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damnlance · 3 years ago

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Klance angsty prompt 6 please 👀

Klangst Prompt #6

6. “You’ve never hurt me. Ever”

Summary: Lately, Lance has been stressed beyond the point of breaking… The end of the war was 3 years ago and yet, it’s not enough time to pass for Lance to feel better. Not even close. Everyone has always called him a hero. And since the day they landed back on earth, everyone has gone so far to ask for photos and autographs and all that. These days Lance is sick of it.

Or; the pressures of being the ‘savior of earth’ has been building up inside of Lance, causing him to erupt on any and everyone.

Good thing he has his amazing boyfriend.

-there’s a slow start, but I PROMISE it’s klance so just keep reading!

-also galra (kitten) Keith ?? I love him

It all started with a fangirl just a few weeks ago.

Lance decided to walk to his favorite coffee shop one chilly afternoon. He woke up really late and was immediately craving something sweet yet bitter. And since he lives with most of his family, running out of coffee five days after buying a brand new pack of it is very common, especially when no one wants to buy more for whatever reason.

So there Lance was, walking down the street. Hands tucked into his blue lion hoodie (thanks to all the merch the fans of voltron have made over the years), making his way to the closest coffee shop near his home. And then he hears the high pitched squeal of a girl at least 10 feet away from him. Then 9 feet.. then 6.. then 4 because she’s literally running at him with the speed of a hundred cheetahs chasing a gazelle until she’s right there, face to face with Lance.

“Oh my god!!” She yelled, jumping up and down like some 5 year old girl getting a puppy. She was about 5’7, short brown hair and huge blue eyes that almost resembled Lance’s. She wore this giant faux fur coat and beanie to match, and her phone was IN LANCE’S FACE.

She was all over him and it was attracting others to stare their way. Lance tried to calm her down by smiling and using a little of his charm but it was just making the girl fangirl even more. So he took a picture with her to be on his way before the coffee shop got too busy. But she wouldn’t back off. Apparently she wasn’t satisfied with the picture, something about how her eyes were closed? Or how blurry it came out? Lance couldn't remember, he just wanted his coffee.

The girl kept hounding him and following him, demanding that he retake the picture with her. Lance let her down easy, saying how he needed to be someplace important and that he was running late. The girl kept pushing him. Following his every move, right on his heels. Begging, pleading with him to take more pictures because she ‘needed them,’ whatever that meant. Lance tried his hardest to be nice and polite because as a former paladin of voltron and as one of seven someone’s who have saved the entire universe, his image is everything. Without him or his former paladins, there would probably be no earth. So he stopped in his tracks and took a better picture with the girl.

He felt good to see her happy because of something that he had done. Plus he looked really good in that picture, who knew the earth’s natural lighting at 1pm could make his skin look so smooth? Once he gave his approval of the better pic, he was on his way again, hoping that the line to the coffee shop wasn’t even longer now. As he started to fast walk down the busy sidewalk, something yanked him back by the neck and he came crashing down. Literally. He fell right back on his ass and when he looked up, this same crazy girl was looming over him like a mad woman. With his blue hand-knit wool scarf dangling from her grabby hands. The anger that had been simmering in Lance’s gut was at a full blown boil and he was just about ready to explode. So.. he kinda did..

Long and embarrassing story short, Lance yelled at her. He snatched his blue scarf out of her hands so fast, it scared her, and as he rubbed his most likely bruised tailbone, he got in her face and began blaming her for the world's most horrible fan interaction. He was so angry, that he balled his fists, stomped his foot and had veins protruding out of his neck and forehead. He called her names and most likely spit in her face, but he didn’t care. And when he was done, he took a step back and examined the girl in front of him. She was folded in on herself, holding her arms close to her body as her bottom lip quivered and fat, giant tears rolled down her cheeks. She looked so.. mortified. And actually.. scared of him. Like if Lance were to say anything or move a muscle, she’d flinch.

Seconds later, Lance’s face softened into something regretful and he went out to reach for her, to apologize. But, like he knew she would, she flinched. And then hurried away like he was a mad man. All the while crying and clutching her phone to her chest. Lance felt absolutely demolished inside. He tried to go after her but his feet were glued to the cement of the sidewalk. He didn’t even want his coffee anymore.

Thankfully, there were no viral videos or photos or posts about the incident. Lance ended up tracking the girl down a few days later and showered her with all the love he could muster, even taking as many pics as she wanted and liking them on Instagram when she tagged him. But.. something inside him still felt so horrible about the incident. For a moment, Lance had realized that he genuinely hurt that girl for no real reason. He just wanted some coffee but is coffee more important than the people who are thankful and want to show their gratitude for him for everything he did with voltron? If the roles were reversed and he stayed on earth, he would be bending over backwards to let all the paladins know just how thankful he was to live another day on their planet. That girl probably had family, friends, maybe a spouse and kids, and in the midst of that horrible battle 3 years ago, she most likely thought that one of those days would be her last with them.

It broke Lance’s heart thinking about it. He really hurt her. Sure, he made it right and she forgave him, but in that single moment, he actually hurt someone enough to make them cry, to make them run away from him. It was a terrible feeling. It wasn’t Lance. He never wanted that to happen again.

And at the same time.. he.. kinda never wanted to be the savior of earth. Not really.. he just wanted to feel like he had a place in the universe, and to know that he played an important role. That he mattered.

Guess he really matters now..

He sends a long text to Keith with shaky hands.

Message delivered..

The second he walked through the door, his phone rang. It was a three-way call with Hunk and Pidge. Lance pressed the green button to answer and placed the phone to his ear. Immediately, Hunk starts going on and on about how much he misses Lance and when the next time they’ll see each other will be. Lance smiled at his best friend’s inability to ever take a breath between sentences and replied with a warm ‘I miss you too, buddy.’ They got to catching up as Lance ordered his garlic knots and sat down at a private booth near the back of the place. He didn’t want to draw any attention to himself, especially when he got the call from his best friends.

Hunk tells him all the great things that’s been happening at the Garrison and even on the Atlas. He tells him how his restaurant is doing and how his family is doing and how Shay is doing. Pidge catches him up on things with her family, some new inventions she’s been working on, and how being the youngest teacher at the Garrison is going. Lance listens and gives his two cents on everything his friends tell him and honestly, he couldn’t be more happy for them. The way they were able to just get their lives together 3 years after the war is.. incredible. It made him think about everything he’s done since the war ended. Which wasn’t much.. he took over his family’s farm and brought it back to life, he helps out Colleen, Pidge’s mom, with medicine and finding cures to strange space illnesses with plants she has him grow on his farm, and his family’s market wouldn’t be as popular or swarming with business if he didn’t work there. Sad but true. And that’s really it. He hasn’t done much else. Nothing life changing or breathtaking like his friends.

But Hunk and Pidge don’t need to know that. So he simply replies with: “Oh, ya know.. same old, same old,�� and hopes it works enough to keep the conversation flowing and follow up questions at bay. It does.

30 minutes into their conversation and Lance is starting to feel a little.. agitated. With the garlic knots consumed and digesting in his stomach, he sits in the booth, alone, listening to his friends go on and on and on about their perfect jobs and their perfect little lives. He gets lost a few times and at one point has literally no idea what they’re talking about. When he tries to ask what or who or even get the slightest details, Pidge lets out a sigh that Lance can’t help but feel like is out of annoyance. Lance sighs back and continues to stay silent because obviously he’s not getting anywhere. Why even bother putting him on a call that Hunk and Pidge could have just had on their own??

Balling his fist, Lance let out a loud, overdramatic sigh. He didn’t care if his friends heard it or how they took it. He was upset. The conversation between his two friends comes to a halt and then awkward silence. Pidge is the first to speak up with a:

“Something you wanna add, Lance?” The annoyance in her voice is very much there and Lance doesn’t miss it. He scoffs loudly and grits his teeth.

“No.” He says, voice deepening in anger.

“Oh really?” Pidge asks, poking the sleeping bear that lies dormant in lance. “Cause it sure sounds like it to me. Why don’t you stop being such a fucking child and tell us what’s bothering you this time??”

Lance damn near growls.

The line has gone quiet now. Hunk’s unsteady breathing is audible but other than that, silence. Lance digs his nails into the skin of his palms and tries to keep the angry tears in his eyes from falling down his cheeks. With a deep shaky breath, he smiles through the pain.

“You know what, Katie,” Lance spits and it makes Hunk gasp. “Fuck YOU and this stupid, shitty attitude you have all the time!”

“Oh, god..” Hunk winces.

“I don’t know what the actual fuck crawled up your ass,” Lance continues, “but I’m sick of it! I've been sick of it for years! I’m sick of keeping my mouth shut and quite frankly, I’m sick of YOU!”

Lance is standing up out of his seat now. His chest heaves up and down as the angry tears have fallen past his face and down his neck. His voice is two octaves deep from anger and the skin of his palm is bloody from how hard he’s digging his nails into it. The place has gone quiet now and Lance can feel multiple pairs of eyes on him. So much for not drawing any attention to himself.

The line is quiet. Then, the sound of a huff of breath. A small laugh.. And then:

“Wow. Nice one, McClain..” Pidge’s voice is small, but so full of something. “Go screw yourself, you asshole.”

The call ends. Whether Pidge or Hunk ended it, is unclear.

Minutes pass, and Lance is still standing in the same place with the phone to his ear. Tears are running down his face, and his Altean marks are buzzing so loud in his ears. His heart is pounding in his ribcage and ice cold sorrow runs through his veins..

He sends a long text to Keith with shaky hands.

Message delivered...

Now, exactly 3 months since that little incident, Lance sits alone in his home. In his childhood bedroom he can’t seem to rearrange because he’s still holding out hope that one day he’ll turn back time and be his child self and get a redo on his life. But hey, it’s better this way. After the whole dilemma with Pidge, Hunk tried to call Lance to help but ended up getting his feelings hurt. Yep. By Lance. Because Lance is a big jerk and can’t stop hurting everyone around him.

So he hasn’t talked to Pidge or Hunk since then. Mostly out of guilt and shame because those two are supposed to be his bestest friends and he hurt them. Nothing he could say or do could make up for his selfish mind and stupid mouth. Lance had this whole plan to go to Shiro about it, to get his advice so Lance could make it all better.

But Pidge being Pidge.. texted the whole thing in their group chat and.. well.. everyone saw it. Shiro, Hunk, Matt, even Keith possibly! It got so bad that Lance’s phone kept going off with alerts from everyone asking what happened and what he said. Curtis tried calling him and left a few messages. Shiro left him a long voicemail. And of course the word traveled so fast that it reached New Altea and Coran got involved. Which caused Romelle to be involved, too. She gossiped to Acxa, who told her girlfriend, who happens to be Lance’s sister, Veronica. Veronica blabbed to Rachel, who blabbed to Marco, who blabbed to Luis.. who blabbed to Lance’s dad.. WHO BLABBED TO LANCE’S MOM. And boy did she have some interesting words for him in the SEVEN, LONG voicemails asking exactly ‘what happened’and ‘why The Holt siblings were so angry with him.’

Everything escalated so fast. Lance can’t even remember what he said. Or why he said it. Since the war ended, it’s been so hard on him. Sure, it’s been hard on everyone, but for Lance it’s been different. Everyone looks up to him for some reason and expects him to do so good and be the hero they all think he is, when in reality? He was just a leg…

Exactly what did he gain from being a paladin of voltron anyway?? Get banged up and bruised almost everyday he was out there? Have people on his case, constantly reminding him how unimportant he was to the team? Pointing out all of his flaws and mistakes and focusing on those when there’s a million other good things he’s done that towers over all the bad shit?? Sure, he returned home to his family who he literally missed and cried for every single day, but he lost the love of his life in the process.

To put it all out there, Lance didn’t really gain anything. He got to travel through space, which was his dream since he was a little kid, and then space chewed him up and spit him out as some fake hero with PTSD and other trauma that will haunt him for the rest of his pathetic life.

So.. these past 3 months.

Lance has been sitting up in his childhood room.

Wishing he could use the power of Altea or something to turn back time.

And be his younger self.

His innocent self.

His happier self.

Back when he wasn’t so fucked up and had dreams and goals.

Back when everyone was proud of him.

Back to when he didn’t know who Allura was or that she even existed. Back to when Voltron didn’t exist either and everything was fucking fine.

Staring up at his ceiling, Lance counts the glow in the dark stars that he’s had up there since he was six years old. Somehow they’re still glowing and Lance is thankful for that because at 3 in the morning when the world is fast asleep and everything is pitch black, he could use the light.

It comforts him. Reminds him of a simpler, more happier time in his life.

Something sharp digs through Lance’s chest as he stares at those fake neon stars, and it hurts really bad. His breathing begins to quicken, matching the beat of his heart, and a lump finds its way up his throat. Tears pool in the rim of his eyes and spill down the corners, streaming down the sides of his face.

And they don’t stop. The stars get blurrier as Lance’s breathing gets heavier. His body begins to tremble with every hiccup of a sob that pours out of him and he’s crying so hard that his brain throbs in his head.

He curls in on himself in his bed and wraps his arms around his torso, crying uncontrollably into his space themed pillow. His Altean marks begin to buzz and glow and he can’t bring himself to care because all he wants to do is disappear.

Disappear from this game called life.

He types a text to Keith with teary eyes and a quivering bottom lip.

Message.. deleted…

As 3 in the morning turns to 4, a pod lands in the grass just a couple yards away from Lance’s farm. Boot covered feet step out of said pod and touch the wet grass waiting for them. It’s still dark out and the only light visible are the fireflies that buzz around a pair of cowboy booted feet. Those booted feet begin to walk, carrying a tall, broad, raven haired stranger up a hill to Lance’s home. The frogs and crickets seem to grow louder as the stranger in black cowboy boots makes their way to the front porch and pulls back the creaky screen door to a cold, locked doorknob. A set of keys are pulled out and a specific blue key is pushed inside the lock, turning and unlocking the door. The stranger walks in and is instantly met.. with..

Crying??

“H-Hello??” The stranger calls out. “Lance?”

The crying stops.

It’s dead quiet..

The door shuts on its own and the echo around the house is eery.

Light footsteps descend the stairs and before they know it, the stranger is being tackled to the ground in a bear hug.

“Ah-! Lance!?” They yell as the duffel bag from their hand falls to the ground.

“Keith!!” Lance yells out, voice rasped from endless crying.

Keith can immediately hear it and wraps his arms around Lance so tight, holding him close. His eyes glow yellow, something that usually happens out of fear, anger, or protectiveness, and his lips protrude to make way for his double set of fangs that are ready to bite any and everyone.

“Lance!” Keith tries to sit up but is pinned to the ground with all of Lance’s dead body weight. “Lance, honey, are you hurt? What’s wrong??”

A hand through curly brown locks and Lance’s crying dies down. He snuggles his face into Keith’s neck and hiccups through a response. Something too incoherent for Keith to make out, but he feels it has something to do with why he was told to go home ASAP.

A few weeks ago, Keith was contacted by Acxa via video chat. They talked and caught up for a few minutes before Acxa told Keith the real reason for her call. She explained that Veronica was having a tough time reaching out to Lance and that he might be in some kind of trouble. Not knowing the full extent of the story, Acxa only told Keith what she heard from Veronica and others. Fearing the worst, Keith packed up his shit and set a course for Earth as fast as he could.

Unfortunately, there were some setbacks on his way over where he had to make a few stops to tend to aliens in need because after all, that’s still his job as a blade member, but when that got finished, Keith hightailed it over. His Galra instincts wouldn't allow him to stay away for much longer anyway and having accepted his galra side a long time ago, it would have been best for everyone to let him go home.

Keith now lays in Lance’s bed, every inch of Lance’s body wrapped up around him like a snake. Keith strokes Lance’s hair soothingly and holds him close to his chest, right over his beating heart. A deep, soothing purr emits itself from Keith’s body and calms Lance’s nerves right down to the bone. Keith knows how much Lance adoreshis Galran features and at this point, Keith would do absolutely anything for Lance to feel better.

They talked about everything that happened and are now in the cuddle stage. Lance has his eyes shut, listening to Keith purr just for him. Long limbs wrapped around every inch of his boyfriend while Keith’s long nails scratch at his scalp, life is so good.

Life is so good with Keith around.

“So,” Keith says, voice as calm as ever. “What exactly did Pidge say?”

“Oh,” Lance answers, his voice quiet as a mouse. “You didn’t see the messages in the group chat?”

“No.” Keith shrugs, laying his cheek against Lance’s forehead. “Been kinda busy.. And I actually don’t understand how a group chat works.”

That rises a chuckle out of Lance as he sits up a bit to reach for his phone on the bedside dresser.

“Idiot,” he whispers with a small smile on his face and it makes Keith light up, his purring becoming a bit louder.

Lance lays back on Keith’s chest as he scrolls through the messages on his phone. When he finds the message from Pidge, Lance clears his scratchy throat and sniffs.

“From Pidgeotto,” he starts, looking at Pidge’s name in their ✨Paladudes✨ group chat. “Just an FYI lance is a.. a total fucking jackass and I am no longer friends with him..”

Keith immediately frowns at that.

Lance continues. “He can suck my big toe for all I care. I’m done with him. Have fun being a lonely loser @LanceyPants.”

“What the fuck?” Keith says, eyes glowing yellow in the dark room. “Why would she say that!?”

Lance shakes his head, tears forming in his eyes again. “Because she was right. I am a jackass..”

“Lance, no!” Keith sits up, bringing Lance with him. They sit side by side as Lance holds himself and looks down at his space blanket. He shrugs once and sniffs.

“Keith, stop,” he says, wiping a tear from his eye. “Look, I said some very hurtful things to her and she lashed out in a perfectly normal way..”

“Normal!?” Keith scoffs, grabbing Lance’s phone and rereading the message again. “Jackass? Loser?? Come on, Lance, she’s completely bullying you and you know it!”

Lance whips around with an angry expression on his face “Because I deserve it!”

The room grows quiet. Keith takes a deep breath and reaches over to grab Lance’s shoulders.

“Calm.” He says, taking a deep breath for Lance to mimic. Lance takes a deep breath with him and lets it out. Keith begins to purr again and it calms Lance even more.

“I.. Sorry..”

Keith nods. He reaches up to cup Lance’s cheek and rubs his thumb across Lance’s tear stained eye.

“You know I would never hurt anyone on purpose..” Lance sniffs. “That’s not who I am. I’m just.. I’m tired of being this symbol of everything strong and good and brave.”

“Mhm,” Keith rubs Lance’s back, leaning in closer to him to nuzzle his forehead. Lance nuzzles back and Keith’s purrs.

“I keep.. I keep hurting everyone I care about..” Lance whispers in a voice so low and fragile, it nearly shatters Keith’s heart.

“That’s not true.” Keith pulls back a little to look into Lance’s teary blue eyes. “Lance, you are the most incredible, selfless, honest person I’ve ever known. You are strong and good and brave even if you don’t mean to be. Or want to be.”

Lance pulls away and stares at his hands. Keith keeps his eyes focused on Lance.

“I know you think you hurt that fangirl from a few months ago.” Keith continues. “Or Pidge. Or Hunk. Or your parents or friend or family or whoever, but you could never hurt anyone.”

“Yeah, right,” Lance shakes his head. “I already did. I hurt everyone.”

“And even if that’s true,” Keith grabs Lance’s hands in his own, “which it’s not, you’re not doing it on purpose. You have a right to your own feelings! And you have a right to speak your mind.”

“And what if that hurts people??” Lance looks up and meets teary eyes to indigo ones. “What if I accidentally hurt my mama or my sisters or brothers, or nieces and nephews because I can’t be who they want me to be, who they think I am!?”

“Lance,” Keith shakes his head.

“What if I hurt you???” Lance’s eyes go wide. He looks Keith up and down and exhales a panicked breath. “God, Keith.. wh-what if I hurt you??”

“Oh, Lancey,” Keith sighs that lovey-dovey sigh where his eyes go all big and black like a cat’s, and the purr in his chest gets louder. “You’ve never hurt me. Ever.”

Lance stares into Keith’s eyes like they’re his lifeline.

“B-but.. but what if-?”

“No more what if’s!” Keith cuts Lance off by covering his mouth with his hand. “Listen to me, Lance. Are you listening??”

Lance nods repeatedly.

“Good,” Keith smiles, all crooked and cute and beautiful. “The only person you ever need to worry about hurting is yourself.”

And there it is. The one thing Lance has been dying to hear without knowing he’d been dying to hear it. It’s like a breath of fresh air, or cool rain on a hot and sweaty day. The permission he needed but didn’t really need. He has a right to care about himself and put himself first but whenever he tries, the guilt eats him alive. Why should he care about himself when he has to care more about others???

No. That’s not the case. It’s never been the case.

“You’ve gotta stop doing this to yourself,” Keith finishes, stroking the endless sea of tears that are falling from Lance’s eyes. He strokes Lance’s glowing Altean marks and leans forward to kiss one softly. Lance trembles slightly, closing his eyes to bask in the moment.

“I’m sure Pidge has gotten over it by now,” Keith reassures. “She just has too much pride to make the first more and apologize. You know how she is.”

“Y-Yeah,” Lance hiccups, nodding.

“And Hunk?” Keith scoffs. “I bet your mailbox is full of letters from him, explaining how sorry he is and hoping you’re doing alright. You know if he can’t reach you from your phone, he has other ways.”

That makes Lance smile.

“There’s probably cookies on the way right now.” He looks into Keith’s eyes, exhaling a small laugh.

“Oh, yeah,” Keith agrees, laughing that angelic laugh and showing off his perfect pearly fangs. Lance’s heart skips a fucking beat.

“And your fangirl?” Keith’s purring stops. “Well, she never should have gotten all up in your space that’s for sure. You had every right to punch her.”

“Keith!” Lance squeaks, face contorting into shock and confusion. “I-I didn’t punch her!”

“Really?” Confusion etches itself all over Keith’s features and he puts a finger to his chin. “I could have sworn I read that in your text.”

“No way, man!” Lance defends, waving his arms around. “Why would I ever in my life-!” He stops mid sentence to see the shit-eating grin plastered on Keith’s face.

“Just kiddin, lil lady,” Keith says in his best southern accent, smiling big and wide.

Lance bursts out into a fit of laughter, hitting Keith’s chest and arms and back. Keith shields himself and laughs, grabbing Lance’s arms and bringing him down onto the mattress. They fall back with Keith looming over Lance, his long raven hair surrounding their faces.

Lance stares up into those beautiful, indigo eyes and sniffs, unable to look away. He reaches up and cups Keith’s face, rubbing his thumb over Keith’s Galran stripe.

“Do you understand what I’m saying?” Keith asks in his softest voice, eyes roaming from Lance’s teary blue eyes to his luscious lips.

“Yes,” Lance nods, not even bothering to blink because if he does, he’ll miss Keith’s everything.

“Don’t let anyone get you down, my sweetheart.” Keith whispers, leaning in closer. “Ever.”

Lance nods.

“And if they do,” Keith’s face turns serious, indigo eyes going dark. “I’ll bite their throats out and hand them to you on a silver platter.”

“Keith,” Lance exhales, going red in the face and ears. “Holy shit, you can’t just say things l-like that.”

Keith’s hard demeanor falls as he giggles and leans in close. Before they close the gap between their lips, Lance whispers, “And hey. I thought pet names were my thing?”

And Keith kisses him to shut him up.

They kiss like they haven’t seen each other in years and it’s the greatest Lance has ever felt. Keith kisses like he’s starving for it, craving it so much more than air and it’s hot and powerful and so, so damn good.

Lance wraps his arms and legs around Keith’s body and kisses him back with fervor. He allows Keith to make him feel better, and kisses his pain away. Keith pulls away slowly, licking into Lance’s mouth before he does so. Lance lets out a small groan and smiles before he opens his eyes.

“I love you,” he whispers, tucking some hair behind Keith’s ear.

“I love you, more,” Keith whispers back, settling himself between Lance’s legs. “Feeling any better?”

“A little,” Lance looks away, sniffling a little. His eyes focus back to Keith’s and a small smile appears on his kiss swollen lips. “But I know a great way you can make me feel all the way better.”

“Oh, yeah,” Keith smirks, burying his face into Lance neck to start kissing slowly. “And what’s that?”

Lance giggles like a little kid, running his hands up and down Keith’s sides. When Keith pulls back, he trails his kisses up the side of Lance’s face and stops at his Altean mark.

“Make love to me,” Lance whispers, rubbing his nose against Keith’s. “Touch me all over and hold me until the sun comes up and just.. love me. Please..”

Keith’s face softens into something full of love and adoration. He moves forward to peck Lance’s lips, then his chin, and then his other Altean mark.

“Anything you want, my sweet..” he kisses Lance’s cheek. “Beautiful..” he kisses Lance’s jaw. “Amazing.. wonderful..”

“Alright, enough!” Lance laughs, slapping Keith in the back. His cheeks are on fire as he closes his eyes when Keith starts nibbling on his neck with his fangs. A chill runs down Lance’s spine and tingles to his toes, making them curl.

Keith sits up one last time and stares at Lance like he’s the world.

“I’ll take good care of you, baby.” He says with the utmost truth in his sultry voice. “I promise. We’re in this together.”

“Yeah,” Lance nods, letting his tears fall down his face and glowing Altean marks. “Together.”

And as Keith kisses Lance so lovingly, Lance can’t help but be glad that he can’t turn back time to be his younger self. Because with Keith around, he feels all the happiness in the whole world just like he did when he was young.

-END-

(send me a klangst prompt)

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harryandmolly · 5 years ago

Text

Complicit // 1

summary: Shawn is under more pressure than he’s ever known. He craves release and comfort, the simplicity of sex. He gets more than he bargained for.

warnings: language, NSFW, me writing Niall’s accent

WC: 6.7k

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“So… are we talking like, full on whips and chains and nipple clamps and shit?”

Shawn’s eyebrows are lost somewhere in his hairline, but at least it’s more life in his eyes than Niall’s seen in a while. Niall tries not to go pink at Shawn’s assumption, but he’s still not that good at talking about all this.

“No, no, mate. I mean, some of ‘em do that. I think, I mean, based on what you pay for it, they’ll do whatever you want.”

Both guys go quiet and squirm a little uncomfortably. They’re sitting in Shawn’s living room in his $3 million bachelor pad, furnished very tastefully and expensively, talking about hiring sex workers. It doesn’t look or feel great.

Niall sighs. “It’s not like Pretty Woman. These girls don’t even charge by the hour. They’re escorts, not hookers. They’re educated and articulate and the kind o’ woman you could have on your arm at any industry schmoozing event and no one would bat an eye. That’s the whole point.”

Shawn nods thoughtfully. He’s heard of agencies like this, obviously. He’s been around the industry long enough to know guys like him, and producers and managers and agents and other high-powered men, aren’t driving down Hollywood Boulevard looking for $200 an hour streetwalkers. But that doesn’t mean Shawn’s ever remotely considered utilizing a service like this.

“But… they’re dominatrixes?”

Niall tips his head back and forth, squinting as he looks for the words. “They’re dommes. ‘S a bit different. La Splendeur is the name o’ the agency. They hire women that boss you around a bit, in some form or an udder. I mean, have you ever tried that?”

Shawn flushes a little and scrolls through his relatively short sexual history. “... sort of? Like, she’s on top?”

Niall sighs and closes his eyes with a wise smile. He has much to learn.

“‘S just a suggestion. La Splendeur is the best of the best. Super discreet. Beautiful. Interesting girls. And it’s better stress relief than I’ve found anywhere else.”

“Including golf?” Shawn quips.

Niall barks a laugh. “Including golf. I’ll leave you the number and you can decide. I really like Karina, but it might be weird knowin’ we’ve both had our hands in that cookie jar. Up to you, mate. Totally up to you.”

Shawn has never been so anxious about a phone call in his life. He goes through his phone and turns off location services first, suddenly paranoid that they could somehow track his device and be able to broadcast this for the whole internet. Plus, he’s busy with pre-festival run promo, so he’s forced to make the call in the middle of the day.

He goes to great lengths not to be heard, very publicly excusing himself to the bathroom and then running off to a quiet conference room down a hallway that was deserted. He shuts himself inside, stands in the corner by the window and dials, hands shaking.

The voice on the phone is smooth and easy, probably used to dealing with nervous wrecks like him all the time. She explains how it works -- the rates, the wire transfer, the security, the booking. Selecting his date comes down to an emailed photo portfolio, password encrypted and accompanied by a very stern warning not to share it with anyone, even potential referrals. Shawn supposes that makes sense -- they don’t want these photos getting passed around without the safety net of knowing that in return, the agency has the client’s private email address.

He’s twitchy all day before he can get home to his laptop, kick off his Saint Laurent chelsea boots, and pick his date.

‘Date’ is how he’s trying to think about it. Niall encouraged that, too. Shawn texted to let him know that he’d made the call (less than 24 hours after Niall had made the suggestion). Niall was over the moon, reminding him that it’s supposed to be fun and he shouldn’t feel weird about calling. It’s like a guaranteed great first date, just… a really expensive one.

Shawn opens the email to a PDF of professional and truly stunning photos. Each girl has a short bio and a series of shots that really don’t feel at all like advertisement for sex. He takes note of Karina, Niall’s favorite, a short and curvy Filipino girl who apparently excels at tennis, loves to sail and has an MBA. Her photos are gorgeous -- her on a beach wearing a tasteful cover-up and a flower in her hair with just enough cleavage to catch a guy’s attention, standing beside a tall window in a snug dress and heels, and grinning on a tennis court, a cute candid.

In total, there are about 25 women on La Splendeur’s roster of sorts, more than Shawn expected. They’re incredibly diverse in terms of race, shape and size, all accomplished and learned and surprisingly non-threatening, given the niche service they provide. Only one had him scrolling back up to look at her again and again.

Penny, 26, has a master’s degree in criminal psychology, is fluent in four languages, is an excellent skier and has a German shepherd named Pamela. Her photos show her lying barefoot in a cocktail dress on a lounge chair with a look in her eyes that says she already knows everything about you, looking over her shoulder to laugh at the camera during golden hour from above the Hollywood sign, and his personal favorite, a black and white close up headshot. She doesn’t look to be wearing a stitch of makeup. Her hair is wet and slung over and around her face like it’s in the wind. Her lips are parted, her eyes are dark, and Shawn has to meet her immediately.

Penny. Penny. Penny.

God, he can’t fucking wait. He’s so keyed up he actually grins at the change he gets from a barista at Commissary because she gives him back two cents.

His instructions are clear and concise. He is to get himself to the Chateau Marmont and head into the bar, where he will give his name. Someone will escort him up to his suite for the evening, where he will be greeted by security, who will confirm the receipt of the wire transfer and wait until his date arrives. Check out time is 11:30am the next morning.

The big guy who lets him into the room seems friendly enough, but Shawn is sure his every move is being watched by a hawk. Even with rich and famous clientele, agencies can’t afford to take risks with their employees. At least he doesn’t feel like a nervous kid being scrutinized by his prom date’s dad while he waits. In fact, the guy, Gus, he says, sees him shaking like a leaf and murmurs that the mini bar is fully stocked. He excuses himself to wait outside.

Shawn pours himself a glass of bourbon on the rocks and looks around. He’s never been in a room at the Chateau. It’s a bit odd -- almost too comfortable to be a hotel. There’s a full kitchen and vintage furniture that looks like it belongs in a warm, comfortable apartment rather than the stoic uniformity of a hotel.

He’s rattling ice in his glass anxiously and staring out at the lights of West Hollywood when the door opens. He’s just distracted enough not to stand immediately when she walks in, and he realizes a little late that it’s rude, so he scrambles to be upright and almost drops his fucking crystal glass.

She’s smiling warmly at him like they’re old family friends. It’s not clinical or superficial or forced. It’s a real smile, and it’s so beautiful. She’s so beautiful.

I mean, wow.

She’s medium height, 5’7” probably, but taller in her spiky heels. Her hair is lighter than he saw in the pictures, probably from the summer sun. Her olive skin is gorgeously bronzed. Her brown eyes are darker than his, like espresso. Her eyes are wide set and framed by well tamed thick brows. Her lips are full and European. Italian, he’d guess.

So why is her name Penny?

Shawn almost rolls his eyes at himself. He doesn’t know why that’s sticking in his head now, of all moments. Gus gives her a nod and shuts the door. As she approaches, graceful and quiet even in her heels, Shawn blinks, staring at the door.

“Is… uh, does he stand outside the whole time?”

Penny smiles again and cocks her head, shaking it. “No, no. He’s my driver, not my guard dog.”

Shawn gives a weak chuckle and it sounds pathetic to his own ears. At the mention of dogs, his mind springs to Pamela the German shepherd. He wonders if she’s real or a line in a bio to make Penny sound quirky and likeable. He watches her lift her sheath of thick hair over one shoulder and reach for the glass of bourbon in his hand to take a sip. He decides he doesn’t care.

“Please, have a seat,” she suggests, gesturing to the sofa. He blinks too much and plunks himself down, clearing his throat.

She lowers herself beside him, facing him with her arm stretched along the back of the couch toward him. She folds her ankles and for a second Shawn thinks about the scene in The Princess Diaries when Mia falls out of her chair trying to pull the same move. Penny emulates Queen Clarisse instead. Shawn tenses against his own will. He can feel himself shutting down.

Penny takes another sip of his drink and eyes him carefully from over the glass. She’s been doing this long enough to know when a guy is locking up in front of her eyes.

It’s like Operation. You have to move slow and careful, or you get zapped. He could be the kind of guy that would respond well to her dropping her hand to his knee while they talk, or it could send him springing across the room. Penny follows her instincts and instead flicks her heels until her multi-thousand dollar shoes clunk onto the hardwood below her. She curls up her feet beside her and tilts her head to rest against her fist.

“How long are you in LA for?”

It’s one of her favorite safe questions. It offers potential to discuss work if he wants to go there, but is vague enough to offer him an out if he wants it.

“Uh, for another couple weeks. I’ve got some meetings and events and stuff and then I think I’m bouncing around. New York, maybe. I don’t know my schedule as well as I probably should.”

Well, at least he’s talking. She hands him back his glass with a wink.

“Schedule schmedule.”

Shawn smiles. It’s tentative still, but sweet. She made the right move by taking off a layer of the untouchable glamour.

It’s her move again. She considers the board, eyes her options, keeps her fingers delicate on the tweezers.

“I listened to your music this week.”

It’s a risky shot, like going for the funny bone. She already knows, can tell by the way he carries himself, that he’s here to work something out of his system. This appointment isn’t about satisfying a rakish curiosity or an ego thing, or worse, a sex addiction. He needs something from her -- comfort, release. If it’s his music that’s driving him to need her, mentioning it off the bat like this could do some damage to the trust she’s working to build. She holds her breath.

He lights up.

“Oh, cool. All of it?”

She wiggles her naturally shaped eyebrows. “Right down to “Something Big.””

Shawn winces playfully and laughs. It sounds real this time. “Yikes.”

“No, it was cute,” she insists, her fingers stretching out along the back of the couch to nudge at his very solid arm. He goes a little pink.

“Do you have a favorite?”

Shawn doesn’t mean to put her on the spot. For all he knows, she just googled his albums to have something to say. But he asks anyway, despite himself, because he’d like to know which, if any, of his songs caught the attention of a woman like her.

“I like “Particular Taste.” It came on in my car the other day while I was on Mulholland. It’s a damn good car song.”

Shawn feels himself get a little smug. “Thanks. I like that one, too.”

They’re watching each other quietly, feeling the tension build. Penny wets her lips and leans in, getting ready to speak again.

“So how long have you been doing this?” Shawn blurts. His eyes go a little comically wide before he course corrects and inspects his nearly empty glass.

Penny is startled, but tucks some hair behind her ear and regroups. “Almost five years.”

“Wow. That’s… wow.”

Penny shares a wise sort of smile that reminds Shawn uncomfortably of Emily. “It’s nice work if you can get it.”

“Right,” Shawn croaks, glancing away.

Penny feels the gentle sting of having nicked the board just a bit with her tweezers. She reaches out the arm against the couch and lets her fingertips skim his lush curls. His chest shudders and his eyes dart toward the window. He raises his shaky hand with the empty glass to his lips for something to do.

Penny drops her other hand to his knee, giving it a gentle squeeze.

“Hey,” she murmurs, all honey, “Would you like me to refill that?”

Shawn looks down at his drink and shakes his head. “N-no, that’s ok.”

Penny swipes her tongue over the front of her teeth and decides to toss her playbook aside the way she does on rare occasions.

She scoots in, cups his cheek in her hand and focuses his eyes on hers. His jaw twitches under her fingers.

“What do you want, Shawn?”

He blinks quickly, startled that she said something, confronted him with the actual situation they’re dealing with.

“I’m… I don’t know. Can… can we just talk for a while?”

She eases back a little, drops her hands in her lap. “Of course. About anything in particular?”

Shawn bites the inside of his cheek, then says, “How did you get into… escorting?”

He emphasizes the last word as a question, unsure if he’s using the right terminology. She nods reassuringly.

“Well, around the time I was graduating from college, I met a girl at a party who recruited me, for lack of a better term. She told me about the money, the tips, the security, the gifts. Sounded pretty good to a 20-year-old without a post-grad plan.”

Shawn’s eyebrows lift. “You graduated college at 20?”

She shrugs. “I skipped the 4th grade and AP tested out of most of my freshman year.”

He’s impressed. And intimidated. He fights the instinct to curl him up into himself. He doesn’t want to feel small beside her. He wants to feel impressive, too.

“That’s pretty cool. Do you do this full time?”

Penny laughs. It’s light and airy and maybe just a little… restrained somehow.

“Yes. You’re very curious about my line of work.”

“I’m sorry, I don’t mean to be-- I mean, I just… Sorry--”

She stops him from stumbling all over himself by planting a hand around his wrist.

“It’s ok. I’m just not used to being asked. Most people… they don’t want to be reminded that they’re paying for it.”

As soon as she says it, she hears the mistake in her words. Fucking amateur bullshit, she scolds herself, watching him cave in. His eyes drop to his feet and his chest rises and falls a little harder.

“Hey,” she prompts gently, keeping her hands off this time for fear of sending him flying, “Don’t shut down on me.”

He looks back at her blankly. “Don’t…?”

She presses her tongue out to smooth along her lower lip. “I’m here to help make you feel good, Shawn. I’m excellent at knowing how best to do that, but I think I’m gonna need an assist from you this time. So just… don’t think, don’t act, don’t react, just feel it. And tell me what you want.”

“I want to cuddle.”

He says it so suddenly he surprises himself. Without missing a beat, Penny nods, formulating a new gameplan in her head. She bites her lip and reaches for his twitchy hand in his lap.

“Ok. I can do that. I just want to get comfy first, ok?”

Before he can wonder out loud what she’s going to change into and how she got clothes in here without him seeing, she leans in and presses her lips to his delicately. His frazzled brain lights up like the 4th of July, sending thoughts flying like out of control fireworks. He kisses back after a second or two, firm but chaste. He murmurs subtly into her mouth.

Small victories.

When Penny walks out of the bathroom five minutes later, her makeup is wiped clean, leaving her face a little shiny and flushed. She’s in touchably soft clingy leggings and a Lululemon hoodie, looking like an athleisure ad. She’s still barefoot, her white painted toes winking up at him before she drops onto the bed and waves him over. He makes to climb up next to her and she hisses, gesturing to him with a wave of her hand.

“I took off my armor, Mendes, you need to do the same.”

Shawn swallows and smiles shyly. He kicks off his shoes, balls up his socks and drops his jeans into a heap by the bed. In his taut navy t-shirt and custom printed Calvin Klein boxer briefs, he settles in beside her, mirroring her position on his side.

“Ok, cards on the table, I think. Bad breakup? Tour anxiety? Voice struggles?”

Shawn’s chest rises and falls heavily with a deep, unrestrained sigh. There’s no reason to hide from her. She doesn’t know him. She doesn’t have expectations. She’s a safe space.

He stares down at the curve of her hip as he speaks. He tells the story from what he thinks is the beginning -- Emily’s first mention of the idea of the PR relationship with Bex. He explains the strategy and the trajectory, that they expect to be in and out of the public eye throughout the summer festival run and will not-so-quietly break up just around the time his album releases in the fall and Bex heads out on tour for her brand new EP.

Penny nods along while he speaks, pursing her lips and shifting slightly closer to him. She’s not working consciously, not timing the seconds between movements like she sometimes does, like she did even just on the couch a few minutes ago. But as he talks, she feels the tension start to drip off him and release to the point where she has no hesitation in slipping her fingers into the tight, short curls at the back of his neck while she runs her toes up and down the back of his calf.

He seems comforted by being able to touch her, too. He rests a hand in the dip of her waist and it wanders slightly up her ribcage and upper arm, twisting his long pale fingers in her hair. He watches it curl and bend for him. He can’t remember the last time he played with a woman’s hair like this.

When his cursory explanation ends, he closes his eyes and rests his head on his folded arm. Penny’s fingers tug gently at the nape of his neck for his attention.

“Sounds like a lot.”

Shawn’s chest stutters. His eyes well. He turns his face into the pillow, embarrassed by the hair trigger of his emotional reaction.

“S-sorry, I just… fuck. I don’t know why I’m--”

He cuts himself off with a final unintended whimper of defeat, a nice bookend on a chunk of shame he can hang onto and revisit in his head when he needs it the least.

His eyes are snapped shut. The tears on his lashes start to wick into the expensive fabric of the pillowcase beneath his head. He’s waiting for her -- he doesn’t know what for. He’s waiting for her to leave him there to cry it out, get back in her expensive shoes and clack away from his misery. He’s waiting for her to shove a hand down his boxers and give him what she thinks he paid for. He’s waiting for her to hate him like he hates himself right now.

Slowly, timidly, he opens his eyes. She’s there, blinking at him, face as placid and reassuring as he’s seen since she got here. She doesn’t look ready to run. She doesn’t look at him like the pitiful creature he’s acting like. She slides her long fingers up further to cradle the back of his head and make his wet eyes flutter.

“Would you like to hear what I think?”

Shawn pauses, then nods.

Penny wets her lips. “I think maybe you’re not very good at compartmentalizing yet.”

Shawn frowns slightly and starts turning circles on her lower back with the pad of his thumb, nodding at her to continue.

“This relationship stunt doesn’t define you as a man or as an artist. It’s publicity, the same way appearing on GMA is publicity. It’s not as honest, maybe. I can see that’s part of what bothers you. I can understand that. But this is a means to an end. You’re not using Bex; she’s aware of what she’s involved in. She benefits, too.

“So instead of letting this become something that bothers you in quiet moments, makes you question what this makes you look like or even who this means you’re becoming, you need to accept that this is a part of your job and it’s not who you are.”

Shawn blinks dumbly. He’s been trying to convince himself of this for a while, but he’s never come close to sounding as soothing and confident as she does right now. This woman listened to him yammer for seven minutes about his stupid pop star problems without rolling her eyes or waving off his concerns.

Thank god he’s paying her to be here or he swears he’d already be half in love with her.

Shawn closes his eyes and nuzzles his cheek against the pillow. “Can I kiss you?”

“Yes you may.”

He opens his eyes and watches her, settled by the distinct sensation that she’s allowing him to proceed as he’s comfortable. At the same time, he’s deliciously unnerved by something lurking behind her eyes, like she’s deciding how long to give him before she takes over. He hopes it won’t be long.

Shawn cups a large palm around her cheek, marveling at the silkiness of her hair in his fingers as he leans in, brushing his lips over hers. He hears himself murmur gently at the slick warmth of her lip balm. It tastes like rose water and coconut.

He eases back after a moment, his head spinning.

“Jesus Christ, that’s incredible.”

Her long, dark lashes lift and lower lazily, casting shadows on her cheeks in the lamplight. “Kissing me?”

He shakes his head, marveling with a gentle groan, “Yes. Why does kissing you feel like the best thing that’s happened to me in months?”

“It’s simple. It’s stable. It’s honest.”

She says it like she didn’t have to think about it. She’s unwavering and direct and he knows she’s probably really good at all this because of who she is and what she does but he doesn’t think he cares right now if it’s not genuine. It feels too fucking good.

He smirks. “Do you have an answer for everything?”

Her full lips spread in a lazy grin. “Yes.”

“Thank god,” Shawn mutters just before pressing his lips back to hers.

Shawn has no idea what to expect. It’s been what’s had him on a knife’s edge since he booked this appointment. His curiosity has been his friend while zoning out in meetings, standing in security lines at airports, stripped down to his boxers in front of a team of people while trying on show clothes. An experience like this to look forward to was an intense enough distraction from his anxiety.

And now, lying in a bed next to her with her perfect tongue tangled with his and her soft hands roaming his body hungrily, but with purpose, his mind races -- what will this be like? What will this feel like? Is it really as good as Niall says?

She pulls back suddenly, her lips leaving his with a wet smack. His hips rut against her stomach in response.

“Time for you to stop thinking,” she rasps. Shawn squirms at the fucked-out quality of her voice. Is it at all possible that he’s got her as worked up as she has him? He’s already throbbing for her in his briefs, which he knows she can feel against her thigh.

He brushes his nose against hers a little desperately, silently begging for more. Even with his eyes closed, he can tell she’s smiling when she cups his cheek and rolls their bodies so she’s lying slotted up against him in every way that makes him crazy.

“You like kissing, huh?” she breathes. It’s not teasing, not really. It’s curious and gentle. He can feel the way she takes note of the things that have him panting a little harder, pressing into her more insistently. It makes him feel important and a little bashful. He nods anyway, lifting the corner of his mouth.

“You’re a good kisser, Shawn,” she sighs into his mouth, dropping her weight into her hips and sliding her hands up his chest to rest over his pecs.

If her tongue wasn’t teasing his lower lip, he’d be grinning like an asshole.

His hands are growing frantic. They can’t decide where they like better -- her supernaturally soft hair, coursing up and down her spine, or resting on the toned swell of her ass. So they wander, getting grabbier as they go, until she pulls away again with a long lick of her wet lips.

“What are you going to do to me?”

He hears himself ask it over the rushing of blood in his ears. He can tell by the way she smiles down at him that he looks horrified at his own question. She pushes some curls off his forehead and looks him over, slowly, carefully, admiringly. Shawn is on fire beneath her, but she doesn’t seem to mind.

As if in slow motion, she tucks a hand under his neck. The motion fixes his manic, desperate eyes on hers. His breathing slows. His heart drops into his gut. His jaw tightens.

“Anything I want.”

Her voice is hot and sharp. Shawn’s face screws up like his body is physically overwhelmed by the idea of all the pleasure she can offer him. His eyes snap shut and the groan he releases is inhumanly loud.

When he can force himself to look back up at her, Penny has straddled his hips and works on lifting her hoodie up and over a black bra that he’s sure only a woman like Penny could wear… like that.

Her breasts are full and soft, as evenly tanned as the rest of her, from what he can see, which is not enough. He gets a flash of a vision of her lying on the chaise on the balcony outside their Chateau suite without a stitch on her, sipping a mimosa and smiling when she catches him admiring her. He grunts and reaches for her, needing to take and touch and taste.

His hands are pinned beside his head before he gets far. He gasps. His eyes blur with her quick movement until they can refocus and realize she’s holding him down, her breasts a breath away from his mouth.

“Fuck,” he grunts.

“Listen to me.”

It’s clear and stable and calm like a beacon in a storm. Shawn juts his chin up defiantly, licking his lips.

“You don’t touch me until I tell you to. If you do, you don’t touch me at all, not for the rest of the night. Do you understand?”

Shawn’s fingers curl into fists beside his head. His body aches, straining for the control she’s sapping from him. He’s not used to willingly giving it up, not anywhere, not for anyone.

“Take a deep breath,” she advises, feeling him struggle with the release of it, of the reins he’s held for so long his hands are fucking raw. His whole body feels raw looking up at her.

He does as he’s told. Her eyes are nearly black in the low light. He feels his shoulders soften and the squeezing of his heart start to slow, just a bit.

“You’re gonna have to walk me through this,” he grunts, shaking his head, “I-- I’m… for so…”

“I know,” she soothes, not to placate him, not to baby him. She wants him to know she understands. He feels it in the way she looks at him, the way she massages her fingers around his wrists.

He’s ok. He’s safe. He’s safe with her. It hits him all at once like a brick over the head. He swallows.

“I’m here to take care of you. I want to make you feel as good as I possibly can.”

He nods again.

She moves slowly, gracefully, like a lithe and dangerous predator. She pushes her leggings down her hips, sliding them off her feet until they’re forgotten in a pool at the end of the bed. His shirt and boxers join them, leaving his cock aching and leaking from the tip on his lower belly. He lies beside her, as instructed, with his arms over his head, grasping a pillow in his needy fingers.

She just… touches him.

He thought at first she was just going for a slow tease, would wrap her warm fingers around his cock after thirty seconds or so to get him somewhere, but that doesn’t seem to be the plan. He’s flat beside her, legs slightly spread, tensing and relaxing with each brush of her fingertips.

Before long, he realizes what she’s doing and it stuns him into holding his breath for so long that the gasp he releases when he remembers he needs oxygen makes her jump a little.

She’s studying him. She wants to know every inch of his body, wants to see how every subtle touch affects him. She is reading him like an instruction manual. Her eyes flicker, narrowing and darting and taking it all in. She can see every goosebump, every subtle lift of his hips, every intake of breath, every clench of muscle and little smile when she finds somewhere ticklish. By the time her scan seems complete, he’s panting, shaking, vibrating with need, and he knows she knows his body better than he does now.

And she gets to decide what to do with it.

From beside him, keeping her eyes on his, Penny reaches back and unclasps her architecturally stunning bra, draws the straps down her arms, and drops it off the side of the bed, revealing what Shawn had suspected to be the most perfect pair of breasts of all time. He was right.

“God, you’re gorgeous,” he hisses, pressing his head back into the pillow to keep from lunging at her stiff brown nipples. He’s rewarded for his compliment with a sweeping hand down his stomach, her fingertips just skimming the line of pubic hair that reaches down from his navel. His hips roll up in response.

Penny turns. Shawn watches her hair swing low against her back like a pendulum, entranced before he realizes she’s standing and bending over to shed her black lace cheeky panties. He remains still, his head turned toward her as she bares herself, until she turns back and faces him and he chokes on air.

He’s seen beautiful women naked. Plenty of them. Really, he has. He knows somewhere in his addled mind that it’s the performance of it that has him so fucking high strung that he almost coughs up a lung when he sees Penny without clothes, that he really, legitimately feels like he’s going to have a heart attack just from looking at her.

But he’s never been so goddamn hard in his life.

She takes a step toward the bed and lifts her leg to climb up next to him. He realizes with a jolt as he watches her legs separate that she’s soaking fucking wet. The insides of her thighs are slick. Shawn presses his heels into the bed to ground himself.

You can’t fake that.

Without a word, she positions herself on top of him, her strong legs on either side of his hips, her hands sunken between pillows by his head. Their eyes are locked. Shawn’s cock shifts against his stomach impatiently. Penny lifts a corner of her soft wet mouth. Shawn chokes on a whimpering sound he’s never heard himself make before. She drops her hips and he hears himself gasp.

“Oh!” he cries, throwing his head back as his hips thrust up to meet her. He vaguely feels the warmth of her lips on his chest, but he’s busy trying to fight back his orgasm that, with just the pressure, warmth and wetness of her pussy resting against his length, is roaring up in his abdomen.

“J-jesus… fuck…” he hisses, rolling his head to the side, sure if he looks down at her pretty face he’ll be coming like a freight train before she even has the chance to really do anything.

“You’ve never felt anything like this before,” she tells him smoothly. It doesn’t smack of arrogance or condescension. It’s simple fact. They both know it.

He shakes his head no, panting breath into the pillowcase.

“You never knew it could be like this.”

Again, he’s agreeing.

“I want you to remember this, what this feels like with me in your lap, wet for you, showing you how this can feel with me. I want you to look at me. Don’t take your eyes off me, Shawn.”

Another purring whimper escapes his throat. Slowly, he peels his sweaty cheek from the pillow and blinks down at her. There’s something feral that’s taken the place of what he saw in her before -- the white painted toes, the cozy hoodie, the gentle giggles. This part he sees now is going to swallow him whole. He’s going to let it, with pleasure.

Penny rolls her hips from left to right, swinging back again easily, with the rhythm of a dancer. The sound their bodies make is absolutely obscene. He grits his teeth through a hiss, watching her eyes flutter.

“You feel… incredible,” she pants slightly, establishing a slow, aching pace that makes Shawn’s brows draw together and his knuckles whiten against the pillow.

“I don’t know how long I can--”

“Don’t worry about that. I’ll tell you when you can come.”

She says it easily, like he’s in no danger of losing his fucking mind and spurting all over her stomach in probably only a few seconds. He realizes with a shiver it’s because she knows, for certain, without a shadow of a doubt, that he won’t come until she tells him.

“You’re so nice and hard for me, fuck. Touching you got me so wet. Can you hear us?”

Shawn is quaking, clinging to sanity, as her slick folds hug his cock, grinding harder with each pass of her hips. He doesn’t trust himself to speak anymore. He has no idea what could come out of his mouth at this point. He just nods eagerly, begging his eyes to stay open so he can obey her.

“Can you feel the way the head of your cock is rubbing my clit?” she nearly squeaks, sounding genuinely as close to orgasm as he is. His eyes go wide. His stupid mouth opens.

“Are-- are you gonna come like this?”

Holding her quick rocking pace, Penny springs up, snapping at his lower lip like a snake. He freezes, whining, and very nearly loses control of his tensed arms.

“Fuck yeah, I am,” she moans, and it’s the only warning he gets before her whole body goes tight atop him and she gushes all over his cock and thighs.

“Holy fuck, holy fucking shit,” Shawn gasps, rolling his hips to cradle her as she stutters through it, mewling and humming against his chest. He watches her eyes squeeze shut and open again slowly, looking up at him like she forgot he was there.

In the stillness, the room is so quiet, it’s loud. Shawn feels every cell in his body screaming, begging.

Penny licks her lips and shifts, getting ready to bear down. “You can come now.”

His hips take off at a sprint with her permission. She keeps up easily, using her weight in her knees to drive herself back against his every stroke, egged on by the wet slap of their skin and the glazed look in his eyes.

“Penny, I’m coming,” he warns her, because he feels like he should and he doesn’t know quite why other than he thinks she craves her permission for everything now. She squeezes her swollen lower lip under her row of straight white teeth and watches curiously, doubling down on the stroking of her hips.

“Shit! Oh fuck!” Shawn screams, hips roiling and rioting beneath hers as he comes hard, spurting against her swollen folds and between their clenching stomachs. His vision goes white. He can’t hear himself if he keeps talking, or yelling, and he can’t hear her if she’s trying to soothe him through it. It’s several seconds before he crash lands to feel her peeling her body off his and sees her shifting back over his thighs.

He doesn’t have time, or the mental capacity, to speak before she reaches between her legs and swipes a hand through her wetness and his. Her palm is slick, glistening in the low light. She reaches for his tired cock and gives it a squeeze.

“I want one more.”

His eyes bulge. “What?”

“One more, Shawn. Come again for me. You’ve been waiting for this for a week, I know you have it in you. Now fuck my fist and come for me.”

Shawn’s jaw drops as she pulses her fingers again. Despite everything he thought he knew about his own body, he feels himself already starting to harden in her palm again. He groans loudly, pulls his shaky legs so his feet plant below him, and starts lifting his hips.

“Ohmygod. Oh… oh my god,” he pants, eyes wild as they fix on her in disbelief. How did she know? How does she have this much power over him already? How does he make sure she never gives it back?

“Yes,” she praises, looking ravenous as his hips pick up speed and he grows fully hard in the clench of her fist, “Fuck, you’re so fucking good for me.”

His head tips back. He mewls a noise of overwhelmed pleasure and fucks his hips up even harder.

“Jesus Christ, I’m gonna fucking come again!” he shouts, pupils blowing out as he comes up on his forearms and bucks his entire lower body, quaking as he hurtles toward a second orgasm.

Penny lurches forward, swallowing the scream she knows is building in his chest with a searing kiss. His abdomen clenches as he bursts for her again, drenching her fist and his belly. It’s shorter and rockier than the first orgasm, sending him falling back to the bed totally limp and sated in only a few seconds. Penny mercifully releases him from her fist, using her other hand to smooth through his hair.

She’s concerned for a minute that she broke him. He just keeps staring at her, blinking too slowly, not speaking. She presses little kisses over his face, partially to encourage him, and maybe a little bit to distract herself from trying to make him come again because holy shit, she loved that.

“Never done that before,” he mumbles finally, his eyes sliding shut, like he’s finally secure enough to close them and believe she’ll still be sitting there when he does.

She nods, though he can’t see her. On her own wiggly legs, she manages to stand and get a wet washcloth from the bathroom. When she returns to wipe him off, he’s blinking at her curiously.

“Can I touch you now?”

She grins. “Yes you may.”

Shawn smiles gently. His eyes slide shut. He lifts a heavy palm to her thigh, rubbing her soft bronzed skin in a tender gesture of thanks.

Penny tosses the cloth aside and folds up against him, manipulating his arm around her as she lies against his chest.

“Wanna see you again,” he whispers. She bobs her head.

“Anytime you want.”

He presses his face into her hair, inhaling expensive salon shampoo and exhaling at least three months’ worth of stress. He’s asleep in under ten minutes. She decides to let him rest and behaves herself enough not to wake him up for round two (or three, technically) for at least an hour.

----------

This is gonna be a wild one, guys. If you’re so inclined, the link to buy me a Ko-fi is in my bio!

Taglist: @smallerinfinities @the-claire-bitch-project @achinglyshawn @infiniteshawn @mendesoft @singanddreamanyway @alone-in-madness @abigfatmess @shawnitsmutual @awkwardfangirl2014 @september-lace @grittyisaho @sinplisticshawn @rollingxstone @yslsaint @randi-eve @fallmoreinlove @heyits-claire @itrocksmysocks @parkerspicedlatte @simpledomain @abeautiful-and-cloudy-day @thecurlsofgod @magcon7280 @bensbuttercup @tnhmblive @greedydevil

#shawn mendes #shawn mendes blurb #Shawn Mendes Imagine #shawn mendes fan fic #shawn mendes fic #shawn mendes fan fiction #shawn mendes fanfic #shawn mendes smut #shawn mendes series #shawn mendes one shot #shawn mendes drabble #shawn mendes fiction #shawn peter raul mendes #shawn mendes fanfiction

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myraelvira · 4 years ago

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What Happened To Randy Sellers?

Randy Lee Sellers was born on September 6th, 1962. He was born to Wanda and John Cotton. Randy had a younger brother, Tyran Renard, that was born in 1967. He was considered to have been from the Visalia/Morning view area of Kentucky.

Randy was in Alternative school at the time, and according to anecdotal evidence, he was considered one of the ‘bad boys’ in his area. “Randy was in and out of trouble most of his teen years and the local cops were quite familiar with him.”.

On August 15th, 1980, Randy was at the Kenton County Fair in Independence, Kentucky, when he was arrested for disorderly conduct and public intoxication. Allegedly, he got into a fistfight with someone at the fair, and the cops were called. The police believe that Randy was under the influence of drugs at the time, and even struck one of the cops after he was put in the squad car.

As the story goes, Randy was dropped off by the police about one mile from his family’s home in Visalia. Some reports say that Randy provided unclear directions to the house, and others claim that the officers dropped in him at the location as a favor to Randy. Either way, Randy never returned home and was never heard from again.

A man named Jack Isles, an alleged friend of Randy’s, stated that he was at the fair on the night of Randy’s disappearance. In an article, he stated that he regretted not having offered Randy a ride home that night. “I wish I could have told him to come on home. Let him go with me. I wish he was here, God-honest truth with you.”.

At first, it was believed that Randy had drowned, with his footprints near the Licking River which hugs the Visalia area. The footprints matched a set of hiking boots owned by one of his relatives, and there were marks that someone may have slipped and fallen into the water. When authorities searched the river to find nothing, they then believed that the footprints were left by people searching for Randy.

Many people believe that a man named Donald LeRoy Evans murdered Randy. Evans was a drifter that was eventually sentenced to death for the murder of a child in Mississippi; he claimed that he picked Randy up along Route 177, the main road in the Visalia area. Allegedly he took Randy to Kincaid Lake State Park and shared a beer with him. Then he supposedly shot Randy in the head with a .45 and buried his body, on that night in 1980. Evans also claimed to be responsible for other unsolved cases, including the death of Kimberly Dawn McClaskey. Evans was rather notorious for having preyed on people in rest areas and parks.

One of the reasons why Evans was considered a possibility is because he actually confessed to the murder in Mississippi and led authorities to the body of the girl. He also confessed to a murder in Florida of a prostitute that was found in a hotel room. He told authorities details that led to a set of his prints. So at least twice over, he confessed to murders that were proven to be tied to him.

Authorities searched Kincaid Lake State Park for Randy’s body in 1994, 14 years after his disappearance, but nothing was found. Evans was never charged in the case, and police were not even sure if he was involved. His claims though, were considered credible. Another one of the main reasons people believed that Evans may have been responsible, was because he drew a crude yet accurate map of the park.

When they went to search for Randy’s body, there was nothing there. Evans initially stated he buried Randy 3 feet deep in the ground with some sheet metal that he found. Then later, he changed his story to having sort of just covering Randy’s body with some forest brush.

There have been multiple searches in order to find Randy or even his body, yet none have turned up anything. In 2018, there was a search in March at the Kincaid park where a rescue team’s dogs picked up the alleged scent of a decaying body. Apparently, the area the scent was found matched the area that Donald Evans claimed to have buried Randy’s body. There was the belief that the map Evans drew was potentially misinterpreted at first, when they searched for Randy in the 90’s. In the recent past, some people believed that reading the map in a different way (or upside down) could reveal more information and potentially find Randy (which to me, doesn’t prove that the map was accurate in the first place). It is unknown what came of that search, if there was any dead body at all. In my personal opinion, I do not see how a body can still be decaying 38 years after the fact. Interestingly, the case was still considered open, as of 2018.

Randy’s mother believes that her son hitched a ride with Evans to the park, in hopes of seeing her since she was staying there with a friend at the time. As recently as 2019, Wanda Cotton has been reported stating that she believes that Evans killed her son. Wanda said in 2019, “I believe in my heart, that Randy was killed by Donald LeRoy Evans.”. She believes that Randy’s body is somewhere in the park, with a marker to remember him, and another woman who was killed.

Randy’s physical appearance is described as having been 5’9”, 149 pounds, with brown hair and hazel eyes. Randy had a birthmark on the crown of his head, a scar above his left eye, and a surgical scar on his right knee. He had a scar on his left elbow, from an old fracture. There was a tattoo of the letter ‘R’ on his right forearm, though other sources state that it was on a forearm. He may have had a crown on tooth, and wore a beard on his chin at the time of his disappearance. He was last seen wearing a black shirt, blue jeans, and work shoes.

The reason I bring this up now, is that there is an interesting John Doe that seems to match that description. On doenetwork there is John Doe 419UMOK. He was found on April 9th, 1995 in Crowder, Oklahoma next to a Jane Doe. The Jane Doe was estimated to have been 18-30 years old, 5’6”, with long light brown almost blonde looking hair. Jane wore black denim size 10 pants, blue underwear, a red pullover shirt, white socks, and a white bra. She had 2 rings on her left hand, one of a yellow metal band, and other of a single white stone. John was estimated to have been 20-30 years old, 5’7”,with brown/light blond hair, with a light brown mustache. He wore a green denim pair of pants (31/34) black and white checkered briefs, a t-shirt, and a leather jacket. He had a ring on his left hand, a yellow metal band, with 14k and TW inscribed on the inside. He also wore a watch that was still working at the time their bodies were found, though it was an hour behind the current. Most interestingly, is that this doe had a tattoo of the letter ‘R’ on his upper left forearm. He also had a tattoo of a cross on his upper left arm. Both bodies were found decomposing under a tree near Lake Eufala, and seemed to have been dragged about 50 feet from a dirt road. Though it may seem far fetched that this doe may have been Randy, the tattoo was a detail that I could not omit.

[NOTE: This doe has been excluded from Randy]

There are some interesting things that I have come across with Randy’s case, whether it be from online errors, to just random things. The first thing, is that on Randy’s page for the doe network site, he is listed as female, all other sites correctly list him as male. For some reason, the main photo used to show Randy’s most recent appearance when he disappeared, has black markings that make it look like he was wearing a black shirt. The full version of the photo is included on the namus profile for him, and it shows that he was shirtless. I know that this means nothing, but I can’t understand why someone would “photoshop” a fake shirt on a picture of him?

Through reading about this case, I have not came across a lot of information on Randy’s background. There is the info that he was in alternative school, and the anecdotal that he was a bit of a bad boy. There is a personal story on a post on websleuths were someone said that Randy was pretty familiar with the cops, so the idea that they didn’t know where his house was at was asinine. I haven’t even heard anything about the night of the fair, and I am curious what the fight that Randy had was about. Was it just a drunken brawl? Was there a reason that he got into the fight other than being drunk? Who was the person that he got into a fight with? Was it an adult or another teen? Was it perhaps someone related to a cop or a big official? How long had Randy been in alternative school for, and what the reason why he was there exactly? Did he have a hard time with his family? Did he ever talk about running away possibly?

I think that it is important too, to look at a map of the area as a whole. The Visalia area is not that far from Ohio.

There a few does from that area that may be plausibly close to being Randy.

https://www.namus.gov/MissingPersons/Case#/1712/details?nav

https://www.namus.gov/UnidentifiedPersons/Case#/6715?nav

There have been two facial progressions of Randy, one in 2006, and another in 2011. I will be completely honest, I think both are terrible. The first one from 2006 is honestly terrible and does not look like him at all. The second on from 2011 is closer, but it does not seem too accurate. This honestly reminds me of the Reet Jurvetson case where the drawings of her when she was Jane Doe were completely different from how she really looked. Personally, I think that Randy looked almost exactly like his father, down to the nose and hairline. I don’t understand why they did not go with a progression based off of that.

Unfortunately, on December 10th, 1990, Randy’s younger brother Tyran committed suicide. He is buried at Mother of God Cemetery in Kenton Vale, Kentucky.

There is still uncertainty as to what happened to Randy. Many people, like his mother, believed that he was murdered by Donald Evans. Despite looking for the body 14 years later, there has not been any evidence that Randy was buried in the park. Though at the same time too, a 14 year gap of looking for a body that may have been buried in a shallow grave leaves more than enough time for nature to naturally scatter the pieces. Others believe that Randy may have been killed by the police, potentially just tired of a ‘juvenile delinquent’. Rumors have said that police killed Randy, and buried the body on property of a policeman.

Randy’s parents, John and Wanda, are still alive today (as of 2020), and are still looking for answers as to what happened to their son. In 2019, it was revealed that John had been diagnosed with cancer. The parents expressed their worry that after they eventually pass away, who would remember Randy. Fortunately, research teams and the press have shown that people are still thinking about Randy, even to this day.

[SOURCES]

http://charleyproject.org/case/randy-lee-sellers

https://www.cincinnati.com/story/news/2019/06/04/randy-sellers-missing-case-kenton-county-towson-university/1338652001/

http://www.pollyklaas.org/missing/kids/randy-sellers.html

https://www.wcpo.com/news/local-news/kenton-county/police-renew-search-for-randy-sellers-in-1980-missing-person-case

https://local12.com/news/local/randy-sellers-parents-plead-for-tips-in-his-case-nearly-39-years-later

https://billiongraves.com/grave/Randy-L-Sellers/25146466

https://www.namus.gov/UnidentifiedPersons/Case#/5174/details

https://www.namus.gov/UnidentifiedPersons/Case#/5170?nav

https://www.findagrave.com/memorial/136164576/_

http://www.doenetwork.org/cases/14dmky.html

https://www.namus.gov/MissingPersons/Case#/1712/details?nav

https://www.websleuths.com/forums/threads/ky-randy-sellers-17-visalia-16-aug-1980.31947/

#randy sellers #missing person #missing people #cold case #donald leroy evans

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ifuseethisturnback-blog · 5 years ago

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My first blog! Lots of editing to do. But here

A letter to James Dolan Picture this: It is a Friday afternoon. You are in midtown Manhattan stuck in your miserable cubicle perfecting the spreadsheets that your 29 year old boss (You are 34) told you to complete for his presentation to the potential investor next week. He has littered the office with motivational posters about how hard work beats talent when talent fails to work hard. This is ironic, because you lack both talent and motivation. A rare breed you are. He starts off every morning meeting with a new quote that he found on google about teamwork. Now, he sits you down, and says “listen up, kid (You are 34) I have spent the last 6 months building this startup from the ground, with nothing but elbow grease and a reasonable loan from my fiancées father. We finally have a chance for a breakthrough here, and I need you to be on your A game with these spreadsheets. As he walks out of your lifeless workspace, he takes the last strawberry candy from the extremely tasteful candy bowl you so elegantly placed in the corner desk. You are on the verge of tears now. This was the last candy and you were saving it for after lunch. Why would he take the last candy? Sure, you put the bowl there for coworkers to munch on and, well, if they come take a strawberry candy they HAVE to talk to you. But this was the LAST candy. You won’t be able to restock until tomorrow when you wake up in your studio alone and walk to Duane Reade with a 50% off coupon and argue with the cashier about the expiration date. You know it’s expired, but pay full price for a bag of candy at Duane Reade? That’s just not in your nature, now is it? Internally, you are about to snap. But just as you reach your breaking point, your phone begins to ring. It’s “Mike from college” calling. Wow, he hasn’t answered your last 6 texts. Do you think he’s just seeing them all now and feels the friendly urge to tell you that he never meant to ignore your “what’s the move tonight” text that you sent 3 times? You answer the phone. Eagerly. Way too eagerly. “Mike? Mike? Is that you MIKE.” The hesitation in his voice speaks volumes. The initial silence is louder than a sonic blast. But you aren’t the type of guy who notices these things. “Hey bud…how you been? Got an extra ticket to the Knicks game tonight. They are playing the Wizards at the garden, and was curious if you wanted to come.” Your face lights up. “Holy shit Mike, I would love to! Is it just us??” “Yeah…I only have 2 tickets, and I haven’t been able to find a single person to take it.” You ignore this implication that you are Mike’s last resort. You have one talent, and that is selective hearing. And damn you are good. “Well count me IN, man! Wanna meet up for drinks before?” “Let’s just meet up at the front gate man.” This sounds great to you. You get sweaty and your lips and fingers swell when you drink. You have a medically diagnosed extremely severe case of GERD anyway, so you were never able to keep up with mike and the fellas. So you finish up your spreadsheets, hand them to your boss (He’s 29) and get ready to go home and put on your childhood Patrick Ewing jersey that still fits because you didn’t make it past 5’7”. Now, its 7:30. You and Mike take your level 200 seats and you can’t help but gawk at the view. “Mike!” you say. “These seats are UNBELIEVEABLE” Of course, you hear Mike, but you somehow don’t notice him rolls his eyes as he unenthusiastically says “Yeah man, they are ok.” You are in awe of the light show, the spectacle that this organization puts on. As they introduce the 5 starting power forwards you can’t help but notice how electric the crowd is. People of all cultures unified as one. It’s a full house in the Garden tonight, as it always is. The raucous crowd lives and dies with every single basket. You howl in agony as Julius Randle misses a wide open layup, and you shriek in ecstasy when he gets his own rebound and is able to tie the game at 20. The game ebbs and flows, and you clutch Mikes arm and beg him to stand up so you have a better chance at catching a flying T-shirt. One wizzes right over your head. “Mike, imagine if you got on my shoulders? We could have totally snagged that one!” You have never BEEN so giddy. Mike must be stressed about the game- it’s been a while since he acknowledge your requests to start a “wave” with him. You understand, it’s a heck of a close game. 4th Quarter and it’s tied at 68 a pop. Can you believe? The boys actually have a chance to win this one! You never want to leave this environment. Thousands of people all unified with you in your despair but unabashed optimism. Now there is only 20 seconds left in the game. The crowd absolutely shakes. It is unlike anything you have ever seen before. Warriors fans weren’t this loud when the team was about to win its 2nd straight title. Marcus Morris shakily dribbles the ball up court as the clock ticks down. 10,9,8. As the air tight defense of the injury riddled Wizards move up to blanket him, he manages to get the ball to the power forward that is playing shooting guard. Bobby Portis backs down his defender, and you instinctively place your hands over Mikes, desperate for emotional support. He almost didn't notice how clammy they were. Almost. 4 seconds left now. With nobody who has ever attempted a 3 in their careers on the court, Portis knows his best option is to get the ball to Mitch Robinson in the paint. He heaves the ball up in desperate hope. 3 seconds left, and as Mitch catches the ball 2 feet from the hoop, you can feel the vibrations on your feet of all the fans seizing at such an unfamiliar situation. 1 second left. Mitch dunks the ball as time expires. THAT’S IT! The Knicks win! Walt Clyde Frazier shouts. The screams reverberate throughout the entire facility. Strangers hug. The Garden is roaring. You clumsily grasp for Mike. The Kicks have won their 4th preseason game 76-75 and Mike tells you that he has plans after the game but can you venom him 120 bucks whenever you get the chance? Thanks. Mike and the narrator may not be real, but the infectious atmosphere of MSG during even a routine and pointless preseason game is. This is, of course a blessing and a curse. All the Knicks woes and misfortunes come down to one common theme. James Dolan. The Clown prince of New York. Jimmy could almost be a sympathetic figure. The only reason he isn’t is because he is a gross, cold hearted, relentlessly aggressive dictator who has imprisoned an entire cities fan base into a pit of shame and mockery. Other than that, you almost feel bad for the guy. You see, there is one commonalty between us and him. It is that the Knicks are all we have. Excluding his prodigious band “JD and the straight shots” the New York Rangers/Liberty and Madison Square Garden as whole. But you get the point perhaps. Dolan is a stubborn pillock, but knows the value of what he owns. The Knicks are a money printing MACHINE, and while their head coaches may change every 18 months, that truth will remain absolute. I won’t speak with 100 percent conviction what makes Jimmy tick. Why he acts the way he does. Why he lashes out so extravagantly and embarrasses himself on an annual basis. But I feel justified in explaining why he won’t sell the team. It is a business that he is in charge of. He has stockholders to answer to, and he is, of course stubborn as a mule. One thing that might make you feel better: He is as miserable as the rest of us. There is only one way the Knicks escape from his clutches. An offer he can’t refuse. While that perhaps not impossible, there HAS to be another way. This is where I speak to Jim directly. Please, for the love of God…just get out of the way. If you can’t give up the team, just give up the reigns. We know every decision the Knicks make go through you. The management is absolutely despicable. They remain because they are loyal to you. This is how dictatorship usually works. Here, the best man for the job won’t stay, just the guys who kisses ass. It is time to face the facts. You are not capable of running the Knicks yourself. You knew that about the Rangers. You gave up the reigns with them, and they are a pretty respectable team historically and recently. Hell, does anybody outside of New York even realize you own the Rangers? You MUST be able to see that this has gone too far. You are in a hole you cannot escape from. The world of basketball sees you as a joke, and more notably a cancer. This is the type of perspective one does not simply change or escape from. If you won’t sell, you have but one way out of this mutually painful partnership: HIDE. Just remove yourself from the spotlight. Give someone else the power. GET OUT OF THE WAY. If it works, go ahead and congratulate yourself. You still own the team. But while you are still the guy at the head of the table…nobody will take us seriously. Please Jim, set us free.

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ronaldmrashid · 7 years ago

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Solutions For Impossible Things: Let Nothing Stand In Your Way

I am a super optimist. Whenever I sprain my ankle, the first thing I think is: thank goodness I didn’t break my ankle. Whenever I lose a bidding war on a house I want, I think to myself: there will always be another one. Whenever someone says something terrible about me online, I think to myself: at least someone is reading.

Perhaps perpetual failure is the reason why I’m so optimistic. Without optimism, I’d probably end up a complete failure after getting into so much trouble in grade school.

There will come a point in your life where you’ll face a difficult situation that feels impossible to solve. Instead of giving up, I encourage you to think things through. The better your problem solving skills, the more coveted you will be as an employee and the more successful you’ll be as an entrepreneur.

Let me share with you three unrelated examples of problems that were solved with some good old fashion brainstorming. If these examples don’t get you pumped, I don’t know what will.

Solutions To Difficult Problems

Problem #1: Low household water pressure

Who doesn’t love strong water pressure at home? It feels very satisfying to be able to spray gunk off your dishes before putting them in the dishwasher.

Unfortunately, my home’s water pressure isn’t very strong. To conserve water, the SF Water Utility Commission purposefully throttles water pressure around the city. That’s fine, since we were in a drought. Even after changing my main water pipe from 3/4 inch to 1 inch in diameter when I built my master bathroom, the water pressure still remained mediocre.

I called the utility company to see if they could turn up the pressure and they laughed in my face. Then I had a lightbulb moment. Because I have rain showers in my master bathroom, the water pressure feels stronger than my normal shower head upstairs protruding from the side wall. Gravity gave my downstairs shower an extra oomph.

I didn’t install a rain shower head to experience more water pressure. I just thought it would be nice to feel like I was taking a shower under a waterfall every time I stepped inside. And of course, for the sake of fun and equality, I installed a second rain shower and a hand shower.

Party time in the shower

When I remodeled my kitchen, I told my friend to pick up any nice looking stainless steel faucet he could find. I was already in charge of picking out the tiles, countertops, cabinets, fixtures, dishwasher, range, microwave, and floors. I wasn’t too concerned about the faucet.

My friend ended up getting a stainless steel “look” faucet that was really made of plastic. It had an unpleasant cheap sound whenever you’d tap it with your fingernails. The handle wiggled while turning it off and on. Finally, the water pressure was annoyingly low. It was a piece of crap.

Original cheap kitchen faucet

After three years of kitchen use, I’ve come to realize the kitchen faucet is a focal point that can either delight or disappoint the user. Every time I used my wiggly plastic kitchen faucet it bummed me out. So I decided to go shopping.

One faucet caught my eye, a 15″ tall Hansgrohe Talis C faucet with a large pull out nozzle and a beautiful stainless steel finish. I had seen similar types of faucets in nicely remodeled homes, and knew this was the one. I also hypothesized that the height and curve of the faucet would help increase the water pressure.

New 15″ kitchen faucet by Hansgrohe

The Hansgrohe faucet cost $450 compared to my original Moen faucet for just $150. But I didn’t care. I bought two! One for me, and one for my rental house, which I’m considering selling to simplify. It was just too embarrassing to have a cheap faucet in a rental that commands $8,000+/month. Realtors always pointed out the need to change the faucet when they walked through.

Not only do I now have two fantastic looking kitchen faucets, the water pressure in both my home and my rental are now at least 30% stronger thanks to the long curved neck. The 15″ height helps create a build up of pressure until the water gets forced down. Every time I go to spray down the dirty dishes or wash my hands, I feel ecstatic!

Cheap rental faucet in my kitchen b/c my tenants chose it after the old one broke

Sweet new faucet after that is more appropriate with the cost of the house

2. Getting an athletic scholarship as an un-athletic person.

One of the best ways to get into a prestigious university is to be a great athlete. After spending the season coaching high school tennis and getting to know the athletic director very well, I’ve learned how big of a boost a kid can get with his or her athletic potential.

Most high school athletes won’t get a scholarship to play for a Division I school. But some athletes can increase their chances of getting into a great Division III school like Amherst with the help of sports. Colleges like Amherst and Williams have 14% or lower acceptance rates, but are considered academically on par with the top universities in the country. Given 99% of college athletes do not become pro athletes, the real emphasis is on getting into the best school possible to give yourself as many career choices as possible.

Because I’m of average height (5’10”) and my wife is of below average height (<5’5″), we’re likely not going to be producing any Shaquille O’Neals or Maria Sharapovas any time soon. You can definitely succeed in athletics being shorter when being taller is a benefit like Isaiah Thomas from the Celtics (5’9″ all-star) and Kei Nishikori (5’10”, top 5 tennis player). It’s just harder, all things being equal.

I got to talking to 26 year old female named Lisa one day about the benefits of public versus private high school. She went to a public high school and ended up at Stanford with a lot of grants that made attending cheaper than attending a public university. She didn’t feel the public high school held her back, especially since she was the valedictorian. But she did say her rowing definitely helped her get in. Her high school won the state rowing championships back-to-back.

Lisa is around 5’7″ and I could tell she definitely was strong. She told me something interesting. Her Stanford crew team only had three scholarships. Despite being one of the best rowers, she wasn’t one of the recipients. But the coxswain was!

A Cal Berkeley coxswain. Go Bears!

For those who don’t know, the coxswain is the person who navigates, motivates, and strategizes the rowers to victory. No rowing is required. As a coxswain, the lighter and smaller you are, the less weight your crew has to row!

So for those of you who aren’t super tall or physically gifted, don’t worry. To take advantage of your small stature, you could be a coxswain or a fencer or a gymnast. There are a number of sports where being small is a great advantage.

If you’re a 5’1″, 100 lbs female, you could very well be the most sought after coxswain on the planet if you just practice. Note: regatta rules require coxswain to meet minimum weights. If they don’t, the difference is made up in sandbags.

Not 6’8″ and only 4’8″? No worries.

3. Returning a lost wallet to an international visitor.

On May 17th I went for a nice afternoon walk in the SF Botanical Gardens. As a nature lover, it’s one of my favorite free things to do as an early retiree. Some of my most popular posts have come after long walks in the park.

As I was leaving the park, I noticed a brown Pierre Cardin wallet on the ground. Inside the wallet was a guy’s B1/B2 Border Crossing Card, a United baggage check claim from LAX, and $213. Holy crap! Without his Card, Martin wouldn’t be allowed back into Mexico!

I was panicking for Martin because it was 6:45pm and the park attendees had already left at 6pm (last entry is 6pm and you can leave whenever you want). I stayed back for 30 minutes, hoping he’d return, but he didn’t. Since I had ordered some takeout food 45 minutes earlier, I needed to pick up the food and also drop off my friend, who had a dinner appointment.

What to do?! Think. Think. Think. Losing your wallet is the worst. Got it!

I pulled out a business card from my car’s center console, wrote a message for Martin to contact me if he found it, placed the card near where I found his wallet, and put a nickel on it so my card wouldn’t fly away.

I drove about 10 feet, stopped the car, and got back out because I feared my card would be blown away by the wind. It’s kind of like when you leave the house and go back because you fear you may have left the stove on. I replaced the nickel with a heavy rock.

Between the benches I placed my card with a rock

I picked up my food, dropped off my friend who was already late for dinner, and began to eat my yummy soy sauce fried chicken wings from Manna restaurant. I couldn’t stop thinking about how to get Martin’s wallet back to him so I sent out a tweet, hoping maybe the internet gods would connect us. I also sent an e-mail to the one vendor’s business card in his wallet.

Sending out a shot in the dark over Twitter

After eating another two chicken wings, I decided to call 311 (information) and ask what I should do. They suggested I drop off Martin’s wallet at the closest police station. If Martin went to any police station, he’d be able to locate his wallet because the report would be in the system.

Sadly, the first thing I thought about when the operator told me to go to the police was not to go to the police.

I kept thinking I’d encounter some young, racist, power-tripping police officer who’d just take all of Martin’s cash and throw his ID in the dumpster because he was from Mexico.

Then I had images of ICE officers busting into people’s homes and dragging away in handcuffs illegal immigrant children.

The media had completely warping my judgement of the people who are supposed to protect and serve.

Before driving to the police station, I saw in my Twitter feed a random person called @Chukunu saying he was Martin! Could it be true? It had only been an hour since I found his wallet. Was some random guy screwing with me so he could beat me up and steal Martin’s wallet? Hmm. Not if this kung fu blogger has anything to say about it!

Thankfully, @chukunu was Martin. He shot me an e-mail in addition to his Twitter response, and I told him I’d be over in 15 minutes.

When I pulled up, he and his buddy were sitting on the bench waiting. I wasn’t entirely sure it was him through my tinted windows, but I could see his glee when he leaped off the bench.

It turns out Martin had dropped his wallet while waiting for an Uber with his friend. It was only after he’d gotten across town to the Mission District 25 minutes away did he realizedit was missing.

They took an Uber all the way back, noticed my card under the rock, and immediately sent an e-mail and checked Twitter. HOORAY!

We hugged it out and I asked him about his adventures so far.

He said this was his first visit to San Francisco and thanked me profusely.

His joy was my joy. I had been on a mission to get back his wallet no matter what so he could safely return to LAX and then Mexico City. He confirmed that without his Border Crossing ID, it would be impossible to return home.

I also contacted United Airlines and was going to speak to the Parks & Recreation department first thing the next morning. Worst case, I was hoping Martin would get to SF International Airport, United would tell him to contact me, I’d come meet him, and away he’d go.

Is this not the happiest person you’ve seen in your life?! Maybe US / Mexico relations will flourish after all.

There’s Always A Solution

If there is a problem, be determined to find a solution. Don’t just give up. Never give up! Yes, we’ll have some Dunning-Kruger moments where we don’t realize our delusions until we’re deep in a hole. But if you develop a solution-oriented mindset, you’ll naturally start making a positive difference in your life and in the lives of others.

Here are some other examples of problems many people don’t believe are solvable, which I’ve addressed:

* Negotiating a severance package from a job you dislike.

* Saving over $100,000 a year pre-tax in your retirement accounts.

* Retiring early and never having to work again.

* Avoiding the marriage penalty tax.

* Making a fortune blogging while charging nothing.

The list goes on and on because I’m focused on solving some of our most vexing problems.

I hope these three examples give you some motivation to keep on going through difficult times. It often seems like the world is conspiring against us. Just know that with a little bit of grit and creativity, you’ll have a better chance of living your best life.

Related: Create An Abundance Mindset To Grow Your Wealth

Readers, please share with me some examples of situations you found to be difficult or impossible, yet overcame with creativity and hustle.

from http://www.financialsamurai.com/solutions-for-impossible-things-let-nothing-stand-in-your-way/

#Financial Samurai

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