#he was always disposable mannnnnn | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

harryandmolly · 5 years

Text

i could write it better than you ever felt it - three

summary: fuck growing up. this is freedom, this is life, this is youth – 2007 Warped Tour style.

warnings: Language, underage drinking, Merriment (TM)

word count: 3k

Val woke up with a boy on her mind.

She bathes in the feeling of it, the comfort it brings her. She has a crush. After the year she’s had, she wasn’t sure she’d be allowed another. It feels like a little gift.

A little gift in a big, perfect, 6’2” package.

Speaking of package…

Val sinks her orthodontist-perfected front teeth into her bottom lip to tamp down her filthy smile. She closes her eyes and imagines the way he felt underneath her last night when they were rolling around in the dirt. His whole body was hard, and not in the way she’s used to. He clearly takes excellent care of himself, which is always sexy. He was all firm muscle wrapped in strong tendons and ligaments under a curtain of surprisingly soft skin. And, when she got a hand up under his shirt, moaning into his open mouth as she traced the defined lines of his abs, she found a nice dusting of chest hair that got her even a little wetter than she already was.

So yeah, he was hard in more ways than one. And Val can’t stop thinking about it.

She fell asleep in Pomona after a romp with her bounding bunny and woke up in Ventura for another round. It didn’t even occur to her until after her third orgasm of the past 24 hours that this is the first time she’s gotten a full eight hours of sleep in… oh, no, she refuses to think about how long it’s been.

What she’d like to stop thinking about, what she shouldn’t really be so impressed by, is how willing he was to stay put under her and let her explore him, drifting his hands over her body as he liked without demanding, without pushing any limits. I mean, really, how low are her standards that she’s actually charmed by respect and consent? That thinking about it makes her blush?

Well, Val cut her teeth on the boys of Warped Tour. So. Those standards? They’re pretty fuckin’ low.

What a nice thing, though, to have a crush. A nice little summer crush. A boy that makes her heart flutter when he skates by, a face to watch in a crowd when she’s had a few and is simmering for him under the cool June moon. A gift, indeed.

She’s pondering possibilities of flirtation, of stolen kisses, of pink cheeks and bashful glances when her bunk curtain flies open and something crawls inside.

Bea burrows her face into Val’s neck as Val wordlessly scooches further into the bunk to make room. Not that they need much. Bea is the size of a peapod.

“Honey bunch,” Bea greets, nuzzling Val’s hair which still smells faintly of bonfire smoke. It’s so signature Warped, it makes Bea grin.

After a moment of comfortable silence, Bea looks up at Val in wonder. “Did you sleep through the night?”

Val wears a proud smirk and tips an eyebrow at her. “I did.”

“Shit, that’s new. The Mendes kid must’ve really worn you out,” Bea yawns, feigning casual. Val chuckles, bouncing Bea against her side.

“Mmmm, what a man what a man what a man…” Val begins.

“What a mighty good mannnnnn,” Bea finishes, laughing.

The girls giggle together until Bea stops, kicking her bare foot at something brushing against it from outside Val’s bunk curtain.

“Guys, it’s Naveen,” a voice calls, making them both smile and settle, “Val, could you… I mean, I’m sorry, I know it’s early…”

Val makes a pitiful face and drags the curtain back, squinting at her friend.

“Naveen, only you could make it sound like you’re inconveniencing me by asking me to do my job. Bless your heart. I’ll be right out.”

Naveen sheepishly stumbles away probably to start unloading Val’s boxes, which she should be doing herself. She just wanted to… bask a little longer.

“No, so really, how was it?” Bea prompts.

Val shrugs. “We made out for almost an hour. I bet my lips are still swollen. It was… in a word, delicious.”

Bea groans and rolls out of the bunk, landing on her feet like a cat somehow. She shoots Val a displeased look. “Seriously? No fucking? You had a body like that at your disposal and you didn’t let him fuck you?”

Val crawls out behind Bea in Soffe shorts and a My Chem shirt that once belonged to an ex-fling. Her joints creak slightly. Maybe she’s getting too old for this touring junk after all.

“I was craving kisses. You ever get that? Where the only thing that will satisfy you is kissing? I’m talking about good, long, hot, full body kisses. The kind that swallow you up and never seem to spit you back out again,” Val muses, leaning back against the wall rattling with the overworked AC unit.

Bea stares at her, deadpan. “I only crave dick.”

Val sighs and nods, seeing her point. She shoos her friend off the bus to change and reluctantly greet the day.

And reluctant she is because it’s 100 in the shade on the second day of Warped in Ventura, California and Jesus Christ, how do people do this for a whole summer? How did she do this living in a van? She’s gone soft. Throughout the morning, she closes her eyes and thinks of England. She imagines sprinkling rain, warm Scottish wool sweaters, mugs of builders tea by the fire in student housing.

Those thoughts don’t make her any cooler though. Neither do the periodical rushes of teenagers flooding her tent to throw their babysitting money at her in exchange for American Apparel tees and hoodies.

Val isn’t Bea, but she’s a damn good merch girl. She stays cool under pressure, she’s well organized, well prepared and knows when to call for back up. Which is why, when it’s 1pm and her line is 20 deep at least and the girl in front of her is insisting she handed Val 20 ones for that beanie hat and Val must’ve just dropped one, she’s never been happier to see her stupid brother.

Raf swings out to greet his minions like he’s Freddy fuckin’ Mercury, doling out cheek kisses and hugs and Sharpied autographs on various body parts. It gives Val a second to breathe, to regroup, to take care of a few straggling merchgoers before his work is done and he can turn back to her triumphantly like a hero or some shit.

She slumps into her chair and makes a face. He imitates it back flawlessly.

“Thanks, or something,” she sighs, tilting her nose up in the air. He falls into the chair next to her, sweaty from their set.

“How’s it been this morning?” he hums, picking at the fraying holes in his jeans. Raf likes to think of himself as old school – he doesn’t buy holey jeans. He buys jeans and lets them get holey by sheer force of rockstar will.

“Fine. It was nice this morning; I started a sing-a-long with the girls in line who knew every word to Yellow Pages.”

Raf looks impressed. Yellow Pages was an unreleased demo, one of the first solo songs Raf ever wrote. Only the Youtubiest Youtubers have hunted it down. They can both respect that hustle.

They’re quiet for a moment, enjoying the lull, when Raf perks up.

“H-hey, look who it is,” he chuckles, nodding across from them to an extraordinarily tall figure behind the Bayside merch tent looking sweaty and a little lost. Val winces.

“Raf, come on—”

“HEY! SHAWN!” Raf barks, holding up one long dark arm to wave him down. Val groans low out of her nose but shows no indication on her face.

Shawn flails for a second as he spins, not terribly graceful on those big feet of his. He spots where he’s needed and goes white as a sheet. Val smacks her lips.

“You know, he probably thinks you’re going to try to fight him for my honor.”

Raf keeps a friendly, welcoming gaze on Shawn, waving more insistently, “That ship has long since sailed. SHAWN!”

Val holds her head high as Shawn walks over, a little slower than what’s normal, looking extremely hesitant. Raf is eating it the fuck up.

“Hey, buddy, how was your first barbecue?” Raf laughs, feigning ignorance.

Val lifts an eyebrow. Shawn’s eyes snap to hers in a panic.

“Uhm, fine—good, yeah, it was good. Great, even.”

“Great!” Raf repeats, too much vigor in his voice. It’s giving Val a headache, “Great, that’s so great. I’m so glad you enjoyed yourself.”

Shawn nods solemnly, eyes wide, waiting to be scolded by one of the Moreno twins. Val sighs.

“I need to pee, come walk with me,” she insists, shooting her brother a look. Raf smirks and holds his hands up in surrender, staying at his post.

Shawn keeps up with Val’s enormous steps quite handily. He doesn’t even seem to notice how fast she walks, but it’s the first thing a lot of people notice about her.

“So… last night…” Shawn begins.

Val tilts her head, looking at him expectantly. He’s clearly waiting for her to step in and make a comment. Whenever boys start a thought like that, it’s what they want.

Maybe Val’s a little more like Raf than she realized. She likes making him squirm.

“Hm?” she prompts, nodding.

He huffs a gentle breath. “Last night was cool.”

She can’t say she’s surprised. Was she expecting song lyrics to come flooding out of his perfect, soft mouth that she knows very intimately now?

“Last night was cool,” she agrees, stepping a little closer to them as they walk back toward the port-o-potties.

“Are you… uhm, do you think you’re going to the one tonight on the beach?”

She drowns in the sweetness of it for a minute, feels like a cute boy is walking her to her locker and asking her if she’s going to the malt shop after school. She should be wearing a poodle skirt and swooning to match the look on her face right now.

“The Ventura barbecue is always one of the best of the year. What happens on the beach stays on the beach,” she teases, elbowing him playfully. He loosens up a little, chuckling.

“Cool, yeah,” Shawn says, “Maybe we can hang out again, then.”

Val tamps down a smile and tucks a lock of hair behind her ear. He watches it get hooked away and watches it fall back into place against her cheek. He scrubs the back of his neck with his hand as they arrive by the maze of port-o-potties.

Not the most romantic setting, but…

Shawn suddenly tucks a hand against Val’s neck and kisses her. It’s quick, he only lingers for a split piece of a moment to suck a little at her lower lip before he pulls back. His eyes are dancing and he’s got color in his cheeks that can’t be attributed to the heat of the California morning.

“See you tonight,” he says, walking backwards for a few feet before turning and jogging off toward the Forefront van. She watches him go with an amused chuckle and a glance at the seat of his pants.

Val tips back and forth with her arm around Steve from New Found Glory and Bea on her other side. She’s filled to the brim with tequila, salt and lime eagerly fed to her by the NFG boys, some of her oldest scene friends.

“I don’t care what you think, I like that new Hannah Montana song,” Val yells into Steve’s ear over the boppy rhythm of “We’re At the Top Of the World” by the Juliana Theory.

Steve rolls his eyes, feigning disappointment. “You’re better than that, Moreno.”

“I most certainly am not!” she laughs, knocking her Corona against his in a lazy, drunken cheers.

It’s 9pm and it feels like the sun has only just set. It’s a little cool so close to the beach so she’s snuggled into Steve for warmth even if he’s more of a brother to her than her own brother sometimes. Her fuzzy brain reminds her to look for Shawn and the Forefront boys again because they haven’t shown up yet and she finds herself feeling a little girlishly eager.

A raucous behind them makes her turn under Steve’s arm. She feels Bea poking her arm but ignores her, smiling smoothly.

Francis has launched himself onto Shawn’s back as they stride down the hill from the vans and buses in a phalanx of men in women’s jeans. Seth is laughing with his hand on his stomach. The others are ignoring them as though it’s something that happens at this same time every day.

Shawn screams, laughs as he kneels and flips Francis over his head to slam into the ground. The barbecue goers all “oooooooh” in sympathetic pain as Francis coughs and tries to regain his breath. Shawn rolls his eyes and helps him up. As soon as Francis is on his feet, he’s leaping onto Shawn’s back again.

Val licks a drop of beer from the corner of her lips and shrugs out from under Steve’s arm, shivering a little. She stumbles past Bea’s clingy arms and “no, noooooo!”s in favor of walking straight into Shawn’s path as he resigns to his new cling-on.

“Hi,” she blurts with a grin, cocking her head at him. Shawn skids to a stop. Francis bounces against his back with a muffled groan.

“Hey,” he murmurs, tightening his grip around Francis’s knees. Francis drunkenly laughs, cheek resting against Shawn’s shoulder. Val looks over at him with a smirk.

“You boys look a little worse for wear.”

“No one came to our set,” Francis sighs.

“That’s not true,” Shawn argues.

“14 people came to our set,” Francis corrects, wrinkling his nose.

Shawn shrugs. “Yeah, that’s about right.”

“We all play to empty rooms sometimes,” she reminds them, nodding past them to the Streets boys throwing Raf into the ocean. Shawn follows her gaze and laughs.

“Can he swim?”

She shakes her head. “Not when he’s more vodka than boy.”

She looks back at Shawn and smiles. He’s a little sunburnt and doubly flushed from whatever booze they pity-drank after their meager set. He smells like a fresh shower and Val can’t help but wonder if it’s for her.

She thrusts her chin in Francis’s direction. “Ditch your sloth boy and come drink with us.”

Shawn unceremoniously drops Francis, who hangs around his neck for a second before thumping into the sand below them with a groan.

“Us?” Shawn asks.

Val nods to NFG and Bea. Shawn’s eyes go comically wide.

“Oh shit,” he breathes.

“C’mon, celebrities are just like us,” she teases, taking his big, warm hand in hers and tugging him toward her friends.

Shawn wants to protest, wants to dig his heels in and shake his head like a toddler, but he thinks after last night he’d follow this woman straight into a wildfire. He pastes on an anxious smile as she introduces him to everyone. The tiny merch girl, Bea, seems especially interested in him, elbowing Val every chance she got like a middle schooler. It makes Shawn wonder if maybe Val has been talking about him. He shivers at the idea.

Shawn and Val sit together in the sand. As the hours grow later, Shawn gets chattier, bonds with Chad and Jordan while Val watches and occasionally moves curls out of his eyes like a total girlfriend but she doesn’t care because she’s lit. A joint is passed around and everything slows down a little.

Shawn is leaning back on his hands, one of which is behind Val so they’re almost, just ever-so-casually intertwined. She leans into his ear to talk sometimes and he feels the hair on his neck stand up from her hot breath on his skin. Her fingers sneak toward his and brush against each other in the sand. Shawn’s skin prickles with need. He chews on his lower lip until Val nudges him.

“I’m ready to go,” she announces quietly. Her eyes look molten and black in the beach bonfire light. His stomach churns. He nods quickly and stands despite all the liquor in his system. He takes her hands and pulls her up with him.

She loops an arm around his waist as she makes her goodbyes. He feels awkward holding her like this, like they’re wearing a sign together that says “we’re leaving to fuck now, have a good night.” But when she slides her hand in the back pocket of his jeans, the worry is gone. He grows antsy as she waves goodbye. When he finally has her leading away from the barbecue, away from the rushing crash of the Pacific and the dull drone of Good Charlotte on the stereo, he places his lips by her ear to speak.

“Your place or mine?”

He’s a little proud of that line.

Val curls into his body and rests a hand on his stomach through his black t-shirt.

“Yours.”

Val blinks. It’s quiet. The bluish tint of dawn comes in through the windows.

She tries to lift her head too quickly and finds her cheek is stuck to his bare chest. She winces as her skin peels away from his. She plants her hands on either side of him to push herself up and take stock of the situation.

It’s early, but buses haven’t started leaving for the next stop in Mountain View yet. She is wearing her t-shirt and skimpy pink panties. Her jeans are pooled on the floor of the van next to her. Shawn is deeply asleep beneath her in a pair of boxer briefs. The Forefront boys have all returned to the bus and have therefore seen her in this state of being, passed out on top of their lead singer. Their tour manager Andrew is elsewhere.

Val looks down at Shawn. He looks younger, somehow, as he sleeps. She sweeps some cherubic curls off his forehead and drags a hand down his chest appreciatively. As quietly as she can, she gathers her shoes and jeans in hand and opens the sliding door to the van.

Like a thief in the night, she steals back to the dark silence of the Streets bus, crawls into her bunk and falls into a fitful sleep.

Taglist: @smallerinfinities @the-claire-bitch-project @stillinskislydia @achinglyshawn @infiniteshawn @alone-in-madness @alone-in-madness @singanddreamanyway @accioalena @randi-eve @shawnitsmutual

#shawn mendes #shawn mendes fanfic #shawn mendes fan fic #shawn mendes fanfiction #shawn mendes fan fiction #shawn mendes fic #shawn peter raul mendes #punk!shawn #warped tour shawn

114 notes · View notes