Kim taehyung ×fm! reader🍷
⋆.˚🍷✮💋✮˚.⋆🎸ᯓ★𝜗𝜚🍒ᝰ.ᐟ──★ ˙🍓 ̟!₊⟡!⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘𓆝 𓆟 𓆞⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘
Pairing:-Kim Taehyung × Reader (Enemies to Lovers)
Genre:-Enemies to Lovers ,Slow Burn , Angst , Mature Romance , Rainy Night AU
Warning:-Emotional tension , Heavy sexual tension (non-explicit) , Intense intimacy , Strong language ,Mutual desire , Enemies-to-lovers conflict ,Possessive undertones , Slow-burn frustration
Author’s Note:- Hey cuppies ✨,This story is a slow descent into want—built on unspoken feelings, restrained hunger, and the thin line between hatred and desire. Nothing rushed, nothing easy. Just two people breaking under the weight of everything they never allowed themselves to feel. Please read with patience and let the rain, silence, and tension do their work. Thank you for giving this story a place to exist 🤍🌧️
The rain is unforgiving, loud against the windows of his house—Kim Taehyung’s house—the last place you ever meant to end up. Your clothes are damp, your patience thinner than the line between hate and something far more dangerous. He stands a few feet away, sleeves rolled up, hair messy like he’s been running his hands through it too often tonight. The silence between you is thick, crowded with every argument, every look held too long, every almost-touch you both pretended not to feel.
“You didn’t have to come in,” he says, voice low, controlled—but his eyes give him away. Dark. Starving.
“And stand in the rain?” you snap back, though the edge is duller than usual. Tiredness makes you honest. “Don’t flatter yourself.”
A faint smirk curves his lips, but it doesn’t reach his eyes. He watches water slide down your jaw, your neck, and something in him shifts. You feel it—the change in the air, the way the room suddenly feels too small. Too warm. When he steps closer, it’s not aggressive. It’s cautious. Like he’s afraid if he moves too fast, you’ll disappear.
“You’re shaking,” he murmurs.
His hand hovers before touching your arm, giving you time to pull away. You don’t. The contact is light, barely there, but it sends heat racing through you, settling low and dangerous. You hate how your breath stutters. Hate how he notices.
“You always look at me like that,” he says quietly. “Like you’re trying to convince yourself you don’t want me.”
Your laugh is soft, broken. “And you always act like you don’t care.”
His fingers tighten just slightly. “That’s the problem. I care too much.”
The words hit harder than any argument ever has. The rain outside grows heavier, masking the sound you make when he finally cups your face, thumb brushing your cheek with aching slowness. The kiss doesn’t happen right away. He leans in, forehead resting against yours, breath mingling with yours, both of you trembling from restraint.
When he finally kisses you, it’s not gentle—but it’s not rushed either. It’s hungry, deliberate, like he’s been starving and still refuses to rush the meal. You kiss him back just as hard, fingers curling into his shirt, pulling him closer as if distance itself offends you. The kiss deepens, heat blooming everywhere, and when his hand slides to your waist, it feels inevitable. Like this was always going to happen.
He presses you back against the wall, not trapping you—anchoring you. His lips trail from your mouth to your jaw, your neck, lingering just long enough to make you ache. “Tell me to stop,” he whispers, voice rough.
Instead, you pull him closer, and that’s all the answer he needs. The rain keeps falling, the world narrowing down to warmth, breath, and the quiet understanding that this isn’t just desire—it’s everything you’ve been fighting since the beginning.
The door to his bedroom closes softly behind you, the storm outside fading as the tension finally, finally breaks.The room is dim, lit only by the streetlight filtering through rain-streaked curtains. Taehyung doesn’t rush you to the bed. Instead, he pauses, hands braced on either side of you, breathing heavy like he’s fighting himself. The restraint is almost worse than action. His eyes trace your face, your lips—memorizing, claiming without touching.
“You drive me insane,” he murmurs, voice low and raw. “Do you know that?”
Your fingers curl into his shirt again, pulling him closer. “You never complained before.”
His mouth finds yours again, deeper this time, slower but burning hotter—like he’s tasting something he’s denied himself for far too long. Every kiss lingers, every breath shared feels intentional. When his hands slide along your sides, it’s not rushed. It’s reverent. Hungry in the way of someone who wants all of you, not just the moment.
He presses his forehead to yours, eyes closed, jaw tight. “If I don’t slow down,” he whispers, “I won’t stop.”
Your heart pounds so loud you’re sure he hears it. “Then don’t.”
A shaky breath leaves him. His hands move to your waist, thumbs brushing bare skin where fabric has shifted, sending heat straight through you. You feel it—the tension coiling, the need building with nowhere to go. He backs you toward the bed again, not breaking eye contact, like he’s daring you to change your mind.
When he finally kisses down your neck again, it’s slower, more deliberate, every pause intentional. He learns you—your breath hitching, the way you lean into him without realizing it. He smiles softly against your skin, satisfied, undone.
“You’re beautiful when you stop fighting me,” he murmurs.
You gasp when he pulls you down with him, the mattress dipping beneath your weight. He doesn’t crowd you. Instead, he hovers, hands planted beside you, eyes dark with want. The rain outside grows louder, matching the rhythm of your hearts, the storm mirroring the hunger neither of you are willing to name out loud.
His thumb brushes your lip, gentle, teasing. “Tell me you don’t feel this.”
He leans down, kissing you again—slower now, deeper, like a promise rather than a question. The world narrows to warmth and breath and the way he fits against you like this was always meant to happen. His voice is barely a whisper against your ear.
“Tonight,” he says, “I’m not your enemy.”
The rest is lost to the sound of rain, the door closed, and the kind of silence that only comes when two people finally stop running from what they want.The rain doesn’t stop. It never does. It drums against the windows like it’s counting down the seconds you’ve both wasted pretending this wasn’t inevitable. Taehyung stays above you, close enough that you feel the warmth of him without fully having it, and that almost hurts more. His breath fans your skin, uneven, like he’s afraid of what will happen if he exhales too deeply.
“You have no idea,” he murmurs, voice strained, “how long I’ve wanted this.”
The confession hangs in the air, fragile and dangerous. Your fingers tremble as you reach for him, brushing his jaw, feeling the tension locked there. He leans into your touch instinctively, eyes fluttering shut for half a second—just long enough to betray him. When he opens them again, the hunger is unmistakable.
“You hate me,” you whisper, more question than accusation.
He lets out a quiet, humorless laugh. “I tried to.”
His hand finds yours, fingers threading together, grounding himself as much as you. He presses your joined hands into the mattress above your head—not forceful, but firm enough to make your breath hitch. The closeness is overwhelming. Every inch of space between you feels charged, electric, begging to be crossed.
“You look at me like you’re afraid,” he says softly, studying your face like he’s memorizing it. “But you never pull away.”
“Because you never give me a reason to feel safe,” you answer honestly.
Something in his expression breaks.
He leans down slowly, lips brushing yours in a kiss so soft it feels like a question. You answer by kissing him back, deeper this time, and that’s all it takes. The restraint he’s been clinging to shatters—not violently, but completely. His mouth moves against yours with unrestrained want, slow but relentless, like he’s trying to pour every unsaid word into the kiss.
When he pulls back, his forehead rests against yours again. Both of you are breathing hard now, chests rising and falling in sync. His thumb traces idle, devastating circles against your skin, not seeking anything specific—just reminding you he’s there. That he’s real. That this is happening.
“I lose control around you,” he admits quietly. “That’s why I pushed you away.”
Your heart aches at the honesty. “You don’t look out of control.”
He smiles faintly. “That’s because I’m holding on by a thread.”
He kisses you again, slower this time, deeper, like he’s savoring instead of devouring. His touch lingers everywhere it goes, unhurried, deliberate, leaving heat in its wake. When he presses his lips to your neck, it’s almost reverent, like he’s worshipping something he once swore he didn’t need.
Every pause feels intentional. Every breath shared feels intimate. He learns the rhythm of you—the way your body responds before your mind catches up, the way your breath stutters when he murmurs your name like it’s something precious.
“Stay,” he whispers against your skin. Not just for tonight. Not just for this.
Your fingers tighten in his shirt. “You don’t get to say things like that now.”
He pulls back just enough to look at you, eyes dark and serious. “I get to say it because I mean it.”
The intensity in his gaze steals your breath. He lowers himself beside you, pulling you close instead of looming over you, like he wants you to feel chosen—not taken. You fit against him too easily, your head resting near his shoulder, his arm secure around you. It’s intimate in a way that feels almost unbearable.
Outside, the rain softens, like even the storm is listening.
“I don’t want this to be just hunger,” he says quietly. “But I won’t pretend that’s not part of it.”
You tilt your head up to meet his gaze. “It’s always been hunger.”
He exhales shakily, forehead resting against yours once more. “Then let it be that. Just for tonight.”
His lips find yours again, slower now, deeper, filled with promise instead of restraint. The world fades down to warmth and closeness, to the steady beat of his heart beneath your palm, to the unspoken understanding that this—whatever it is—has already changed everything.
The rain keeps falling, the night stretching on, and neither of you pulls away.
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