Work Text:
moodboard by @moodboard_fest
Unrelenting hands gripped Jimin's upper arms tightly. The fingertips dug painfully into the soft flesh on the inner side, they would surely leave dark bruises by the end of the day.
Jimin swallowed dryly, his tongue sticking to the top of his mouth. It made breathing hard. Everything made breathing hard. There was a lump in his throat and a boulder on his chest that kept his breaths quick and shallow.
The men holding him jerked him further forwards until he stood in the middle of the town square. The people parted, watching the happenings from a safe distance. The whispers all around sounded like a buzz in Jimin's ears, vicious and threatening like a swarm of wasps. It felt like they were already crawling all over his skin, ready to sting.
Jimin shuddered. His hands were ice cold and shaking and yet his hair clung to his sweaty skin. He felt sick.
A not-so-well placed kick to the back of his leg had Jimin fall hard to his knees. He winced as they scraped against the gravel, stones digging through his threadbare pants and into the sore skin.
Belatedly he realized that the crowd had hushed. A figure had stepped up to him but Jimin only noticed when clammy hands tangled in his hair and jerked his head upwards.
The head priest stood in front of him, looking down on him with his head still tilted up and satisfaction clear in his eyes. Jimin held his gaze but he could see the man's eyes trail away: down to his lips, then to his jaw, the arched neck and then to his clavicle and the shoulder that his rough handling had revealed.
Jimin glared, though the invasive gaze made his stomach roil.
The priest's look vanished as quickly as it had come, now replaced by a thunderous frown. He flung Jimin's hair away as if it were filthy. Jimin swayed from the movement - and from what this encounter could only mean for him.
"Park Jimin," the priest announced loudly, a satisfied smirk growing on his lips, "you have been accused of witchcraft. Your trial will take place in the morning."
That night in the cell, Jimin didn't sleep at all.
The first hours he had screamed and raged, demanding to be let out and cursing anyone involved. He had hit and janked at the bars as if they would open.
And when Jimin's anger had slowly dissipated along with his energy, he had tried a more logical approach. He had argued and done his best to prove his humanity: no powerful witch would have been clumsy enough to trip over his own feet and break his arm like Jimin. No witch would have stayed sick for weeks without healing himself. No witch would have almost poisoned himself by picking the wrong berries.
But there had been no reaction. So Jimin had turned to the guard down the hall and started bargaining. Surely there was something he could do for the man? If he only let Jimin out, he would…
... would what?
Pay him? Mend his clothes? Gift him vegetables?
Jimin had nothing.
He could trade for work or the already meagre foodsstuffs his tiny garden and two chickens gave him... otherwise there was only himself to trade.
Jimin's fist clenched tight. No powerful witch would live like that.
If he was a real witch he would have lived without all the hardships and he certainly would have long since bewitched the guards.
Midnight came and passed. Outside the church bells rang loud.
Witching hour…
The thought drove a raw laugh out of Jimin's throat, raspy and impossibly close to a sob.
His hands shook weakly against the freezing bars, sore and tired. His head tilted forwards and rested against them.
What was he supposed to do now?
Jimin trembled. He sunk to his knees, curling up as small as possible against the cold bars.
A small drop hit the worn linen on his knees, then another and another.
His trembling got worse as more sobs wracked his body. The only thing keeping Jimin upright were the bars between his frozen fingers.
“Please,” he pleaded over and over and over until his voice was no more than a hoarse whisper. “I haven’t done anything… please…”
In the dark hours of morning, Jimin fell apart in a lonely cell.
And by morning, he had … stopped. He had stopped screaming and bargaining and crying and pleading, it hadn’t done any good either way.
Instead he just sat and watched the sun rise, forcing his spirit up with it.
An accusation was no sentence, there was still a trial, there was still time, there was still hope…
The guards came to get him hours later. Jimin didn’t resist.
He felt powerless.
Bitterly, he thought: no real witch would ever feel powerless.
Jimin was forced to his knees again, in front of him the judge, priests and town officials.
The courthouse was just as noisy as the town square had been. Behind him the benches teemed with witnesses and curious onlookers, he could even see them huddled around the windows, peering in.
Jimin could barely hear the judge read the indictment, all he could focus on where the whispers, the sly looks, the pointed fingers… A loud, angry buzz. Like a poked wasps' nest.
“… accused of being a witch and consorting with the devil. How do you plead?”
Silence rang in the courthouse and the whispers seemed so much louder for it. (“I should have known he was the sort with the way he always looked at my family-”)
Jimin felt sick.
The sharp crack of a hammer hitting wood startled Jimin out of his thoughts.
“Park Jimin, how do you plead?”
“...not guilty.” Jimin’s voice was weak after the endless screaming-reasoning-pleading the previous night, but it didn’t shake.
“He is clearly lying!” The head priest interjected.
Jimin turned to look at him. His eyelids felt like sandpaper.
“I’m not lying…” Jimin’s voice had taken on a higher quality, still it hadn’t gotten louder at all. It was the voice of defeat. He knew that nothing he said would help him and he was too tired to try.
“You show all the signs! And many witnesses have come forward about you already.” The priest stalked towards him until there was only a single step between them. Jimin refused to tilt his head up that uncomfortably, but the man gave him no choice. His hand gripped Jimin’s jaw tightly, forcing him to look up. The priest’s thumb brushed slowly across his skin and Jimin felt sick. That heated look was back in the man’s eyes for barely two seconds, then they rapidly cooled down to ice shards, cruel and unforgiving.
“You wear your devil’s marks openly and proudly!” he hissed loudly, tracing Jimin's moles with his free hand. “On your forehead! And your neck! I don’t even have to strip you to see the signs.”
Murmurs of agreement rose in the hall. They seemed to spurn the priest on further. “Kim Sooyong-ssi has told us all about the familiar you keep feeding at night. And your neighbor, old Lee Mirae-ssi, told us about your spells and- rituals! Dancing!” The priest heaved a breath. “Naked ! Likely preparing for your lord !” He paused for a moment breathing heavily. The disgusting heat was back in his eyes as he gazed down at Jimin kneeling before him with his hands tied. He swallowed roughly and when he continued his voice was rough. “And even I myself have fallen victim to your spells. You tried to seduce me many times with your charms but I’m a strong and devout man! I will not fall to your wicked ways!”
Jimin shook his head mutely for what seemed like minutes on end. What could he say? Twisted truths and lies and there was not a single thing Jimin could say that wouldn't be taken as an excuse.
“I didn’t-”
“You still deny it? The evidence is against you.”
Incited by the priest more and more people stepped forwards as ‘witnesses’, recounting how their crops had failed, their child had fallen sick or their mother had died - all because Jimin had or hadn’t done something or other.
Jimin wanted to scream.
“Do you still plead innocent?” the judge asked.
Jimin nodded, face as white as chalk. What else could he do?
“We shall see.” The judge sighed and hit his hammer. “Park Jimin, you shall burn at the stake. If you survive, you have proven to be guilty. If you are truly innocent, then God shall greet you with open arms.”
Jimin swallowed, the dry tongue sticking to the roof of his mouth. He sat silently until the guards came to collect him.
What else could he do?
The cell was dark and quiet.
It was a different one this time: an underground cellar, solid stone walls all around, no bars but a single oak door that led to a narrow staircase. There was certainly no escaping from here.
Jimin sat in the corner furthest from the door, curled up to keep himself warm and to keep himself together. His hands were clenched tightly in his hair, gripping tighter until his nails dug into his scalp and a few of the dark strands fluttered to the ground.
Tomorrow he would be burned on the stake to test if he was a witch or not. Jimin let out a humorless laugh. There was no winning in this: if he survived he would be tried as a witch, and if he didn’t - which he wouldn’t - then he would be… well… dead .
What a backwards thing…
Being innocent meant death, and being guilty meant surviving?
Jimin wanted to rage about the injustice, curse the priests for spreading these believes and cry for all the people that had come before him.
And yet he didn't. He just felt tired... as if he had been hollowed out and filled with cold and heavy stones.
Across the room, there was a tiny window just below the ceiling, nothing more than a deliberate gap in the stonework. Pale moonlight fell through it in a thin beam, that almost reached Jimin by now.
The night was already half over. Just a few hours more until-
In the distance tolled the churchbell - witching hour.
Jimin stretched his leg out in front of him. His knee was swollen and aching where it had been kicked to bring him to his knees, it throbbed painfully. He pushed up his sleeves, looking at the deep blue splotches and the bloody gashes the rough treatment had left.
What was he supposed to do now?
There was no out…
He would have a bigger chance of survival being actually guilty…
JImin paused.
A witch had a better chance than an innocent…
His hands clenched, nails biting into his palms so deeply they drew blood.
Calmly, Jimin watched the red liquid collect in the center of his palm. His eyes glinted.
What did he have to lose?
With nothing to lose and everything to gain, it didn’t take much for Jimin to decide that a deal with a demon might be the preferable choice. He would rather be guilty and alive, than innocent and dead.
The only problem was that Jimin didn’t know how to go about becoming a witch. How would he even contact a demon?
He knew there had to be a ritual involved and that he would likely be selling his soul and possibly body for power.
Jimin paused for a second, then shrugged. What did it matter really? According to the priest he was going to suffer in hell anyway, cozying up to the devil could only help him in the end.
But how to get there…
Jimin had seen a pentagram once and, considering its reputation, that might be a good start. He staggered to his feet and the middle of the room, where he scratched a pentagram into the dusty ground. It was a lot of trial and error but half an hour later Jimin stood in what he was sure a pentagram was supposed to look like.
Jimin looked around uncertainly. Should he try it now? Just like that?
He closed his eyes, forced down the embarrassment and spoke: “I summon you, demon. Come to me.”
A beat passed, then two. Jimin cracked open an eye, then opened the other one, too, with a disappointed sigh.
Nothing had happened.
Maybe he needed to do it more like a prayer?
Jimin started folding his hands but winced at the sting that shot through his palm. The wounds his nails had left still hadn’t closed. They throbbed at the disturbance, tiny beads of fresh blood welling up.
Jimin looked at the blood, then at the pentagram on the ground.
Blood magic was supposedly the strongest kind of magic, right?
He barely wasted half a thought on the question before he was holding out his hand, squeezing gently until a small drop ran out of his fist. It landed right on a corner of the pentagram, just like Jimin had wanted. Four more to the other corners, then Jimin was ready to try again.
Jimin stood in the center and gently folded his hands. Between them, the blood smeared and another stray droplet landed between his feet, right in the center of the pentagram. Jimin took a last deep breath, closed his eyes and willed the demon to appear.
“I summon you, demon. Come to me.”
Again, nothing happened. No howling wind, no thunder, no hellfire. Just Jimin’s shaky breath in the cellar.
Disappointed, Jimin opened his eyes. He rubbed tiredly at them, using the back of his hand so he wouldn’t smear blood into them. They felt gritty and hot. When Jimin opened them again, dark spots danced in his vision. They faded after a moment - all but one, that was.
Then the shadow in the corner of his vision spoke and Jimin jerked back so violently he almost tripped. His heart pounded loudly, almost jumping out of his throat.
On the other side of the cellar - the locked and guarded cellar - stood a man. He was tall and very well built, though the casual way he was leaning back against the wall made him look much less imposing than he probably would be otherwise. He was clad completely in fine black clothes that matched the impossibly dark color of his eyes and long hair.
A smirk played on his lips as he watched Jimin try to regain his bearing.
“So,” he drawled, slowly pushing off of the wall and sauntering up to Jimin.
“You summoned me, human. What now?”
Jimin’s heart felt like it was quaking right out of his chest. The- The demon was close enough now that Jimin could just reach out and touch him. He swallowed dryly as he searched for words, an action that wasn’t lost on the demon. It- He smirked, cocking his head slightly to the side.
“Well?”
“I-I want to make a deal.”
The demon hummed. He circled Jimin slowly.
Jimin’s heart was beating in his throat but he forced himself to stay still.
“A deal, hmm,” the demon said as he stepped back in front of Jimin. He considered Jimin, his black eyes staring straight into the human with an intense look.
Jimin wanted to look away, to back away, but this was his only chance. He had to treat it like any other trade (nevermind the fact that he was basically selling himself) and he was good at trades. His chicken’s eggs, collected mushrooms or the weaved clothes he made - Jimin always traded them for a fair price. He just had to keep a cool facade and not let on that he was out of his depths. What would even be considered a good deal, here? Witchcraft for a soul - was that fair? Or was this more of a life- for-a-life situation?
“A deal, yes.” Jimin spoke as calmly as possible, but when the demon’s lips quirked up just a tiny bit higher, he worried that some of his shaking had sneaked into his voice.
“And what is it that you want?”
“Make me a witch.”
The demon let out a laugh. The sudden sound startled Jimin - in more ways than one. It wasn’t a laugh he would have expected from a demon, instead it was breathy and rather high pitched, it was almost… cheerful?
“A witch then, the classic! Is it for power? Revenge on someone? Simple curiosity, maybe?”
“I want out of here.” Jimin did his best to keep his voice level, but it ended up sounding weak and drawn. “They are going to burn me at the stake tomorrow for being a witch and I - Ha!” Jimin barked out a painful laugh. He turned his head to the side as his eyes watered, blinking rapidly to keep the tears from falling. He cleared his throat but his words still sounded watery when he went on talking: “and I really don’t want that…”
So much for keeping his composure, he thought with a bitter smile.
It was silent for a moment.
Jimin took the time to compose himself a bit more, then he turned to the quiet demon. He was looking at him just as intensely as before, maybe even more so, but something had changed in his expression. He seemed more… solemn? Serious? … Pitying?
Jimin didn’t care what it was, he only wanted out of here.
“I see,” the demon murmured at last. “But a deal has two sides, you are aware? Are you willing to pay the price?”
“Anything.”
The demon smirked again.
“What a rash boon. You should be more careful, you don’t even know what I want after all.”
“I don’t care,” Jimin said and it was true. It was a terrible deal, honestly, but anything was better than death. He hadn’t felt more surefooted in days. “If the alternative is to die at that disgusting man’s hand, then I would rather take the risk. This way I have a chance at least.”
Silence again settled heavy over them. A minute passed where they only looked at the other.
Outside, the bell tolled again. Half past three in the morning - witching hour would be over soon and Jimin didn't know what that would mean for him. So he took in a deep breath and stuck out his hand.
“You make me a witch - and help me survive the stake! - and in return you get whatever you want. Deal?”
The demon looked at the offered hand, then back up at Jimin without moving a muscle. Then he smirked again and stepped closer to Jimin. He took the hand; his grip was firm and warm, something that surprised Jimin a bit.
“Deal,” he said softly.
Jimin hadn’t known what to expect, and he still didn’t, but he was surprised when the demon stepped even closer. Their toes almost touched and Jimin had to tilt his head up to keep looking into those dark eyes. He leaned back, heart racing again, but his feet were rooted in place. The demon still held onto his hand.
“What are you doing?” Jimin whispered, there was no need for loud words at this proximity.
“Sealing the deal,” the demon answered in kind, “or did you change your mind?”
“No.”
Jimin shook his head and slowly straightened up again. They were impossibly close now. Like this, Jimin could feel the warmth of the demon seep into his own frozen body.
The demon’s other hand came up slowly. Jimin flinched slightly, not knowing what to expect, but the hand only brushed back the hair that had fallen into his eyes. It redacted and settled on Jimin’s shoulder, close to his neck. The human was sure that the other could feel the nervous trembles under his skin.
Nothing happened for a second. The demon didn’t move any further, then he spoke again, the warm breath making Jimin shudder when it hit his skin.
“Demon deals are sealed with a kiss, you know,” he explained.
“A kiss? And nothing more?” All the tales Jimin had heard about witches selling their soul and often body for a bit of magic rose in his mind.
“No, nothing more,” the demon laughed quietly. “Though I wouldn’t deny you if that’s what you want?”
The demon raised a meaningful eyebrow, a teasing smirk on his lips, and Jimin flushed.
The demon laughed again, high and breathy. This close Jimin could his teeth that were decidedly not the sharp fangs of the popular illustrations, and he could see the way his eyes crinkled around the corners. It was an honest and joyful laugh… It was a beautiful laugh...
Something tense in Jimin’s stomach relaxed at the sight. Maybe he wouldn’t have to serve a cruel, inhumane master for the rest of his life…
“No,” Jimin finally replied, much calmer than before. There was even a small upward quirk on his own lips. “A kiss is just fine.”
The demon’s hand squeezed gently around Jimin’s, maybe he had noticed the abating tremors.
“‘Just fine’,” the demon repeated in a teasing lilt, “I see, I see.”
Then his hand moved on Jimin’s shoulder, sliding up his neck to cradle the human’s head. His touch was gentle and warm and Jimin soaked it right up.
The demon leaned closer. Jimin closed his eyes but the kiss didn’t come.
“Are you sure?”
The breath hit right across Jimin’s lips and made him shudder.
“Absolutely.”
The demon hummed. His thumb brushed softly across the skin on the human’s cheek. Then, finally, there was a gentle pressure on Jimin’s lips. It was nothing more than a brush but Jimin couldn’t help but gasp softly.
A single kiss was enough to seal the deal but Jimin kept his eyes closed, free hand curling into the demon’s shirt.
The touch returned, this time longer but just as gentle. Jimin lips trembled but then he shyly returned the kiss.
It was nice… a small comfort in the dead of night when everyone else had forsaken him. How strange that it came for the very being everyone was afraid of. It seemed like the world had inverted around Jimin: the demon his ally and the very people he grew up with out for his blood.
The hand around Jimin’s own vanished, instead curling around his waist and pulling him even closer. Their chests touched and for the first time in days, maybe even years, Jimin felt warm. It was like a blanket in the cold and Jimin was loath to take it off and face reality - and why should he? There was nothing left for him there. Instead he wanted to bury himself further in the blanket and its comforting warmth, shielding himself from the cold reality that might await him come morning. (How ironic that the last time Jimin had used a blanket like this was as a scared child hiding from demons of all things.)
Jimin came up to his tiptoes and curled his arms over broad shoulders. He leaned further into the demon, parting his lips ever so slightly to deepen the kiss. But still the demon kept the kiss slow and gentle, barely more than lingering pecks. Jimin’s insides fluttered every time one of the soft lips would graze the sensitive inseam of his own.
Outside the bell tolled again: four in the morning. The end of the witching hour.
Jimin pulled back slightly from the kiss to look at the small window below the ceiling. With summer approaching quickly, the sky was already lighting at the horizon. Morning was close and Jimin’s heart clenched painfully at the reminder of what that meant. His breaths turned to quick gasps because there suddenly just wasn’t enough air.
Would this be the last sunrise he saw?
His garden hadn’t really started flowering yet, would he never get the chance to see it again?
And what about the stray cat that lived in it?
Would they really-?
… Would it hurt?
A soft touch at his temple drew Jimin out of his spiraling thoughts. He blinked rapidly, only then noticing how his eyes burned, and turned his surprised gaze to the demon who was carefully brushing Jimin’s hair back.
Jimin had almost forgotten he was there…
The demon’s eyes were impossibly dark. Specks of light danced in them and Jimin wanted to see it as a sign. The demon’s expression was calm - unhurried, unworried - and it eased the pressure in the human’s chest.
“I need to go now,” the demon said quietly. His warm hand brushed through Jimin’s hair again. “I need to prepare for later.”
Jimin nodded. He believed the demon and the steadiness he found in his gaze and voice.
He let his arms fall to his side and stepped away from the demon. He felt cold now.
“What about my side of the deal?” Jimin’s voice was thin and strained.
The demon shook his head, a small smile rising on his lips.
“Don’t worry about that now, there will still be time for that later.”
The demon took a step back but no further, hesitating. A hand came up to brush through his long, black hair, eyes never leaving Jimin’s face. Jimin wondered what kind of expression he was making that had the other hesitating like that but then the demon stepped closer again and all his complicated thoughts fell away.
A big, warm hand cradled the back of Jimin’s head, sliding through the hair with surety as if he had done so a hundred times already. The demon leaned close to him and then there was another chaste kiss pressed right next to Jimin’s lips, chasing away the cold. Maybe it was a spell, or maybe something else, but Jimin didn’t care either way. His hand came up to hold onto the demon’s arm, keeping him close for just a moment longer.
“Don’t you worry, I will not let anything harm you,” the demon whispered against his skin, “I promise.”
Jimin’s breath hiccuped.
“Jimin.”
“I will keep you safe, Jimin-ah.” His name was barely more than a breath against the human's skin, sending shivers down his spine.
Then the demon drew back. They stood apart but Jimin still couldn’t bring himself to let go of his arm. The demon’s second hand came up to hold Jimin’s, gently loosening his grip until he could slide his arm out. His warm hand passed through Jimin’s trembling one and suddenly there was another weight in his palm.
It was a coin of pure, shining silver, intricate designs running over the whole surface, a gorgeous raven in the middle.
“If something goes wrong, you can always call me with this. Grip it tight and say my name.”
“Jungkook,” Jimin whispered, surprising himself. He didn’t know how he knew that.
“Yes,” the demon smiled. His eyes crinkled and his cute teeth showed - Jimin could no longer understand how anyone could find him scary or threatening.
The demon- no, Jungkook gave one last squeeze to Jimin's hand.
"I'll see you later."
Then he vanished in a plume of black smoke, curling in the air like ink in water.
Jimin's hand closed around the coin.
He looked to the window and the future that was coming.
He had expected to feel scared and cold again as soon as he was alone, but that hadn't happened.
The coins was a comfortable weight in his hand, familiar and warm - and something very similar had settled in the center of his chest.
With it, Jimin felt steady and grounded, warm and protected.
He settled against the cellar wall, watching the sliver of sunrise through the narrow window. It wouldn't be his last one but it would be meaningful nonetheless.
The sun climbed slowly into the sky.
A smile crept onto Jimin's lips.
He looked at the silver coin again, letting his thumb brush over the details. His fist closed around it gently, resting it just beneath his collarbone. The warmth seeped right into his chest.
It was a beautiful morning.
A hint of disappointment crept up on Jimin. He wished he could have shared the sight with Jungkook.
But it was only a brief feeling.
After all, there was still tomorrow.
There was still a tomorrow they could share.
Jimin's smile was as bright as the sun.