(The Magnus Archives Oneshots)

Micheal (Shelly/The Distortion) x Reader

Soulmates are complicated. Quite a while ago you met your soulmate and started dating him. A few years later he proposed, and then he fucking died. Well that's what you were told. The old lady he worked under, Gertrude you think it was, had been there when you went to pick him up from the airport after a work trip. She said he got sick while he was overseas with her and it killed him. She said something about them sending his ashes back but you couldn't hear over the staticky waves that filled your head and the dull weight in your chest.

You spent a lot of time alone after that. You covered your soulmarks with long sleeves and just worked. Usually it was hard to not talk with people as a bartender, but everyone around you seemed to adapt to the solitude you picked up. At night you would walk along the empty streets breathing in the thick fog that seemed to cover everything till there was only you and it. You would close your eyes and all that you could hear would be the sea. And it was filling in a way. It filled you the same way alcohol did, in a way that felt so good in the moment but hours later made you feel like everything inside was rotting and left you with a splitting headache. Yes, the loneliness liked you, and you wanted to like it, but you were already marked by another.

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You must be seeing things, you have to be because, because there's a man standing on the street corner, cutting through the fog. He's tall, he's always been tall, he has long curly blonde hair, you used to love running your hands through that, and his hands are... too defined. But none of that is what makes you question your vision, curled around his arms are marks, the same ones covering your arms.

The tattoos that covered your arms we're supposed to be identical to his when you first met, but they weren't, at least they weren't at least then they weren't. When you touched hands they lit up so you knew you were soulmates, but yours twisted in ways that his didn't. But now staring at the man in the street corner you realized that his tattoos were now twisted in the same way yours were.

The feeling of panic was beginning to grow as the man turned towards you and smiled, always had the brightest smile didn't he, then he took a step forward and-

"Y/N"

no nO NO, it was almost his voice but it just echoed so much, it seemed to reverberate around a space that wasn't there and it vibrated through the empty weight in your chest. It was, nice, and then he was stepping forward again. It was, wrong, off, but it felt right... And then you were running.

Faster, faster, out, AWAY, anywhere but there. Into the fog, letting it fill you, and consume you on and on until there was only the fog, and then only after what felt like years of running through the fog did you collapse, and cry. That's when it became obvious, the fog was going to consume you because it liked you so much but you didn't like it, not as you are now, so it would change you, make you part of it. There was nothing, nothing but you and the fog, nothing until a hand that was too large and too sharp wrapped its way around your wrist and gave you a choice.

The hand left almost as soon as it arrived, but the choice was still there, in the form of a door that stood on the wall behind you.

A/N: Hey if you request something can you tell me what genre you want (ex: fluff, angst, hurt/comfort, AU)

Part 2?