#jackass x reader

The day on set moves in its usual chaotic rhythm. Cameras whir, crew members shout directions, and Johnny moves through it all with that unshakable energy that draws everyone’s attention. You stick close, pretending to help with props or handing him water, but really, you’re watching his hands, how they grip the pole before a stunt, the way he adjusts his gloves, the casual flick of a wrist as he jokes with someone.

Every small touch sets your nerves alight. When he laughs and slaps your hand lightly in a playful reprimand for holding a prop wrong, you can feel the heat pooling low in your stomach. You bite your lip to keep from reacting too obviously, but it’s hard when every motion, every glance from him, seems to tease something deeper inside you.

During a break, he sits beside you on a crate, stretching his legs out lazily. You can’t resist letting your eyes linger on his hands as they rest on his knees, fingers curling slightly. He notices, of course. Johnny always notices.

“You like looking at these, don’t you?” he asks softly, tilting his hand so you can see the knuckles and scars more clearly. The teasing in his tone makes your pulse quicken.

“I… maybe,” you whisper, trying to sound casual but failing.

He grins, leaning closer, letting his hand hover near yours, just close enough to make your skin tingle. “You’re impossible,” he murmurs, and you can feel it—not just the thrill of his proximity, but the slow, simmering heat that builds whenever his hands are near yours.

As the crew calls everyone back to set, he grabs your hand, squeezing it briefly before letting go. The touch is fleeting, but it lingers in your mind like fire. All day, you catch yourself sneaking glances, imagining those strong, familiar hands tracing over you when no one is looking.

By the end of the shoot, your thoughts are entirely consumed by him. His hands. How they move, how they feel, and the way he seems to know exactly how much to tease without crossing the line—except in your imagination, where the line doesn’t exist.

You catch him watching you as you walk back to the trailer. His eyes glint with mischief, and you know he’s already aware of the effect he has on you. A small, private thrill rushes through you at the thought. One day soon, you’re pretty sure he’ll do more than just tease. And just the idea makes your pulse race as you picture what might happen when those hands finally get your full attention.

The next morning you’re back on set, and it’s the same chaos you’ve come to expect—props scattered, cameras being adjusted, everyone buzzing with energy. Johnny’s already in the middle of it all, cracking jokes, hyping everyone up, that familiar reckless smile plastered across his face.

You try to focus on the stunt board in your hands, but your eyes betray you the second you see him pulling on his gloves. The leather creaks under the strength of his grip, and the veins along his forearms stand out as he flexes his hands, stretching them before another wild idea takes shape.

You swallow hard.

Johnny catches you. Of course he does. His dark sunglasses slide down just enough for you to see the smirk tugging at his lips.

“You’re not even pretending to hide it anymore,” he calls out, loud enough for a couple of crew members to glance over in confusion.

Heat rushes to your cheeks. “Shut up,” you mutter, burying your face in the clipboard.

He laughs, the kind of laugh that makes everyone else around him grin, but his attention doesn’t leave you. As the crew disperses to set up the next shot, Johnny wanders over, leaning his weight on the crate beside you.

“You know, most girlfriends stare at their boyfriend’s ass or chest,” he teases. He holds his hands out deliberately, wiggling his fingers in front of your face. “But not you. You’ve got a thing for these beat-up paws, huh?”

You roll your eyes, trying to play it off, but your pulse betrays you. “You’re ridiculous.”

“And you’re busted.” His voice drops lower, just for you, and it sends a shiver down your spine. “I swear, every time I catch you looking, it makes me wanna—” He cuts himself off, grin widening. “Well. Maybe I shouldn’t finish that sentence out here.”

Your stomach knots at the way he says it, casual but heavy with suggestion.

The day moves on, but Johnny doesn’t let it drop. Every chance he gets, he teases you with those hands. Passing you a bottle of water, he lets his fingers graze over yours a beat too long. During a break, he stretches, making a show of cracking his knuckles. When you hand him a helmet, he deliberately brushes his thumb across your palm as he takes it.

By the time the last stunt wraps, you’re wound tight with tension.

Later, when the crew clears out for the evening, you find yourself lingering in the quiet. Johnny is leaning against the hood of a beat-up production van, his hands shoved in his pockets, hair messy, sunglasses gone now that the sun’s dipped lower. He looks relaxed, but you know better—he’s waiting.

“You gonna come over here, or you gonna keep pretending you don’t want to?” he asks, voice soft but sharp enough to cut through the silence.

Your feet move before your brain catches up. He smirks as you step closer, until you’re standing between his knees. His hands slip free from his pockets, and your breath catches automatically.

“God, you’re predictable,” he says, watching the way your gaze drops instantly. He tilts your chin up with his thumb and forefinger, forcing you to meet his eyes. “Say it.”

Your voice shakes. “I like your hands.”

His grin is wicked. “I know you do.” He trails the back of his knuckles slowly down your cheek, and the simple touch is enough to make your knees wobble. “You’ve been staring at them like they’re the only thing holding you together.”

You bite your lip, your breath quickening as his fingers trace your jaw, feather-light, before brushing down the side of your neck.

“Maybe I should put them to better use,” Johnny murmurs.

The words hang between you, thick with promise. His hand slips behind your neck, tugging you closer until your foreheads touch. You can feel the warmth of his breath, the slow drag of his thumb across your pulse point, the tension strung so tight it feels like a wire about to snap.

And just before he kisses you, he pulls back with that infuriating grin. “But not out here. Gotta give the crew something to wonder about.”

He lets go, slipping his hand back into his pocket as he walks off toward the trailer, leaving you breathless, buzzing, and already imagining what’s going to happen when he finally stops teasing and gives you exactly what you’ve been craving.

By the time you make it back to the trailer, your chest is tight with anticipation. Johnny has that effect on you—leaving you wound up, flustered, desperate, but still laughing through it all. It’s infuriating, and addictive.

The trailer door creaks open, and you step inside, the faint scent of cigarettes and leather lingering in the air. Johnny’s already there, sprawled across the couch like he owns the world. He glances up from whatever he’s fiddling with, that slow grin spreading across his face when he sees you.

“Knew you’d follow me,” he drawls. His voice is lazy, cocky, but the spark in his eyes says he’s been waiting.

You shut the door behind you, your pulse pounding in your ears. “You didn’t exactly give me a choice.”

Johnny pats the spot beside him. “Come here, darlin’.”

You move toward him, but before you can sit, his hand shoots out and catches your wrist. The grip is firm but not painful, and the simple feel of his fingers curling around you makes your breath stutter. He watches your reaction with that same mischievous glint.

“Unbelievable,” he mutters, tugging you closer until you’re standing between his knees. His thumb brushes lazily against the inside of your wrist, dragging across your skin like he’s testing how far he can push. “You’re shaking already. Just from this?”

You swallow hard. “Maybe.”

“Maybe, my ass.” He chuckles, low and warm. “You’ve been eye-fucking my hands for weeks, and now you can’t even stand still when I touch you. You’re so easy, baby.”

Your cheeks burn, but the heat in your stomach only coils tighter.

Johnny leans back, pulling you with him until you’re straddling his lap. His hands settle on your hips, heavy and commanding. You bite your lip as his fingers dig in, dragging you closer against him.

“Look at you,” he murmurs, almost in awe. “All this over a pair of busted knuckles and calluses.” He lifts one hand, holding it up between you like evidence. The skin is rough, a faint scar cutting across his index knuckle, veins rising as he flexes. “This what you’ve been drooling over?”

Your eyes lock on it before you can stop yourself, and he laughs, shaking his head. “Jesus. You’re hopeless.”

But instead of teasing more, he presses that same hand to your cheek. The contrast of rough skin against soft makes your whole body tremble. His thumb drags across your bottom lip, tugging it down just slightly.

“Open.”

The command is soft, but you obey instantly. His thumb slips past your lips, pressing down on your tongue, and your eyes flutter shut as the taste of salt and skin fills your mouth. You suck gently without even thinking, and the groan that rumbles from Johnny’s chest makes your thighs clench around him.

“Fuck,” he hisses. “That’s what you want, huh? You wanna suck on my fingers like a good little slut?”

You nod, cheeks heating, your lips wrapped tighter around his thumb. His grin is wicked, approving. He slides another finger into your mouth, stretching your lips around them both, and you moan at the sensation.

“That’s it,” he says, voice roughening. “Look at you. So fucking needy for my hands.”

His other hand slides down your spine, pressing you firmly against his lap. You can feel him hard beneath you, the heat radiating through his jeans. Every shift of his fingers in your mouth, every subtle scrape of calloused skin against your tongue, only makes the ache between your legs sharper.

When he finally pulls his fingers free, a strand of saliva connects them to your lips. He smears it across your cheek with a grin. “Messy girl.”

You can barely catch your breath before his hand closes around your throat. Not tight—just enough to hold, to remind you who’s in control. His thumb rests against your pulse, and you swear he can feel how fast it’s racing.

“You think I didn’t notice?” he whispers, leaning in close. “Every time I touched you, every time I passed you something on set. You were practically shaking with it. I’ve been dying to see you like this.”

His mouth crashes against yours before you can respond. The kiss is rough, hungry, all teeth and tongue, his hands framing your face, holding you still like you’re something precious and breakable. Your fingers claw at his shirt, desperate to anchor yourself.

Then those hands are everywhere—on your jaw, sliding down your throat, gripping your waist, sneaking under your shirt. Each touch is deliberate, worshipful in its own filthy way, and you can’t decide if you want to melt or explode.

“Take this off,” he growls, tugging at your shirt. You yank it over your head, and his palms are instantly on your bare skin, dragging over your ribs, cupping your breasts through your bra. His thumbs flick against your nipples, and you gasp into his mouth.

“God, I love how responsive you are,” he mutters. “I barely touch you, and you’re already soaked, aren’t you?”

You nod breathlessly, grinding down against him.

“Prove it.”

Before you can ask how, his hand is between your thighs, palming you through your jeans. The pressure makes you whimper, and Johnny smirks. “Thought so.”

His fingers make quick work of your button and zipper, sliding into your waistband. You arch into his touch, desperate, as he drags his rough fingertips over your panties. The friction is unbearable, perfect.

“Johnny—”

“Shh,” he murmurs, kissing the corner of your mouth. “Let me take care of you.”

His hand slips inside, finally pressing against your wet heat. You moan, clinging to his shoulders as he teases you, circling your clit with maddening precision. His fingers are so much bigger than yours, thicker, stronger, and every stroke feels like it’s pulling you apart piece by piece.

“You feel that?” he whispers against your ear. “That’s what you’ve been waiting for. My hands all over you, exactly where you need them.”

When he slides two fingers inside, the stretch makes you cry out. He groans at the sound, pumping them steadily, curling just right to make your whole body tremble. His palm grinds against your clit with every thrust, and you can’t hold back the shameless moans spilling from your lips.

“Fuck, baby,” he breathes. “You’re gripping me so tight. Bet I could make you come just like this, huh? Just from my fingers.”

You nod frantically, nails digging into his shoulders. “Yes—please, Johnny—don’t stop.”

He doesn’t. His pace quickens, the wet sounds filling the trailer as he fucks you with his hand. He keeps his eyes locked on your face, watching every reaction like it’s the best show he’s ever seen.

“That’s it, darlin’. Take it. Take my fingers like the desperate little slut you are.”

The filthy words make your walls clamp down harder, and you’re spiraling, your body strung so tight it’s about to snap. His thumb circles your clit with ruthless precision, and you break—crying out his name as you come, shaking around his fingers.

Johnny growls, dragging it out, fucking you through it until you collapse against his chest, panting and trembling.

He pulls his hand free slowly, deliberately, and holds it up between you. His fingers glisten with your release, and his grin is feral.

“Look at that,” he says. “All from these hands you’re so obsessed with.”

Before you can recover, he pushes those same slick fingers into your mouth. Your eyes roll back as you taste yourself, sucking greedily. Johnny watches, groaning low in his throat.

“Fuck, baby. You’re gonna be the death of me.”

When he finally pulls his hand away, he cups your jaw, tilting your face up to meet his. His kiss is softer this time, almost reverent, but his words are anything but.

“You’re mine,” he whispers. “These hands? They’ll ruin you if you let me.”

Working at a bookstore wasn’t usually thrilling.

Until Johnny Knoxville walked in.

You knew he was coming, obviously—the staff had spent a week prepping for the Q&A and signing event tied to the release of his memoir, Broken, Bruised, and Loving It. But no amount of emails or floor plans or advance copies could prepare you for the real thing: 6 feet of chaos, swagger, and bruised-up charisma in a denim jacket and chipped sunglasses.

He entered like he owned the joint, and maybe in a way he did—half the crowd here tonight was buzzing for him. You watched from the staff counter, silently reciting all the ways you were not going to lose your cool. You weren’t going to fangirl. You weren’t going to blush. You definitely weren’t going to tell him that you used to rewind the “rocket sled” scene like it was your favorite film.

Then he looked right at you.

“Hey,” he called out, pointing from across the room like he recognized you from a dream or a mugshot. “You look like you’ve seen someone fly into a tree before.”

You froze, halfway between setting out bookmarks and forgetting how to breathe. “I, uh… maybe once or twice.”

He smirked and kept walking, but your hands shook for five minutes after.

⸻

The Q&A was chaos in a can. Knoxville told stories like a drunk uncle on a roll—animated, inappropriate, wildly entertaining. He balanced on the edge of a display table, flirted with elderly fans, and mimed multiple stunts with what looked like real trauma in his eyes. The crowd was in love.

So were you, kind of.

Not in the poster-on-your-wall way you’d been in high school. This was worse. This was adult-level infatuation—the kind that came with deeper tension, heavier curiosity, and the unbearable awareness of his mouth when he licked his lips after laughing.

And worse? He kept glancing at you.

Not just once. Repeatedly. Like you were the only calm thing in the whole damn room and he couldn’t stop circling back to it.

⸻

After the signing ended and most people had filtered out, Knoxville lingered behind, sipping from a bottle of water and flipping through a poetry book someone had gifted him.

“Hey,” he said again, sidling up to the register where you were half-cleaning, half-hiding. “You a fan or just immune to weirdness by now?”

You looked up, pulse spiking. “I grew up on your stuff. The old DVDs. The MTV reruns. I watched Jackass 3D in the theater like three times.”

He grinned. “So you’re telling me I was part of your sexual awakening?”

You nearly dropped the pen in your hand. “I—no—what? That’s not—”

“I’m just messin’ with you.” He leaned on the counter, smile wicked but eyes sincere. “Mostly.”

You swallowed. “You want me to get someone to box up the extra copies for you?”

“Nah. I came over to talk to you.”

That pulled your gaze up.

“You’ve been watching me all night,” he said easily, no accusation, just fact. “But not like the others. You weren’t waiting for a selfie. You weren’t screaming. You were just… there. Calm. Cool. Smart.”

You gave a small, breathless laugh. “You got all that from how I arranged a stack of books?”

He shrugged. “I’ve had enough concussions to develop weird instincts.”

A beat passed. You watched each other.

Then he asked, gently, “You seeing anyone?”

You blinked. “What?”

“I’m asking if it’d be wildly inappropriate to ask you out while I’m technically on a book tour.”

Your heart thudded. “Not inappropriate. Just… unexpected.”

He leaned in, voice a little lower. “You’ve got this whole… sweet and dangerous vibe. Like you’d blush if I said something filthy but you’d remember it word for word.”

You were absolutely blushing.

He grinned. “See?”

You hesitated, then blurted, “I’ve never done anything like this before.”

“Worked in a bookstore?” he teased.

“No.” Your voice was soft now. “Like… this. The flirting. The being noticed. The maybe saying yes.”

His teasing eased off instantly. “Shit. You serious?”

You nodded.

He straightened, less wolfish now, more curious. “Okay. Alright. So you’ve been flying under the radar and I’m your first close call?”

Something in his voice made the hair on your arms rise. You felt exposed but not unsafe. Nervous, but not panicked.

“I’m not asking for anything,” he added. “Not tonight. Not unless you want it. I just… don’t meet people like you often.”

You exhaled slowly. “Maybe you should ask.”

His eyes lit up.

“Would you,” he said carefully, “like to grab a drink with me? Somewhere quiet. Somewhere you can still say no to anything you want, but maybe… maybe yes, too?”

Your lips parted, a smile creeping in despite the racing in your chest.

“Yeah,” you whispered. “I think I would.”

⸻

Johnny picked the dive bar like he’d been born in it.

It was tucked three blocks down from the bookstore, half-lit and humming with the low murmur of locals nursing drinks. No cameras. No screaming fans. Just a jukebox, a dartboard, and a worn booth in the back that looked like it had survived a few bad decisions.

You slid into the seat across from him, pulse still high.

“Alright,” he said, shrugging off his jacket. “Now that we’re off the clock, you can tell me what it’s like working at a bookstore full of dusty hardbacks and horny college kids.”

You laughed. “Mostly quiet. A little chaotic during finals. Occasionally I have to stop someone from reading smut aloud in the corner.”

His eyes lit up. “Wait—people do that?”

“More than you’d think.”

“I knew bookstores were kinky,” he said, grinning wide. “Something about all those dog-eared pages and unspoken tension.”

You sipped your drink, raising a brow. “Is that your professional analysis?”

“Babe, I’ve been launched into the air in a porta-potty. I majored in unspoken tension.”

You smiled, but your fingers were still trembling slightly around your glass. It wasn’t nerves exactly—it was that awful, wonderful feeling of anticipation. Like your body already knew something your mind hadn’t caught up to yet.

Johnny noticed.

“You okay?” he asked, voice low, all the playfulness gone soft around the edges.

You nodded. “Yeah. Just… processing.”

“Tell me what’s in your head. I got time.”

You paused. “I guess I’m trying to figure out why you’re even interested in me. You’re—you know—you. And I’m just… the girl who alphabetizes Bukowski collections and secretly watches your movies on sick days.”

He leaned in, folding his arms on the table, eyes steady on yours.

“I’ve had a lot of girls scream for me,” he said. “A lot of parties. A lot of noise. It’s easy to get lost in that. But you—” he tilted his head—“you looked at me like I was real. Not just a dude in a shopping cart with fireworks taped to his ass.”

You bit your lip, heartbeat thudding.

“And if I’m being honest,” he added, “it’s been a long time since someone made me want to slow down.”

The silence stretched between you, thick with meaning.

You barely noticed the way your hand drifted across the table—until his fingers brushed yours, warm and rough and strangely reassuring.

“I’m not good at this,” you said softly.

“I don’t care if you’re bad at it,” he replied. “I just care that it’s real.”

⸻

By the time you stepped out into the night air again, you weren’t ready to say goodbye. He wasn’t either.

So when he asked if you wanted to walk back with him to his hotel, you said yes.

Not because you were sure. Not because you felt like you should. But because something about him—about tonight—made you feel safe in the mess. Seen.

The walk was quiet. Comfortable. The occasional car passed. The city hummed around you. And Johnny, somehow, didn’t fill the silence with jokes. He just matched your pace and held the door for you like he hadn’t once jumped off a roof for a laugh.

⸻

His hotel room was too nice for someone like him. Sleek. Minimal. Very un-Jackass.

He dropped his keycard on the counter, turned to you, and scratched the back of his neck.

“This part’s always awkward,” he admitted. “The, uh, figuring-out-what-happens-now part.”

You swallowed. “I know I said I haven’t… done anything like this before, but I’m not scared. Just…”

“New,” he finished.

You nodded.

He walked over slowly, giving you every chance to stop him, but you didn’t. You stood your ground as he reached out and gently took your face in both hands.

“I’m not gonna rush this,” he said, eyes flicking between yours. “You say stop, it’s stop. You change your mind, it’s cool. But if you want me to kiss you—”

“I do,” you whispered.

And he did.

It wasn’t the kind of kiss you expected from someone like him—wild, erratic, full of adrenaline. It was slow. Focused. His lips were softer than they had any right to be, his hands steady as they cradled your jaw. He kissed you like you were the only thing holding him to the earth.

You sighed into it, letting your arms slide around his waist.

He deepened it just a little—just enough to make you feel it in your knees—before he pulled back and rested his forehead against yours.

“I could get used to that,” he said, voice rough.

You smiled, heart pounding. “So could I.”

His lips were still brushing yours when you whispered, “I want this.”

Johnny paused.

Not because he didn’t believe you. But because you were trembling just enough for him to feel it through your clothes.

He pulled back slowly, resting his hands at your hips, like he was anchoring himself there. “You sure?”

You nodded, heart pounding in your throat. “I’ve thought about it before. Not just… sex. But with someone who makes me feel something.”

He gave you a small, crooked smile. “And I make you feel something?”

You laughed softly. “Johnny, you make me feel everything.”

That grin faltered for a second, replaced with something deeper—something almost reverent.

He kissed you again, slower this time. No urgency. Just the weight of possibility passing between you.

Then he whispered, “Let me take care of you.”

You found yourself being guided gently toward the bed. Johnny’s touch never rushed, never forceful—just steady, warm, patient.

“You good?” he asked, hands pausing at the hem of your shirt.

You swallowed and nodded. “Yeah. I trust you.”

That did something to him. You could see it in his eyes—how careful he became. Like the weight of that trust mattered more than anything.

He tugged your shirt over your head, pausing only to kiss the bare skin just above your heart. Then he let his hands drift down your arms, eyes tracing every inch like he was memorizing you.

“You’re beautiful,” he said, like it wasn’t even a question.

Your breath hitched. “You’ve probably said that to a lot of girls.”

“Yeah,” he admitted, kissing the top of your shoulder. “But never like this.”

His fingers worked at your jeans, slow and precise, giving you time to breathe, time to change your mind—but you didn’t want to. You wanted to see where this went.

He kissed every inch of exposed skin as he helped you out of them, his palms firm but gentle at your hips, down your thighs.

When you stood in front of him in nothing but your underwear, he stepped back just slightly, looking you over with genuine admiration.

“Jesus,” he muttered. “How the hell am I supposed to behave now?”

You bit your lip. “Maybe don’t.”

That made him laugh, low and warm, as he reached for the hem of his own shirt. You watched, spellbound, as he peeled it off—revealing that lean, wiry frame you’d seen a hundred times onscreen, now real and right in front of you.

Faded bruises. Scars. Tattooed chaos.

And still, something soft in the way he looked at you.

“C’mere,” he said, pulling you close again, skin to skin.

The first time his chest pressed against yours, you gasped at the heat of it, the feel of him—all bone and muscle and heartbeat.

He kissed your temple. “Still okay?”

“Yes,” you breathed. “Don’t stop.”

The bed dipped beneath you both as he climbed in, settling beside you instead of over you. His touch stayed exploratory—not demanding.

“You nervous?” he asked quietly, fingers tracing your ribs beneath the curve of your bra.

You nodded. “A little.”

“I’ll talk you through it,” he murmured, kissing your jaw, then your neck. “No pressure. No rush. Just me, and you, and this.”

Your fingers dug lightly into his back as he moved lower, lips trailing warmth down your collarbone.

He whispered everything he was doing—where he was touching, why—like a guided meditation with a dirty mouth. And God, it worked. It grounded you. Made you feel like this wasn’t just happening to you—it was something you were doing together.

When his hands slid beneath your bra and cupped your breasts, he groaned softly into your skin. “You feel even better than I imagined.”

You tilted your head, flushed. “You imagined this?”

“Babe,” he said, grinning into your cleavage, “I’ve been imagining it all day.”

You laughed, breathless, as he undid the clasp and tossed your bra aside.

Then he paused, just for a second—eyes meeting yours—before he leaned down and took one nipple into his mouth.

You cried out softly, hips twitching at the sudden spike of pleasure. He groaned at the sound, sucked a little harder, then switched to the other side, hand trailing down your stomach.

“Still good?” he murmured.

“Yes,” you gasped.

He smiled against your skin. “Then hold on, baby. ‘Cause I haven’t even gotten started yet.”

“Relax,” Johnny whispered as his hand slid down between your legs. “Let me feel you.”

You were already soaked, the cotton of your underwear clinging to you in a way that made him groan against your neck.

“Goddamn,” he muttered, pressing a kiss beneath your jaw. “You’re so wet. You been holding onto this for a while, haven’t you?”

You couldn’t speak—could barely think. You just nodded, hips rocking into his palm.

He touched you through the fabric first, slow. The pad of his finger traced the shape of you, finding your clit with practiced ease. He didn’t rush—just circled, barely-there pressure, teasing you until your thighs started to shake.

“You’re doing so good,” he said softly. “Let me take these off, baby.”

You lifted your hips and let him slide your underwear down your legs. When you were finally bare beneath him, he took a second—just looked—and exhaled like the sight physically did something to him.

“Fucking beautiful,” he murmured, fingers dragging gently through your folds. “All of you.”

Then his mouth replaced his hand.

You gasped—loud—as he licked a slow stripe from your entrance to your clit, then did it again, like he needed the taste.

“Oh my God—” you panted, hips lifting.

He grinned against you. “You taste even better than I imagined. Think I could stay here all night.”

And he almost did.

His tongue moved in slow, teasing patterns, sucking and flicking until your moans filled the room. He didn’t rush your build-up—just watched you unravel, voice full of praise every time you whimpered his name.

When you started to tighten, he slowed down.

“Not yet,” he said, voice gravel over honey. “I wanna be inside you when you come.”

You blinked up at him, dazed and trembling. “Are you sure? I—what if I’m not good?”

He smiled, the kind of soft, warm grin that made your chest ache. “There’s no such thing as bad when it’s real.”

Then he kissed you—deeply, like you hadn’t just had his mouth on you seconds ago—and when he pulled back, you felt stripped down to your soul.

“Okay,” you whispered. “I want you.”

He reached into the nightstand, rolled on a condom, then came back to you—slower this time, gentler. He hovered above you, arms caging your head, eyes locked on yours.

“I’m gonna go slow,” he said, kissing your forehead. “Tell me if it hurts. I’ll stop.”

You nodded.

Then he pushed in.

Your breath caught—stretch, pressure, a little ache—and your hands fisted in the sheets.

Johnny didn’t move.

He just kissed your jaw, whispered praise, waited until your muscles stopped clenching around him. He was warm, solid, grounding.

“You okay?” he asked again.

You nodded, slowly. “Yeah. Just… full.”

He laughed softly. “Yeah, baby. You’re perfect like this.”

When he started to move, it was so slow—shallow thrusts, hips rocking just enough to make you feel everything. His hand found yours and laced your fingers together, grounding you.

“You feel so fucking good,” he murmured. “you’re taking me so well.”

You moaned at the words, and he grinned. “Oh, you like that, huh?”

“Yeah,” you gasped.

“Good. ‘Cause I’ve got a lot more where that came from.”

He began thrusting a little deeper, the stretch easing now, your body melting beneath him. The ache had turned into something else entirely—hot and thick and needy.

“You’re doing so good, sweetheart,” he said, voice low and strained. “Can’t believe this is your first time. You feel like a fucking dream.”

You whimpered, pulling him closer. “Johnny—please—”

“I got you,” he promised. “Let go for me. Wanna feel you come on my cock.”

It hit like a wave—your orgasm crashing through you, sharp and sweet, clenching around him until he groaned deep in his chest and buried himself to the hilt.

“Fuck,” he gasped. “You feel so good—I can’t—”

He followed with a loud, broken moan, hips jerking once, twice, then stilling.

He stayed inside you for a while, kissing your cheek, your temple, brushing your hair back from your sweaty face.

“You okay?” he asked again.

“Yeah,” you whispered, still dazed. “I feel amazing.”

He pulled out carefully, kissed your knee, then got up to grab a towel and clean you gently.

You watched him move—naked, sweet, ridiculously tender—and felt something deeper than lust settle in your chest.

When he came back, he crawled under the sheets and pulled you into his arms without a word.

You curled into his chest, fingers tracing the ink on his ribs.

“Thank you,” you said quietly.

He looked down at you, brow furrowed like you’d said something wild. “For what?”

“For being so…” You trailed off, searching for the right word. “Kind.”

His grin was soft this time. “Hey. You made it easy.”

You fell asleep on his chest, his arm around you, his fingers idly stroking your spine. For a man who once got punched by a bull on camera, he held you like you were made of glass.

“ Jeff, trust me, it is a good idea. ”

Raising an eyebrow, he didn’t really look like he was agreeing with you on this.

The shooting of the second film had been in full swing for several weeks now, but the team was always open to new proposals, even if these shots would not end up in the film; you and the guys assumed that the more ideas there were, the better it would be.

It goes without saying that you often had good concepts to offer the team, and this one, you were convinced that it was one of your best: visually engaging, quite disgusting, and with a touch of homage to cinema, an almost perfect combo that you were trying to sell to Tremaine.

“ Well, I don’t know if Knoxville is the one for this stunt. ” “he said, eyes on the screen, watching rushes from the last shoot. The day ended after a near-flawless shoot (meaning no one went to the hospital), and the evening was often spent sorting out the rushes before the crew met up at the local bar for drinks.

“ I think it could be cool as fuck, at least for the movie. “ You sighed, trying to find a way to convince your friend.

You knew you were going to get there eventually; you just needed to know how.

“ Hey, what’s going on with you too ”. You and Jeff turned around; Bam was coming near you, beer in hand, his first part of the day over, and he was ready to start the second part.

“ They were presenting me with their new stunt idea, ” Jeff replied casually, but the arrival of Bam was a golden opportunity to get your idea approved.

Mentally rubbing your hands in the face of this change, you came one step closer to Bam.

“ I want to do the Carrie scene on Johnny,” You answered confidently. And Bam paused for a moment to reflect on what he had just heard.

“ Wait, really? ”

“ Absolutely. “

There was a little moment of hesitation between the three of you.

“ That’s a fucking good idea! ” he exclaimed, and added, “ You’re a fucking genius, you know that. " And he turned to Jeff, " We must do it, and on Johnny it will be fucking hilarious ".

He laughed and nudged Jeff to raise his head off the screen.

“ C'mon, bro! ” Your friend said, and Jeff finally smiled.

“ Ok, we will do it, but no one says that I gave you the green light, “ Bam said, and you sniggered; of course you would make sure to keep this idea as a surprise.

Your plan was going to work, thanks to the skater’s almost miraculous intervention.

“ And trust me, blood always looks good on camera, ” You said, trying to be convincing in your words. Since, to be completely exact, you weren’t really thinking about the execution of the stunt but rather about its result: Knoxville covered in hemoglobin, and since this exact idea

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The relationship between you and Knoxville is somewhat.. tumultuous, to say the least. Some will say it was a cat-and-mouse game waiting for one to be caught,, others will say you are just friends. No one could have ignored the tension between you two when you were less than 5 meters away from each other. However, neither of you did anything; the golden rule was the same for everyone: do no fuck with anyone on the team.

It was becoming difficult for you to ignore the attraction to this cursed charmer named Knoxville and his arrogant smile; everything about him told you to hit him, to push him away, and still, you were here.

Somehow, everything became clearer from the shooting of the single "Anaconda Ball Pit" and seeing Johnny obviously injured.

But rather than worrying about his bloodied arm, you kept rewinding that scene in your head like a madman: how his blood flooded like red threats all over his forearm, how he still looked so sure of himself after being bitten by that snake, how you felt a warm rush through your core. Yes, after that everything changed, at least, for you.

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Your idea went well: Knoxville looked like a mess.

A whole. Bloody. Mess.

No one knew how to react first, cos the guy didn’t make a sound or say a word for a few seconds. Tension was high between the guys, him and you.

If you must admit something, it could be that seeing him like that is worse for you than anticipated.

He was drenched, head to shoulders in pig’s blood; red drops still falling from the bucket he was under, making red spots on his clothes and on the floor.

The thick liquid was running down, first from his forehead, sliding down his nose to his chin; you couldn’t miss his lips tainted with red. It’s true, you wanted them for you alone. It was slipping through his chest, his shoulders, his arms began to take that same crimson color; the same fluid that flowed in his veins was now flowing past him over his skin, following the same patterns of his underlying veins.

Then Johnny finally burst into laughing, and everyone followed him in the same spirit.

Except you, you couldn’t help but stare at him. And how could you not?

Knoxville was the one to notice that first and looked at you with that horrible smirk.

“ Sweetheart, are you okay? ” He said. “ You’re not gonna faint from a little blood, right? ” He laughed as he came near you.

“ They were the ones to plan this, actually, ” Tremaine shouted, and Johnny raised an eyebrow, genuinely surprised and pretty curious.

“ You know I’ve seen worse with you guys, ” you chuckled. That was true, but they were wrong about why you shivered.

He washed the blood on his face with his hands before wiping them on his dickies before coming near you.

“ Wanna grab a smoke with me? ” Knoxville asked you while looking for a cig in his pocket.

You looked around, hoping to find something to do or something to help, but the guys were already joking about something else, and the mess you made was already cleaned up somehow. Bam, strangely, was the only one to glance at you, smirking, before leaving in the opposite direction.

“ Yeah, sure. ” You shrugged your shoulders and walked out of the building with him.

You didn’t know if you felt the air extremely calm or charged with electricity, and you decided it wasn't your choice to make.

Knoxville, him, looked too comfortable for someone covered in sanguine fluid. You didn’t really like it, but you despised your core even more: maybe it was the smell, maybe it was the color, you didn’t know, and now you felt like a starving beast in front of a tempting meal.

And in your blindfolded torment, you couldn’t see that he understood it all. He was the one to hold out a lure.

Johnny lit up your cig, then his, and grinned at you. “ You’re quiet for once. “

“ Well, you offered me a smoke, not a talk.” You scoffed, almost defensive; he sneered and turned himself to face you.

“ I know your little game, doll “.

You looked away. “ I don’t know what you mean. ”

“ C’mon, you’re not that dumb, ” he responded in that mocking tone you didn’t like.

You took a deep breath and looked back at his proud face.

“ Really, I don’t. “

Knoxville scoffed again; he put out his cigarette and threw it into the ashtray with a quick motion before positioning himself close to you. He could almost smell your scent, a blend of smoke, your cheap perfume, and sweat. He knew what you wanted, and he was just waiting for you to admit it.

“ I know for a fact that you’re squirming all over since Dunn and Magera poured that bucket over my head. ” He looked at you from head to toe. “ And that’s hard not to notice; you’re ready to jump like a kitty cat on meat “. He laughed, and that was the last straw for you.

You threw your cig and grabbed him by the collar of his dirty shirt, pushing him against the wall.

You kissed him, hard.

Eyes closed, you didn’t want to see the look of satisfaction on his face. You could taste the blood on his lips, a mixture of metal and smoke that you found intoxicating.

He kissed you back with a fervor that surprised you, and quickly you felt his tongue reaching for yours, hungry for more. Knoxville grabbed you by your hips; for sure, your clothes would be stained with red dots tomorrow, but for now the feeling of his hands on you made you squirm.

You wanted more.

And he seemed to think the same, his hips against yours, your body almost grinding on him.

Behind his confident smile, Johnny was melting as fast as you did against your mouth. It’s been a while since he understood how much you wanted him; he thought about that day in the ball pit, about how he pretended not to be in pain in front of the camera, about your gaze following his leaking arm, filled with thirst. Being desired with such an animalist made your guts jump inside you.

Knoxville tilted back his head, just a little bit, enough to catch his breath, and you did so.

“ Jeez, you gonna have to stop “ He said to you, frowning. “ I’m gonna cum in my pants if you don’t ”.

Still dizzy from the kiss, you didn’t respond right away, and he took this opportunity to study your face. Dilated pupils from lust, red lips, his right hand caressed your cheek with a surprising tenderness; he tried to wash out the blood transferred to your skin with his thumb: you couldn’t help yourself and put your lips around his finger, keeping eye contact between you two.

You were so close to his body that you could feel him harden against your thighs, as he was feeling you getting hotter.

You let out a sigh. “ We definitely need to go back to the hotel, “ you replied with a devilish smile.

And the walk to your room was horrendous; you should have chosen to walk on burning embers instead of keeping your own hands in your pocket like this, hoping no one saw you.

When you finally opened the closed door of your room, Knoxville pushed you inside with hunger, his lips attacking yours. Your hands went all over his frame, torso, shoulders, neck, jaw, and they finished their race on his sticky head; your fingers pulling his slimy and bloody hair, but you didn’t care at all; instead, you were turned on by this. For now, you needed to focus on the growing heat of your lower belly.

You tried to step back to the bed, but your legs were tangled together; he almost fell on the bed as you did. You fought the need to grab Knoxville by the shirt, and instead you wiped off the blood from your lips and watched him.

He straightened up and took off his shirt, throwing it on the ground.

“ I would love to keep going, doll, but I need a wash, ” he said, towering over you.

“ No, please.. I want you like this,” you respond, rubbing your thighs together. And that was true; you needed him exactly like this: sweaty and bloody, only for you.

He responded first with a smirk, “ As you wish.” And he took a moment to look at you: your breath was short and your pupils were so black he could see his own reflection in your eyes. The wait was killing you.

Then Knoxville smiled. “ You're really a perv, you know? “ He looked back down at you and gave a chaste kiss on your lips. “ I like it very much, my little freak “. He smirked and kissed you again, deeper this time.

You brought him closer to you, feeling his bare skin against your thin shirt. His hands were searching for the fabric, and you broke the kiss only to take it off. You shivered, feeling the cold air, but Knoxville smashed his chest against yours, savouring the touch of your breast, his dirty hands on both sides of your face while yours gripped his shoulders.

On top of you, he quickly found a place between your legs, and his pelvis started grinding against yours. You swore he could feel how wet you were through your panties and pants. As this thought passed, you felt him smile against your lips, pressing his cock against you one more time while you repressed a moan.

Johnny started to kiss your jaw, your chin, slowly getting down from your neck to your breast. For sure, he was enjoying himself: he made sure to leave you marks on your skin.

“ Fuck. “ You whimpered.

And he proceeded to keep going lower, kissing each centimeter of your skin until he was right above your belt. You straightened yourself on your elbows to catch his eyes: he was already unbuttoning your pants with hunger.

“ You should get rid of this, sweetheart, right ? ”

You quickly nod, incapable of saying a word without whining, and in a quick move, your pants joined his shirt on the floor.

He kissed your lower belly, and his messy hands caressed your burning skin.

Knoxville kissed you over your panties and took a deep breath, inhaling your scent.

He grinned against you, and his dry-blooded fingers took both sides of your panties and slid them down your legs. Completely bare in front of him, you closed your knees, hoping to find some release for the heat radiating from your core.

You pleaded with an unintelligible whine to help you, to cure that fever, to do something at least; of course he was compelled to answer to your body.

When you finally felt his mouth on your cunt, you moaned loudly.

It felt so, so good. To be devoured like this.

Because Knoxille was eating you like a starved man, hands strongly holding you in place while his face was buried against your guts.

Absorbed by the pleasure, one of your hands came to find his head; you grabbed his blood-tainted hair with a surprising strength, but he seemed not to mind at all; instead, he moaned against your core.

“ Johnny, “ you whine, “ I’m close ”.

Of course he already knew that; you were so wet for him that you could feel shame if you saw the way your body reacted to him. His hands kept caressing your skin, grabbing your breast with a firm grip, enjoying himself as much as you did.

Your hips rocked against his face, chasing for the relief; for sure you couldn’t look at him without moaning again, so you preferred to throw your head against the mattress; you were so close. Knoxville felt that: your breath was erratic now and you were even wetter than before. He stopped himself, and you whined to protest.

He raised his head, and his left hand grabbed your jaw, forcing you to look at him: your eyes were drenched in tears, mouth open, trying to catch your breath.

“ A shame you’re that close, darling “. He taunted.

“ It’s not that funny, Knoxville. “ You respond, trying to catch your senses.

He chuckled in disagreement and towered over your shivering body.

“ ‘Bet you it is. ”

His fingers didn’t let you go; instead, they traced circles on your skin, each one closer to your mouth until they reached your lips. You welcomed his two digits with appetite, not breaking the eye contact you two had while sucking his fingers. Cleaning them, you could feel the taste of blood on your tongue blended with the salt of his skin. This favor was the best thing in the world at this precise moment, and you had to restrain yourself from biting him.

Your tongue glided around his fingers, and both of you hoped you could apply the same skills to his dick.

“ Yeah, that’s it. “ He was the one to whimper this time.

If you looked down, you could see how hard his cock was through the dickies, and it made you salivate at the mere sight of it.

Johnny pulled his freshly cleaned fingers from your mouth, and you pouted. He took a step back and started unbuckling his belt. You got up on the bed and joined him, wanting to take his pants yourself, but he stopped you.

“ Let me return the favor, please, “ you said, hungry.

“ Another time, sweetheart. “ He responded with a smile. “ For now, I need to be inside that pretty pussy “.

You blushed, like you weren’t already bare in front of him.

Knoxville took his dickies and his underwear in a single move, revealing his hard cock with an already leaking tip. Your thighs were rubbing themselves with desire, anticipating the next step.

“ Like what you see? “ He smirked.

“ You fool, come here, “ you answered back.

He climbed on the bed and grabbed you by the knees to pull you closer before slowly opening your legs and positioning himself right at your entrance. Knoxville teased you with his tip before you glowered him a desperate look.

He smirked before spitting on his cock and slowly pushed himself inside your flesh.

“ Fuck “ You both moan loudly when he’s fully inside you. Johnny waited a few seconds, savoring the feeling of you around him before moving, and you hate him for that.

But he didn’t wait longer to fuck you on the bed. Eyes closed, you felt the weight of his body crushing against you, his face lost against your neck; you heard him moan, grunt against your burning skin. You needed his skin against yours, no matter what, and you couldn’t let him go. Your hips were locked with his, and your arms circled his torso, certain to leave scratches on his back.

Suddenly, he pulled out of you and lay himself on the mattress next to you before grabbing you by the hips to place your back against his torso, on your side. You were confused at first, but you quickly opened your thighs again to help him sink you deeper than before.

His pace was already not that kind to your body, but you needed more.

“ Harder, please, “ you tried to say between moans.

He briefly murmured something you understood as, “ All you want“.

Johnny locked an arm around your shoulders, and his hand grabbed your neck, pulling even closer to him if that was possible. You were so close to your climax, and you felt him close too. His pace became more erratic, almost brutal against your cunt; you couldn’t formulate a single coherent thought.

Overwhelmed by all your senses: the smell of body fluids and iron, the sound of flesh against each other and his dirty words in your ears, the feeling of his cock deep inside you and his fingers against your neck, you were the first to come, in a loud moan, your folds squeezing around him.

After that, it didn’t take long for him to follow you, just enough time to overstimulate your body so that you were close to telling him to slow down. Knoxville chased his own orgasm and came in your cunt, tainting your inside with white.

He didn’t take out his cock right away; he waited an instant, appreciating the hot and wet feeling around him a little bit more before pulling out.

He lay on your side but didn’t let you go, caressing your flesh with a sudden tenderness.

You both took a moment, not moving away from each other, to catch your breath and clear your minds.

A minute of silence was welcomed after the cacophony of your bodies.

Knoxville was the first one to speak. “ Doll, we both need a wash now, “ he said while sitting up.

Still lying on the bed, you nodded, “ Yeah, we definitely do “.

He got up, and you could see the mess you made of him before he left for the bathroom: his neck was speckled with your lips and the blood in his hair melted with his sweat, drops of it sliding on his forehead; he smelled like iron and various body fluids.

He truly looked handsome right there.

You heard him calling from the shower, “ Care to join me, sweetheart? “.

“ I’m coming !” you shouted before getting up too, febrile on your sore legs.

The bed (and the room) was in chaos, your clothes lying on the ground, the bed's stained sheets all over the place, the smell of iron and sex lingering in the air.