Title : Speak of the devil
Prompt-# : 210
For: Anonymous
Pairing : Taemin/Key (platonic)
Author : Anonymous
Word count : 2,459
Rating : PG-13
Warnings : None
Summary : Taemin is a demon. He grants wishes in exchange for souls. It's a simple exchange, except this time, it's not.

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A/N : this fic is slightly different from the prompt, and as a whole, probably more angsty than the prompter intended. i didn't start writing with the intention of deviating from the plot prompted, but it just kinda happened. i hope it's okay. 



Speak of the Devil

“I didn’t think this would work.” 

It is amazing, Taemin thinks, how people manage to get their hands on summoning spells despite having no belief in the occult. Not that he’s complaining. 

“Well, it worked and here I am.” The guy who summoned him looks somewhat unimpressed, so Taemin pulls his usual party tricks – dimming the lights, lowering the temperature and having ominous shadows flickering over the walls – as he fully materialises. For good measure, he gives himself horns and a smile full of sharp teeth. And wings. With spikes. 

Finally, a touch of fear creeps into the guy’s expression. 

“Why have you summoned me?”

“I…” the man stands speechless. “I was just trying out the spell.” 

Taemin’s blood pressure rises. This is not the first time he’s been subject to this sort of disobedience and he’s had enough. This would never happened an age ago, when people had the good sense not to summon demons they do not believe in. It is altogether too bad that the summoning circle curtails Taemin’s powers, otherwise he would have this careless man eating his own intestines for daring to summon a greater demon on a whim. 

With sickening sweetness, Taemin asks “Well, my good sir, now that we have ascertained that the spell really does work, how may I be of service? Do you have an enemy you wish to smite? A country to conquer? Riches to amass?”

“At what cost?” 

Taemin smiles. “Your soul. Nothing more, nothing less.”

In the end, the man utters the Words of Dismissal without asking for anything. 
 

The next man to summon him – it is usually men who call on him, rarely women – does not do it out of curiosity. The summoning circle is warded with spells of protection; unnecessary, but only a practitioner of the dark arts would know these specific spells.

Taemin does not bother with theatrics this time. He takes his current preferred form; a young boy with a shock of red hair. His summoner this time is unlikely to be impressed with theatrics and there is something about the innocence of a child that always throws off even the most ruthless negotiator.

The man, who is short but imposing nevertheless, looks at him suspiciously. 

“You called?”

“I call upon the Scourge of Latter Age, the Doer of Mischief and the Harbinger of-”

“Yes, yes,” Taemin waves a hand impatiently, interrupting the man before he can list all thirty-one of Taemin’s names that can be spoken by the human tongue. “It’s me. Drop the formalities and just tell me what you want.” 

“I petition thee, Lord of Darkness-”

“Oh, for ’s sake.” Taemin sits down in the middle of the circle. “You humans are so neurotic. I don’t need to play tricks with language to get what I want from you. You make a wish, I grant it, I take your soul for payment, yes?” 
The man nods, still cautious. 

“So let’s get on with it. What do you want?” 

“Grant me the power to travel the seven astral planes above and the seven below, and time enough to explore them all before you come to collect that which is due to you.” 

That is an unusual wish. Taemin is somewhat taken aback. Humans who seek to travel the astral planes do exist, and humans who summon demons do exist, but rarely do the two traits coincide in one person. 

“Can you grant such a thing?” 

For the first time, Taemin properly looks at the man before him. He feels none of the usual malice and negativity seeping from him, none of the usual hatred for his fellow man. His voice is soft; insistent on formality, but respectful at the same time. In his large brown eyes, Taemin sees a thirst for meaning, for knowledge. 

This wish is tricky, but luckily, Taemin is powerful enough to grant it. 

And grant it he does. If he throws in extra time for the man to truly explore the astral planes before it is time for his soul to be collected, well, who has to know? 
 

In short time, Taemin is summoned once again. He wonders whether someone out there is handing out his specific summoning spell; little else would explain how he’s been summoned thrice in the same decade. 

The man who summons him strikes Taemin as being somewhat naïve. He’s conducting the summoning in what looks like an abandoned parking lot and he’s given Taemin a very large circle to materialise in. A smarter man would have given him as small a circle as possible to limit the mischief he can get up to. 

After a moment, Taemin decides to appear to him as a centaur, and just because he’s pissed off, he makes sure that he’s a good inch taller than the tall man who dared to summon him. If this summoning turns out to be another experiment, Taemin is going to set the whole bloody world on fire, screw whatever Lucifer might say. 

The man stumbles back, looking like he’s about to piss himself with fear. This, Taemin likes. This, he’s missed. 

“Human,” he intones, his voice booming off the walls “you dare to disturb my slumber?”

The man passes out. 

It takes him half an hour to regain consciousness. Taemin knows because he has a whole half-hour to regret his theatrics, since the summoning circle essentially traps him there until the words of release are spoken or a deal is brokered. In that time, Taemin switches from one form to another until he settles on something that is both unthreatening and still dignified; a girl in a yellow sundress and long, dark brown hair. 

The man blinks awake slowly, as if he’s had a whole night of good dreams. 

“Hello,” Taemin says, hating the sound of his own voice. Demons are less, but Taemin prefers to take the male form. “I’m still here.” 

The man squeaks with fright, but this time, he doesn’t pass out. The fear slowly leaves his face as he takes in Taemin’s new form. Humans are like children, so easily fooled by illusions and appearances. Taemin may not look as threatening as he did earlier, but his powers are the same. 

“I want to make a deal.”

“Wonderful,” Taemin replies, unable to keep the sarcasm from his voice. “On what terms?”

“I want to be a successful football player. The best in the world and the most famous. And rich.”

Humans, Taemin thinks. How happy they are to trade an eternity of torment for a fleeting moment of meaningless pride. “Sure, I can do that. You do realise the consequences of your wish, right? You’ll have people on your doorstep every day and night, you will never be able to tell which of your friends are real and which are there for the money. You will never have peace again”

“But my parents will be proud of me, right?” the man asks. 

Oh, the poor, misguided thing. Taemin sighs. “If that is your goal, sure. You’ll be a rich, popular, successful football player and your family will be very proud of you. And when you die, your soul will be mine.”

The colour drains out of the man’s face, but he looks determined. “Yes.”
 

This summoning is different. 

There is no circle. There is no spell. There is just a boy in a room, huddled in a corner, silently sobbing. 

For him, Taemin wears a form closest to what he was before he became a demon; wears what he thinks his face looked like when he was human too. 

“Hello.” 

The boy jumps, startled. His left cheekbone is bruised, badly. He backs further into his corner. “Who… who are you?”

“You summoned me.” Taemin holds his hands out, palms up; a universal sign for ‘I am laying the truth before you’. “I am a demon, and you summoned me.”

The boy hiccups and brushes his tears away with the back of his hand. He studies Taemin, unafraid. Taemin waits patiently and bears his scrutiny until he finally speaks. “I just want him to stop hurting me.”

And this is the most painful lesson Taemin has come to learn over the centuries; that nothing in the nine circles of the netherworld can match the cruelties humans inflict upon each other in their lifetimes. That sometimes a soul can hurt so much that a simple spoken word, a thought even, can be as powerful as a spell. 

These are not souls he wants to collect. 

“I can do that,” Taemin explains. “But it will cost you your soul.”

“What does that mean?” 

“Look, kid-”

The boy snorts. “Kid? You look like, twelve.” 

“Well, I am not like, twelve.” Taemin sits cross-legged on the floor opposite the boy, noting the faded scars and bruises littering his body. “I could turn into a centaur, but the last time I did that someone fainted.”

The boy laughs; loudly at first, caught off guard, but barely a moment later he stifles his laughter with a hand clamped over his mouth. 

“I could also do the whole tail and horns and pitchfork thing, but it’s so clichéd. Also, between the two of us, the underworld does not smell of brimstone. And if you don’t want me to call you kid, tell me your name.” 

The boy is smiling now. “Aren’t we not supposed to do that?” 

“That advice only applies to fairies. You humans are so afraid of demons, but let me tell you, we’re not half as tricky as the fair folk. We’re only after your soul, but they’ll turn you into a half-human, half-frog monstrosity and make you their court jester for a century just for fun.” 

“If you say so.” The boy shrugs. “My name is Kibum.” 

“I’m Taemin.” 

Kibum quirks an eyebrow at him. “Really? Not… I don’t know… something Latin that translates into Doom of Mankind?”

“Taemin’s the easiest.” 

“And you can grant wishes?” 

“In exchange for your soul,” Taemin answers. “That’s the important part. Eternal damnation and all that.” 

Kibum hesitates, and Taemin seizes his chance. “I know you’ve been hurt, and it feels like you can’t make it through another day, but this will end. You will grow up and leave all of this behind. It’s not worth it.”

“He’ll kill me before it comes to that.” Kibum looks grim, defensive. “He’s so angry all of the time-”

“Run away.” 

Kibum laughs mirthlessly. “The last time I did that, he shut me in the basement for a year. I’m not going back down there ever again.” 

“You can’t take a basement for a year, but you think you can cope with Hell for eternity?” 

At Taemin’s question, Kibum makes a sound of frustration and pulls his hair. Angry and sad all at once, Taemin pulls his hands away from his head and holds them in his own. “I can’t kill him, or take you away, but I can do this.” 

Kibum struggles, trying to break free of his grasp. He looks like he’s on the verge of panic, and Taemin wants to kill the man who has hurt him so badly that he’s afraid of having his hand held. 

Instead, he keeps his voice calm. “I’m not going to hurt you, Kibum, I promise. But I need you to trust me for a bit. Can you do that? Can you trust me?”

It takes such a long time for Kibum to say yes, but Taemin doesn’t mind. He has eternity, he can wait. He lets his energy flow through their linked hands, healing the boy’s bones, muscle and skin. Kibum’s eyes widen, likely in fear, but he doesn’t try to break their link or run away. 

When Taemin is satisfied, he lets go of Kibum’s hands. 

“Are you going to take my soul for that?” 

Taemin shakes his head. “No. But… I will need some form of payment.” 

“I don’t have anything I can give you.” Kibum looks frightened again. “Are you going to take my eyesight or-”

“Just a kiss.” To be honest, Taemin does not want anything from him at all, but it is the law of nature; he has to take something in exchange for something given. A kiss is powerful, but also harmless. 

Kibum is blushing. “A kiss? On the lips?”

Taemin nods. He sits still in front of Kibum and allows the teenager to approach him. When Kibum closes his eyes, Taemin does too. The press of their lips together is brief, but Taemin can feel the cosmic forces shift back into balance. It is payment enough. 

“Are you leaving now?” 

Taemin lays a hand on Kibum’s head, as much of a blessing as a demon can give. “Be strong, Kibum. You will find your way out of this.”
 

Another decade, another summons. 

It has been some time since Taemin was summoned last, so he’s ready to be mischievous again. 

The person summoning him is a grown man – as usual. He doesn’t seem afraid, so Taemin decides to scare him a little. He has a reputation to keep up, after all. He adopts the form of a Reaper after noticing the cross the man wears on a fine chain around his neck. As he materialises, Taemin gives himself a giant scythe. 

With a voice like bells tolling at a funeral, he says “Who dares summon-”

“You’re not scary at all.”

Taemin is well and truly pissed off, and he’s plotting ways to show this impudent man the true magnificence of his powers when he realises that he recognises him. 

“Just what sort of lily-livered coward faints at this?” 

“Kibum?” It is him. Gone are the bruises on his face and body, gone is the gauntness of his cheeks, but the sharpness of his eyes remain. And when he smiles, his lips curve in a way that is painfully familiar. 

“It’s me.” Kibum smiles brightly. 

“I knew you would make it.” Taemin had not known, but he had hoped. 

“Thank you, for believing in me. And I guess, now that I’ve left that part of me behind and I love my life, I guess I wanted to thank you. I’ve been trying to summon you for over a year. You wouldn’t believe what I had to do to find your spell.” Kibum takes a step forward, as if he’s about to step out of his circle. 

“That’s dangerous, you know,” Taemin warns him. “The circle is meant to protect you.” 

Kibum steps out of it anyway. “I know,” he says. He crouches down in front of Taemin’s circle. “And this is supposed to contain you, but…” Kibum runs a finger through the chalk, breaking the circle and setting Taemin free. “But I trust you.”