Taehyung X Dilara - Tumblr Posts
wow....reading this, i could physically feel my heart clench during the last 2 chapters. I am so excited to see how their story moves on from this and I can't imagine how taehyung would ever be able to redeem himself. My heart ached alongside Dilara's,,,,i still need to recover but i wanted more pain so now I'm reading Jimin's </3
now i simply just want to tell you how much i adore your writing, stumbling upon your masterlist felt like an early christmas present and my heart, mind, and soul are pleased that I get to enjoy your fics !!! i'll be looking forward to more of your posts soon and can guarantee that you have my support and love !
All fics below are in chronological order, written about Taehyung and his longterm OC, Dilara, but most of them can be read standalone or as reader inserts as well. Not all of these are posted in the order that they are listed, and they exist in the same universe as the other members' fics.
main masterlist
Weekend Story: A Japanese GP Special / Part 2
Years before all the heartbreak and drama, Kim Taehyung walked onto my paddock at Suzuka. Try as I might to look away, he was the only thing I could see on track.
Los Angeles
Eight months after a magical weekend with Kim Taehyung after which you never thought you’d see him again, you find yourself reunited with him for one more night.
The Date
Taehyung takes you out on a beautiful first date before bringing up a topic you’d really rather not talk about.
(Set two months after Los Angeles)
Confessions
A knee-jerk reaction and misplaced jealousy leads Taehyung to finally get something off his chest.
(Set a few days after The Date)
Austin
A series of events that lead up to a difficult decision about your future with Taehyung.
(Begins around a month after Confessions)
In Time
He's everywhere. Even months after your break-up, Taehyung is everywhere, even when you wish he would just disappear.
(Set 7-8 months after Austin)
Monza
You're in a pickle and, unfortunately, your ex-boyfriend is the only one around to help.
(Set approximately two months after In Time)
Melbourne
Dilara tries navigating her days with her ex-boyfriend back in her life, while Taehyung remains plagued by memories of their past.
(Contains flashbacks)
~
wow....the past chapters made me completely forget jennie....which made me feel what dilara felt abt the whole thing !! my heart is broken BUT ITS CONFUSING ME BC I WASNT ROOTING FOR TAE?!?@??! AND NOW IM SO SAD BUT THIS IS AMAZING I LOVE THIS THANK YOU FOR MAKING MY MORNING YIPEE
Zandvoort (Taehyung x OC)
Summary: Somewhere in the dead of night, in a small town in Europe, Taehyung and Dilara succumb to their feelings.
Pairing: Taehyung x OC
Genre: Angst, smut
Word count: 13.3 K
Rating: 18+
Warnings: language, heartbreak, mentions of minor (as in not very major) assault, masturbation, kissing, fingering, nipple play, blowjobs, oral sex, sex, rough sex, implication of injury (consensual)
A/N: This may be the last Taehyung fic for a bit so enjoy! Not going to say much else, but hope you guys like it. It starts a couple of days after So Many Signs.
Tagging: @bbl32 @quarter-life-crisis2 @dreaming-with-happiness @kflixnet (drop a message if you want to be added)
Listen to: “every other freckle” by alt-j
taehyung masterlist | main masterlist
There’s no Dutch Grand Prix this year. It’s disappointing for everyone in Red Bull, especially since Max was a sure shot winner, just like every year. In a move to seemingly placate everyone, a shoot has been scheduled in the Zandvoort circuit in the week between the Portuguese and Russian races to ensure that even if they aren’t racing in the Netherlands, they’re at least getting photographed there.
Dilara wakes up on Tuesday, feeling like a gentle monster that’s been slumbering for years and has finally awoken. She reaches for her phone on the nightstand to see three phone calls she’s slept through, and the local time to be a respectable half past nine. The curtains she made sure to open last night allow nice, soft rays of sunlight to stream in while giving her a peek of some clear blue Netherlands sky.
She stretches and bends her legs again, when she feels something sticky between her thighs. Eyes widening in horror and mind instantly doing some math, she shoves a hand down to her bare thighs under her oversized t-shirt and brings it back out, frowning. No blood. She rubs her thighs together once more, slowly, and like a light that’s been switched on, the dream comes back with a movie-like clarity.
Dilara sighs and drops her head back down on her pillow. Even a momentary recall of it makes her core throb. Before she knows it, her hand travels down her body again and into her underwear this time, another sigh escaping her lips when she dips two fingers to nudge her clit, already swollen and soaking. She shuts her eyes, grudgingly allowing more moments of the dream to come forward: Taehyung’s mouth on her neck, his hands on her breasts, his cock stretching her out…
She starts moving her fingers faster, forcing herself to keep her moans as quiet as possible until she feels herself nearing that sweet, sweet high. She grabs the pillow and gasps when she feels it, arching her back and dropping her head when the orgasm takes rein, a breathless whisper of a name falling from her mouth.
Truthfully, Dilara isn’t all that surprised. Annoyed, yes, but ever since she kissed him three days ago, all she’s been able to think about is how much more she knows is there but can’t get. Strictly speaking, she’s quite sure she can if she asks, but no matter how sexually frustrated she is, she knows it’s a line she can’t cross right now.
It’s a tough pill to swallow, so she washes up and heads to the kitchen, hoping that the presence of other people might help her forget. There isn’t a soul there, though, so she heads outside to the private stretch of beach and, with an enviable view of the North Sea on Zandvoort beach, she stretches. By the time she returns inside half an hour later, Seokjin, Yoongi and Jungkook are bustling around the kitchen. An incredible aroma of ramen fills the room and her stomach immediately rumbles.
“Pork belly?” Yoongi asks by way of greeting, brandishing a large slice of pink meat between a pair of metallic tongs.
“Uh, no, thank you,” she answers, taken a little off guard. “I’ll just have cereal.” Dilara intends to do just that but when Jungkook arrives to sit next to her at the table with a humongous serving of mouth-watering ramen, she’s forced to abandon her sad little breakfast and dives for his bowl with a pair of chopsticks.
While he’s initially rather generous, eventually he starts getting annoyed, whining for her to go get her own, elbowing her out of the way while she mutters at him not to be such a baby.
“Suga hyung will make more,” he insists, eyes wide and pained as he tries to wrestle a tiny piece of pork from between her chopsticks. “Get your - ugh, you’re strong - go get your own bowl -”
“I can’t,” she implores again, trying to avoid his giant arms and dip the meat in the soup. “I have a race this weekend, I can’t eat red meat - Jesus, Jungkook, are you serious?”
“It’s mine, and you’ve already had half of -”
“I had two bites, JK, don’t exaggerate -”
“You did not have -”
“What are we having?” Taehyung’s voice comes out from nowhere just when a hand appears from in between them. The familiar scent of lotion, a freshly laundered shirt and sleep overwhelms her and Dilara drops her chopsticks, the piece of pork falling into the bowl with a tiny splash. Jungkook takes this opportunity to snatch the bowl and bolt to the other side of the table, but not before Taehyung manages to snag the aforementioned piece of meat and pop it into his mouth.
“Gwaenchanha?” he asks her nonchalantly as he swallows. She nods and averts her eyes, not trusting herself to speak, and hoping he can’t tell how her heart is now racing faster than her car. Her dream featuring a naked Taehyung doing unspeakable things to her flits through her mind again and she automatically squeezes her legs together, wondering when on earth she became this pathetic about her ex-boyfriend.
It’s been like this for a while, unfortunately, ever since the kiss. The day after, which was race day, felt more exciting than it had in a long time. Dilara had also managed her first win of the year and the second of her career, and while she’d been hugged by every member of the Red Bull team and, later, all other members of BTS, Taehyung was the only one she realised she’d been looking for.
Dilara and the team had celebrated into the late hours of Sunday, followed by a couple of hours of sleep in total before she and the group had to wake up for their early morning flight to Paris, and then a train to Amsterdam. It was exhausting, to say the least, and since she was made to travel separately to Paris in order to not be photographed with the group, she’d hoped for some sleep on the flight, only to be thwarted by not one but two crying babies.
The train ride, albeit with BTS, was bumpy as shit for some reason and the only sleep she’d managed to get was a half an hour nap with her head on Seokjin’s shoulder, the only member other than Yoongi who managed to sit still for longer than five minutes.
The entire time, though, a good fifty percent of her attention remained fixated on Taehyung sitting opposite her, how they caught each other sneaking glances before immediately turning away, how he offered to share the last remaining brownie with her, how when she woke up, she spotted him staring at his phone and started wondering if his lockscreen was still a picture of her.
Now, when Dilara watches him saunter into the kitchen and peer over Jin’s shoulder at a pot on the stove, she can’t help but think about how nice their kiss was, how familiar and comforting it felt. It was tentative, hesitant - neither of them were sure of what was happening. But the underlying passion was there, she knows it was. It’s insane; she hasn’t been this physically attracted to him in months, where it feels like a world of pleasure is just out of her reach.
“Lara, your phone is ringing.”
The name falls so effortlessly from his lips that it takes her a moment to understand why her heart is zooming. She walks up to the kitchen island in a trance, looking anywhere but at him. Out of the other three inhabitants of the room, only Yoongi seems to have picked up on it, if his amused frown at Taehyung is anything to go by.
Hurriedly, she picks up her phone to see Max’s name flash. “Guten tag. What’s up?”
“What time are you reaching the circuit?”
“Um…” Dilara turns to look at a clock. “In about an hour?” She avoids Taehyung’s eyes. “You?”
“An hour?”
“Yeah, this house isn’t that close to the circuit. Why?”
“Still. An hour? Are you a racing driver or what?” he asks scathingly.
“Fuck you, Verstappen. I need longer to get ready,” she snaps, rolling her eyes when he grunts his approval. “Why are you in such a hurry anyway?”
“I’m not in a hurry,” he disagrees, and she can hear voices in the background. “I just don’t want to be the only one there. I can pick you up,” he offers.
“That’s… generous. Why?”
Max is quiet for a moment. “Because I need to avoid a meeting in Amsterdam?”
There it is. “And you’re hoping that if you show up with me, you can claim you have work and ditch.”
“I knew you’d understand. I’ll buy you a coffee, too. See you in forty-five.” The line goes dead.
Slowly placing her phone down, Dilara sighs. “Well, looks like I’m driving down to Amsterdam later today. Anyone want to come with me?”
“We have to work today,” mumbles Jungkook forlornly, looking up with his huge doe eyes.
“We can go after,” suggests Hoseok, who’s also joined them. “Or tomorrow - Namjoon is going tomorrow,” he adds, pointing at the leader who’s trailing inside behind him.
“What?” Namjoon shakes his bangs out of his eyes, bleary-eyed. “Yeah, I’m going tomorrow. Kaya’s coming back from Brussels so I’ll probably stay the night at her place.”
“Kaya?” Taehyung’s eyes widen in surprise. “Bring her here!”
“Maybe the day after.”
“Yeah, they haven’t seen each other in months,” reminds Seokjin, grinning. “She won’t want to hang out with us tomorrow.”
“Wait, hang on, do I finally get to meet the famous Kaya?” Dilara asks, looking up at Namjoon, who shrugs.
“Depends. Can you stay back till Thursday?”
She deflates. “Unfortunately, my job gets in the way of that,” she mutters. “Guess I’ll just have to come down to Amsterdam by myself someday and meet her.”
“Sounds like a plan.”
Dilara leaves soon after that, taking a quick shower and waving to the guys, all of whom are awake now and in the kitchen, prowling around like hungry animals when they see her go.
It’s a long day of pure F1 PR, filming crazy sketches and doing a bunch of interviews with the AlphaTauri guys. By the end of it, after their detour into Amsterdam when Max drops her close to the house, the sky is already overcast. It’s nearly five pm when she reaches, frowning when she notices a crowd of people in the sandy backyard that extends further into the beach itself. She walks towards it, getting an inkling of what’s going on when she inches closer to hear a lot of laughter and chatter - in Korean.
Dilara stops some distance behind who she now identifies as BTS staff, around ten people behind a bunch of cameras to see the group. They’re dressed in colourful beachwear, playing what looks like some warped version of football with a beachball along with, for some reason, tennis balls also being flung and caught in the air. All the boys are shrieking and tripping over themselves before collapsing into laughter every ten seconds.
She gives up instantly on figuring out the rules - the ludicrousness and the language both prevent her from doing so - but when Namjoon kicks the ball through the air with force and Taehyung lunges for it only to fall and take Jimin and Hoseok down with him, even she can’t control her laughter.
She stifles it immediately but a couple of staff members do end up spotting her. On the other side of the camera, Jungkook catches her eye and grins and when Seokjin yells at him to pay attention, she slinks away, still taken off guard at seeing Run BTS being filmed live.
Since this means the house is empty, Dilara opts for a nap in the quiet and sleeps like the dead, waking up only when the sky is dark and she hears voices in the house. The members are back - or at least Yoongi, Hoseok and Namjoon are in the kitchen. Taking this as her cue (and the gigantic lunch she had today), she goes to the home gym for a workout, emerging no less than two hours later, adequately sweaty and full of adrenaline.
She takes the long way round to the house; down by the beach with only the white suds visible where the waves crash on the sand. The sound is the most soothing one she’s heard in ages; before she knows it, she has halted on the spot, feeling the salty breeze on her cool skin and thanking the fact that it hasn’t rained today at all. She doesn’t open her eyes until she hears footsteps; turning to her right, she spots Jeon Jungkook jogging towards her, a headband holding his messy hair back.
“Lara!” he calls gleefully, giggling when she gives him a look. “What? Taehyung hyung’s calling you that, you know.”
“I do know,” she says shortly, trying not to let on how her heart skips a beat. “I told him he could. When you punch my ex for me, you can call me Lara, too.”
He grins. “Does Taehyung hyung count?”
“I’ll give you a hundred pounds to punch Tae in the face.”
Jungkook’s face twists into a forcefully suppressed smile. “You’re calling him ‘Tae’ too, I see.”
Cheeks feeling hot, she kicks some sand at him. “Shut up. It’s a force of habit.” When all he does is laugh, Dilara looks around at the lone volleyball net just for something to distract him. “What the hell were you guys playing anyway? I mean, that was for Run, right?”
He nods. “We had to kick the big ball to the other team and in between the rally, the person who caught the most tennis balls got extra points, but only if they caught it from the other team.”
“What if they caught it from their own?”
He considers it for a moment. “Then it’s points for the team.”
“But why would you throw it to the other team at all, then?”
“Because if they miss, you get a point.”
Dilara stares at him. “Are you sure about this?”
Jungkook scoffs. “I wasn’t even sure about this while we were filming. By the end of it, Namjoon hyung was just trying not to injure anyone while me and Jimin were seeing how many times we could make Jin hyung trip.”
“He’s so lucky to have you.”
“He is. No one else compliments his cooking like I do.”
“By eating it.”
“That’s right.”
Dilara chuckles. “He does cook well. As someone who can’t cook to save her life, I can appreciate it,” she says generously. Catching his raised eyebrow, she rolls her eyes. “Do not tell me that Tae and I make so much sense together. I must have heard it, like, fifty times.”
“You do, though,” agrees Jungkook anyway, sounding somewhat relieved that he isn’t the first one to think it. “For example, I’m sure you would’ve been just as frus- pissed off with today’s game as he was. Although you would’ve been better at it,” he amends.
“I’m sure I would have. In fact, I might just be better than you,” she provokes, smirking when he grins.
“I dare you.” Reaching for the portable shed a few feet away, he retrieves the beachball. “It’s just the two of us so we have to stick to this.” He throws the ball to her and she catches it easily.
“Alright, then. Let’s see if I can figure out this ridiculous game.”
They move to opposite sides of the net and start kicking and knocking the ball over, but it becomes apparent fairly quickly that they can’t give a shit about the rules; they’re just rallying to see who drops the balls first, their common competitiveness emerging with gusto.
It’s not long before they’re joined by other people, though. About fifteen minutes into their make-believe volleyball, Dilara hears a familiar tinkling laugh and turns to see Jimin and Taehyung arrive, looking amused yet unsurprised at what they’re doing. She can empathise: she and Jungkook must look ridiculous, sweaty in workout gear, running around barefoot on the beach at night and tossing around a beachball like they’re in the Olympics.
Taehyung asks something in Korean and Jungkook nods, grinning.
“Where are the tennis balls?” Jimin asks, still laughing.
“There.” Jungkook points at the shed. “Oh, now we can play in teams!”
“Fine.” Dilara turns to Jimin and Taehyung. “JK’s better than me for now so whoever sucks more between you two can join him.”
“Oh, that’s Taehyung,” says Jimin automatically, clapping his shoulder before skipping over to her. She grins and gives him a high-five as she watches Taehyung saunter over to Jungkook, hands in the pockets of his tracks, face smooth and unimpressed.
“Okay, so it’s tall people against the rest,” declares Jungkook, making Taehyung laugh - and Dilara’s stomach does a backflip. They restart the game; if Dilara thought that the game between her and Jungkook was mindless, this one is on a whole new level. It’s hard enough to understand even the basics of this random game without the darkness making it harder to see and the lack of a referee to make impartial decisions. There’s a lot of insane running around and shrieks, mostly from Jimin, while Taehyung just stands around looking gorgeous and amused at how Jungkook and Dilara don’t let a single point go without arguing it to death.
“Go, go, get it!” Jimin yells as a tennis ball bounces and rolls away into the darkness behind them and she sees Taehyung already running towards it. Not fully sure why, she runs, too, the sand making it harder - but she’s determined to stay in front of Taehyung.
The makeshift volleyball court is no longer visible by the time the fluorescent green tennis ball comes to a stop. Dilara trips in the sand at the same time Taehyung lunges for the ball, and they tumble to the ground together. Desperate not to let him get at the ball, she pushes him down and straddles him.
Barely a second passes before her lips are on his and they’re snogging on Zandvoort beach, nothing but the night surrounding them. She threads her fingers through his hair, long and thick, shivering slightly when she feels his hands slowly run down her sides, his touch light and floaty. A cool breeze blows and his hands grab her hips, making her sigh involuntarily into his mouth, just before he flips them over.
Dilara gasps as she’s slammed into the soft sand and opens her eyes to see Taehyung hovering over her where he’s situated between her legs, gaze on her mouth as he bites his lower lip. Then, to her horror, he gets to his feet in one swift motion and winks at her, smirking as he shows off the tennis ball in his hand before running away.
By the time she reaches the backyard, it looks like the game is over. There’s some chatter, some in English and some in Korean, about the possibility of rain and sand on everyone’s clothes. Dilara can’t bring herself to pay attention; all she can concentrate on right now is how her heart is racing, how winded she feels, and how just the knowledge that Kim Taehyung is a few feet away is making her abdomen burn in a way it hasn’t in months.
Dilara can feel him looking at her, but for the sake of her own sanity and self-respect, she resists the urge to return his gaze. Her lips are still tingling when she steps into the shower and rinses the sand off her hair, watching the granules wash down her body and into the drain.
The last time she and Taehyung were in a shower together was… last December, in Italy. He’d snuck up behind her while she washed her hair and had silently begun soaping her while she got hot and bothered all by herself, finally having to whisper to him to please, please put her out of her agony.
She knew he enjoyed it, watching the effect he had on her, seeing how long it took her to succumb to him and beg him to make her feel good. It aroused him to no end, the feeling of being that desired. As for her, all it took was Taehyung.
It takes all her inner strength to resist fingering herself in the shower. Just before she’s about to step out, she turns the settings down so the water immediately changes in temperature from warm and steamy to lukewarm to positively chilly. It takes care of her problem for the time being, so she gets dressed and heads out to the kitchen.
Dilara runs her fingers through her wet hair, rummaging through the cabinets for some dinner, but mostly just to distract herself. She retrieves a box of cereal, contemplating.
“That’s your dinner?”
Like the chopsticks this morning, the box slips out of her hand in shock, spilling bits of cornflakes on the counter. “Christ, don’t - don’t sneak up on me like that,” she mutters, hating how her pulse has been on high alert all day.
Taehyung raises his eyebrows. “I walked into the kitchen. I’m standing, like, five feet away from you,” he points out, annoyingly correct.
The fact that he’s affecting her this much even from five feet away isn’t lost on Dilara, and it only gets worse when he casually walks up behind her to reach for a bottle of water and the smell of his lotion and shampoo engulfs her.
“Fucking hell,” she whispers, putting a hand to her forehead.
“Are you okay?”
“M-hm.” Dilara turns around to face him, leaning back against the counter. “I’m great. What about you?”
Taehyung smirks, and she knows all pretence is dropped. “Not bad. Did you have fun? At the game?”
“So much fun. Jungkook’s really good.” She pauses, waiting for him to slowly nod. “You’re not bad either.”
“Thanks. What time is your flight tomorrow?” This time, the playfulness dims slightly and she’s suddenly transported back to last year, to every time they had to leave each other.
“Um, six pm.”
“So you need to leave around… three?”
“Two… just to be safe.” Dilara fights a smile at his automatic pout which he immediately tries to hide. “Right after the shoot.”
Taehyung nods, not looking at her. “And, uh… Max is going with you, right?”
She gives him a look. “You know I travel all the time, right? I can take care of myself.”
His head snaps up. “What? No, of course, I - I know. I know you can,” he repeats, eyes softening slightly. “Just… you know, I’m concerned. As a - as a friend.”
“As a friend,” repeats Dilara, eyes widening, grinning when he chuckles and shakes his head. “You’re worried about me as a friend?”
“Okay, a little more than a friend,” he concedes, stepping closer and dropping his gaze to her mouth. The inadvertent admission makes her heart pound, becoming harder when he brings a hand up to her hair and grips a wet strand near her neck with two fingers. A bead of water squeezes out and lands on her thin t-shirt, just above her breast, immediately soaking through.
It’s slower but fully, unabashedly mutual this time, how they gravitate towards each other and their mouths meet. It’s more frantic, however, with their hands grabbing at each other - but it only lasts about five seconds until they’re interrupted once again.
“Should we have ramen?” Jungkook announces his arrival with an important question. “I can make some.”
Taehyung clears his throat as he steps away from Dilara, running a hand through his wet hair and looking appropriately frustrated. She gives him a warning look before turning to Jungkook, who’s now peering into the rice cooker.
“Um… yeah, sounds good. Is it just us?” she asks, suddenly realising that she hasn’t seen the other four in hours.
“Hoseok hyung and Suga hyung went out for drinks,” explains Jimin, also appearing and smelling overwhelmingly of citrus, “and Namjoon hyung and Jin hyung went to Amsterdam so they’ll be late.”
“Kaya’s back?”
“No, she’s coming tomorrow. If she was here I don’t think Jin hyung would’ve gone…”
“Yeah, even he knows not to interrupt them after three months…”
The conversation continues as the smell of ramen fills the kitchen. Midway during the meal, Jimin gets a call from Hoseok, claiming that he and Yoongi are drunk and need a ride back. Dilara volunteers immediately, only to get drowned out by all three scoffing before she can even get all the words out.
“Excuse me?”
“It’s the middle of the night. It’s not safe for you to go by yourself,” says Taehyung calmly, leaning back in his chair.
“It’s literally ten o’clock,” she points out, ignoring the sudden whoosh in her stomach.
“Still late,” agrees Jungkook. “Just because you walked back this late on Saturday night doesn’t mean it’s always -”
“Wait - Saturday night?” Taehyung frowns. “When were you -”
“It’s not important,” she interrupts quickly, standing up and walking over to the bowl of keys on top of the fridge. It doesn’t seem important to tell him that the only way she could unwind from the whole Jaden incident was to go play FIFA with Charles and Lando at their hotel.
“I’m the only one out of us that hasn’t had anything to drink,” she reminds them. “And if it’s really bothering you that much, you can come with me, JK,” she offers, grabbing the sleeve of his shirt and pulling him up.
“Good idea,” pipes Jimin from his seat, not even pretending to get up. “I think both Hobi hyung and Suga hyung will have forgotten their English when they’re this drunk anyway.”
“Cool. We’ll see you in a bit,” she tells them, meeting Taehyung’s smooth, cold stare before the door closes behind her.
It doesn’t take too long to find them once Jungkook puts them on speaker, despite the screaming and giggling instructions from Yoongi and Hoseok respectively in Korean, just as Jimin predicted. The entire trip takes about an hour; by the time they get back to the house, Namjoon and Seokjin are back as well, both looking tired after a night out.
Jimin takes charge of Hoseok, in hysterics the whole time, while Namjoon volunteers for Yoongi, rolling his eyes. Seokjin follows them, cackling with Jungkook who’s holding up a camera and filming them. To no surprise of hers, Taehyung hangs back, leaning against the kitchen island.
“Hoseok and Suga have been very nice to me,” she explains after a few seconds. “I figured I could give them a ride.”
“You snuck out on Saturday night?” he asks, but doesn’t sound annoyed, just mildly exasperated.
“I didn’t sneak out, I went out,” she corrects him. “And, yeah. I went to hang out with Lando and Charles for a bit. In case you don’t remember, it was a pretty stressful night.” She stops a couple of feet away from him.
“Still not safe,” he murmurs, and she notices his fingers twitch at his sides.
“No,” she agrees. “Why? Were you worried about me? As a friend?”
Taehyung laughs self-consciously and lowers his head before meeting her eyes. “Little more than a friend,” he repeats.
The unexpected emotion in his voice catches Dilara off guard. She suspects their kiss on Saturday started it all, but kissing him on the beach today might have opened the floodgates to the heaps of unresolved feelings between them - starting with the most primal ones.
There’s no point thinking about it now, though, especially not when the house is bustling with drunk, unpredictable people who, as she remembers from Monterey last year, seem to have a thing for calling out PDA. Right on cue, Namjoon and Jimin appear and the moment’s gone, and eventually she mutters a goodnight and heads back into her room to pack for her flight to Sochi tomorrow. It’s not the best way to leave, she reflects as she zips up her suitcase, wondering if she’ll have to resort to her fingers and vibrator for the rest of the week.
Sleep is harder to come by than expected, especially when her mind seems stuck on one Kim Taehyung in bed elsewhere in the house, possibly in nothing but pajama bottoms and messy hair, mindlessly scrolling through his phone with long fingers that are capable of so much more.
Dilara’s mind goes back to Saturday again, how they’d managed to sneak in a few moments of privacy because they’d bumped into each other in the middle of the night. It’s too much to hope for such a coincidence to occur again but given how sleep is evading her anyway, she climbs out of bed to at least take a sleeping pill, if nothing else.
She’s at the kitchen island, a half-full bottle of water in front of her, with no idea what the time is - she’s guessing late.
“Did you drink all that?”
“Jesus!” Dilara whispers loudly, clutching her chest as she spots a tall figure come up behind her. “What are you - waiting for me?” When all she hears is a quiet snicker, she huffs. “For fuck’s sake, Tae, stop doing that.”
She half-expects him to say doing what, but instead he’s silent for a moment. Then, she hears his voice right at her shoulder.
“Say that again.” Taehyung’s voice is soft, and Dilara shivers. Slowly, he places his hands on either side of her, his chest just brushing her back.
“Stop doing that?” she ventures, hearing her own breath hitch.
He shakes his head, his long hair grazing the side of her face. “No,” he says softly, lowering his head so she can feel his breath on her shoulder. “Say my name.”
Dilara closes her eyes, her hands curling into fists where they’re gripping the granite. The familiar scent of lotion and something that’s just so Taehyung is overwhelming to the point where her knees feel weak even with no physical contact, and she finds herself succumbing to her impulses, just like she had two years ago.
Cornered between him and the kitchen island, she leans back into his chest and feels him stiffen behind me. “Tae.” It comes out almost like a plea.
Taehyung lowers his head again onto her shoulder, his warm breath against the side of her neck. He softly presses his lips to her skin, in the hollow between her collarbone and her shoulder. He trails his kisses slowly upwards, warm and open-mouthed, until he reaches her earlobe. Grazing his teeth against the soft skin, he sighs.
“Your skin tastes like silk, you know,” he whispers, brushing her hair away, long fingers lingering on her shoulder. Dilara tilts her head to give him better access and he pulls at her earlobe with his teeth, making her gasp. “I’d almost forgotten…”
He tugs the collar of her thin t-shirt away slightly, kisses becoming more fervent now. It’s like he’s revelling in torturing her, taking his time and ignoring how she’s breathing slow and deep.
As he sucks a mark above her collarbone, his left hand moves from her shoulder down to her chest and he pauses before gently squeezing her breast. Dilara gasps at the sensation and without thinking about it, she moves her hand up to cover his, encouraging him to go on. He hardens behind her, his erection resting firm against the small of her back. His lips don’t leave her neck as he moves his hand down and up her t-shirt, cupping her bra-covered breast.
“You’ll tell me to stop?” Taehyung asks, lips against the shell of her ear. He sounds breathless, raw - like he’s just about holding himself back with all his restraint.
Dilara nods, sinking back further into him. “Please don’t stop, Tae,” she whispers faintly, and at the sound of his name, his mouth finally finds hers. She snakes her arm around his neck to hold him in place, kissing him back with everything she’s got, pressing her tongue to his, tasting him, addicted to his flavour. His hips buckle slightly and she’s pressed up against the kitchen island and he yanks the cup of her bra down with a hiss before his fingers find her hard, erect nipple.
She moans into his mouth as he pinches it between his fingers, twisting it until she pulls away from the kiss to catch her breath. Her head resting back against his shoulders, she can feel his lips trail down her jaw eagerly before he finally drops his other hand from the counter and places it on her hip, gripping it and holding her pelvis against his.
Dilara reaches behind her to palm the tent in his pajamas and he groans softly, his left hand now moving across her chest and pulling the other cup down, too, massaging her breast. His right hand snakes down her hips and directly to between her legs, palming her suddenly. She whimpers out loud and he immediately pinches her nipple in warning.
“Shh,” he murmurs, voice deep and tight and velvety all at once. “Someone might hear you. What if they come out to see what I’m doing to you?” The way his erection twitches against her back, she can tell the prospect turns him on just as much as it does her.
“What if they see your fingers inside me?” Dilara prompts softly, hoping he’ll take the hint. “Let them see… I don’t care.”
With a quiet growl against her neck, Taehyung squeezes her core again and this time she bites down on her lip to keep from moaning out loud. “I can feel you soaking through your shorts, love,” he murmurs, pushing two fingers against her clothed clit. “How wet have you been getting for me all night?”
“So fucking wet…” Dilara answers in defeat, wanting more than anything to feel him inside her. “You’ve got me so fucking wet, Tae… please don’t make me wait any longer, baby…”
“You’re going to kill me, Lara,” he groans, slipping his hand straight into her underwear and into her dripping cunt, two fingers entering her straight away. She gasps and moves to fall forward but he holds her against him, and she can feel him watching her, watching her face as she comes unravelled. His thumb moves up to find her clit, swollen and pulsing for his touch. It takes everything in her to not cry out loud as his fingers move faster, slipping a third finger inside of her and stretching me out.
“Tae, I’m so close,” she whispers, and he moves his other hand from under her shirt to wrap around her waist and hold her steady. “Oh, God, I’m so close… don’t stop…”
“Fuck, you’re so beautiful, Lara…” Taehyung murmurs against her temple, his fingers speeding up now. Her knees tremble as her orgasm washes over me, and his fingers slow down slightly to help her ride it out. She sinks back against him, her breath still coming out ragged as she vaguely registers how sub-standard her own fingers have been this whole time.
Taehyung’s lips brush against her cheek as he retrieves his hand and Dilara turns around on the spot, immediately capturing his lips in hers, kissing him like she hasn’t in ages. His arms are tight around her, holding her to him as they let their impulses take over.
She reaches for the waistband of his pajamas and tugs them down before getting down on her knees, ignoring the sudden chill of the tile floor on her bare knees. Pulling his pajamas and boxers down slightly, she helps him slip his erection out, the tip already glistening with precum, making her silently groan at the sight.
Grasping him firmly and stroking him once, Dilara bites her lips when his breath hitches and his hands snap forward to grasp the kitchen counter. She reaches out with her tongue first, taking just his tip in her mouth before pulling away and spreading the precum down his shaft to lubricate it. Taehyung lets out another guttural groan, looking unbelievably beautiful from where she’s looking up at him, his neck long with two veins popping as he struggles to stay quiet. She has to consciously look away and back down at him, stroking him once more before taking him in her mouth. She takes him in as much as she can, running her lips along his length slowly as she holds his thigh with her other hand for support.
One of his hands reaches for her head and he buries his fingers in her hair, groaning softly when she moans around him. Mouth still on him, Dilara trains her eyes up to look at him and immediately freezes, an image tugging at her mind that makes her stomach drop. No. No. No, not now, please. But it’s too late; the image is there and she knows she only has seconds before her mind takes over and the moment is ruined. She pulls away and drops his cock from her hand, registering vaguely how he looks down at her.
“What’s wrong?” Taehyung’s voice is hoarse, but the concern sounds genuine.
Dilara stands up and meets his eyes for a moment, and she thinks he can tell what’s on her mind because the passion in his expression starts to fade. Without thinking about it, she reaches up and kisses him, opening her mouth and pressing her body against his, silently begging him to make her forget. Taehyung takes a moment to catch on before he pulls her to him, brushing her hair back and devouring her, letting his hands run down her side and to her arse, squeezing it and pressing her pelvis to his as thunder roars outside.
Her core is starting to throb again; clutching his shirt and pulling him even closer, she nips at his bottom lip before she turns them around and starts walking backwards. Her back touches the door and he pushes it open, not breaking contact with each other for even a moment. Taking off her own t-shirt, she ignores his quiet groan and tugs on the bottom of his to make him take it off, before pushing him back down on the bed just as the rain starts pouring.
“Oof,” he groans softly, but makes no move to get up. “Where are you going?” he asks, propping himself up on his elbows; with his tousled blond hair, bare torso and visible erection in his boxers, he looks like the ultimate wet dream.
Dilara strides over to her suitcase anyway, unzipping it to retrieve her toiletry kit perched on top, rummaging to find what she was looking for. Making her way back to Taehyung, she wordlessly tosses the condom packet on the bed before climbing on top of him.
She scrapes her fingernails down his torso, hearing him hiss and feeling his hand squeeze her arse. Rolling her hips forward, the friction of his bulge against her core is almost too much to bear, but she forces herself to rally. She moves down from his lips briefly down to his jaw, to his collarbones and the middle of his chest before shuffling lower and tugging his pajamas and boxers down his legs and tossing them on the floor.
“Lara, you don’t have to -” Taehyung’s voice is hoarse, a tight combination of desire and apprehension, but he’s cut off when she grasps him again and his words are replaced by a groan. His eyes find hers just before they flutter shut, and she can tell he knows that this is bigger than him, bigger than his preference for dominance; this is a challenge she cannot back down from.
This time when Dilara takes him in her mouth, she doesn’t hold back. She’s wet and sloppy, her tongue swirling around his head and touching the tip to the back of her throat. She knows it’s how he likes it and his raspy moans are enough to assure her that she hasn’t forgotten. It’s something else to see Taehyung in the throes of passion; he’s beautiful in the most ethereal way possible and Dilara is determined not to let a pathetic memory that isn’t even hers deprive her of it, because if there’s one thing she isn’t wired to do, it’s lose.
“Fuck, I’m -”
Taehyung’s fingers tangle around her hair and he clutches at it. His hips buckle at the last moment and he spills into her mouth with a drawn out groan, and just the sound of it makes her stomach flip. Dilara swallows and releases him, leaving him semi-erect and straddling him again to see him breathlessly opening his eyes to look up at her.
It’s almost as though he’s seeing someone else… or someone after a long time. She lowers her head to kiss him and he responds at once, running his hands up her sides and down her hips and thighs, grabbing at the flesh hard enough to leave bruises. She breaks away momentarily to sit up halfway and unhook her bra, barely tossing it aside before he rises to kiss her with a low growl. He slips one hand under the fabric of her shorts and squeezes her arse before spanking it.
Dilara gasps into his mouth and the next thing she knows, Taehyung’s flipped them over again just like he had at the beach a million years ago. In the momentary brightness from a crack of lightning, she sees his eyes dark and full of lust, his expression almost feral. The heat between her legs becomes unbearable as she pictures the things he’s about to do, as he cups the side of her face and tilts it up so he can suck a harsh mark right above her collarbone. She can’t help but moan out loud, especially when she feels his naked chest against hers and her soaked core against his pelvic bone.
Mouth still at her neck, Taehyung brings one hand to her breast, massaging it and running his fingers over the hardened peak of her nipple. She bites down on her lip to keep from being too loud but it’s so hard when he’s teasing her like this; without thinking, she brings her own hand up to do what he won’t when he grabs it reflexively and pins it to the pillow next to her head.
Taking care to meet her gaze, he moves his lips down her neck and chest, agonizingly slow before he finally reaches her nipple. He brushes his tongue over it and lets his teeth graze it until she squirms and blurts out, whimpering, “God, please, Tae!”
Dilara feels him groan against her skin. “I love hearing you beg,” he mutters, before finally taking her nipple into his mouth and sucking on it. Her back arches and she moans again, louder when his other hand squeezes her hip. He eventually lets it go, kissing every inch of her sternum with wet, open-mouthed kisses until he reaches the waistband of her shorts. Straightening up, he pulls them down along with her underwear in one swift movement, exposing her to the cool night and making her shiver in anticipation.
Taehyung groans as he lowers himself to come between her legs, holding her thighs apart as he views her dripping pussy for the first time in nearly a year. “Fuck, you’re so wet for me,” he murmurs, a note of victory in his voice. He presses a kiss to her left knee before trailing his lips up her inner thigh, sucking small marks into the skin and taking his own sweet time until he finally, finally reaches her core. She knows what’s coming; how he’s going to drag this out until she’s a writhing, screaming mess, begging for him to make her cum.
“So eager,” he observes, his mouth a hair’s breadth away from her arousal. Dilara can feel his breath on her and her toes curl on the bed, her hands clutch at the sheets. Taehyung kisses her outer lips and she whimpers again, but he barely seems to hear her. “God, I’ve missed how you taste,” he murmurs wistfully before running his tongue up her slit. She moans and drops her head back on her pillow as he, now unleashed, continues his assault on her pussy.
Taehyung’s down there for what feels like forever, alternating between her clit and her core, using his lips, his tongue and his fingers to take her all the way to the edge before just bringing her back. “Tae, I wanna cum,” she cries eventually, pulling at his blond hair between her legs and running her foot down his bare back. “Fuck, Tae, you feel so good, I wanna cum, baby, please…”
Coming up slightly to suck on her clit again while one of his hands pumps two fingers in and out of her, Taehyung hums into her, and she hopes it’s a sign of agreement. The heat is bordering on painful now but she’s finally nearing her high and it’s so close - and then it washes over her and she shudders in an earth-shattering orgasm. He patiently lets her ride it out, slowing his lips but not detaching completely, helping her along until she’s in danger of being overstimulated.
“Tae…”
She says his name and he crawls up, mouth and chin slick with her juices. Taehyung kisses her, his naked body completely covering hers as the rain continues to pour outside. Their hands are everywhere and Dilara can feel his erection come back, stiff against her hip.
She knows Taehyung can go on for hours if he wants, changing positions, alternating between being on top and the bottom, going from gentle to ravaging depending on the mood. Dilara doesn’t know how long ago he fingered her in the kitchen - it feels like a lifetime away. Here, alone with him in the most raw, primal form as her hands shamelessly roam all over his torso, nails digging into his back as he sucks another mark above her breast, she’s lost all sense of time and space.
“Where’s the condom?” he whispers, lips right under her ear, voice so deep and calm that at first she isn’t even sure what he’s said. “Lara,” he says, slightly louder this time, nipping at her earlobe to get her attention. “Where’s the condom, jagiya?”
“It’s, um -” Dilara can’t form the words, so she reaches out with her right hand and pats the bed, hoping to feel the cold, metallic packet.
“Got it.” Taehyung’s body disappears from on top of her and she opens her eyes to see him sit up with the blue packet in his hand. He rips it open and massages his length once before slipping on the condom. Dilara doesn’t know how much more her body can handle but she knows she wants this, so bad.
“God, I can’t get enough of you, Lara,” he half-whines, bending to kiss her again as one hand snakes down her front between her legs to cup her. Her swollen clit brushes against his palm and she moans into his mouth, pulling away to catch her breath.
“I - I need -” But Dilara can’t find the words, even less so when Taehyung bites his lip above her, his expression a mixture of satisfaction and absolute, unbridled desire. He bends to kiss her passionately before gripping her hip and flipping her over.
Taehyung stifles a low groan before pressing a kiss to her arse cheek, kneading the flesh before spanking it again. The suddenness of it makes her gasp and she clenches her walls just as he dips a finger into her folds.
Dilara muffles her groan into the pillow but Taehyung does no such thing, muttering "Fuck" as he moves his fingers up to her clit, already sore. His other hand runs up her body soothingly, coming under her to gently cup her breast and massage it until she’s soaking again.
"Tell me what you want, baby."
She whimpers at Taehyung's classic question during sex, his power play, his insurance and her consent. He whispers it into her ear, lips brushing the silver ring piercing her helix and his chest pressed against her back, both damp and sweaty by now.
"I want you to fuck me, Tae," she murmurs, partly out of breath, knowing how much he'll love hearing that. "Please, please fuck me, baby…"
Taehyung’s fingers disappear abruptly and she whines into the pillow. A moment later she feels another hard spank on her arse cheek before he gently strokes the stinging area, groaning softly. Dilara pictures him stroking himself before she feels him grab her hips with both hands and raise it an inch off the bed.
“Spread your legs,” he commands softly, and the low, deep voice makes her shiver. She obeys and opens wider as far as her legs will allow her to, just before he slams into her. This time, she can’t bother stifling the sound of her moan and it doesn’t even seem as though Taehyung cares; his low, throaty grunts only get her wetter as he pounds into her and she props herself up on her forearms, vaguely aware of how her long hair is tangled down her shoulders and over her face.
“You’re so - God, you’re so… so fucking tight,” he murmurs, squeezing her arse as his rhythm increases. Taehyung’s big, probably the biggest she’s been with and even though she’s never expressly told him that, she’s sure he’s aware for every single time they’ve ever fucked since Japan, he finds a way to remind her. She whimpers as he stretches out her walls almost painfully, her arms giving out eventually so her front falls against the pillow.
Dilara feels him pull out and she wants to protest but she doesn’t think she can ever speak again. She feels his warm hand stroke her arm before he turns her around onto her back. Bending down to press a sweet kiss to her lips, Taehyung brushes her sweaty bangs off her forehead. “Sure you can keep going?” he asks quietly, his other hand resting on her hip.
Dilara can’t imagine saying no. Pulling him down to kiss him again, she nods frantically. “Yeah,” she whispers, catching her breath, “yeah, I want…”
Taehyung’s beautiful mouth curves into a smile and morphs into an expression of ecstasy as he sinks into her again. They groan together as he bottoms out, his balls brushing against her skin as he goes deep into her. She wraps her legs around his waist as he rolls his hips into hers, and she knows she’s close; she has about a minute, tops, before she comes undone once again tonight.
“Harder, Tae…” Dilara gasps as he complies immediately, fucking her with all his strength. Her walls clench automatically and he groans loudly.
“Fuck, Lara, you’re gonna make me come so hard, baby…”
Her back arches and her sounds grow louder. She clutches at his shoulders, sinking her nails into the lean muscle. “Don’t stop, Tae, don’t stop…”
“You’re doing so well, Lara…” Taehyung’s grunts are louder now, mixing with her whimpers. “Fuck, Lara, I want to… fuck, I love you, I love you so much -” He lifts her right leg up and pushes her thigh into her chest, hitting her g-spot so sweetly that she knows she only has seconds. He goes faster now, apparently unaware of what he’s doing, what he’s saying…
“Tae, I’m -” Dilara’s words are cut off by an explosion again and she shudders, feeling every last speck of energy leave her. This orgasm lasts a bit longer; Taehyung slows down slightly and presses an open-mouthed kiss to her exposed neck. Dilara falls back against the covers, thoroughly exhausted and when she nudges his hip with her foot, he takes it as permission to resume.
“Lara, I’m close,” he mutters, thrusting into her once again before rapidly speeding up. He lifts his torso up to give himself more support and continues before finally groaning deep inside her. A couple more thrusts later, he drops his head onto her shoulder, turning slowly to kiss the side of her neck.
Taehyung’s weight feels so familiar, so comforting, so protective. Dilara brings her hand to the back of his head, exhaling silently at his low hum of contentment. He looks up then, face inches above hers. It’s overwhelming, this feeling. It’s just them; there’s absolutely nobody else in this moment, in this private, intimate moment.
Dilara’s mind is still hazy and all she can focus on is Taehyung, his gaze, his large, soft eyes. She moves her hand slightly to finger the long, blond locks at the base of his neck, thick and damp, just as he lowers his head to kiss her once more.
It’s a short yet passionate kiss and when they pull apart, he rests his forehead against hers for a moment. “You’re incredible,” he murmurs, almost shyly, as he lifts his head up.
Dilara nods, a little self-conscious with the way he’s looking at her. “Um, I need to…” She glances in the direction she’s talking about and her heart flutters at the hint of a smile playing on his lips. Taehyung nods and pulls out of her slowly before rolling off onto his side. She clambers off the bed awkwardly, trying not to wince when she brings her legs together.
Noticing the pile of discarded clothes on the floor, she decides against it, at the last moment opting to take the rumpled sheet off the bed and wrap it around her as she heads to the bathroom. She turns around to look at him before shutting the door to see him sitting up against the headboard, completely naked, watching her leave. When he notices her turn, he tilts his head back and smirks, making her stomach flip.
During her routine post-sex bathroom break, Dilara can’t help but finally acknowledge how much pain she’s in already - and how sore she’s sure to be tomorrow. Dully, she counts the number of hours she has left before she needs to get into the car again. It’s the wee hours of Wednesday by now, surely; that gives her a little over forty-eight hours to recover - which doesn’t seem impossible. When she stands up and faces the mirror, her silhouette is enough to tell her that her hair is tangled and messy beyond repair which means she has no recourse but to wash and condition it before the shoot tomorrow.
Sighing, Dilara picks up the sheet and loosely wraps it around herself before opening the door to see Taehyung sitting on the edge of the bed, just his pajamas on, elbow resting on his thigh as he scrolls though his phone. When he hears her, he looks up and a shy smile spreads across his face as he stands up to walk over to her. The rain has stopped and the sky has lightened marginally; it must be nearly dawn, she realises.
“Are you okay?” he asks, stopping a decent couple of feet away from her. Despite the intense, long-lasting sex, the thought of his honey-coloured torso within arm’s reach does things to her. She forces herself to look up at his face, and her heart stutters. She remembers then that he’s asked her something.
“What? Oh, uh, yeah.” Dilara shrugs awkwardly. “It’s just… you know. It’s been a while.” She bites her lip, trying to suppress a small smile. “You haven’t changed. Still got the stamina of an athlete.”
Taehyung grins. “Thanks. You haven’t changed either. Flexible as always,” he adds, winking when she rolls her eyes. He looks incredible; in the faint light from the window, his face is illuminated in a silvery blue glow. Draped in nothing but a sheet she’s clutching to her chest, she suddenly feels very small in front of him.
“Is your hand okay?”
He glances at the back of his right hand, his knuckles still an angry red. “A lot better. I tried to use this one as less as possible.”
“You messed up my hair,” she chides softly, nudging his shoulder.
Taehyung shrugs, reaching up to smooth her hair. “You still look beautiful. And it didn’t seem like you were complaining,” he adds after a moment, smirking slightly. “Or is that what all the noise was?”
“Shut up,” she mutters, feeling her cheeks heat up. “Shit, I’m sure everyone heard us,” she groans, falling against the doorframe before straightening up.
“Maybe,” he says, sounding rather indifferent. He takes a small step closer. “I don’t really care.”
Dilara says nothing to that, knowing he’s just being honest. There are some things that would embarrass most people, but Taehyung genuinely does not care about them. Being loud during sex is one. She wonders if confessions during sex is another. His gaze is too intense, too adoring for her to believe he said it in the heat of the moment. He meant it, she’s sure, and while there’s a part of her that’s ecstatic, there’s also the part that’s more wary than ever, for she isn’t sure she can give him what he wants this time.
He’s close enough now that the kiss is no surprise. It’s soft and gentle - the complete opposite of what just transpired on the bed. He raises one hand to lightly rest on the side of her face, but otherwise they stay where they are. His lips mould so perfectly with hers; there’s none of that hesitance that was present the night she kissed him in Portugal. It’s comfortable and familiar, to the point where she can’t fathom how she went so long without it, and worse, how she can continue without it.
They break apart mutually. Taehyung drops his hand and swallows. “Do you want me to stay?” he asks hesitantly.
Dilara can tell now that this has been on his mind since the moment they were done. Evidently he wasn’t able to decide if she’d want him to stay or leave and he presumably didn’t want to pressure her either way, which was why he got half-dressed. She also appreciates that he asked her if she wants him to stay and not if she wants him to leave, knowing it’s harder to answer the latter than the former.
She bites her lip, continuing to meet his gaze. “I’m not ready,” she admits finally.
Taehyung nods, looking as though he’d expected this. He brushes her cheekbone with his injured knuckle before leaning down and pressing a soft kiss to her cheek. She tries not to lean into it too much and resists the urge to turn her head and kiss him back. “I’ll see you in the morning, Lara,” he murmurs, stepping back. “Sleep well.”
Dilara nods as he steps further back and slips on his t-shirt before ruffling his hair. Giving her a small, reassuring smile, Taehyung exits her room, shutting the door quietly behind him.
—
Dilara limps into the kitchen the next morning, hoping to be completely invisible. She doesn't make eye contact with anyone, fortunately sidling in in the middle of a joke being told in Korean. Jimin, who's the one doing the narrating, seamlessly greets her mid-sentence before delving back into his story. She isn’t even sure who else is in the room; it's only some of them… but Taehyung is definitely one of them.
She bustles around as quietly as she can, procuring milk and cereal. When she turns around to retrieve a bowl, she sees Jimin, Yoongi, Hoseok, Jungkook and Taehyung in the room, all laughing at whatever story Jimin is relaying. She hears her name then and it takes her a second to realise Jungkook is speaking to her because he automatically starts off in Korean.
"Huh?"
"Sorry - are you okay?" Jungkook frowns, looking concerned.
Dilara smooths down her hair as a reflex. "Yeah… why wouldn't I be?"
"You're limping," he points out innocently and she instantly wants to die. "Did you hurt yourself?"
Dilara almost chokes. "No, it's just… uh, period cramps," she lies, knowing that it's a topic uncomfortable enough that Jungkook won't probe.
Predictably, Jungkook goes red. "Oh, you can - I mean, I have -" He stutters, looking around at his older members desperately. "... Ibuprofen," he mutters eventually.
"Thanks, Jungkook." She hopes the topic dies there but unfortunately, she catches Hoseok frowning as well. "What?"
"It looks like an injury," he states, tilting his head. "You were opening up your hips just now," he says and she realises in horror that he's right. "Did you go to the gym yesterday?"
"Yeah. Yeah, I did. It's possible I could've… yeah, maybe." Dilara deliberately doesn't look in Taehyung’s direction, mostly because she’s quite sure what he looks like. Pride and concern would be the top expressions, mixed with just a bit of wariness at the questioning.
Yoongi raises his eyebrows in an expression that indicates he believes her, but it’s taking him a hell of an effort to do so. Her eyes finally go to Taehyung, who’s sitting cross legged on the floor, fiddling with what looks like one of Jungkook’s action figures. His mouth twitches for a moment before it goes blank.
“Namjoon hyung,” he calls, interrupting Hoseok who was surely about to ask another question. “What time do we have to be at the location?”
“A couple of hours, actually. Jimin and Jungkook - you two need to go live before that,” he reminds them. This is followed by Jimin whining in Korean and additional chatter, successfully taking the attention away from Dilara as she’s left alone to finish her breakfast. Namjoon must have told them all to get ready, for they mill around the kitchen and eventually start trudging inside one by one.
Breathing a silent sigh of relief, Dilara washes her bowl and spoon when Taehyung joins her. “I can do that,” he says softly, holding up a dry cloth and taking the bowl from her. She lets him, watching as he dries it and stacks it inside the cabinet.
“Thanks.”
He gives her a small smile that holds far more than it should. She’s reminded of his inadvertent confession last night, how he’d said it loud and clear, and averts her gaze.
“Are you okay?” Taehyung asks, lightly touching the small of her back. It sounds different from the way Jungkook asked her.
Dilara nods. “It’s not too bad. I’ll be fine,” she adds. “Are you okay?” she asks after a moment, part playfully.
“Me? I’ll be fine,” he says seriously. He touches a wavy strand of hair that’s fallen out of her makeshift bun. “Do you need to wash your hair?”
“Wash, detangle, brush,” she informs him, giving him a look. “It’s going to be a pain.”
“Mhm. Does that mean you regret it?” he asks, his voice a bit smaller. “Last night?”
Anyone with half a brain cell could tell he isn’t asking about her hair. Dilara considers it, images of last night flashing through her mind. Every touch had been electric and their spark had gone nowhere. Despite everything, he elicited feelings of pleasure and ecstasy like no one else ever could, and still made her feel like she was the only person in the world after it.
“No,” she admits, a bit hesitant. “I don’t.” A moment passes where she doesn’t look at him. “What about you? Do you regret it?”
Taehyung exhales softly. “A little bit.”
Dilara’s heart drops. Swallowing, she looks up at him, wondering why, after everything, he would… He returns her gaze with the same smooth, impassive expression. It takes her another moment of observing his face before her own relaxes, and she smacks his shoulder with the back of her hand.
Taehyung winces and grabs his arm, laughing as she walks away in a huff. “What? You know my answer,” he calls after her, still chuckling when she doesn’t respond. “I’ll see you at the shoot?”
“Shut up, Kim,” comes her voice from inside, just before she shuts her bedroom door behind her.
The shoot is located close to the house; yet, they still only make it in the nick of time. Dilara, who had been requested to travel separately so as to not attract attention by arriving with BTS, is already at the location, getting a coffee with Max.
“Someone looks happier,” comments Max, gesturing towards the group as they trundle in.
Dilara follows his gaze, predictably landing straight on Taehyung, looking unreadable as ever, with half his face hidden behind gigantic sunglasses. “Does he look happier?” she asks, frowning.
“Well, he looks less depressed than he has since September.”
It’s true; she watches as he saunters in, hands in his pockets, and surveying the location coolly. Then he takes off his sunglasses and squints slightly before looking right at Dilara, and his face breaks into a smile. Dilara averts her gaze immediately, suppressing a smile of her own, and ends up facing Max.
“Ah,” he says deliberately after a moment. “I see.”
“Don’t,” she warns him.
“We’ve really come a long way from the fashion show, huh.”
“Max.”
“No more of that responsibility to get you nice and drunk so you can forget,” he remembers fondly.
“Shut up.”
“Not when you have all the privacy to rekindle that Suzuka romance - not to mention do whatever you -”
“Max Emilian Verstappen!” Dilara exclaims, loud enough that a few people turn to look at her while Max guffaws into his coffee cup. “Are you done?” she hisses. “This is a work setting. There are professionals here - can we save the teasing for the long-ass flight to Sochi?”
Max waits patiently for her to finish. “You have a hickey the size of a rock on your neck.” With that, he waves to her and walks away.
Predictably, Dilara’s first stop from there is hair and make-up, determined to have the incriminating mark covered up before anyone else sees it, especially one of the guys. She doesn’t believe Taehyung would tell them about last night - bragging has never been his style - but with the embarrassing questioning this morning and the hickey? It would be obvious as hell and Dilara doesn’t think she can take Jimin’s reaction to it today.
Thankfully, there’s no one in there. She snags a bottle of concealer and does a rather shoddy job of covering up the hickey, but she doesn’t care. It’s better than the looks the make-up artists are sure to give each other and she’s just thankful that none of the other hickeys on her body are in visible places.
Fortunately, no one else spots the hickey. The shoot commences, everyone in AlphaTauri sporting gear and posing around cars and bikes and other equipment. Dilara is so relieved at the normalcy that even being the only person in a sports bra in the chilly weather, while the others pose in jackets and t-shirts, can’t dampen her mood.
By the end of it, an old familiar feeling starts creeping back, a disappointment she later identifies as not wanting to leave. BTS aren’t flying to Russia with her and Max and while that had seemed like the highlight of the calendar back in August, it feels like the dark spot in the improving relationship between her and Taehyung.
He feels it, too, she knows. He approaches her when she’s at the food cart, longingly looking at the tray of doughnuts and resisting the urge to scarf one down.
“They won’t kill you,” comes Taehyung’s voice, and he stops next to her. “The blueberry one is the best.”
Dilara raises an eyebrow. “You’ve had it?”
“Oh, no,” he says, shaking his head. “It looks like it would be the best. Besides, you like blueberry, no?”
“Yeah, but…” She sighs. “It’s way too much sugar. Is there such a thing as a sugar-free doughnut?”
“Yes, it’s called sadness.”
Dilara laughs, biting her lip and looking up at him. Fuck, he looks incredible. “Split one?”
Taehyung frowns, considering it, before looking out at where the stylists are. “As long as they don’t rat me out.”
“To who? Your staff?”
“No, Namjoon hyung.”
She stifles another laugh, her gaze going straight to where Namjoon is sitting on the grass with Jungkook and - to her mild surprise - Max.
“So? You want to split it? We’ll have to be smart about it, though.”
Dilara looks back up at him, contemplating. His eyes twinkle, and she fights a smile. Reaching over, she grabs the doughnut and breaks it into rough halves while Taehyung grabs a couple of napkins. Like school kids sharing a secret, they turn their backs on the shoot and, silently acquiescing, they start walking away.
Start, being the operative word. Before they’ve taken maybe five steps, two stylists come bounding up to them. “Oh, Tae, they need you for another shot,” says the one with the blue tips in her hair. Before Dilara can register the Tae, her eyes drop to his hands and her eyes widen. “You said you couldn’t eat sugar!” she exclaims, lunging for it as Tae moves it out of her reach, grinning.
“I’m sorry, what’s your name?” Dilara interrupts. She ignores Taehyung’s frown as the girl looks at her, as though she’s just noticed he’s not alone.
“Oh, it’s Rhiannon. Like the song?” she prompts.
“Yeah, I know Fleetwood Mac. Listen, Rhiannon, do you mind -”
“Oh, look, they’re calling you again,” she says loudly, turning back to Taehyung and pointing over his shoulder to the photographer.
“I’ll take that.” Seokjin’s hand appears out of nowhere and grabs Taehyung’s doughnut, making him groan, but the director calls out his name this time so he has no choice but to leave. As Seokjin swallows the doughnut whole before sauntering away, Dilara feels a pit of rage in her stomach.
“Are you going to eat that?”
She jumps, turning around to see Min Yoongi behind her, looking irritatingly knowing. “Where did you come from?” she demands, clutching at her chest. “Oh, you brought Jimin, too,” she notes, as the younger member comes into view, grinning, in her opinion, for no reason at all.
Suddenly conscious of how annoyed she must be looking, Dilara makes an excuse and hurries away, taking care to stay away from all members for the rest of the shoot. It’s just as well, she thinks, for she doesn’t want anyone getting the wrong idea - least of all, herself.
It’s the reason she goes back to her changing room alone at the end of the shoot, considering simply texting Taehyung goodbye. A verbal goodbye could be too much and would very much be in the wrong idea category, not to mention would haunt her for the rest of the weekend, a time when her focus should be nothing but the race. Her suitcases are already in the car, as is Max, who’s begun texting her to hurry up.
Dilara is packing up her bag when a sound, once again, almost makes her jump. When she spots the speaker in the corner of the trailer, she relaxes, guessing it must just be one of the microphones causing a disturbance.
“... really good shots,” comes a male voice, crackling through the speaker. “Campaign’s going to look epic.”
“Great for your resume,” replies another, a girl this time. “Although it’s greatest for whoever shot this guy,” she adds.
Someone else whistles and there’s some snickering. “That would be me,” says a second guy. “He’s fantastic - it’s the least direction I’ve ever had to give talent. He’s a dream to work with.”
“Who are we talking about?” This voice is familiar. Rhiannon. Like the song?
“The dude in the red jacket.”
Dilara pauses, for there was only one dreamy dude in the red jacket - and she’d spent the night with him. It’s clear that one of the microphones has been accidentally left switched on and if she can hear everything in her trailer, the group can definitely hear it in their much larger trailer. She pauses to listen, already amused as she pictures Taehyung’s bashful smile as the others tease him.
“Oh, yeah. I checked out his Instagram,” says Rhiannon. “Some really aesthetic shit. Whoever’s taking pictures of him has the easiest job in the world.”
“Hey!”
“No, I’m just saying. He looks unreal. Whether it’s his girlfriend or whoever - she kind of hit a jackpot. Wait, Jack - what are you doing?”
“Checking out who this lucky person might be,” answers Jack, presumably. “There’s no way someone who looks like that is single.”
Something creeps through Dilara’s stomach, a feeling of foreboding. This isn’t going the way it’s supposed to.
“Knew it. Jennie Kim. Dating BTS V,” says Jack after a moment.
“Rumoured to be dating him,” pipes up someone else. “And the article is six months old.”
“So? Seems pretty plausible to me. I mean… look at her.” Jack exhales. “She looks like a natural. Damn, do you know who’s representing her?”
“Wait - Jennie Kim,” says one of the girls. “Says here she’s - oh, man, I knew I’d seen her somewhere. She’s brand ambassador for Chanel.”
There’s some noise as everyone presumably looks at a picture. The self-preserving part of Dilara tells her to leave, now, but her feet stay rooted to the ground.
“Makes sense,” confirms Rhiannon. “Jesus Christ, they’d make some gorgeous babies.”
“Jumping the gun a bit?” The first guy says. “It’s a rumour from a million years ago. Personally, I think he has a thing for Komyshan?”
“Dilara Komyshan? From today? Really?”
“Yeah, he kept looking over at her. Why? What’s wrong with her?”
“Dilara’s hot,” says the second girl. “She drives cars, dude.”
“Nothing is wrong with her!” Rhiannon exclaims. “She’s my favourite driver. I’ve been rooting for her all season - I screamed all over Twitter on Sunday when she won in Portugal. She’s just…”
There’s a snicker. “This should be good.”
“She’s more… real. Natural.” Rhiannon audibly hesitates. “And he’s…”
There’s a few seconds when no one can come up with an unoffensive word, while everyone including Dilara knows exactly what Rhiannon means.
“K-pop,” finishes Jack, sounding somewhat apologetic. “They’re kind of a different league,” he adds.
“A Jennie Kim kind of league. Do you know if your friend - what’s his face -” Someone clicks their fingers. “Damien. Do you know if he’s still on contract with Chanel?”
“Doubt it. That was a year ago. I can still check, though…”
Dilara can’t hear anything else. There’s a roaring in her ears and her chest feels as though it’s about to constrict, cutting off all air supply. It’s too much, too many words, too many truthful, honest words that have lived in her mind for the better part of a year… words that haven’t ceased to be true, no matter how desperate she’s been to repress them.
Her eyes land on the speaker again and she knows she has to leave immediately because if she can hear everything in her trailer… Taehyung can definitely hear everything in his much larger trailer.
The car is just outside the gate. Dilara hurries as fast as her feet will take her, her chest painfully heavy with humiliation and shame. Last night had felt like stepping back into a time machine to a less complicated time; there was doubt and hesitation, but the passion made up for it. Now, it fills her with disgust, the memory of it, how openly and fervently she’d given herself to him, how after everything, she’d still let herself be that vulnerable before him.
Dilara is surprised to hear herself sniffle but less so when she hears footsteps behind her. She doesn’t bother turning around; it doesn’t matter who it is, even if it is Taehyung, even if he is coming back to explain himself once again, like every other -
“Lara -”
“Don’t touch me,” she snaps, yanking her hand out of his. Her anger wavers for a moment when she sees his face change, first from apology to confusion, and then to shock. It’s clear he wasn’t expecting her to react this way. “Just - just leave me alone,” she says tightly. She turns to leave, not trusting herself to speak any longer.
“Lara, no.” Taehyung stops her, shuffling to stand in front of her. Over his shoulder, she spots the car that’s supposed to take her to the airport. “No, no , no…” He searches her face frantically, the fear spreading across his beautiful features.
Dilara says nothing. It’s too much, everything she’s heard, everything she's starting to remember. Max’s words come back: We’ve come a long way from the fashion show. The fashion show, where she’d thrown up in the bathroom at the sight of him, cried tears of frustration to Max and done everything in her power to avoid Taehyung.
“Lara, please. You - you can’t listen to them. You can’t possibly believe what they’re saying -“
“Oh, my God,” she whispers, dropping her head in her hands. “Oh, God, what have I done?” She takes a shaky step back, her stomach churning painfully. “We had sex - oh, my God!”
“Baby, listen to me -“
“Do not call me that,” she interrupts him. “Why should I listen to you? Huh? So you can fucking charm your way into my life again?” she demands, pushing him back. “You just - you just look pretty and say the right things and I just… forget everything you did?” Because that’s exactly what I did.
“No! God, Lara - they’re strangers!” Taehyung exclaims desperately. “They have no idea what they’re talking about! They don’t know us! Come on, please - please don’t let them ruin everything. Please.”
“They didn’t ruin everything,” she snarls, turning to walk past him when he stops her again.
“I love you,” he blurts, and Dilara freezes. “I - I love you, Lara. I do, so much,” he repeats, his voice trembling. It’s not an accident this time. “We’ve made it so far, baby,” he says urgently, pulling her closer by the arms. “Please don’t do this.”
Dilara swallows, her heart hurting. Taehyung looks… he looks anguished. Somewhere, she knows how he feels, the thought of every single shaky piece they’ve built up crashing down around them again. A part of her wants to agree with him, just to have those moments back; the laughing and the flirting and the feel of his naked body against hers.
But she can’t. It would be tainted, and she would spend every minute second-guessing herself, reliving those awful weeks she’d spent comparing herself to another woman, imagining all the things she’d probably done wrong to deserve this. She meets his gaze again, wishing she could go back to this morning again.
“Lara?”
He loves her. That much she believes. But it’s nowhere near enough right now.
Dilara sniffs and pulls out of his grip, gentler this time. “I - I need to go to Russia. My flight is in a couple of hours.”
“What about -“
“I don’t know. I have no idea, Taehyung,” she says quietly. “I think…” Dilara sighs as she realises it’s finally the time to do what she’s been considering for a while now. “I need space. We need space.”
Taehyung swallows. “Just space?” he asks, and even through the hurt, she can hear the skepticism in his tone.
“Yeah, I - I can’t be around you. For a while,” she adds when his face drops. “You know I’ll see you in Tuscany anyway,” she says in a low voice.
He nods silently, biting his lip.
Dilara exhales shakily and hitches her bag higher on her shoulder. “It’s just too hard, Tae. This… this might be a good thing,” she says, taking a step backwards.
Taehyung looks at the ground, seeming resigned. “Fly safe,” he says hoarsely.
She nods and starts to turn away, when he speaks again.
“Can I -” He sniffs, still looking beautiful in his sadness. He’s a dream. “Can I call you?”
Dilara wishes he wasn’t making her say this. Stay strong, Komyshan.
“I’d rather you didn’t.”
—
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