."

Taehyung gives you that slow smirk, flicks his gaze down to your breasts and raises an eyebrow. 

"Hmm, my birthday but you want a show. Typical." You grin as you tug down your top, revealing your breasts and tugging at your nipples, excitement and pleasure pooling in your lower belly.

"Mmm," he agrees, never one to argue with you, unlike some other guys you've been seeing. You can think of one in particular.

It's always easy with Taehyung, always fun, and if your heart might long for more on occasion, it isn't too much. Not yet, anyway.

“My birthday is soon too, you know. What are you gonna get me?” He teases.

“My tits are a gift,” you murmur, bouncing them at the camera, and he doesn’t crack a smile, just watches them, tongue flicking out to wet his full lips, before his dark eyes flick back up to your face.

“Damn right, they are,” he says, agreeable as always, and groans low in his throat, bucking into his hand.

“Fuck,” you repeat. “Wish you were here.” You tilt backwards on the bed, your fingers itching to slip beneath your panties but you wait, watching his face. You love how he looks like this, eyes dark and half lidded, mouth parted, hair in his face, eyelashes brushing his cheekbones as he closes them only to open them again, pausing his strokes and panting.

He pouts a little. “Wish I was too.” His gaze moves downward to your waistband, where you’ve lit one of your hands, thumb under the elastic. “Show me.”

Your breath catches, that’s what you’d been waiting for, some kind of permission. 

You smile at the screen, holding your phone up and wishing you’d known to do this on your laptop. “Gonna be hard to see in the dark.”

“Turn on the lights,” he commands, just this edge of pleading to it, and God, that’s what you love about him. Well, one of the things.

You do as he says, turning on your desk lamp and moving the phone down to slide the crotch of them aside, his responding moan making your fingers itch to touch yourself, but like always, you wait until he tells you to, asks you to, in that low tone of his that’s commanding yet somehow still agreeable.

A contradiction, your lover, one of your favorites.

After that it’s all a blur of pleasure, his words and deep moans, the slide of your fingers, not long enough to be his, not quite enough but it gets you there, his name on your lips as he tells you how beautiful you look, how much he wishes he could taste you.

You think about if he were there he’d slip your fingers into his mouth, suck while looking into your eyes until you’re panting and wanting him again and you whimper as you finally bring the phone back up to your face.

The way he looks makes you shudder with an aftershock of your orgasm, his mouth parted and panting, come painting his belly.

“When are you back in town?” You gasp.

He smiles. “I’ll call you.”

You roll your eyes but you’re smiling back. He talks to you into the wee hours of the morning, sweet and soft after, face close to the camera.

Sometimes he calls, sometimes he doesn’t, but you’ll be waiting either way.

10:02PM, Dec 15th

Going out for your birthday is a tradition among you and your friends, and given how hard you’d all worked this past year, it’s a given that you’re all going all out.

There’s preparation in terms of travel, knowing few of you will be sober enough to drive, mini bottles of liquor to pregame on the way there, condoms thrown into purses and your phone chargers in case of overnights.

As a result of those mini bottles and the high energy of your friends, you’re tipsy and loose when you arrive at the club, and the flashing lights and hype music only serve to make you smile more, dirty dancing with your friends and making eyes at all the cute guys at the club.

You're taking a break from dancing, surely sweating off your makeup and sitting at the bar to order a water when you hear a familiar voice.

"Heard it was your birthday."

You don't turn but you feel the corner of your mouth turn up. "That it is."

“What are you doing tonight?”

“Out with the girls. No boys allowed.”

You hear him step closer behind you. “It’s your birthday. You can do whatever you want.”

“Hmm,” you hum noncommittally.

"How old are you now, noona?"

You swear you can hear the smirk in his voice, how he's moved closer behind you. You can smell his cologne, the leather polish he uses on his shoes.

"Shut up, Seonghwa," you mutter, and that does nothing to dissuade him, he puts his hands on your waist, rests his chin on your shoulder to whisper in your ear.

"Wanna sit on my face to shut me up, noona?"

It doesn't come to that, because you're in a club and you somehow hardly ever make it to a bed with Seonghwa, always too riled up, his hands all over you at a bar, a club, the backseat of an Uber.

He's young and eager and mouthy and above all else, hot, so you can't say you complain.

You hate/love the way your name sounds on his lips, the way he always always adds noona in the sweetest croon.

It's infuriating how the sound of it makes you wet, his breath hot on your neck.

"You're so hot, noona, always so wet for me."

"Who says it's for you?" You snark.

He lifts his head, perfectly styled hair falling into his face from the humidity of the club, your ass against the bathroom stall door, his hands under your thighs, near constant smirk on his face.

"It is tonight," he murmurs, and you bite his lip bloody, striking like a snake, wriggling your hips under him.

He laughs into your mouth before he slides down to his knees, hooks your knees around his shoulders and buries his face beneath your skirt.

You were surprised, the first time, surprised because he was handsome and knew it, and usually guys like that weren’t great in bed, used their looks to get laid instead.

Seonghwa, on the other hand, prided himself in being good in bed, the best, he says, making you roll your eyes.

Sometimes he’s even sweet after, kissing along the side of your neck, along your collarbone, but usually it’s just snarky words, hard kisses, his long fingers hooked in your panties or that pretty dick of his in your mouth.

You hadn't even let him inside you yet, after two weeks of hooking up in clubs. It's more fun this way, you think. You love the way he looks when you're on your knees, his sharp jaw as his head tilts back, the way his hips twitch when you drag your manicured nails down his thighs.

He laps at your clit until your thighs are shaking around his head, his hands under your ass, kneading the flesh.

You cry out curses that are mostly drowned out by the music before he lowers you to the ground, licking his lips, that ever present smirk at the corners of that perfect mouth.

He’s got his hands on his belt and his mouth on your throat when you push against his chest, tottering only a little on your heels.

Seonghwa cocks his head, and you can’t help but giggle a little at his expression. Not many women tell him no, you’d imagine, not with that face.

“You’re not gonna leave me like this,” he pouts, gesturing down to the tent in his slacks.

“It’s my birthday,” you parrot. “I can do whatever I want.”

You feel him watching you when you head out of the bathroom and back into the club.

6:32AM, Dec 16th

There’s a banging on your door and sunlight is streaming through your window and you know if you roommates wake up there will be hell to pay so you grumble and roll out of bed.

You’d slept in your makeup from the night before so you wipe at your eyes before you jerk open the door.

When you see who it is you hiss out his name and jerk him inside.

“I swear to God if you’re drunk at my door at 6am ON MY BIRTHDAY-”

“It’s not your birthday,” he pants, seeming out of breath. “And I’m not drunk, I’m just tired, I flew the redeye but I had a layover and-”

You stare at him while he explains the whole ordeal and finally take his hand and lead him to your room so that your roommates won't wake up yelling.

He’s still babbling when you close your bedroom door.

It isn’t as if he doesn’t always talk a lot of shit, but usually it isn’t all sweet and apologetic like this, it’s usually sharp words from the both of you and sometimes dramatic arguments outside of clubs because to be honest, you drive each other crazy.

To be honest, neither of you seem to want to stop driving each other crazy.

You’ve been seeing Baekhyun off and on for a year now, ever since you’d moved for work, and even with both of you having crazy schedules you manage to see each other more than you see anyone else that you’ve gone out with.

You can’t deny that you’d looked out for him to call or at least text the day before.

“And my phone died and there weren’t any outlets-”

“Baek,” you say softly, and he finally closes his mouth. “I’m not mad.”

“You’re not?” He sits down on the bed in a slump and you bounce.

“No, what, you think I was waiting for you to call?” You nudge his shoulder with yours.

“Yes,” he says, nudging you back, and you scoff.

“I went out with the girls. We had fun.”

“I wanted to spend your birthday with you,” he whines, resting his head on your shoulder.

“Are you sure you’re not drunk?”

He’s said things, sometimes, when you were arguing or sometimes pillow talk, panting against your skin, kissing a line down your spine, that made your heart skip, but never like this, never sober and in daylight and without so much as a hungry kiss.

It makes your heart skip, and when you’re sober and in daylight and without so much as a hungry kiss, it makes you a bit scared.

Baekhyun shakes his head against your shoulder. “No, not even a drop,” he mumbles. “Didn’t sleep though, except a little on the plane.”

“You didn’t even bring me anything?” You ask incredulously. “You flew what, 13 hours just to come and be a sap?”

He lifts his head and you turn to look at him.

He does look tired, his clothes rumpled, bags under his eyes, but he looks earnest, too, and your heart does a little flip in your chest.

“Yeah, I did. You know how I-” he stops, closes his mouth, flops down faceup on your bed.

“How you what?” You ask curiously, straddling his lap and looking down at him.

Baekhyun shakes his head, his mouth in this little pout. 

“It’s my birthday,” you murmur, leaning down to kiss that pout. “You have to tell me.”

He huffs out a breath, puts his hands on your hips, skating them up your body. He lands on your waist, flips you over and kisses you hard, like you’re used to, like you expect from him.

You mewl into his mouth but he pulls away, presses his forehead to yours.

“You know how I feel,” he says softly, and oh, your heart.

You’ll think about that later, though, think about why your heart speeds up not just when he tugs your breasts out of your tanktop or when his fingers slide beneath your panties, but when he brushes his nose along your neck, tells you how sorry he is that he missed your birthday. 

You’ll think about it later, for now you’ll enjoy your belated birthday present, which is how warm your chest feels after you’re both spent and he’s spooning behind you, kissing the back of your neck, how hard you laugh at this story he tells you about the airport and how he’d slid down the escalator.

You’ll think about it later, when you have time to be scared you might be in love.