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"SHE'LL DIE FOR THIS," Michael announced, shooting up from the edge of the bed where he had been originally seated. Furious was an understatement, he was positively seething with rage. The dark magic flooding through his veins practically begged to be released, and to be released onto one individual in particular.
When Michael found out that the Supreme had tried to imprison Molly upon discovery of their bond, it was like something had snapped within him. Seeing her broken and shaking on his bedroom floor would be an image permanently engraved on his mind. One he would now perpetually associate with Cordelia.
The couple were still in fairly early stages of a relationship - if one would even call it that. But his protectiveness over the young Second Coming developed long before they had shared a kiss, and was only increasing with every moment they spent together. He had promised her previously no harm would come to the witches - and despite his abhorrence of them, had agreed to it without reservations out of respect for Molly's love of them.
But surely this was enough to break any and all vows.
"Stop, please," she begged, head snapping up to stare at him with round, watering eyes that only infuriated him further. Molly was one of the strongest people he knew, and this betrayal had cut her deep - reducing her to a crying, shaking shadow of herself. Her eyes, which were his favourite thing about her purely for their inability to hide her innermost feelings, were troubled and lined with a slick layer of unshed tears.
Crouching down in front of her and resting on one knee, Michael cupped his hands around her cheeks, forcing her to meet his gaze head on. The Antichrist slipped his hands back, sliding his fingers into curly hair and gripping her head with a passionate ferocity.
"They tried to keep you from me, Molly," Michael tried to reason, eyes trailing across her angelic features. "She tried to imprison you - betrayed your trust as if you weren't one of her own."
"I'll never be one of them," she confessed in a meek voice, lower lip quivering ever so slightly. "As much as I try, I'll always be different."
"Listen to me-" Michael began, a sharp rapture of knocks on his door interrupting what he was about to say. His eyes lifting in an eye roll, he didn't dare tear his gaze away from her as he called out in a hard voice, "fuck off!"
Amused by his vulgarity, she gently cupped a hand over her mouth to quiet the lowest of giggles she couldn't help but give. Thankful to see her spirits lift, even a fraction, the corners of his lips quirked proudly.
"You don't need them, Molly," he lowered his voice to a murmur, conscious of potentially listening ears. "You never have. Just as I don't need the warlocks. All we need is each other."
