Written in the Stars (Lucifer x Angel!Reader)

Chapter 8

Simeon cannot see the shackles that bind him.

He's not sure if that makes it better or worse. On the bright side, it allows him to forget that he is being held prisoner. On the downside, it forces the painstaking realization back down on his heaving shoulders every time he tries to lean forward.

He flinches against the wall, holding himself back as a cold sweat breaks out on his forehead. Give in, a part of him says. Give in, answer all the High Seraphs' questions about MC, and be free.

But the angel knows that, even in this torture, he'll never be able to bring himself to spill the secret that you've tried to hide so desperately. After all, if Simeon tells them the truth, he may go free; but then you'll be brought down to this very room to be put through the same torture he's enduring.

And he'll never do that to you.

Simeon groans, eyes opening to see the six glasses of holy water in front of him. They're crystal clear, shining oh-so-softly in the darkness of this room, but after well over twenty-four hours without drink, he seeks them like a moth to a flame. He doesn't just want water, he genuinely needs it, and he can't help but wonder what the seraphs will do to him when this torture of dehydration becomes life-threatening.

At the back of his mind, though, he suspects that it won't come to that.

Slumping against the wall, he recalls the dream Father had sent him. Or rather the vision that had been sent to all of you. It was far from the first time Simeon had been allowed to sit in on one of the conversations between the High Seraphs and Father, and he'd almost wondered whether the Celestial overlord was going to demand that he be freed from this cruel imprisonment. When the subject of discussion turned toward your fate, though, a smile bloomed on Simeon's face.

Gods be good, he had thought, realizing that he had the truth of it. Father is merciful.

Even now, as Simeon sits, he can hear the sound of you arguing with the High Seraphs, demanding your freedom. He hears your terms echo down the halls, reaching his ears long after you've said them: orders to allow you the right to return to the Devildom, to freely see Lucifer for not just the remainder of the year but for the rest of your life, to not be held captive in these towers ever again.

A soft smile finds its way onto the angel's face when he hears you demand that he be released, wherever they're keeping him.

You're too kind, little lamb.

Not that Simeon is complaining, though. He had been passed out when Father sent him that earlier vision, and the same fate threatens to arrive in the near future if he doesn't get some water and soon.

Simeon reaches another weak hand forward, testing to see how far he can go before the invisible shackles snap him back against the wall.

The sudden darkness causes him to stop.

His breath hitches in his throat, quietly trembling at the unexpected absence of light. It returns not a second later, and his muscles relax, smiling when he realizes that it's you causing these fluctuations.

Simeon's not sure if he should be proud or worried.

A broken laugh spills from his dry lips—interrupted by hoarse coughing—and he tries his hardest to recover, but he must pass out from the effort because when he next comes to, the sounds of your continued conversation echo down and fall upon his ears once more.

It's weak, but he can just barely make out what you're saying.

"You promise?" The sound is distorted, but it has the unmistakable inflection of your voice, filled with a hesitant hope. "Do you mean it?"