@michaelsapostle / michaelsapostle.tumblr.com
Summary: Just when things were starting to get back to normal, an accidental confession by Michael sends shockwaves through your relationship.
Word Count: 3148
A/N: Another chapter of Mad Love, done. Thanks for sticking with me, and I hope this doesn’t suck too much.
Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 4 | Chapter 5 | Chapter 6 | Chapter 7 | Chapter 8 | Chapter 9 | Chapter 10 | Chapter 11 | Chapter 12 | Chapter 13 | Chapter 14 | Chapter 15
Michael Langdon, the keeper of the underworld. 😈
...
Happy 2020. ✌
Notes: My first attempt at Xavier fic. I figured I better write this before the show drops more twists on us.
Word Count: 1.7k
Warnings: Blood, sort of graphic description of an injury.
You’re fucked.
It’s your first and only thought when your shoe catches on a gnarled tree root in your desperate sprint through the woods. The clumsy mistake sends you spinning off course, plummeting down a steep embankment, a blur of dirt and branches and soggy grass. And fuck, it hurts the whole way—rough earth scraping your bare knees and elbows, twigs catching you in the face, biting into your shoulder, rocks digging through muscle and jostling your bones together. The cherry on top is the awkward landing, the sickening, awful crack that echoes off the trees. You think for a horrifying second that it’s what will finally get you killed. Not the injury itself, but the sound of your bone snapping in pieces, carrying on the wind, giving your location away to a knife-wielding killer.
You shudder and let out a gasping breath once your back slams into the dirt. There was too much adrenaline, too much fear clouding your nerves for the initial break to be painful, but now that you’ve settled, it rushes in all at once. You’re afraid to look down. Afraid to move. Afraid to breathe. You try not to make much noise as hot, silent tears run down your cheeks and drip from your chin.
It’s a nasty break. The excruciating pain tells you things are bad, and the unnatural, grotesque twist of your ankle confirms it. This isn’t your first broken bone—you were twelve last time; a reckless tumble off your bike and a hard fall on your wrist—but the homicidal weirdo with a penchant for collecting ears is a new complication.
