𝐄𝐕𝐄𝐑 𝐀𝐅𝐓𝐄𝐑 ⋆⋆⋆ 𝐒𝐏𝐍 𝐒𝐇𝐎𝐑𝐓

𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐎𝐍𝐄

warnings !
michael is a dick, sabriel, destiel, innuedos, forced marriage

—•—•—

"And where do you think you're going?" 

Michael's voice questioned you coldly, never even looking up from his book. The way he pronounced your name was more like spitting it out. The archangel surprised you with the question, as you were sure he hadn't been paying you any attention whatsoever. In fact, you'd been hoping so.

"Out." You replied in the same tone, wishing he'd just leave you alone. Honestly, did he have to question every single movement you ever made?

The thing was, you and Michael were married. Not by choice, for sure. Hell, if you could be, you'd be on the other side of the Earth right now, as far away from him as possible. You hated the oldest archangel with a passion, and you had a good reason to. Ever since you'd met him, especially since your arranged marriage, he'd been a complete dick. Ignoring you when he didn't want to talk, demanding you talk when he did want to, always making sure you weren't going to try to escape. Which you'd tried, of course. It really didn't go well, ending up with you locked in your personal bedroom for two straight days without any human or angel contact. By the end of it, you had never felt more anger (and hurt) towards your soulmate.

In this world, God paired soulmates together, and usually, that went well. Most of them had love at first sight, and were eager to get married. You had heard about those stories, and even seen it with your friends. Hell, you had even once thought it might happen to you, despite the fact that you were a hunter and everything seemed hellbent on making your life complete misery. Sam and Dean Winchester, people who had originally thought the whole soulmate thing was BS, had gotten married to angels. Much to your surprise, they were okay with it. Better than okay, actually. They seemed content with Castiel and Gabriel, which made you wish you could have had at least a decent soulmate, one like Cas or Gabe, that were friendly and could actually smile.

Unlike a certain archangel named Michael. All he seemed to do was criticize and lecture you, which, understandable, pissed you off. Luckily or unluckily, your archangel blade had been taken at the beginning of this relationship, or your soulmate might just be dead.

"Like you'd even care, though," you added, but he didn't reply as you slammed the door behind you, growling something else inaudibly to yourself.

Once you were gone, Michael's green gaze switched to the door. He huffed and disappeared to find his Father, to ask for what would be the millionth time if you were his real soulmate. If he'd had the choice, you would be a pile of ash for talking to him the way you did. Unfortunately, as powerful as he was, the one thing he couldn't seem to do, or bring himself to do, was to intentionally harm you.

Of course, he told himself it was because of the soulmate rules.

—•—•—

You went to your car, intending to go take out your rage on some stupid ghost or demon. "Stupid archangel," you grumbled again, checking that you had your salt, iron, and holy water stocked up and easily accessible in the trunk of your '67 Chevrolet Impala. It had been a gift from your parents on your sixteenth birthday, seeing as you'd been begging for an old, American muscle car. Michael, of course, commented on it, saying that it was weird for you to like such old stuff. You remembered him rolling his eyes when you tried to explain.

"Screw you, Michael," you muttered, moving to unlock the driver's door. In the back, you had a bag of clothing, in case you had to stay overnight somewhere, and this time, you were definitely staying away at least a couple of nights, if not like two or three weeks. Your last argument with the archangel had ended with you crying and yelling at him that he was the worse thing that ever happened to you.