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gayaristocrat · 5 years ago

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An Eternity With You//Michael Langdon x Male! Feminin Reader (1/?)

Summary-Michael has been distant lately and it’s starting to raise some questions in your head. When his secrec comes out, will it divide you two apart?

Warning-None.

Authors Note: Cody Fern could literally blow my back out😩 Anyways, the reader will be feminin, so I hope you are okay with that.

(Reader p.o.v)

I slowly open my eyes only to quickly shut them and furrow my brows from the bright morning sun peeking through my (f/c) curtains. I groan as I drag my torso up to a position where I am sitting on my bed. I open my eyes again and wipe them with my hands hoping that it will help stop my eyes from burning, but it didn’t. I groan again “I knew I should have gotten those blackout curtains instead of these kind.”

I decide to lay back in bed and as I do, I look over on the other side to see it empty. But, curled up in a ball is Milo, my Doberman Michael gave me on my birthday after a year of us being together. Milo pops his head up and wiggles his nub of a tail, lazily crawling over to me when he wakes up and sees me. He puts his paws on my lap, sticking his tongue out and curling it while yawning and stretching his body. I lightly laugh and rub his head, then he starts feeling happy and wags his nub tail.

I get up and put my feel on the floor, hissing at the cold floor, and I sluggishly walk to my closet picking out my clothes for the day. I put on an (f/c) beanie, a (3f/c) striped crop top, (f/c) pants, (f/c) converse, and I then I put on makeup(just a natural look w/some eyeliner). I hear the tip tap of paws trotting to me and I see Milo come over to me, looking at me in awe.

“Hehe, I see you like my outfit, don’t you Milo?” I say softly as I bend down to hold his head in both of my hands to rub him. I stop petting Milo and I stand up and mumble “Michael would have loved to see me in this outfit if he saw me right now.” Tears start welling up in my eyes threatening to spill.

Lately I’ve noticed that Michael has been acting strange lately. He comes to bed very late at night, some times not even coming to bed at all lately. Hell, he hasn’t had sex with me in a couple of days. When we are together he always gets nervous, which is very abnormal. I wipe my tears and fix my make up and leave my room to head to the kitchen to get breakfast hearing Milo following behind. I fix Milo’s food and set it on the ground for him to eat, which he quickly does and gulps his water down. Then, I make eggs, bacon, and pancakes, fixing Michael a plate then my plate. I sit his plate in front of me just in case he comes home, then I start to eat.

(Michael’s p.o.v at another house)

FUCK, FUCK, FUCK, FUCK! I’ve been gone too long, why do I keep doing this to him. He doesn’t deserve this but I can’t help it. I can’t keep this up! I frantically put on my clothes from yesterday and leave the room I slept in. I walk down stairs to see her making breakfast.(A.N.🤭who is she?)

“Hey hun, want some breakfast before you go back to him?”

“No, I have to go back home. I’ve been gone too long.”

“Are you sure, I don’t want you starving after last night”

I start to get aggravated at her, “YES, IM SURE OKAY? Look, I already put him through enough and I just need to go home” “You can’t keep doing this to him you know.” “I know I just-”

She sighs and walks over, hugging me and kissing my cheek. I hug her back and let her go, walking to the front door. As I walk out closing the door I hear her yell out “Bye, I love you.” I yell out “I love you too.”

I get in my car and put myself together so that (y/n) doesn’t raise any questions. I stop by the store and pick out his favorite flowers, (f/f). I drive back to our house and I see Milo peek his head through, barking. I quickly walk up to the door, opening it only to be tackled by a heavy black body.

I look and see Milo with a goofy expression on his face. I laugh and take my hands, rubbing his body. He rolls on the floor on his back and I rub his belly. “Hey buddy, how ya’ doin?”

I get up, close and lock the front door, tip toeing my way to our kitchen to see breakfast. I get ready to eat it, only to discover that it is cold, shit. So I pop it in the microwave. I walk away to go to the living room. I abruptly stop when I hear a familiar voice.

“Where the fuck were you all night?”

........Fuck

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Okay, I’m finished with the first chapter, I really hope you enjoy it and I will be putting out part 2 soon.

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theliterarydsm · 8 years ago

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Andy Bankson

From Lily King’s Euphoria

Three days earlier, I’d gone to the river to try to drown myself.

Are you serious, Andy? The question beat through my body at regular intervals, sometimes in my own voice, sometimes in one of my brothers’: Martin’s full of the irony of the situation, John’s more concerned but still with a bit of an eyebrow raised. There was a thinness to the air as I moved through the bush beyond my village, northwest, toward an empty spot on the water. A few steps closer to London, just a few. Hello, Mum; goodbye, Mum. I loved you, I did, before you drove me out of the bleeding hemisphere. I wasn’t sure I was taking in oxygen. I couldn’t feel my tongue. He cain’t feel his tongue, wha? I could hear Martin call to John in the voice of our old cook Mary. John was laughing too much to answer. The stones were ridiculous, and clacked loudly against my thighs. Now my brothers were laughing at the linen jacket, our father’s, the one that had the egg stain Martin would be remembering. He had a proper fit, didn’t he, Andy, when I kindly brought the splodge to his attention. I swatted through the thick growth, my brothers miming me, exaggerating me behind my back, John telling Martin to stop making him laugh or he’d piss. I came to the place where Teket’s boy had been bitten by a death adder. He died quickly––the respiratory system shuts down entirely. Some chaps have all the luck, eh? Martin said. Funny how when you have a purpose the misery goes and hides. The feeling that had clung to me like wax for so long was gone, and I felt strangely buoyant, my humor returned to me, my brothers closer than they had felt in years. Almost as if they were about to truly speak again. Perhaps all suicides are happy in the end. Perhaps it is at that moment that one feels the real point of it all, which, after you get yourself born, is to die. It is the one thing each and every one of us is programmed for, directed to, and cannot serve away from indefinitely. Even my father, also dead, would have to agree with that. Was this how Martin felt marching toward Piccadilly? That’s how I’d always imagined it, not walking or running but marching, marching like John marching to the war that ate him. And then the gun, from his pocket to his ear. Not his temple, but his ear. They had made that clear, for some reason. As if he had just meant to stop hearing, not stop living. Had the metal touched skin? Had he paused to feel the cold of it or was it all done in one moment, one smooth gesture? Had he laughed? I could only see Martin laughing at that moment. Nothing had ever been particularly serious to Martin. Certainly not a young man in Piccadilly with a gun to his ear. That’s what bothered me so much when I heard, when the headmaster came and fetched me from French class. Why had Martin been so serious about that one thing? Couldn’t he have been serious about something else? I felt the slough coming back now, a sort of mental suffocation. Old Prall in my office would get the news and he would feel as I had done that day in the headmaster’s room, staring at a fern on the windowsill and doubting that Martin had been serious. Prall would hardly know whether to laugh or cry. Bloody Bankson’s gone and drowned himself in that river, he’d sputter to Maxley or Henin down the hall. And then someone would laugh. How could they not? But I could not go back and sit in that mosquito room alone again. If I did not turn toward the river (it was glinting now through the waxy green platter-sized leaves) I’d just have to keep walking. Eventually I’d reach the Pabei. I’d never met one. Half of them had been calaboosed because they wouldn’t abide by the new laws.

I headed toward the water. I bit hard on the muscle of my tongue. Harder. I could not feel it, though the blood came, metal, inhuman. I walked straight into the river. Yes, it had probably been all one gesture, out of the pocket and to the ear and bang. The water was warm and the linen jacket did not float up. It hung heavy and tight against me. I heard movement behind me. A crocodile perhaps. For the first time I felt no fear of them. Eaten by a croc. Tops blowing your head off in Piccadilly Circus. Crocodiles were sacred to the Kiona. Perhaps I would become part of their mythology, the unhappy white man who became a crocodile. I went under. My mind was not still but I was not unhappy. Unfortunately I’d always been able to hold my breath. We used to compete, Martin, John and I. They thought it was funny that the youngest had the biggest lungs, that I passed out before giving up. You’re the part fainting goat, Andy, my father often said.

They grabbed me so hard and fast I took in water and, though I was in the air again, I couldn’t breathe. Each man had hooked an arm around my shoulder. They dragged me to shore, flipped me over, pounded me like a sago pancake, and pulled me back up to standing, all the while lecturing me in their language. They found the stones in my pocket. They grabbed them, the two men, their bodies nearly dry already for they wore nothing but rope around their waists while I sagged with the weight of all my clothes. They made a pile of the stones from my pockets on the beach and shifted language to a Kiona worse than mine, explaining that they knew I was Teket’s man from Nengai. The stones are beautiful, they said, but dangerous. You can collect them, but leave them on land before you swim. And do not swim in clothes. This is also dangerous. And do not swim alone. Being alone you will only come to harm.

Diagnosis: Posttraumatic Stress Disorder 309.81 (F43.10) (“Learning that the traumatic event(s) occurred to a close family member or close friend. In cases of actual or threatened death of a family member of friend, the event(s) must have been violent or accidental.”)

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