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𝓒𝓻𝓾𝓮𝓵 𝓟𝓻𝓲𝓷𝓬𝓮 | 𝓚𝓢𝓙 (𝐼)

Pairing: Kim Seokjin X Reader

Genre: enemies to lovers; angst; smut; obsession; power imbalance; socioeconomic gap; toxic seokjin; hurt/comfort; bully seokjin; dark romance; billionaire au

Summary: They call him Saint. He’s anything but. A monster hidden behind charm, wealth, and a perfect reputation. Seokjin Saint Kim is ruthless, obsessive, and far more cruel than anyone realises. The only thing standing between him and what he wants is…you. Too bad he’s not willing to let that stop him.

Word Count: 4.9K

Warnings: manipulation, obsession; emotional abuse, psychological abuse, slight dub con; coercion, threats, violence, blood/injury, power imbalance, strong language, alcohol use, smoking.

Chapter-specific warnings will be added at the beginning of each chapter.

a/n: sooooooo before y’all start reading, i need y’all to know that this is probably my personal favourite ksj fic i’ve worked on so far. mostly because it’s inspired by a book i was obsessed with when i was 15 (for the life of me, i cannot remember the name anymore 😭). chapter 2 will lean more into seokjin’s POV and his family background, which is going to be really important for the plot moving forward. also, a small warning: this seokjin is NOT a nice person, so things are going to go very, very south in the next couple of chapter. but hey!!!!! there will be a redemption arc…eventually 👀 as always, i’d love to hear what you think, so please leave comments!!

The moans only seemed to grow louder with every passing second, muffled by the heavy oak door but unmistakable all the same. Heat creeps up your neck as you hesitate outside his bedroom door.

For heaven’s sake.

You really did not want to do this, but there was no other choice. Tomorrow’s mathematics exam wasn’t going to pass itself.

Taking a deep breath, you knock again before pushing the door open, just enough to slip your head through, your eyes squeezing shut the moment it moves.

“I’ll leave immediately if you give me my mathematics book back right now. And I’m not taking no for an answer, I won’t be going anywhere until you give it back,” you blurt in one breath.

You hear rustling from somewhere inside the room before his voice rang out, low and languid, “Be my guest then, sweetheart.”

Your eye twitches at his audacity.

You were a second away from marching over there and dragging him off the bed by his hair when the moans resumed, louder than before and even more obscene. You close your eyes even tighter and silently curse whatever higher power that had decided this was to be your morning.

Your shoulders slump as a realization settles over you. There was only one thing that ever worked on that sadistic bastard.

Begging.

“Seokjin, please,” you say, hating every second of it. “I have an exam tomorrow. I really, really need that book. Please just give it back.”

For what felt like an eternity, there was no answer. Your stomach sinks at the thought of failing before his lazy voice finally cuts through the room.

“It’s in the bag on the couch.”

Relief floods you.

“But you’ll have to open your eyes for that, little Prefect.”

You grit your teeth. You hated that nickname.

Being the school prefect was something you’d worked hard for, yet somehow Seokjin always managed to turn it into an insult.

Taking a cautious breath, you crack one eye open.

Your gaze lands on him first, stark naked and shameless as ever. He doesn’t even bother covering himself, only leans back against the headboard. And then, against your better judgment, drifts to the girl straddling his lap.

Scarlett, the most popular girl in school—and, more importantly, your bully—was sprawled on top of your other bully, her skirt bunched around her thighs and tits out.

“Well?” he drawls, one brow raised. Your eyes meet for a brief second before his lips curl into that infuriating, knowing smirk he always wore whenever he managed to fluster you.

You realise you’d been staring.

Your face burns. You tear your eyes away and bolt for the couch, digging frantically through the upturned bag until your fingers close around your battered mathematics book.

You hug it tightly against your chest before making a beeline for the door.

Only once you’re safely outside do you remember how to breathe.

“Shut the door on your way out, Help,” comes his voice from inside, followed by Scarlett’s giggles.

You bite the inside of your cheek, refusing to give him the satisfaction of a reaction. You quietly close the door behind you, despite wanting nothing more than to slam it in his face.

You sigh as you tear yet another sticker off your locker and shove it into the nearest bin. Across the hallway, Scarlett and her friends exchange amused looks before dissolving into quiet laughter, but you don’t pay them any mind. You’re used to this. You slip your books into your locker as Wren, your best friend, talks your ear off about the biggest party of the year happening tonight.

“You know,” Wren says, “I still think you should come tonight.”

“The answer’s still no,” you reply, shutting your locker.

“Oh, come on,” she groans, looping her arm through yours as the two of you start walking towards the exit. “Nate’s going to be there.” She wiggles her eyebrows at you suggestively.

“Wren!” you hiss, nudging her arm. “Keep your voice down.”

You’d only recently started seeing Nate. Three dates so far, and one kiss that had left you smiling for days afterwards. You really liked him. Like, really liked him. Which was exactly why you wanted to keep things quiet until you were sure he felt the same way.

And from the way he’d asked you out on another date just yesterday, you were starting to think he did.

The only problem was his bestfriend.

Seokjin Saint Kim.

But for once, you didn’t care. You were really, really happy.

As you neared the parking lot, Hana caught your eye from where she stood with her boyfriend, Dean, and the rest of their friends. She shot you the same murderous glare she always did. Usually, it would’ve been enough to sour your mood.

Not today though. Your last exam was finally over. Another semester was over, which meant you were another step closer to graduating, leaving Blackwood behind, and never having to see him again.

You couldn’t wait for your school years to be over and college to finally begin. Couldn’t wait to leave this place behind; to finally be free from the hell that was Seokjin.

You’d known him since you were nine. Well, known was a generous word. Bullied by Seokjin since you were nine was probably more accurate.

Back then, the two of you had been about the same height, but that was where the similarities ended. You were the daughter of the head maid at the Kim estate, while he was the only son of the man who owned it.

Everyone in Blackwood knew better than to cross the Kims. They were one of California’s oldest and wealthiest families. Their name was on hospitals, museums, galleries, and university buildings, their businesses spanning everything from luxury hotels to commercial real estate. The Kims practically owned the town. Everyone either worked for the Kims, worked with the Kims, or wanted something from them.

When your parents lost your home trying to pay for your little sister’s treatment, the Kims offered your family a place in the estate’s staff quarters. Your mother and father couldn’t have been more grateful, insisting the apartment was much nicer than your old, run-down house.

They weren’t wrong, the apartment was bigger, warmer and nicer than anything you’d ever lived in.

What they’d failed to mention was that it came with Seokjin Saint Kim.

You met him the very day you moved in.

While your parents were busy unpacking boxes and thanking anyone in a uniform, you’d wandered into the gardens with your favourite storybook tucked under your arm, determined to explore what looked more like a palace than a home. You’d barely made it past the fountain before a football came hurtling towards your head.

It missed by inches.

You’d turned around, expecting an apology.

Instead, you found a boy about your age watching you with the most bored and detached expression you’d ever seen.

“Move.”

That had been the first word he had ever said to you.

It certainly wasn’t the last.

In the years that followed, making your life miserable had become his favourite pastime. He hid your homework, snapped your glasses in half, told the other children you smelled funny, and scared off every boy you’d ever shown the slightest interest in.

You still remember how the first boy you’d ever liked stopped talking to you after Seokjin told him you still wet the bed. The second one was told you had lice.

After a while, the attempts stopped altogether and no one approached you anymore.

You learned very quickly that Seokjin—or Saint, as he liked to be called by everyone but you for some stupid reason—always got what he wanted. The teachers adored him, the students feared him, and the school practically bent over backwards to keep him happy. Complaining only ever earned you a sympathetic smile before someone quietly suggested you try not to provoke him next time.

Even as a child, Seokjin carried himself with the cruel arrogance of someone who had never once been told no, and he’d made it his personal mission to remind you exactly where you stood.

When you were offered a scholarship to St. Augustine’s, the most prestigious school in the city, through the Kim Foundation, you’d been over the moon. Their foundation funded well beyond just the scholarship programme, half the buildings on campus bore their name, and the board of trustees practically treated Mr. Kim like he owned the school, which, well, he kind of did.

You knew Seokjin went there too, but you’d hoped school would be different. That he’d be too busy with his own friends to pay you any mind.

You couldn’t have been more wrong.

If anything, having you within arm’s reach every day only seemed to make tormenting you easier.

What’s more, St. Augustine’s wasn’t exactly welcoming if you weren’t born into old money—let alone if you had none. The few friends you managed to make disappeared as quickly as they’d come once they found out you were the head maid’s daughter and attended on a scholarship. It also didn’t help that everyone knew better than to get caught in Saint’s crosshairs.

You still had one close friend, Wren, and that was enough.

Your younger sister, Bella, on the other hand, never seemed to have the same problem. Despite coming from the exact same background, she’d always been a social butterfly, effortlessly making friends wherever she went. You were happy for he, truly, but you couldn’t deny the small pang of envy whenever another birthday invitation or sleepover found its way into her hands while you stayed home.

Today was one of those days.

Every year, once final exams were over, Seokjin threw the biggest party of the year at the Kim estate. Half the school spent weeks talking about it, and the other half spent weeks trying to get an invitation.

Of course, you weren’t invited. Not that you’d ever go even if you were.

You preferred to keep as much distance between yourself and that wicked bastard as possible.

“Mmm, stop,” Nate mumbles, but you only continue peppering kisses all over his face.

“Baby,” he whines.

Another kiss.

“Please.”

Another kiss.

“Babyyyy.”

You giggle, refusing to let up.

“Comewithme,” Nate blurts out in one breath.

“Mmm, but I like it here,” you murmur, staying right where you are as he tugs you closer. A smile spreads across your face as you run your fingers through his soft blond hair.

“OK, fine,” he finally relents. “I do have to go, though.” He pouts dramatically, making you laugh as you give him a light shove.

“It’s okay. I’ll see you tomorrow?”

You look at him through your lashes, and he groans. He cups your cheeks in his hands before planting a flurry of exaggerated kisses all over your face.

“Nate!” you squeal between giggles, trying and failing to push him away.

The two of you stay like that for another ten minutes before you finally manage to physically shove him out the door.

After Nate leaves, you return to the canvas you’d abandoned on your bedroom’s floor. Painting had always been your thing. Long before mathematics and scholarships and trying to survive St. Augustine’s, there had been paint-stained hands and sketchbooks filled to the last page. If everything went according to plan, there’d be a lot more of that next year. You’d already started putting together your portfolio, spending every spare minute painting in the hopes of getting into one of the art schools you’d been dreaming about since you were little.

You barely notice the time slipping by until your phone starts buzzing somewhere nearby.

You reach for it, only to realise it’s not the one ringing.

Frowning, you follow the sound instead, eventually fishing Nate’s phone out from between the couch cushions.

He must have forgotten it.

The screen was locked, but the notifications were still visible. Four missed calls from Mom. You glance at the time. If she’d called him that many times, it was probably important.

With a sigh, you grab your keys. You’d just run over to the Kim estate, hand Nate his phone, and leave. Five minutes, max. There’s no way Seokjin would know you were there.

Besides, he never showed up until hours after his own parties started.

Seokjin sinks further into the leather couch, one arm draped lazily over the backrest as the girl on his lap chatters on about something he stopped listening to five minutes ago. Whatever he’d taken earlier had taken the edge off just enough to make everyone in the room seem twice as loud.

Across the den, Jimin and Dean are bent over the glass coffee table, far too occupied with their own business to care about anyone else’s. Jungkook is making out with a blonde who, if Seokjin remembers correctly, had been hanging off his own arm not even ten minutes ago. Typical.

Yoongi sits in the armchair by the fireplace, nursing a drink and looking as miserable as ever.

Nate, however, is nowhere to be seen.

“He’s still not here?” Jimin asks, finally looking up.

Yoongi lets out a quiet scoff. “Would you believe me if I told you he’s been seeing the same girl for the past few weeks?”

That catches his attention. And everyone else’s, apparently as Jungkook pulls away from the blonde just enough to frown. “Wait… the same girl?”

Seokjin’s gaze shifts towards the doorway before he looks down at the brunette sitting on his lap.

“Get off.”

She looks up at him, confused. “Mm, but we were just getting started.”

“Did I fucking stutter?”

She rolls her eyes, throwing a few expletives his way as she gets off and moves towards the bar.

“The same girl.” Nate calls from behind, making his way over before taking the seat beside Yoongi.

“Oh?” Dean grins. “Is the great Nate Parker finally back in the game?”

“Drop it, Dean. It’s different this time,” he says simply.

Seokjin studies Nate over the rim of his glass before taking another slow sip of his scotch. Nate had never been one for relationships. Hell, none of them were. Which made this rather interesting. If Nate was serious about whoever this girl is, things were about to get a whole lot more entertaining.

A flash of bright pink by the doorway catches his attention. It stands out immediately against the sea of black suits and little black dresses. His eyes follow it on instinct, and his jaw tightens the second he realizes who’s wearing it.

What the fuck were you doing here?

Before he can make sense of it, you’re already making your way towards where they’re sitting, looking painfully out of place in your bright pink sweater and worn-out jeans.

“Nate?”

Surprise flashes across Nate’s face, but he’s on his feet the second he sees you, walking over to where you’re standing, a grin already spreading across his face that Seokjin suddenly has the overwhelming urge to wipe clean.

Your attention stays on Nate, your face turned towards Seokjin’s back as he watches you and Nate through the floor-to-ceiling mirror.

“Babe?” Nate asks, stopping in front of you.

Seokjin stills.

Babe? Since when the fuck were you and Nate calling each other babe?

Your reply is cut short when Seokjin speaks.

“What the hell do you think you’re doing here?”

Your face pales the moment you see him, like you’ve seen a ghost.

“I-just…” you stutter, completely caught off guard.

“I invited her,” Nate cuts in.

Seokjin’s turns around, and whatever little patience he had left disappears. His hand tightens around the glass before he sets it down, slowly, because the alternative is putting it through Nate’s head.

He stands and takes a step forward until he’s face to face with Nate, towering over him, something dangerous flashing across his face.

“You’re fucking kidding me.”

The smile is gone from Nate’s face now, but he doesn’t back down.

His stare stays fixed on Nate, the silence stretches between them until Nate finally looks away.

Then, without saying another word, he reaches for your hand and leads you towards the exit.

“Come on, let’s leave.”

Seokjin doesn’t stop him. Because he knows if he does, this will end with Nate on the floor and his own knuckles split open.

“So that’s the girl?” Dean muses, breaking the silence. “Who knew Saint’s little pet had been keeping secrets?”

Seokjin’s shoots him a glare.

Dean’s smile only widens, his reaction makes this whole thing all the more amusing.

Seokjin catches Jimin looking at him, a cocky smile on his face as he answers.

“Guess so.”

He doesn’t respond.

Instead, reaches for the rolled bill on the table, taking his time before leaning back into the couch. The room blurs at the edges as the noise around him fades into the background.

“Let’s get the party started.”

They make their way through the main hall and out into the courtyard, the crowd parting almost immediately as they pass. Cheers erupt from every direction, whistles cutting through the music as people hurry outside, already forming a loose circle around the open space.

Everyone knows what comes next.

The fight.

It was simply tradition. No rules or referee. The fight ended only when one of the players admitted defeat, or couldn’t get back up. Phones come out, bets are placed, and the crowd grows restless, waiting for someone to throw the first punch.

Seokjin steps into the middle.

The cheers get louder.

“Who’s first?”

It doesn’t take long.

A guy from the crowd steps forward, probably thinking this is his chance to impress everyone. Seokjin sizes him up once and already knows how this is going to end.

He throws the first punch.

It lands square across Seokjin’s jaw.

He rolls his jaw once, spits a mouthful of blood onto the stone, and smiles.

My turn.

The guy is slow, telegraphing every move before he makes it. Seokjin slips past another swing, drives his fist into his ribs, then catches him across the jaw hard enough to send him stumbling backwards. By the time the other guy manages to steady himself, Seokjin has already closed the distance again.

It isn’t much of a fight. He barely lasts three minutes.

A few punches later, the guy is flat on his back, coughing through a mouthful of blood while his friends rush to drag him away.

The cheers are deafening.

Saint! Saint! Saint!

It rolls through the crowd like a mantra, swallowing the music whole.

Seokjin rolls his shoulders, unimpressed.

The metallic taste of blood is already dulling in his mouth.

Shame.

He was just starting to feel it. A split lip and a sore jaw weren’t nearly enough to satisfy the restless itch that had settled under his skin.

“Next.”

This time, a heavily tattooed guy built like a linebacker steps into the circle.

Seokjin smirks. This is going to be so fun.

Nearly half an hour later, Seokjin stands over him, breathing hard.

Blood drips from the corner of his mouth, another cut split across his brow while his knuckles are raw enough to sting every time he flexes them. The other guy isn’t much better, flat on his back beneath him, gasping for air after Seokjin’s forearm had been pressed against his throat for the better part of a minute before someone finally pulled them apart.

This one had been better.

He’d actually managed to land a few hits. Enough to leave Seokjin’s ribs aching and his head throbbing, enough for the taste of blood to linger at the back of his throat.

Seokjin steps out of the centre as the crowd slowly breaks apart, the noise fading into the background as he makes his way back towards the others.

He drops onto the couch beside them, accepting the drink Jimin holds out without a word.

Seokjin takes a drag from his cigarette, letting the smoke fill his lungs as the noise of the party settles back around them.

Jimin lifts his drink, eyes following the guy being dragged away from the centre.

“He’ll be in the hospital by morning.”

Yoongi shrugs. “Should’ve known better.”

Jungkook cuts in, his hair a mess and the skin of his neck still blotchy, leaving little doubt about where he’d been.

“That one lasted longer than the others,” he nods approvingly.

“Twenty-eight minutes,” Jimin announces, checking the time on his phone.

Dean whistles, “So are we talking a new record?”

Seokjin scoffs, leaning back as he rolls his bruised knuckles.

“Hardly.”

The rush was already wearing off.

For a few minutes, Seokjin had forgotten everything else. The adrenaline, the noise, the ache in his body—it all drowned everything else out.

But when the pain starts to fade, so does the distraction.

Just like always, it never lasts. He can feel the same restless feeling crawling back under his skin, ten times worse than before.

This time, he knows what he needs to do though.

Sleep refuses to come. You’ve been tossing and turning in bed for what feels like hours, your mind stuck replaying everything that happened tonight.

No matter how hard you try, you can’t stop thinking about the look on Seokjin’s face.

Nate had insisted it was nothing. That Seokjin was just being him.

But you knew him better than that. You knew he was angry.

What you didn’t understand was why.

You showing up at his party uninvited couldn’t possibly be enough to set him off like that. Could it?

The thought is interrupted by a sudden thud near your window.

You freeze.

It’s too dark to make out anything. Your hand reaches blindly for your phone on the bedside table, switching on the flashlight as you slowly climb out of bed.

The light barely moves before you come face to face with someone standing in the dark.

Seokjin.

A scream catches in your throat, but before it can escape, his hand covers your mouth.

“Don’t make a fucking sound,” he says, his voice low and sharp.

Your eyes widen as you stare at him, your heartbeat pounding so loudly you are sure he can hear it too.

“Or do. I really don’t care.”

He removes his hand, and you immediately step back, trying to get your breathing under control.

“W-What the hell are you doing here?”

Seokjin doesn’t answer. Instead, he steps closer.

He follows you without a word, each step forcing you back until your legs hit the edge of the bed. There’s something unnerving and predatory about the way he looks at you, you find yourself looking away.

From where you stand, you’re barely level with his chest, forced to tilt your head up to look up at him when he finally speak.

“You’re going to fucking listen to me,” he says, his voice hoarse. “And you’re going to do exactly what I say.”

You swallow, unable to look away.

“Tomorrow, you’re leaving Blackwood.”

Your brows pull together. “What?”

“I don’t care where you go.” His expression doesn’t change. “Go back to wherever you came from. Find somewhere else. You’re leaving Blackwood, and you’re not coming back here.”

He takes another step closer until there’s barely any space left between you, and you can smell the faint traces of scotch and smoke on his breath, making your stomach twist.

“But your days here are over.”

Your mouth parts, but he cuts you off before you can speak.

“And you’re going to break up with Nate. You’ll tell him it’s over, and you’ll make sure he understands.”

You close your eyes and breathe through your nose, unable to believe what you just heard.

“No. I’m not going to do any of that,” you finally speak.

Bis hand moves before you can react, fingers catching your jaw and forcing you to look at him.

“Careful,” he laughs, though there’s no humour in it.

“You really don’t understand your position here, do you, princess? Don’t fucking push me when I’m being generous.”

Your eyes burn, tears threatening to spill, as you glare at him.

His smiles widens when he notices.

“You have two choices, princess,” he continues. “You walk away when I’m asking you nicely, or you find out what happens when I stop asking.”

For a moment, you just zone out, praying for some sign that he doesn’t actually mean it. That this is just another cruel game he’s playing.

But Seokjin doesn’t take it back.

“Or should we leave poor little Bella to suffer?” he continues. “Her treatment stops because her sister was too stubborn to do what she was told?” He tsks softly.

Your eyes snap back to him.

“Aw there she is.” His thumb brushes against your lips, mockingly gentle.

“That would be a shame,” he muses thoughtfully, “Bella shouldn’t have to pay for your mistakes.”

Your stomach drops at the mention of her name.

“Especially when she tastes as sweet as she looks.”

The words barely leave his mouth before your hand moves. Your palm meets his face, the sound of the slap echoing through the room.

Seokjin’s head turns with the force of it, his smile disappearing as silence settles between you.

A few moments pass.

Then slowly, his eyes return to yours, and the look in them makes your breath catch.

Whatever restraint he had left is gone. His hand closes around you, and before you can react, he roughly pushes you back onto the bed with him on top of you. The sudden shift leaves you frozen, his presence overwhelming as he towers over you, the room suddenly feeling far too small.

You don’t think. You react.

Your hand moves again, anger taking over the fear, but he catches your wrist before you can reach him. You struggle against his grip, trying to pull free, but he holds on, forcing your hands above your head as you glare up at him.

His breath comes in uneven pants, the only sound filling the room as his grip tightens. His mouth is a straight line as he pins you down with both his weight and his gaze. You can feel more than see his chest rise and fall.

“Let go of me,” you choke out.

His jaw clenches, and you notice the way his eyes drop to your lips.

Suddenly feeling your mouth go dry, you wet your lips with your tongue, Seokjin follows the movement. When you look back at him, his eyes remain fixed on your lips.

A heartbeat later, his lips crashes against yours. Every muscle in your body tense instinctively. You stop breathing for a second.

And then you’re fighting him again, pushing against his shoulders with all your strength, but he doesn’t budge. His lips move possessively against yours. Consumed by your anger and something else you’d rather die than acknowledge, you bite down on his lower lip hard enough to draw blood.

“Fuck.”

Seokjin groans and pushes you further into the mattress. You gasp at the metallic taste of blood filling your mouth, and Seokjin takes that chance to push his tongue further down your throat.

His grip loosens for just a second, and you take the chance, your hands moving to his hair as you pull harshly at the strands.

Every instinct tells you to move, but you don’t. You should push him away. You know you should. Instead, you find yourself kissing him back just as fiercely, every bit of anger, hatred, and frustration spilling into it.

Your teeth clash against each other, tongues fighting for dominance, the kiss anything but gentle. It’s nothing like your first kiss with him — the first kiss you’d ever had — which had been soft and rather awkward. Then again, it made sense. You were barely twelve.

Seokjin grinds down on you and you can’t help the whimper that escapes your lips when you feel his bulge against your stomach. You arch into him as Seokjin moves his mouth to your jaw, leaving bruises along the expanse of your neck. His hands are all over your body, and your mind grows dizzy from the overwhelming sensation.

“I hate you, Seokjin” the words spill out before you can stop them.

He pauses. The words seem to snap something back into place for him.

Your vision blurs and before you know it the tears you’d been fighting finally spill over.

A moment later, he pulls away and stands, his expression unreadable again as if he just simply shut everything off.

“Remember,” he says, his voice hoarse and final as he walks toward the window, “Tomorrow morning.”

“I hate you,” you say again, your voice breaking. “I hope you rot in hell.”

“Baby,” he says lowly, stepping onto the ledge, “I’m already there.”