*+♫ Kat! ♫+*

♪ WILDBITCHEZ ♪

[b4mpyre-k1zz3s]

Haiiii!!! ☆彡 Welcome to my blog!!

Kat/ Any prns

Requests: Open!

I write for any of the Jackass guys (and tangentially jackass guys ie. Ville Valo or Jimmy Pop)!! ☆〜（ゝ。∂）

I write any kind of fic but I love darker/more complex ones!

Find me at @tales-of-darkmoor and @kitty-writes1373

Fic Masterlist

HC Masterlist

[b4mpyre-k1zz3s]

Do you still do requests? 👀 🤔

Yes!!! I’m still open to writing whatever rolls in my inbox, so RQ away!

[b4mpyre-k1zz3s]

DID YOU HEAR ABOUT JACKASS 5?!??!?!?!!??!

Yes!! I am BEYOND excited and im already planning to go the night it releases! This blog will likely become much more active in the coming months due to the influx of interest in Jackass- both from future fans and myself!! Again, RQ box is open! ;)

[b4mpyre-k1zz3s]

we miss u gang!! hope everything is well! <333

Thank you!! I’ve had some stuff going on with life and haven’t felt super inspired to write for Jackass but I am still 100% still in the fandom! Work is in progress as soon as I get struck with some great idea XD

[b4mpyre-k1zz3s]

Hi! I really love your fics and your detailed writing story. Could you write a domestic fluff fic between a female reader and bam? Maybe some slight smut and teasing between the two of them. :)

TLC

Bam arrives on your doorstep like a miserable, sopping wet stray cat after competing in that Tough Guy competition, and you are the one thing he looked forward to coming back to.

Bam Margera X Fem!Reader

(Whump, Fluff)

1.1k Words

Warnings: Highly suggestive content, nudity, cuddling, kissing, shared showers, alcohol, hangovers, implied sex, BDSM dynamics, brat taming (if you squint)

An: Thank you for the request!!! This was largely inspired by Bam’s World Domination, a program I haven’t seen talked about often on here! As someone who is chronically weak, it was crazy to see some of the stuff these guys were doing! I wondered how one would recuperate from that demanding of activity, which is what spawned this fic! Anyways, thank you again, and please keep sending requests! :)

Given Bam was staged to film that Tough Guy competition in London, you went along on the condition that you had nothing to do with it. Pulling on his jacket as he was heading out the door, he grumbled, “Okay, yeah- well I’m gonna be the one doing all the shit! All you’re gonna do is sit around, in your fluffy room robe, with your wine or whatever…” Laying back on the bed with a shit eating grin, you called after him, “Yeah, I will! Have fun!”

See, when he’d left your room, Bam was in rough shape from the night before. He’d spent the night at Dirty Dick’s, a bar downtown, and was a little hungover to begin with. Right as you were contemplating taking a stroll down the pool, there was a knock at the door and, excited to rub your day of relaxation in his face, you scrambled to the door!

Clutching a shivering, silver shock blanket around his shoulders, Bam left a murky puddle on the fancy hallway carpet. Skin caked in dirt and hair plastered across his wet forehead, he looked at you with that exhaustion in his eyes you only see from actual marathoners. Bam looked like a sad, wet dog, and you just crumpled…

“Oh, baby…” Ushering him inside with a hand on his waist, you couldn’t help cooing over Bam, “Cmon, let’s get you showered off.” As much as he wanted to give you crap about fussing over him the way April does, his sass was stifled by the kiss of the in room heating as you pulled him into the bathroom. “I’m fine, Y/N. I can-“ your boyfriend’s words trailed off at the feeling of your hands peeling off layers of muddy clothes and letting them fall to the tile with a plop.

To the untrained eye, Bam would not seem to be the most domestic soul. But you knew firsthand that he needed someone to help patch things up after he was done abusing himself. Think of it as aftercare; the ice packs, and the bandages, and post stunt cuddles felt less like the necessary, everyday routine of a professional skater and more like some sweet, private bonding thing only the two of you shared.

And you always received some pushback from him, but it always faded sooner or later… You got to cleaning him, starting with the apple scented hotel soap. Bam leaned his head back and let out a soft groan that echoed off the tile as you scrubbed the filth from his hair, “You're so good at this…”

It’s a wonder you didn’t go into nursing. No matter how embarrassing the injury (looking at you, broken tailbone), you always treated Bam so tenderly. Take how you cupped your palm over his eyes when you rinsed his hair, or how gently you wiped down his banged up body, covered in so many shades of bruise violet that he looked like a child’s jumbo crayon box．

And the funniest thing is that even though his hot piece of ass girlfriend was naked and relishing his aching body, getting hard was the last thing on his mind. Bam was just tired, and the way you worked at him with that washcloth soothed away the burn in his muscles just the way he needed. Plus, freezing cold water isn’t great for boners.

Not even an hour ago, Bam was wading through waist high mud and pissing in his wetsuit to stay warm. That’s a far cry from the scene in your hotel room: him, curled up at your side in a warm, fresh pair of boxers and a beer in hand- a beer you’d grabbed him.

“So I’m runnin’ through shock tentacles, and divin’ in cold ass, muddy ass water- and where’s Dunn?” Turning his head from where it was half in your boobs, he furrowed his brow incredulously, “He’s sittin’ off to the side! He pussied out before the thing even started!”

Running your fingers through where his hair was still wet at the scalp, you nodded with a sympathetic hum as Bam continued his rant,“They made me sign a death waiver, Y/N- a fucking death waiver!” Pausing to take a sip, he gestured to you, “You could’ve been a widow!” With a chuckle, one of your hands moved to knead the tangle of knots in his shoulder.

He corrected himself, “Well… you would've had a dead boyfriend.” As you met a particularly sore bundle of muscle, Bam let out a breathy whimper, back arching. “And- and, that would’ve sucked...” As you soothed over the tattooed skin, you could feel your boyfriend’s breathing settling against you with a feels-so-good-it-hurts smile

Swiping his beer from his limp grasp, you set the can on the bedside table with a clink. A clever ploy on your part, because when Bam looked up to see what you were doing, he gave you a perfect opening to press a kiss to his forehead.

He would be all opposed to mushy affection such as this, but exhaustion does funny things to your brain. Eyes half lidded, Bam scooted up to lay eye to eye with you, your bodies tangled up in the sheets. Lips ghosting seeing yours, you could feel his lashes flutter against your cheeks as he murmured, “You're so good at this…”

If you were at home, he’d probably take this chance to lick your cheek or do something equally gross. But god, all this sleepy, gentle intimacy was just too much…

With a giggle, you grabbed your boyfriend’s jaw and smushed your lips against his. It was cute aggression- pure disbelief you had, for a moment, pampered and domesticated this image of bad behavior. With a soft, throaty groan, Bam leaned into the kiss, eagerly obliging as you pushed him to lay on his back. Helping sling your thigh up over his hip, one of your boyfriend’s tattooed hands grabbed a handful of your ass. Okay, so maybe you hadn't fully domesticated him...

Adrenaline leads you to make decisions that leave you sore in the morning. That, and a pretty girl doting on you and warming your body up. The next morning, all Bam did was moan and whine, his body aching from last night’s activities.

“You evil bitch…This is your fault.” Sprawling out like some pathetic starfish, your boyfriend’s collection of bruises was joined by an equally dark smattering of hickies across his neck and chest… a few peppering the meat of his hips. “You did this. Y’rode me hard, an’ I got put away wet…”

From where you stood doing your hair in the mirror, you leaned out to bark back, “Bullshit! You ran six goddamn miles yesterday- that’s not me!” Half dressed, you leaned against the doorframe, silhouetted by the light of the bathroom. Stretching out in the most pornographic way possible, Bam shot you this coquettish glance that invited you to shut him up- that whole thing about fucking someone’s attitude out of them. And damn it, if you weren't about to take him up on that offer…

[tales-of-darkmoor]

Darkmoor Chronicles: a Dark Universe Fan Game

Inspired by universal classic monsters and old geocities websites comes a browser adventure game that puts you in the town of Darkmoor!

Featuring:

20k words worth of story

50+ pages

15 different endings

Free browser playability (iOS, PC, etc)

… and much more!

Go on a monster hunt with the Hounds! Spend an evening in the town inn with Dr. Jack Griffin ;)! Harvest limbs in the graveyard with Ygor, and so much more! THERES no telling what you might get up to…

Play here!!

Home

Welcome to Darkmoor Chronicles!

[b4mpyre-k1zz3s]

Hello!! This is the video game I mentioned that I was working on for the past few months :) Check it out!

[b4mpyre-k1zz3s]

where have you gone? :(

Thank you for asking!! I was going to make a more formal announcement for this, but as the opportunity was presented to me…. For the past three months I’ve been hard at work on my largest project ever:

An interactive, text based video game!!

It’s not Jackass related, but it has taken up a great deal of my time. I’m actually finishing work up on it now, nearing 20k words! When it’s finished, I’ll post the link here, but it certainly won’t take long, and I’ll be back to the normally scheduled requests in no time :)

I apologize for my extended absence, but I am still very much in love with Jackass and will continue to write about the guys <3

[b4mpyre-k1zz3s]

More Bam x male/masc reader I begggg ur last post I ate that shit up 🙏🙏🙏

Strange Addiction

A bad idea spurred this tension on between Y/N and Bam- or maybe not such a bad idea, you would come to find out, as that closeness that seemed so normal after knowing each other for so long gained annother layer of intimacy.

Bam Margera X Masc!Reader

(Fluff, Angst)

1.9k Words

Warnings: Extremely suggestive content, alcohol, massages, fighting, massages, awkward boners, friends to lovers, vouyerism, drug use mention, kissing, cuddling, shit, injury description, whump

An: Thank you for the request! If it’s not totally obvious, this fic was largely inspired by a certain boozy scene from Cky5, but can totally be seen as a prequel to my previous Masc!Reader fic! I think it’s really interesting the contrast between writing for Fem! and Masc! readers, and this fic led me to realize that I really enjoy writing for the latter! Anyways, thank you for the request, and please keep sending them :)

“No way in hell is that gonna work. There’s gonna be, like- bees and shit everywhere cause’a you.” Acting as the voice of reason, you glared at Bam through the amber liquid swirling the bottle he was boasting. He eagerly unwrapped and cracked open the thing, plopping down in the open door of the van with a medicinal grin, “Cmon- trust me! There's, like- alcohol, an’ cloves and shit…”

He gave you the argument that Jack Daniel’s could be used the same way one would use Icy Hot; real agenda likely had something to do with that fact you couldn’t get loaded off of Icy Hot. So, save your money if you could only buy one… Giving you that expectant glare, Bam whined, “My legs’re sore- just do it!” Blinking, you wondered if he seriously expected you to get down on your knees, in the parking lot, and unbuckle his pants, but wasn't making any effort to do it himself...

Now, the story of how you got in this mess was similar to what happened with Dico: you’d known Bam since high school, where you spent your time doing the same juvenile pranks that he went on to fly you out to film on Jackass. You couldn’t deny that it was fun, but it didn’t pay, and there was something about all the bureaucracy and S&P of professional television that rubbed you the wrong way. So after a night of drinking with the cast that culminated in an epic argument, you told those assholes to have fun kissing up to MTV execs and to not call if they were one cock short at their big Hollywood bukake parties. You now look back on this as a momentary lapse of judgement.

So, you were broke. But you still had Bam. And like a flea-bitten stray dog with mange, he took you in after the thing imploded! Riding the high your smug sense of superiority afforded you from getting outta there early, you leapt at the chance to start work again on his newest project which involved driving to Baltimore to pick up Novak after he ran off who knows when to do who knows what- probably drugs.

Yeah, this looked sketchy. This looked really sketchy: It was midnight, and you were kneeling in a parking lot with your head between Bam’s knees, jeans pooling at his ankles as he poured the Tennessee whiskey into your cupped hands. Discomfort manifesting in your usual smartass tendencies, you plastered on a teasing grin and pulled away, “Wait, wait- lemme go grab my sunglasses. I just-” Not impressed by your flimsy joke, Bam cut you off, “Shut up.”

It wasn’t said with any force behind it, but you didn’t think it’d be wise to get on his shit list, so you shut up. Dancing around full on rub-and-tug territory, you kneeded the pale flesh of his skinny, bruised dappled thighs, massaging the sticky booze in and watching the suppleness that was there pool between your fingers. Bam groaned, leaning to silhouette himself with a halo of lamplight as you worked the tension out, “Dude- it totally works…”

A few minutes go by, and you’d gotten so into it that you didn’t notice you were trailing dangerously high on his leg until he let out a nervous little giggle, “Ah, haha- Hey, hey…!” You were shaken from your trance, Yeah. It was pretty conspicuous: Bam got a hard on from gettin’ felt up, big whoop. But it was you- not some hot chick. You were Bam’s idiot friend. Complicated by the previous, there was this dense moment where you looked at him, and he looked at you, and you were forced to acknowledge it. You had to decide what you were going to do about it. Given you were far away from the prying eyes of the rest of the guys fucking arround at the rest stop, you got some ideas that neither of you were all that put off by. Nonetheless, you felt compelled to act as if you were.

You broke first, settling back on your haunches and clearing your throat, “I, uh…I think it’s fine.” And yet again, eyes drawn to eachother by how fuckin…I dunno- taboo this all felt. The jingling of the convenience store door bell reached your ears and threw you into a mini panic, as did the cheering from Raab and Dico who were touting that they’d gotten away with more snacks than they ended up paying for. They’d have no clue if you didn’t tell them. Bam studied his sneakers as he got to his feet, zipping his jeans up, “Yeah. Y’did a good job…”

Hidden under a pile of jackets sat the twelve pack Dunn picked up from the liquor store in the event you were pulled over by the cops. The van, slash crappy tour bus, hurdled down I-95 through the dead of night, practically buzzing with excitement. And if that wasn't fun enough, you had a front row view of Raab shitting out of the window! But even though you were eyes to knees with Mr. Himself, your attention wasn’t on him. Bam was leaning halfway out the van, one hand gripping the top of the window with the other holding the camera, filming the high speed shit. It sounds so unnecessarily unsafe, but at the same time, weirdly, kinda sexy.

The six of you polished off those beers and the reminder of that bottle in no time flat, their crinkled corpses littering the floorboards and mingling with discarded shoes and fast food trash. But the next morning, head aching and nauseous, you were awoken by the sensation of something brushing against your face: somebody's hair, which wasn’t that odd considering you typically ended up sleeping in a pile like a litter of puppies. But, noticing you were awake, it was Bam who turned you look back at you, “Dude…“ His lips pulled into a smile as he whispered with barely contained amusement, ”You gotta boner.”

“No I don’t-!” Admittedly, you were snuggled up behind him close enough you could feel the fabric of his t-shirt, even smell the detergent April used. His mom still probably does his laundry- and you were were close enough that you could feel the palpable mischief buzzing off him. “Yes, you fuckin do! I’m feelin’ it on my ass.” There was a smugness to Bam’s tone, like he’d caught you doing something bad.

Trying to ignore…well, you were trying to avoid a lot of things, you pulled away to search for confirmation between your half-clothed bodies, not yet making any effort to push him away under the guise of not wanting to wake the others, “Whatever, man. It’s morning- that happens!” You settled back into your place with a sigh, “Right…?” More than for Bam, you were trying to rationalize it to yourself; find some explanation for why you were spooning in this van full of hot dense air and the windows all frosted over like somebody's been screwing in there.

“Yeah, I guess it happens... With your dick against my ass.” Flashing a grin that could rival the devil himself, he teased, “What? You were dreamin’ about your girlfriend’re somethin’?” And you knew he was fuckin’ with you because Bam knew you didn’t have a girlfriend. But he did. The words took form in your mouth, “Whatever…” But your brain began to wander: that was the kicker, wasn’t it? You weren’t her. And you didn’t think you’d care about any of that, but right now, Bam’s girlfriend didn’t have a half chub against his ass, now did she?

Swallowing thickly, you peeled your arm from where it was slung around Bam’s waist and rolled over, opting to watch the upside down rivulets of moisture race up the glass instead of contemplating how Bam would've had to crawl into your arms in order to wake up like this. Which would be strange in and of itself, only for him to make comments about you getting a hard on…

Shielded by your camcorder, you felt like one of these perverted Johns at a seedy peep show, hiding behind smudged, one way glass. There was an undeniable aspect of voyeurism to what you were doing, sitting on the coping of the bowl and playing cameraman as you’d been doing whenever you stopped for an impromptu skate sesh on the road. Because Bam told you to.

You fought the need to blink. You wanted to immortalize those prolonged, rich in implication gazes- so obviously, he was nursing this odd little…thing you had for him. Your lense focused in tight on the sharp arch of his back muscles, the wedge of hip that showed over his too low jeans. Slut. Ever opposed to shirts, he’d been browning nicely in the sun while shredding the concrete, the contours of his body glistening with sweat. The camera felt slippery in your hands.

Sitting there, dazed and alone, it wasn’t until that hard, meat packing noise hit your ear, that you would realize what had happened. There lie Bam in the center of the park, sprawled out obscenely like some porno mag girl- a weird porno mag, because judging by the muddy crimson stain on the concrete, he was bleeding. Wordlessly, feeling your gaze from so far away, he flipped one beckoning hand up, and you were there.

Concern showed just a little too thickly through your voice as you grasped his tattooed upper arm to examine the gnarled mess of tissue that dangled from his elbow , “Shit, dude…” Red ooze dripped off syrupy as, clammy tension radiating off of Bam, as if he couldn't tell if he was more hurt or embarrassed. Finding something fascinating about the ground, he muttered, “Yeah, I'm fine...” Without a thought to his words, you were pulling your shirt off and pressing it to the bleeding elbow.

Through the years you were friends, you’d picked up on the soft look Bam got in his eyes when he was really banged up. An arm unnecessarily slung around his shoulders as if he had some invisible leg injury, you helped him up the vert, you succumbed to that latent Florence Nightingale instinct that nagged at you in times like this, “Hey, how about we get you t’the car? I could wash that thing off for you.” You trailed off, readjusting how you were holding him, “We gotta first aid kit in there...”

Bam was giving you that half smile, which you were sure had absolutely nothing to do with the fact that you were also shirtless. Nothing at all. His sneakers slowed down first, followed by yours, and the just moment felt too heavy to shrug off under the beating sun. Your faces were so close. You could feel his girly ass eyelashes against your cheek. This wouldn't consider this odd for the two of you, but that unspoken thing that’d been going on for the past few days had come to a head.

And he kissed you. It felt as natural as swallowing your own spit. Stone cold sober, judgement unclouded, Bam kissed you on the lips. You weren't even sure you were into dudes like that, but you were into him- and it so felt good, one kiss melting into the next until you were slowly making out, all gentle and sweet. Bam’s grabby hands found purchase on your shoulders, then neck, then waist, and tentatively, yours did the same.

He only pulled away as your fingers accidentally met his elbow, wincing, “Ah, fuck- ow, ow…” Foreheads still together, you murmured against his lips, “Yeah…let’s get you back’t the van.”

[b4mpyre-k1zz3s]

pleeeease I need a full fic of the toxic Bam x reader headcanons, they're so good

You’re Gonna be the One Who’s Sorry

Bam demanded bottomless devotion. Y/n knew this. The vodka that was poured at his parties was what it said on the bottle.

Bam Margera X Fem!Reader

(Angst)

2k Words

Warnings: Highly suggestive content, toxic relationships, jealously, controlling behavior, fighting, alcohol, drug use, biting, scent kink, dom/sub dynamics, masturbation, alcoholism, mutual self destruction, oral fixation, abuse, degradation, objectification, depression, nihilism, binge drinking, Y/N is compared to a dog (not pet-play!)

An: Thank you so much for the request!! Funny enough, the section about Y/N getting a haircut similar to Ville was based off of me incidentally experiencing that while writing this!As a warning, Y/N does some really weird things in this fic that I don’t even know how to tag, and if that isn’t free advertising, I don’t know what is! Anyways, thank you for the request, and please keep sending them! (Original headcannons)

Bam had very few things to occupy his mind. You and your loyalty were not even in that realm. There he sat, lounging the way a king might in the back of the limousine, knees a continent apart. Averting your gaze, you counted the ridges on the rib-knit wrapped around his torso. Stale air swam with a melange of smoke, warm Jack Daniel’s, and the green power stripe on a stick of Right Guard; the latter could be attributed to the fact you sat there with your face tucked right into Bam’s armpit. There was more leather bench seat to your right.

Glancing down at you, he scoffed through cigarette clenching teeth, “Jesus…you gonna look at me like that the whole time?” You hadn’t even considered that the big goldfish eyes you were making might’ve looked weird from his perspective- you wanted to make sure he knew you were interested in him. “You are such a goddamn tryhard!” Bam chuckled, playfully ruffling your hair, “That’s why I keep your dorky ass around…”

Before you could make some comment, you arrived at whatever club Bam was paid to appear at. Pushing you out into the flurry of paparazzi and tabloid hounds, you were once again awash in the thrill and flutter of celebrity. And he was right there next to you; in the stiff hand that crept from your lower back to grab a handful of your ass. In the way he leaned in for what you assumed was a kiss, but turned out to be Bam dragging the hot flat of his tongue up your cheek, that ecstasy riddled saliva diffusing through your pores.

☆彡

“Here,” speaking over the throbbing techno, Bam threw a wad of cash at you from where he sat in a red pleather semi-circle booth. “Get me one’s those girly drinks an’ whatever you want.” This was what you were there for: convenience. Bam needed a hot chick on his arm and somebody to run for things, and you saw nothing wrong with that because he was buying. You took commands well.

Upon returning with the drinks, Bam was chatting up a flock of eager women with clacky acrylic talons and shimmery eyeshadow. You felt this burning coil sizzle in your stomach, like the red hot wires in heated flooring- you knew you had to earn his gaze, and with experience, the idea came instantaneously. Fluttering your lashes, you mimicked a high pitched titter, “Hey- hey, Bam!” Just as he turned, you tugged down the top of your dress far enough to get his attention, “Would you sign my tits?”

The bitch goddess celebrity women burst into a flurry of laughter, either at the fact you thought your tits were worth signing or the way Bam not so playfully shoved you away. Grinning, he shook his head with a bark of a laugh, “Shut the fuck up!” He never handled any other girl that roughly, but you rationalized it to yourself because you got it, and they didn’t. ‘It’: you were on the inside, and there was power in knowing someone like him on a cellular level. And you were better company than those high maintenance chicks anyway. You’d scarf down any scraps thrown your way and lick the hand that fed you.

☆彡

You still felt that cold sting of the rings that sat on your skin as some heavy, consequential thing. Those same fingers idly rested around the neck of Bam’s glass. Given the fact you and him had the same amount of self control, you couldn't resist the idea that suddenly hit you like a cartoon boxing glove. “Anyway- last night, Novak threw the TV out the window an’ we had’t find a new hotel at one in the goddamn morning…” Bam prattled on, not noticing you covertly swiping his half-finished drink from the sticky tabletop.

In a single, smooth motion, you ran your tongue around the crunchy, neon sugared rim of that glass. Unsurprisingly, it tasted the way he did: Marlboro lights and Bam Gime, swirling with the fruity, citrus notes of a half-melted girly drink. As perverted as it felt, you couldn’t stave off the giggle-inducing satisfaction you felt! It was only after you wiped the grit from your mouth that you saw the way Bam was looking at you from behind those sunglasses.

You would’ve thought you’d just thrown up on his diamond encrusted Liberace sneakers. Wordlessly, Bam took the glass from you and downed the second half in a gulp. But there was this undercurrent of understanding in his eyes: your brains worked the same way.

★彡

“Who’s that, your little brother?” Looking down from his perch high up on the bank, Ryan not so politely brought up how Bam’s clothes were hanging off of your body. Bam shrugged, “Yeah- she just does that, man. Fuckin’ weird one…” He took a drawl of his cigarette, looking down at that stray dog he made the mistake of feeding. This was nothing new- with how often you slept over, your laundry mingled with his in the wash. And yeah, maybe caught you one or twice mid huff with a t-shirts of his, and sure, you were jerking off, but Bam didn’t think you were a creep. At least, he never called you that to your face.

The cool water babbled past your bare ankles as you crouched down to film some skit with Rake and Dico. Out of the corner of your eye, you caught Bam making a ‘cmere’ gesture that was obviously directed at you. A dog called by its owner, you clamored up the rocky shelf.

Bam took a deep pull from his to-go cup: Wawa Coffee Hazelnut with a splash of whiskey. He didn’t even ask you to get it for him that morning- It wasn’t even noon. He waved you off in one direction, “Make yourself useful- grab the cooler.” He playfully swatted your cargo-shorted ass and you skittered off giggling, not even noticing Ryan’s skeptical gaze following you. Part of him wanted to ask him about that new haircut you had- the one that bore a striking resemblance to that rockstar Bam was always gushing about- but he’d seen this before.

☆彡

Dunn always found it hard to look at girls like you. He knew the type: the wide eyes and hearts too big to fit behind their ribs. Never once did you peer through the sweat and exhaustion to wonder how Bam got to swan around award shows in his designer jackets and luxury sunglasses while you and the rest of his cronies broke yourselves on the wheel. But there was something sycophantic about you compared to the other chicks Bam dragged around that staved off too much pity. Nonetheless, Ryan was a nice guy, and he was a little ashamed when he caught himself wondering where his buddy got one of those. Not too ashamed, though.

You returned quickly, bending to set the cooler down on the silt. Ryan watched from an adjacent twin lawn chair as Bam eyed your bent-over ass the way a sleeping cobra would wait to strike a field mouse. Suddenly, you felt a firm, black polished hand latch around the back of your left knee and push hard enough to send you off balance. In a split second, you felt him lean in, teeth nipping at your ass hard enough to leave a mark. “Ah- Bam!” You yelped, tumbling down into his lap to lay draped over him the way a cheap scarf might. Dunn’s gaze lingered on the sharpie heartagram doodles on your arm.

Bam smirked and mumbled something you couldn’t make out, nuzzling into your hair. Third wheel Ryan cloaked his very real disgust with his usual uttered sarcasm, “You two’re a bunch’a horny dogs…” He wasn’t too far off. It was this weird, pheromonal thing, like two animals going back and forth between play fighting and mating. Either you didn’t know which you were supposed to be doing, or you didn’t care.

★彡

These are the swanky digs that they don’t show you on the Lifestyles of the Rich and Despotic. It was a Sunday afternoon, when most of the world was coming home from church and the party had long since ended, the last of the hangers-on from Saturday night stumbling out the door that morning. But you stayed, in the filth and stale air. You had to stay because Bam needed you; nobody else would, and he doesn’t drink alone.

Bam looked pretty when he’s drunk. Maybe he was just quiet. But from where you laid back against his tousled sheets, squinting through a hangover, he looked like a goddamn angel, what with his hair strewn about and those pupils all blown out and glassy. Smoke seemed to dance around him, a halo of sleaze. Hands fisting fabric, you pulled yourself to snuggle into his sweaty but welcoming embrace before he shoved you away with a groan, “Get t’hell off’a me…” His touch and the words weren’t harsh- not really. You knew how to translate Bam-speak by now. If he didn’t want you there, you would’ve been out on the sidewalk an hour ago.

You just wanted an excuse to get close to him again; to drool over that heartagram tattoo just above his boxers, which were the only thing he was wearing at the time. You’d get one just like it for the sake of squishing them together mid fuck. Hell, you’d carve Bam’s name into your arm with a box cutter if he told you to with that cold, unaffected tone in his voice. Doing his bidding came natural to you, like swallowing your own spit.

☆彡

Bam’s bedroom floor looked like Keith Richards’ bedspread in the 70s. Stumbling about the litter, you shot a glance over to where he lay on the bed, studying something on the ceiling that was far more fascinating than you. From some adjacent room, a tv buzzed with muffled rerun noises as you drank in his presence. He still had this whole GQ model thing going on, three days unshowered and binge-drinking starved. He was yours, but that wasn’t enough. You felt envy for the bottle that felt the caress of Bam’s lips, for the black boxers that clung to his warmth. And his junk…

That’s where that brilliant idea of yours came from. Well that, and the grey, unopened pack of Marlboro lights slumping out of his pocket. Bam drunkenly mumbled, unaware of your pilfering, “Y’know, I think you’re the only one who gets me, Y/N. Like…” A tattooed hand limply dangled off of the mattress, fingers twitching for something just out of reach as he rambled, “I mean, all those assholes? They don’t matter. Fuckin’…the girls? They don’t matter.” Hands trembling, you tore open the foil the way a knife would slip between ribs. “I’m a goddamn prisoner, man. But, I mean- I guess you’re kinda like one too, so that makes it suck less...”

Before the impulse could be abated, you were doing it. The white filter paper tasted dry and bitter, but as your tingle glided across it, the taste was undeniably Bam. Mmmm. Oh yeah. You were doing it…From this day forward, there would always be a little piece of you inside of Bam now: his mouth, his lungs- marred by your DNA. All caution, logic, and social decency had fled your mind, left behind in some club bathroom with your ego and your flip phone- the one Bam paid to replace. This is why housewives stole.

☆彡

Overwhelmed with the hedonistic pleasure of self indulgence, blood rushing to your head, saliva thickening, and semi-tumescent, you came to a chilling realization mid lick. Bam caught you red handed in his bleary, lopsided glare. Judging by his silence, he didn’t know what to make of it, and frankly you wouldn’t either if you were in his shoes. Retreating the way a wounded animal might, you crawled back to lay back beside him. The hot flush of your neck seared inside of his arm as you used his shoulder as a pillow. “I’d do anything for you.” You murmured, self-anointing in his scent, “Like, I think I’d die for you…”

[b4mpyre-k1zz3s]

could u do like a johnny knoxville x reader where him and the reader are childhood friends & they like reconnect after he asks her to become apart of the jackass crew , then they like fall for eachother ??? idk if im explaining it right , it sounds a lot clearer in my head 😭😭

Drag Me Down

While you eventually grew up, Johnny was now making money off of the same immature, puerile pranks you and he used to pull. However, after a fateful phone call, your opinion of his antics changes as you learn that it’s okay to let loose once in a while!

Johnny Knoxville X Fem!Reader

(Fluff)

2.6k Words

Warnings: Suggestive content, alcohol, bars, teasing, flirting, whump, injury description, concussions, fights

An: Thank you so much for the request!! This fic was created in collaboration with @chayawaxman, so go check out her part (I’ll link to it here once it’s posted)! I thought it’d be interesting to get some perspective on the guys’ antics from someone who isn’t knee deep in that sort of mischief already XD Anyways, thank you for reading, and please keep sending requests!

You had been half dressed for work on some odd day when your answering machine buzzed to life with a number you didn’t recognize- well, not until you cautiously picked up the receiver and you heard that sweet, southern twang through the tinny speakers. “Y/N!” It was PJ! What on earth could this be about? Tights still around your knees, you slunk down on your bed, unable to deny the soft, nostalgic smile that spread across your lips. “I was just- thought I'd ask if you were still in Knoxville. I’m stoppin’ Florida right now- maybe we could meet up!” It had been ten years, and this was the first you were hearing from him. “Yeah,” you nodded to nobody but the voice on the line, finding the time on the ceiling, “I, uh- that sounds fun! I could drive down tomorrow…” “Great! Hey, you don’t happen’t still be single, d’you?”

PJ gave you the address to a hotel near UCF, something that set up a certain expectation for where this evening was going; a direction which, may I clarify, you were not opposed to. In the backwater armpit of Tennessee that time forgot, you recalled that by all standards, he was considered quite a catch. He still was, but you hadn’t met face to face since the most pertinent issue in your conjoined lives was concocting the next heinous scheme to terrorize your loved ones with. But I digress- you had a crush on him then that you hadn’t managed to shake.

So you got all dolled up with said expectation in mind. But, unfamiliar with the hotel, you ended up aimlessly wandering through the halls in search of an elevator. Evidently though, you did find your man when you tried a door to what you weren't aware was a conference room. Utterly shocked and gobsmacked, you could only gawk at the sight in front of you: in the very center of the room, a group of festively dressed men sat at a fold up table, the top of which was cluttered with all manner of full, half full, and empty Dixie cups filled with, if the run scent permitting the room was anything to go by, eggnog. And who was in the Sam’s to claus suit, standing off to one side to force feed a glass of the thick, creamy stuff to Frosty the Snowman? “PJ…? Am I, uh- interrupting something?”

“Y/N!” Head whipping around, he tossed the cup over his shoulder, ignoring how Frosty just poked up most of that nog. He instead greeted you with that familiar, warm smile, “I’ll be with ya in a sec!” Shocked with eyes still wide, you nodded. Panicked, you fled the room and retreated to the beige wall of the hallway, sighing as you tried to keep yourself on your feet and tried not to think of the cleaning fee those guys were gonna end up paying.

“Who- what the hell was that?! Should I even ask that?” Understandably, you were bewildered, both by the situation you stumbled into and the strange outfit your man in question was clad in. But PJ at least had the respect to pull the beard down to help jog your memory, “Well, we’re filmin’ for this tv show- yeah, I do TV now! Like, with MTV. Have you, uh- ever heard’a Jackass?” The sophomoric MTV show for teenage boys who find humor in paternal violence and phallic torture? I mean, you’d heard of it.

“Yeah! I'm the guy on Jackass- I'm Johnny Knoxville!” He proclaimed this like a child toting the macaroni art he just made, looking endearingly proud of that fact by the way eyes lit up from behind his shades. You asked, unnamused, “How’s that goin’ fr’ you?” But on the other side of those conference room doors, the chaos had seemingly ended, the rest of the cast coming together to eavesdrop on your conversation, ears pressed firmly to the plywood.

“Well, we’ve been havin’ some talks with MTV, and…they were lookin’ for us to add a lady t’the group. A lady such as yourself.” Wait, that's what he called you here for? This shit? PJ must’ve seen the justified offense flash across your face, because he hastily covered his ass, “Y/N, you are remarkably beautiful. And- and remember all the trouble we used’t get into? You would be perfect for the show!”

Dredging up memories like a thousand malevolent lugworms, he brought to mind days marred with Ex-Lax milkshakes at the local diner and forged letters from STD clinics slipped into friends’ mailboxes; schemes which, at one point, you had prided yourself on devising. While it was abundantly clear you had the credentials, he could tell you were still indecisive. However, well versed in yoru train of thought, PJ knew how to give you that final push. Leaning in, he dropped his voice to that sweet register and put a gentle hand on your shoulder, “How about you just stick around on set fr’ a few days? Think of it as a trial run.”

That was Satan’s beautiful argument. Your face changed and morphed as you rolled the idea around in your head. “Fine-“ After a moment, you sighed, “but you owe me a night out!” Still, there was something undeniably charming about the trace of a smile in the corners of PJ’s quotation marks as he relented, “Okay, okay- dinner it is!” As you turned to walk away, he threw the conference room’s double doors find the entire cast clustered together like a family of guilty roaches under the fridge, skittering away like nothing happened once they were discovered.

Your first stunt with these lunatics would involve a hybrid ramp-slip n slide and large quantities of dish soap, a combination who’s comedic virtues you were personally familiar with. This wasn’t to say you were eager to throw yourself in harm’s way. The set, you would come to find out, was some great wet barnyard on the outskirts of Orlando. Conversely, it was apparently also the most domesticated body of water in the western hemisphere, infested with all manner of creepy crawlies and a motley crew of strange sweaty, roughhousing men. And, of course, Johnny, who you had to refer to as Johnny on set now.

In between takes, you’d towel off and sit on the sidelines with him, chatting and snacking on food stolen from the production crew’s lunches. The two of you were watching one of the men careen down that death trap in a pair of bunny ears and a flowered bikini top. So, quickly jumping back into the same banter you’d spent your youth doing, you wondered aloud with a mouthful of ill gotten sandwich, “Seriously? You do this…every day?” More so, you were shocked that he could make a living off of this tomfoolery. Nonchalantly, Knoxville popped a chip in his mouth as his gaze followed the trajectory of the living projectile, “Well I wait tables on the side.” “So you have an adult job.”

Feigning offense, he spun around to you and put a heart to his chest with a gasp, “This is television, Y/N!” The indignation in how he said that implied that what Johnny was doing was his adult job. Hair dripping down your back, you thumbed towards the ramp, “Not fifteen minutes ago, I went down that thing on a big wheel- What part of that screams maturity?” Righting himself, still in that ridiculous wetsuit he wore because he was overly conscious about how he’d appear on TV, Johnny lectured you if he were imparting great wisdom, “I think you need’t realize that, sometimes, maturity’s overrated. C'mere, I got someone you oughta meet!”

Unamused, yet willing to go along with the song and dance, you trailed after him around set until you got to one guy who you’d previously assumed was one of their edgy teenage stepkids or something. Gesturing, Johnny pulled him away from the camera lady he was chatting up to introduce him the way a proud parent would show off their honor roll student, “Y/N, meet Bam!” Blinking, you studied the slumped shoulders and how short he looked next to Knoxville, “Bam. Is…that his legal name? Like, what his mother calls him?”

This earned a startled laugh from Johnny and an outraged double take from the little twerp, “Who the hell is this lady?” You could see from the look in Johnny’s eye that his plan to aggrandize his lifestyle wasn’t going as he envisioned. What he was going to say was that Bam was a millionaire who’d made his fortune by doing the exact same thing you were doing but, well- that first impression was ruined. Delivering a quick jab in the ribs and turning his attention to him, Knoxville explained, “This lovely young lady is Y/N. And I think, now that she’s around, you’ve got some fierce competition.” He sent him off with a stiff pat on the back that sent him stumbling, “Now, git!”

Slowly, but surely, you grew somewhat accustomed to this strange new world and the logic under which it operated. It helped that, after that long day of shooting, you were treated to something more familiar- a trip to the bar. The place was grim, the grimey floor streaked and littered with the detritus of the rush: papers, cigarette butts, empty beer bottles- very clearly not your locale. But you found something vaguely romantic about shithole bars like this.

You ended up chatting with that camera lady from earlier, because a little female influence was refreshing. Taking a sip of your drink, you asked, “So…they're always like this?” The tip of her cigarette smoldered as you watched her watch the chaos. “Yeah. I mean, it’s a job.” Silently, you wondered how she could keep a shred of sanity through handing this, day in and day out. Reading your mind, she shrugged, “Not my circus, not my monkeys.”

Admittedly, it was Jeff’s circus, and those monkeys were fascinated by the hip new craze that was sweeping the nation, ‘Let’s Throw Beer Bottles at the Ceiling Fan!’. Across the room, Knoxville caught your eye and, not wanting to make himself look like an utter buffoon in front of you, excused himself from the soon to ensue brawl. “Y/N!” He scampered to your side, “You were awesome today! I mean, that-“ He paused as you wordlessly dabbed at the cut on his forehead with a bar napkin, “Oh…I’m bleedin’?” “Mmhm. Hey, just so you know, this doesn’t count as my night out.”

Knoxville flashed you that crooked smile and leaned into your palm to speak up over the commotion of the bar, “So, you're commin’ back tomorrow? S’was nice havin’ you around- gettin up to our old tricks.” You were about to tell him maybe; that you were thinking about it still. But before you could get the words out, from behind you, a billiards ball came tearing through the air. Narrowly avoiding the crossfire, it missed your head only by the graces of Johnny’s quick reflexes, catching the thing midair and lobbing it back at it’s source with the impressive, yet floppy grace that only could come from a man who played baseball in high school, and hadn’t since.

Previously, you had been wondering if you spent your youth on a morphine drip. In what world could you have ever fallen for this man? But that's when you remembered. You sat there, words forming in your mouth, “Uh…yeah. Sure!”

You didn’t do the animal stuff. That was one principal you laid down clear when you signed on, your personal values regarding animals didn’t stop you from sitting on the fence with the rest of the crew to watch as Knoxville stumbed in the bullring. As much as you detested it, according to the Nielsen ratings, America agrees that there is surely nothing more awe-inspiring in this world than an uncoordinated, helpless man facing single-handedly against half a ton of angry pot roast.

“Does this ever end well?” You pondered aloud, shielding the sun from your eyes as you leaned into the evil cloud of cow shit smell rotting in the sun. Beside you, Steve-O, the smiley one with the shaved head who you found to be pretty easy to get along with, replied, “Nah.” He snorted, “Why’d we film it if it did?”

It seemed that every soul in the cast was holding one collective breath, hoping that an untimely goring would brighten an otherwise dull afternoon as those rusty gates creaked open and that beast of muscle kicked up a plume of dust with one hoof. Just within earshot, Johnny muttered, lowering his center of mass, “God, I hate when they do that…” And wow, you did too. And after what felt like a century of waiting, the whole ordeal was over in thirty seconds: a flurry of hooves and converse sneakers, ending with a jumble of airborne limbs landing in a great plume of dirt.

There’s been a slaughter here. That's dramatic, but with how Knoxville’s lanky body was sprawled out in the dust, he might as well have been pronounced dead on the scene. “Oh shit…” The camerawoman pulled the handheld from her face, worry painted across her features, suddenly whipping her head around to you, “Hey- hey! What’re you-?” Your reaction was so knee jerk that you didn’t realize your legs were moving until you hurled your body over the fence!

From over your shoulder, just over the sound of your own heartbeat and the shouting of the crew, you heard someone cheer, “Yeah, Y/N! Save your idiot!” When you saw him lying there- when you grabbed Johnny by the elbow and tugged him to his feet, you saw that same young man you kissed goodbye in front of a Greyhound bus headed for LA. You couldn't let go if you tried, even if the bull wasn't already distracted by some rodeo clown , because there were more pressing matters in your world. Namely, getting Knoxville to the shade of the medic tent.

Sweat shimmered on his skin as Johnny sunk down on the crinkly, paper covered table. Sitting at his bedside, you watched with nervous concentration as the medic shone a light in his eyes- possible head trauma, he said: nothing serious. Running on adrenaline, you stammered, “I think any head injury is pretty fucking serious!” Stiff with anxiety, you caught Knoxville’s gaze and, almost as if intentioned, he slung an arm around you, leaning up against you for support with his cheek against yours. It had this odd, soothing property. Now, you’ve never been concussed, so you couldn’t determine whether he genuinely needed it for stability or if he was just being his annoying self. But you didn’t mind.

It’s a phenomena only really seen in navy seals and convicts: the struggle to return to civilian life. One week later, the soothing banalities of corporate life had since lost their savor. Compared to your previous day-to-day, being a part of this insane family felt like banging two five-thousand-dollar-a-night hookers at the same time, all while driving an Aston Martin. Wait, did you really just think that? Jesus, they're getting to you…

You came to the realization that, your palate, if it hadn’t yet burnt clean out of your skull, was assured to never be the same again. And you knew you had to say something, seeing as you didn’t have much time left with him. So that's what you said. “Johnny Pieces Knoxville-“ keeping your voice low, you enunciated every vowel- so he could understand, “You have ruined me.” Taking it exactly the way you thought he would, which was the wrong and inappropriate way, Johnny replied with a ditzy smirk, “You're welcome, ma’am.”

“So…you're still stayin’?” After a long pause, Knoxville asked in an almost needy voice that made your chest feel all warm in ways it hadn’t felt in years. Smiling wearily, you replied, “Couldn't leave if I wanted to.”

[b4mpyre-k1zz3s]

As you’ve all been anxiously awaiting, here it is: my Bam project! This is a scale model of his bedroom I produced for an art course I’m taking :) There is a ton of detail in this, but my favorite either has to be the calendar (which I made from a photo of a real calendar included in Serious as Dog Dirt) or the two pillows on the bed (one pink, one black- as seen in his MTV Cribs episode)!

References \/

[b4mpyre-k1zz3s]

Im super happy to announce that not only was this piece accepted to an art show- I won an award for it!!! Thank you all again for all the love this post got <333

[b4mpyre-k1zz3s]

I NEEEED som jealous possessive bam bam, like I need that injected in my veinsssss PLEASEE

When You Don’t See Me

Y/N tells her boyfriend she want to take a break, not knowing the whirlwind that would follow.

Bam Margera X Fem!Reader

(Angst, Fluff)

3k Words

Warnings: Highly suggestive content, unhealthy relationships, a LOT of unhealthy coping mechanisms, depression, alcohol, alcoholism, description of injury, fights, piss, manipulation, drug use mention, hookups, gossip, lovers to enemies to lovers, possessiveness, jealousy

An: Thank you for the request!! I got the idea to explore not only how Y/N reacts to his behavior, but the psychology behind all of his outrageous behavior in his relationship with Y/N and how those around him react to it! This is decently darker and more metaphorical than my usual work, but I wanted to branch out a little and try new genres :) Lmk if you wanna see more stuff like this and keep sending in those requests! ;D

When you told him you wanted to take a break, you tried to let Bam down as gently as possible. Not two days later, you caught your now ex-boyfriend airing his dirty laundry on Sirius XM for all of America to hear. “But, Like- really, I don’t think she even cared about me...” Bam leaned back in his chair, the way his voice rose from emotion making your blood boil and heart ache at the same time, “ Like, ever.”

Ryan, always one to come to your defense when one of Bam’s dumb little buddies would give you a hard time, must’ve sensed the crumpled look on your face as you listened from your car. “I mean, maybe she just…couldn't handle all the fame stuff- I know chicks got issues with that sometimes.” “No- no, cause listen!” Bam interjected in that far too familiar tone, throwing himself into a rant, “Cause I come home with a broken elbow, and you know what she says? Nothing! Doesn’t ask what happened or anything! It’s like she doesn’t even give a shit. ”

When he came home from that skate tour touting a sling, you hadn’t asked him about it because it was the fourth time he’d broken it since you had dated him, and in all likelihood he’d get pissy with you if you did. Novak took the opposite position, “Dude, don’t even fuckin’ worry about it. You could get pussy in any zip code- youre Bam Margera!”

You’d half expected this shit, preemptively dashing the idea that Bam could handle this the way a mature adult might. Still, you had decided that you weren't going to let some schoolyard bully keep you from being happy. So, you managed to score a date with some nice guy who worked your shift- Friday, you got yourself all preened up with the intention of making a good impression at the local bar that night. And it started out nice enough- plenty in common, good chemistry, and a far cry from the manchild you were with before…

But when your date stepped away for a minute, you turned back to your drink only to hear, “Hey, who’s captain dipshit?” The way his voice grated on you made taking a rusty butter knife to your inner ear sound pretty tempting right about now. Trying your hardest to keep your nerve, tension settled in your throat, “Bam, I told you: I want to take a break. We agreed,” Without missing a beat, the little shit stepped closer, getting all up in your face with that dull, possessive look in his eye, “What? You fuckin’?” “Bam!” He shot a practiced glance over his shoulder, provocativity cloaked by liquor-fueled nonchalance, “What? M’just wonderin’ what you an’ Mr. Three Sided Dick Duster over there’ve been gettin’ up to- real catch y’got there.”

Leaning against the sticky bar top, frustration was heavy in your worlds as you spoke up over the excited roar of the bar, “Why can’t you just leave me alone?” When you were together, it seemed you were the perfect, warm little center of the universe. The room still got quiet now, but in this terrible, bitter way that made unlucky witnesses' skin crawl. “For one goddamn night, would it-“ At the slightest resistance, Bam backed off as if you were some aggressive animal snarling at him, “Alright, alright! Jeez, woman…”

Letting out a sigh mixed with relief and resentment, you didn’t end up catching what he did after disappearing into the crowd. See, Bam had been watching you with your date from afar before he’d stepped in, so he knew what the guy looked like before he stepped away to the men’s- enough to know the back of his head when he strutted into the bathroom and nestled right right next to that asshole. “Hey. Y’know that chick y’were talkin’ to? Yeah, keep an eye out- that one’s a psycho bitch.”

Bam didn’t seem to care how your date just stared at the tile in front of him, a little uncomfortable with the way he’d chosen the urinal right next to his despite nearly every other one being open. “Fucked half’a Westchester. Got all these gnarly STD’s an’ shit too.” Intimidated, he actually believed him. Blinking with recognition, your date zipped up his pants. “Oh. Thanks, man- really dodged a bullet there…” And thus began the awful corrosion of Mr. Bam Margera’s soul.

A couple weeks of no contact later, Bam discovered that the journey to the palace of personal enlightenment begins and ends with beer. Sure, he had drank before you left him, but it was sissy shit. Now, he was drinking. Unseasonably cold, he hunched his shoulders, shoving his hands in his pockets to fight off the wind. “Alright, man!” Novak, who was always happy to be drinking on Bam’s tab, threw an arm around his shoulders as the rest of the gang followed behind into the bar, “Let’s get wasted.”

It was the same cheesy ass line he’d used three times this week, and it was only Thursday. Nobody, not his close friends nor the general public, made any mention of this shift in Bam's behavior, writing it off the same way they did when he dumped his hummer in the quarry- the disease of having too much money: Affluenza. Spoiled MTV rich boy acted like a spoiled MTV rich boy- alert the presses…

Drunk, Bam was a neglected child- brooding over lost pool games and getting into petty arguments in which he was obviously in the wrong- these nights usually ending with him passing out and needing to be carried home by Dunn. Glancing across the bar, that anxious, stir crazy feeling simmered deep in his loins.

“Yo, I’m gonna go take a leak.” Dunn shot him a nod as he hopped off the barstool, “Alright, don’t fall in.” Though he didn’t say anything, he was the only one to notice Bam’s off behavior; that flimsy look in his eye when he made a joke that nobody laughed at, the weird intensity that followed him around in this evil cloud- and of course, the drinking. But, I mean- Dunn didn’t say anything. Listen, if Ryan’s girl dumped his ass and he turned to the bottle, the last thing he’d want is his best friend stagin’ some kinda intervention. So he kept his mouth shut.

Bam discovered that, in crowded college bars, you could take a piss in some corner or on an arcade cabinet, and nobody’d ever care. Cruising across the dance floor he was moving a checker to another square, Bam started sizing up the population for a worthy target. Bingo. So inconspicuously, he crept up behind the biggest, roided-up frat dude in the joint, who too busy bragging about how much he could bench to hear the soft teeth of a zipper undoing.

“Yeah, I’m gonna hit the ARC tomorrow with Brett an’ Travis. I’ve been workin’ on this-“ Oh, that look on his face once he noticed the warm, dark spot on his khakis after Bam had emptied his bladder on the back of his leg...Priceless. “Dude- what the fuck?!” And when that man twice his size got all up in his goddamn face to freak him out, the shit eating grin on Bam’s face didn’t even twitch. “Yeah? Cmon fucker, whatch’a gonna do ab-“ In one quick twitch muscle jerk, mister Beta Alpha Mu swung a quick right hook, plating MTV star teeth in thick, tan knuckles.

So Bam swung back. Weeks of petty, dumb fights morphed his hands into over-pruned tree branches, with purple knobs of broken bone that were more a result of his limp-wristed punching than they were actual battle scars. The angry, little red scrapes, the black eyes that changed color in the mirror like mold; he was alive, and this shit was proof of it. Bam had free fucking will and freedom- and he still had all of his teeth despite the blood that was painting his enamel.

Diffusing the situation, Ryan tugged his best friend into the crowd, away from the still shouting meathead and toward the door, knowing his friend would’ve gotten turned into burger before he conceded. Stumbling behind, the cool night air bit at Bam’s adrenaline flushed skin, muscles burning as he collapsed against his chest. Ryan held him steady as if he were waiting for the gears in his best friend's brain to start turning, “What the hell happened?”

There’s blood on Ryan’s t-shirt now. The question was rhetorical. The passerby who stared at the two knew that; it’s Bam, that’s what he does. And he knew that too, glancing up with those big, painfully blown out pupils. His eyes were so goddamn blue…

Most mornings, Bam woke up tangled in sheets that were not his. It was as if waking up cold and alone in the bedrooms of strange, blood-sucking sycophant women was anything other than a cry for help. Disoriented, he blinked awake, the early morning chill of the air alerting him first to the fact that he was naked, before the sounds of life- female life, in the next room over, hit his ears.

Bam went out and hooked up with girls, which was never hard. Women caught wind that he was out at some bar and they started throwing themselves at him like Hands on a Hardbody; with a Lamborghini instead of the D12. The events blurred together in this vestigial memory of sleaze, but that isn’t to say he didn’t remember some of it. Take this scene from the previous night: tucked away in some intimate little corner-of-the-bar pleather booth, there were five chicks to the one him- and they were just relishing him with all that delicious attention. Bam needed it the way he needed air. Melting under this affection, he chuckled, “I’m goin’ on this tour with Tony Hawk this summer, and-“ The one running her fingers through his curls cooed, “Really? That’s so cool…”

Bam was occupied with the notion that all those shit feelings could just shoot out his dick with his load…Yeah. Soft curves, warm bodies, and all the free range pussy a guy could drown in. He fucked and, he fucked, and he sowed his wild goddamn oats with any woman who’d seen his face on MTV. And here’s the weird thing: Bam could reach out and touch these girls; he could feel the flesh on their hips pool between his fingers, and he could feel the silicone in their lips when he kissed them, but beneath the skin, there was nothing. He was simply not there.

Stumbling to his feet, he wandered over to the mirror in the hall, taking a glance at his reflection as he passed. That’s who he was: Bam fucking Margera. He was private jets to skate events, and brand deals with designer sunglasses, and the winding filigree down his ribs that caught that light as he examined himself. That hollow collar of bruises and hickeys was worn with pride. Bleach washed laminate of Ms.Whoever’s Chichester condo felt cold on his feet as he stumbled into the kitchen, trying to get his bearings. “Oh, morning!” The big green eyes on the chipper blond stranger at the island lit up as he sat down, bare ass on one of the stools, “Hungry?”

Bam gave her a drowsy, nondescript hum, leaning his head into his hand. He wasn’t. Yet that bowl of cereal slid in front of him, little rainbow O’s bobbing and swirling in the milk. It reminded him of how, when you dated, you never made him breakfast. You never fussed over him, or asked him where he was going, or told him to call when he was across the country, filming…Anyways, breakfast- the two of you usually ended up going to Denny’s the morning after: french toast and pancakes and moons over my hammy…

“I could start you a shower if you’d like.” He was shaken from his carby fantasies by the cheerleader titter, “Maybe we could go out later, or-“ Bam waved her off, not even meeting her gaze as he stood up from artisan, hand carved Ziricote to to grab the same jeans he’d worn for a week from where he kicked them onto the floor last night, “Nah, I got some…things’t do today.” And that cereal sat there as she watched him do up his belt with a dreamy smile.

He was a trophy to these women, something they could hang on their shelf and brag about: it’s the new Bam Margera doll by Element Toys! Bring him home and take his clothes off! Steal his sports watch off his wrist while he’s sleeping and refuse to return his calls! Don’t tell him your boyfriend’s on his way home until he’s gettin’ pulled off you and thrown out your front door, pants around the ankles! Accessories not included…

It got to a point where he had to wonder: what’s the point of the drinking? I mean, you have fun and fuck arround, but a while ago, it was just work to keep up that exciting, MTV rich boy persona that everybody’s expecting when they hear Bam’s making public appearances. Sure, he could do a bump or whatever to keep being fun, but that gets stale. And if he drank alone in his bedroom, he would really have a problem. What about the girls? Sure, they felt good for a night, but again- even though they were jumping at him, Bam felt like it was so much work to get in their bed…He was tired. So, he slept- well, more accurately he laid in bed. It was the longest he’d gone without skating since he twisted his ankle on the vert ramp. Phone calls and emails went unanswered, videos stayed unedited far behind schedule.

Rock bottom would be delivered by the divine messenger that was Bam’s cd player. To think back on this- it’s fucking shameful. He’d sooner take an ancient dagger to his wrists and make a blood oath to never, ever, ever commit such an egregious, melodramatic deed. Bam listened to Razorblade Romance, cover to cover, three goddamn times. Curtains drawn, his body nestled firmly in the him shaped divot in the bed. Oh, Ville…he made this kind of emotional suffering sound beautiful.

And between tracks twelve and thirteen, he got to wondering: what the actual fuck was he was doing? Bam came to the base realization that he didn’t want to feel this bitter, stabbing unhappiness anymore. By extension, didn’t wanna wallow in his own self pity which he’d previously been trying in vain to satisfy. So, what was he doing?

You opened your front door, and Bam was standing on your front step. More than angry, you were bewildered as to why the hell he’d even want to see your face, “What do you want?” Met with what he perceived as utter indifference from his once adoring girlfriend, he thought to tell you everything. Bam imagined himself putting his foot down and laying into you about how fucking miserable you’d been making him by being such a cold bitch, and how much he was entitled to feel better, but you hadn’t done anything but being gone. You weren't holding Bam at knifepoint and forcing him to pity himself. This was all him.

“I missed you.” It was the truth- the underlying truth to this bullshit. Coincidentally, that's the moment you noticed it: the healing split lip, the lingering green from an old bruise on his cheekbone. “What happened to your face?” Bam stepped through the open space not occupied by your body in the doorway, murmuring “Fight at the bar…” he paused at your perplexed expression before admitting with a ragged sigh, “A couple’a fights.”

So, you let him in. The little spiral Bam had tripped into after a few months without you had shattered him, and come to find out, nobody cared enough to put back those pieces well, nobody except you. “You look like shit...” Yeah, great attempt to keep things light. Bam was looking at himself through your eyes: the way his clothes hung off his frame, the sunken-in way his eyes sat in his skull- yeah, he probably did look like shit. “Are you okay? Can I get you somethin’ t’drink?” Bam gave you a nod.

You started out sitting on the couch, discussing the events that led to this, which morphed into laying, then your fingers weaving in his curls, holding him just like you used to. And there’s something funny that happens in men’s brains when they get sorely needed comfort. “I just…I gotta hole in me, you know? Like, this big, empty space in my heart or whatever- and I try to fill it,” Just barely restrained, Bam’s voice cracked in a way it hadn’t since he was a teenager, “and nothing ever fucking works, and I feel so lost, and…I’m cold.” Warm breath against your neck as he burrowed into you, he mumbled, “Fuckin…hold me. I’m cold.”

This sheer quantity of exhaustion drew uncharacteristic honesty from Bam’s lips. As pathetic as this would look to an outside observer, you felt empathy for the crumpled man-shaped ball of nerves in your lap- after all, you did date him. There was something cloyingly sweet about how bad he needed you.

As a consolation to his sorry state, you offered him something to drink, as is customary when you have guests over. Yes, he would like that very much. A few beers in, Bam mellowed out, and that brings you to the present. Looking down at the way he was sprawled out on your chest, you murmured, tenderly pushing some hair off of his forehead, “Y’wanna go’t Denny’s in the morning?” Bam couldn't imagine anything that sounded better than that.

[b4mpyre-k1zz3s]

hi darling ! could i get some chris x stoner!reader hcs ? maybe shes usually high strung and on top of things (even a lil mean lol) but then lets chris join her secret smoke break one and he sees her get all silly n sweet ? thanks and i love ur writing :-))

((also feel free to ignore if ur bot comfy writing drug use))

Chris X Stoner!Y/N

Chris Pontius X Fem!Reader

Warnings: highly suggestive content, drug use, weed, injury mention, makeouts, car sex

An: Thank you for sending in your request!! I’m totally fine writing drug use, although I don’t have a ton of personal experience with it, so please excuse me if this inaccurate XD Coincidentally, this is releasing super close to 4/20, so maybe you could consider this a special! Anyways, thank you for reading, and please keep sending in requests!

Exhausted from a night of partying with the guys, Chris drowsily stumbled through the adjoining door into your hotel room- instead of the one that led to the bed he rightfully claimed (because someone was in it)

Only to find you, his straitlaced, sick up her ass (Steve’s words, not his) girlfriend, reclining on your mattress:

Joint in one hand, with the other one lost in a bag of Doritos. Caught red handed, you stammered, “I-I, uh…”

That’s it. Your reputation as a respectable professional in the entertainment industry was over. But hey, that’s what you said when you joined the Jackass crew, so who knows?

Even more than the sudden intrusion, the excited smile the spread across your boyfriend’s face had you taken aback. “Can I join?” Blinking in surprise, you scooted over, “Oh! Yeah, sure- C’mere…”

Pontius found it funny: here was the woman who, just this morning, was bickering about staying on the filming schedule, who’d gotten thrown in a titter when he gouged his leg doing that toro totter stunt-

Hours later, you were in some shithole motel, passing the joint and watching Discovery Channel- something about Africa.

Chris gestured to the screen, “Hey, I went there for Wildboyz!” Your eyes went big, looking between your boyfriend and the elephants on tv.

“Woah…we’re- were they really that big?” “Yeah!” “Cool…”

After a few moments of watching in silence, you got a genius idea. Eyes glimmering, you piped up, “Hey, y’know what’d be really good?” You chuckled, “We should get Taco Bell.”

Yeah, the most cliche stoner thing to do. However, not only did it have more vegetarian food than any other fast food place, it was the only one around that was open after midnight,

So, sneaking out like a bunch of teenagers, you commandeered the van for a late night rendezvous.

The whole drive there you were snickering, first at your little scam, and then at each other, and then you were laughing at the absurdity of laughing at nothing!

When you got to the beautiful, glowing oasis that was the Taco Bell, you ended up ordering half the menu,

“Can I get, uh…four potato soft tacos, a bean and rice burrito, a cheese quesadilla, some chips and guacamole-“

Chris leaned over and whispered something in your ear before you turned back to the speaker, “And those cinnamon twist things?” “And two Baja Blasts!”

Admittedly, it was way more food than you’d be able to eat, but it seemed completely reasonable at the time

I mean, it was really good Taco Bell! In fact, the mood was so good that your boyfriend leaned over and planted one on your lips.

Fumbling in the dark, undressing each other, one kiss turned into two…

And that little makeout sesh in the front seat migrated further back- the pushing back of the seats, brushing noses and soft giggles…

A mission to grab food morphed into sweet, kissy stoner sex, noises murmured into eachother’s mouths as your bodies moved all gentle against each other,

Which, as romantic as it was, only lasted so long before you fell asleep in eachothers’ embrace, half clothed and surrounded by Taco Bell wrappers.

In fact, thats how the guys found you the next morning, shaking the two of you awake with a sliding whoosh from the van door!

“Ah!” Tugging your tank top down to cover yourself, you sat up with a jolt, “Nothing! Nothing to see here!”

“Woah…” Watching you skitter off, then looking back to Chris, Steve raised an eyebrow, “Dude, what happened?”

Smiling groggily, your boyfriend sat up with a stretch, “Yeah, we did a little partyin’ last night.” “Her?” “Yeah…” Looking back again after you, Steve nodded, “Right on…”

[b4mpyre-k1zz3s]

So everyone knows that Bam is not the "tall guy" from Jackass.

Here is what I'm think: his girlfriend loves to use platform boots, and other shoes that make her tall, but she is afraid the Bam won't like she being taller than him (but we have a plot twist on this history)

I let u choose how to do it lol

Bam X Tall!Y/N

Bam X Fem!Reader

Warnings: Extremely suggestive content, alcohol, kissing, mild degradation kink (if you squint), height differences

An: Thank you so much for the request! If it helps paints an image, I envisioned that Y/N (kickass platforms on) would be a good six inches taller than Bam (ahem)! I was also inspired by this post by @wammbam ;D Anyways, thank you for the request and please keep sending them!

“Woah…” Standing off to the side with Bam, Novak couldn’t stave off his curiosity about the new chick: his buddy’s girlfriend. “Dude, you gotta be, like- eye level with her tits!”

Not paying much attention to his idiot friend, he just nodded, taking a swig of his beer as he gazed dreamily across the crowded room, “Yeah…isn’t that cool?”

Ryan, who was nearby, had his own questions, albeit less blunt ones, “Is it weird? Like, how you gotta look up t’talk to her?”

Seeing as he was visably confused, Novak was happy to clarify, blurting out, “Does it ever feel like when y’had to look up at April as a kid?”

“Ew!” Nearly spilling his drink, Bam screwed his face up in shocked disgust, “No!”

Yeah, the guys were always ragging on him, asking what size heels he’s gotta wear to kiss you, but Bam could give less of a shit.

Your boyfriend thought it was hot how easily you could use your height to your advantage. Plus, the shoes were sexy as hell! Totally goth fantasy chick.

Originally tip-toeing around the subject (as it proved to be a real ego bruiser for your past boyfriends), you came to find Bam relished the teasing and the height difference,

Take, for example, an exchange you had lounging around his place one weekend:

Bam was getting all animated over some skate event he was going to, and you couldn’t stave off the charmed smile that crossed your lips,

“Ah, you are so cute!” You giggled, nothing thinking much before you reached out, ruffling his hair mid conversation.

He looked like you’d just slapped him. Brow scrunching up in concern, you yanked your hand away, “Oh, was that-?”

“No! No, do it again.”

And it’s hard to say no when he blushes a little, and looks up at you with those big, Bambi eyes…

This is all to say you found it oddly flattering! However, your boyfriend showed his affections in a remarkably ‘Bam’ way,

Like whenever you were distracted by something, he’d slip between you and your the object of interest, stepping up on the toes of your boots so you were eye to eye, nose to nose- almost the same height-

“What are you doing?” You chuckled, eyes glinting as you leaned in to press a lingering kiss to his lips.

Your boyfriend pulled away after a moment, pressing his forehead against yours with a low, faux-nonchalant murmur, “Just chechin’ out the air up here…”

But not everything was cute, romantic moments with you two…While Bam gushed over your ‘dickstompers’ (yeah, he called them that), there were unanticipated issues that come with the added height,

Like when he got the impulse to run and tackle you (because, Bam) and you just…stood there.

“What’re you doing?” With your boyfriend’s face awkwardly stuffed in your side, you could hear him sigh and dejectedly mumble into your hoodie, “Nothing...”

Going back to what Novak said earlier (not that, fuckin’ weirdo…), Bam measured up exactly at chest height!

While he already had no concept of personal space, this was only exacerbated,

Yes, very quickly, your boyfriend discovered all the luxuries of having a girlfriend who loved platforms: Bam could, and very often did, squish his face into your tits whenever he wanted:

Pissed off at MTV execs? Finally nailed that trick at the skatepark? Bored as dicks on a lazy afternoon? It was a catch-all solution.

While you could very easily accuse him of being a pervert (which he was), you couldn’t stave off finding it endearing,

I mean, he wasn’t motor boating you- he just…stood there, blissed outa his mind

“Y’know, I mean…” lost in the comfort of your embrace, Bam rambled, “Like, your boobs’re so awesome. You don’t even gotta wear a bra r’whatever…”

Yeah, with those tight little shirts you wear, there’s no other intentions he could possibly have by that…

[b4mpyre-k1zz3s]

hello!!! i love your writing sm, i have a silly but 👀 request!!

age gap! yn x current johnny where yn is a mid/late 20s singer who is v famous (and v beautiful) and admits on a talk show that her first crush was johnny knoxville and she loved jackass when she was a kid and she still thinks he’s hot to this day and the clip goes viral. like so viral that it reaches johnny and he keeps getting asked about this hot young popstar crushing on him very publicly and he’s like obviously very into it but also flustered on how to answer 😭😭😭

to milk the moment a bit more johnny and his team invite her to do some sort of video (youtube? tiktok? you pick!) as a mini jackass revival. maybe steve-o is there too LMAO that’s totally up to you. but the tension in the video is….a lot 👀 comments are only about their looks to each other and behavior around each other 👀👀 maybe they fucked, maybe they didn’t. the general public speculates they did but they will never know. nothing is ever confirmed ofc.

the end is up to you 💖💖 do they or don’t they??

love your writing, hope you enjoy this request <33

Love in Hollywood

After a secret Y/N let slip goes viral on the internet, she gets the chance of a life time to meet her idol. Little does she know, she is exactly what Johnny needs.

Johnny Knoxville X Popstar!Y/N

(Fluff, Angst)

1.7k Words

Warnings: Suggestive content, legal age gap, power dynamics, masochisim mention, flirting, kissing, alcohol

An: Thank you for the request!! I would have never guessed Popstar!Y/N would be such a popular troupe! I think this fic is really well rounded in terms of emotional content (no spoilers!), and a bit more structured than em previous work if that makes sense? Anyways, thank you again and please keep requesting!

The stale air that swam in that sketchy apartment was illuminated with this septic, light strip purple glow. Internally cringing at yourself, you made painful small talk with those two hosts who seemed dead set on ruining your image. But that’s how most video podcasts go, right?

“No- no, hear me out!” In vain, you tried to explain yourself, “You saw him in the thing with the ball pit? With- with the snake, an’ the blood all dripping down his arm? Oh my god- that sounds so weird, but his muscles-! Just…” Oh, it was hopeless. That’s it, show’s over- pack up and go home.

The one chick was all veneers as she spoke up with this mean, highschool girl lilt in her voice, “Really? Like- outta anybody, you pick the one who gets hit in the nuts for a living?” You felt that metaphorical kick in the ribs. Shifting in the stiff, plastic chair, you kissed the idea of ever being taken seriously as a musician goodbye with a stiff upper lip. See, you always liked Johnny. You really liked him.

There was a depth you found in this man that the general public seemed to neglect for the whole dumb stuntman image. Call it para-social, call him your muse…“That's what happens when you watch Jackass at a formative age!” Blushing, you tried to play it off with humor and save yourself from sounding like some insane fangirl by giving some context, “He was, like- my first crush!”

The more discerning of the two hosts paused for a stagnant second, leaning in conspiratorially, “Okay, okay. If you had to pick: Johnny then, or like- Silver Foxville?” If someone told you this morning that you were gonna be asked that question on record, you would've never believed them.

I mean, if you said Johnny was hotter in the 2000’s, that's basically saying he’s less hot now, which you didn’t mean- but for Christ’s sake, the man was twice your age! Hello? Alarm bells? “That is a hard one…” Making a show of mulling it over in your head, you let out a hiss through your teeth, “I gotta say, he’s hotter now.”

Compare that seemingly insignificant omission you made a week ago, and how quickly it was plastered across Tik Tok, Reels, Shorts- you name it- to the beginning of that podcast episode, when you were discussing your upcoming album and how you spilled the big star who that promotional single about heartbreak was really about. Nooo, the hot word on the street was that Y/N was fiending over the old man.

The thunk of Johnny’s phone vibrating off of his bedside table woke him up. He couldn't guess when it was, but the bedroom in his Hollywood Hills pseudo-villa, and the cold space next to where he laid was still dark. Fishing around on the carpet, Knoxville squinted in the light of his screen. As best as he could see without his glasses, it was messages and emails from online tabloids asking about…some girl?

Oblivious to the source of the sudden media onslaught he was receiving, Johnny decided to reach out to one of his more tech savvy friends. “Dude- it’s everywhere!” Steve animatedly explained over the phone, far too chipper for this early in the morning. According to him, this hot, young singer chick was totally into him!

Sure, he’d lost those drunk dark circles around his eyes, but Johnny knew his body had undeniably seen better days: days with less greying hair, days when he woke up and didn’t look- or feel- like he was falling apart. Three kids and two divorces in, Knoxville decided to settle. Rubbing his eyes, he mumbled as he tried to find the time on the ceiling, “Yeah, real rich…I’ll believe it when I see it, O.”

Out of his league didn’t even begin to describe it. Even after watching that video, seeing the light glimmer in your eyes and the blush dance across your cheeks, the weight didn't really sink in until Johnny got that email from his manager. His past few movies were straight to streaming flops. This could be a real career revival- just a couple YouTube videos…

You had to stare at him for a moment, eyes wide as the coffee rings littering the countertop. In person, Johnny shone like all those movie awards he never won. You looked at him as if he were the sun, utterly drunk and blinded by B-list star power. Double his net worth and you were practically falling off your stool, stammering in that little boy lost at the zoo voice, “Ohmygod, you're really here...”

Admittedly less than you, Johnny was surprised as well upon first meeting you. In all your social media posts, you weren't half the woman shaped mass of raw nerve endings that sat across from him at that cafe table- and believe me, he had seen all of them. Trying to pretend he wasn’t at least a little flattered, Knoxville replied with cobbled together wit, “I am!” Yeah, real slick, buddy…Flashing you that charming, lopsided smile, Johnny’s flustered laugh just about made you melt. “So, uh- your manager was talkin’ about maybe doin’ a music video?”

Over a few cups of coffee, you tossed ideas back and forth with him, trying so hard not to make it weird. Inevitably, you did. But he started to see right through to those trembling hands- those big, awe filled eyes that gazed up at him while Johnny showed you some stunt concepts he’d jotted down.

When he was your age- Christ, that makes it sound so bad- women at bars would stub cigarettes out on his arm to flirt. That is if they didn’t punch him. So Johnny found you finding excuses to brush against his skin and those big goldfish eyes you flashed whenever you forgot yourself, a little endearing. Refreshing, in the middle of that little dry spell that comes with pushing fifty. “I, uh- I can’t believe I’m really here with you- working with you,“ you admitted, taking a sip to muffle your words, “just cause I said I had some…crush on you…”

It was sweet, and vulnerable, and you won over his heart just like that. Quickly however, you changed the subject, “So, uh- what day works best?”

Outside of the professional conversation, you knew Knoxville was entirely sure of how his words affected you. The glint behind his glasses, that coy little smile- you knew his tells. And for the next month, you went about the motions that come with making music videos, all the while internally fawning over Johnny like some lovesick puppy. He was dredging up some long dormant feelings in you! Sure, on set you held it together on set, but the second you got home, you turned into some giggling teenage girl, doodling hearts around his name in a diary…well, maybe not that, but you get the idea.

In the comments, you imagined Johnny’s return to stunt work would stirr speculation on a return to the Jackass franchise, or that people would be talking about how hot you looked in that skin tight little dress (which you knew you did). What you didn’t think was that they would be speculating on your relationship- yes, relationship. It was the glances, the body language. There was this tangible chemistry that was so blatantly obvious on camera. Talk all they want, the general public was not privy to how you developed that on screen relationship.

Leaning against the sticky bar top, you squinted through the heat lamp red lights hanging over your head. “Johnny- can I call you that?” As a very casual drinker, you felt out of place in the kind of sordid, cozy little joints Knoxville hadninvited you out to for the past month. In contrast, he could not feel any more at ease, passing you that cool line, “You can call me whatever you like, sweetheart.” This man was so painfully nonchalant about messing with you…Flush crept up your neck and kissed at your ears.

You were now familiar with the way booze drew out that version of him you knew when you were younger. Those gnarled converse and the anti-paparazzi ray bans he’d started sporting since filming began helped sell it.

The night went on, and two vodka crans later, you began relenting the public reception regarding the video. Immediately, Johnny leapt to your defense, “It’s a good song!” And then you, “You did some great stunts!” Knees bumping against each other, you had to lean your body into his in order to be heard- smelling his cologne, feeling that natural, human warmth, “And- and you looked great.”

Newly emboldened, but still timid under his gaze, you choked through your words, swallowing them before they could hit your tongue. On TV, you presented yourself as this bold, witty, creative artist, but Knoxville found keen satisfaction watching you fruitlessly grope for the flirty note.

Smirk dropping from his face, he murmured, “You looked hot.” Your heart stopped. While you were tortured (and yet, strangely turned on) by the screwed up power dynamics between the two of you, Johnny acknowledged them and ignored it. This is how he saw it: endearing, groupie-like devotion alide, you were both famous, and you were both sitting at the bar together. If all the presses were talking about was wether or not you fucked, well maybe they saw something: potential.

Common sense worn away by booze, in that dense, urging silence, it felt like the next beat would be for you to kiss him- naturally, like swallowing your own spit. Johnny’s shoulders stiffened and he was started at first, but he visibly relaxed into you after a few breaths, eyes fluttering shut. Too timid to touch him, you fumbled with the edge of your seat as you lingered there a moment, adrenaline pumping through your veins as it fucking hit you. You had your lips on Johnny Knoxville, and he

Eventually, you had to breath- pull away only to catch your breath in little pants, eyes falling half lidded. Wow. You looked stunning. Reaching out a broad hand, Johnny gently pushed a strand of hair off your face to press a sweet kiss to your forehead, melting you. It felt just as instinctual to lean into Knoxville’s touch, giggling softly as he gently ran his fingers through your hair. It felt so right, like there was some big, you shaped hole in his chest, and you’d just slotted yourself in his life. Standing up, Johnny murmured appreciatively, “Alright, girlie. Let’s beat this joint, hmm?”

[b4mpyre-k1zz3s]

Smoke and Mirrors

Due to Ville’s fame, him and Y/N have kept their open relationship relatively private. That is, of course, until she lays eyes on Bam.

Ville Valo X Fem!Reader X Bam Margera

(Fluff)

1.6k Words

Warnings: Highly suggestive content, open relationships, flirting, cheating mention, alcohol, smoking, voyurism, sex tapes, masturbation, fake dating, makeouts, manhandling

An: Thank you for sending in your requests! This fic is releasing really close to my birthday, so I guess it’s sorta a present for myself! XD I really liked the dynamic I created between the three of them in this one (think My Girlfriend’s Girlfriend ;) ), so if you’re interested in seeing more, drop me a request and lmk what you wanna see!

Intrigue flashed in your eyes as your gaze ran across the dense, lurid bar tucked away in the bowels of Helsinki. So near to you boyfriend on the stool next to you, you could feel the softness of his skin brush up against your cheek, you murmured softly in Ville’s ear, “Y’know, your friend’s kinda cute.” It’s a phrase about ninety nine percent of men would be a little peeved to hear from the mouth of their girlfriend.

Ville was not one of these men. Turning away from his cigarette so as to be nose to nose with you, he gave you that piercing, discerning gaze and raised an eyebrow, “So? We’re not married.” He gestured with a flick of a nimble, white finger. “Go talk to him.”

So you did, squeezing past leather-clad shoulders to where the recently released convict population was playing pool on a warped table in the rear. Bam was there too. Eyes down and mind hard at work on some galaxy brained strategy, he didn’t notice your presence until his elbow brushed by your side. Just drunk enough he wouldn’t be startled, he turned, “Oh, hey!”

Black fingernails running across the pink battle scars that streaked the skin of his forearm, you leaned in a breath too close to be friendly, “How’s the game?” The tip of Bam’s pool cue left a blue chalk streak on the felt.

Bam’s eyes had that mix of arousal and shame as his gaze slowly drifted over, looking at you as if you’d asked for a lock of his hair. “What’s goin’ on here? Aren't you…” Tuning out the live band and the staring fans, he paused, voice lowering with suspicion, “Aren't you, like- with Ville?” Well yeah, Bam knew that you were. But he needed some clarification as to why the hell you would be all cozy with him and not your boyfriend.

Sighing softly, you leaned back on the pool table as you explained, the overhead light casting shadows on your face, “Yeah, I mean- we go out, but nothing’s official. It’s…I guess you could say it’s open.”

When you first started dating, you made an agreement with Ville. Rockstar hyper fame, as we all know, is a key ingredient in the recipe for strict monogamy. Wanting to assuage your concerns, he suggested that you should be given the same liberties as he had. Ville was just that kind of reasonable guy- however, that didn't mean either of you got a free pass to sleep around. It had to be a person you knew and trusted.

Well that made it sound better. Even after that explanation, Bam was skeptical, convinced this was some sort of test. Dropping his pool cue, he went over to where your boyfriend was sitting alone at the bar, and from a distance you could make out bits and pieces of the conversation as he ran it by him. “Dude, your girlfriend’s hittin’ on me.” Ville blinked, murmured something witty and dry. Through the loud music and unruly crowds, you could distinctly make out that telling lilt in Bam’s voice, “Seriously? You wouldn’t, like- hate me forever…?”

See, he had the idea that this was some kinda sex thing, which wouldn’t be that rash of an assumption considering the last time Bam stepped foot in you and Ville’s bedroom. On his last trip to Finland, he got this great idea that could only stem from his particular flavor of directorial vision and flair for the dramatic. “So, fr’the video, what d’you think about this? The two’a you gonna be havin’ sex- like, on the bed an’ shit,” Bam explained, quickly adding to cover his ass, “but it’s not like a porno or anything! It’s, like- artistic.”

Yeah, and it was in the best interest of Mr. Director to be watching from that armchair at the foot of the bed. Watching Ville’s hand slither up your thigh, the cigarette clenched between his teeth twitched imperceptibly. In the silence between your soft noises like sin, Bam tossed out halfhearted, lazy directions to keep up the facade, one hand on the camera, the other…well, you get the idea.

And for a moment, between the gentle touches and slow, lingering kisses, you could’ve sworn you caught Ville making sidelong eye contact with Bam, for what certainly was longer and more meaningful than a glance. It was a challenge, it was an invitation- It was weird…and sexy.

But Bam wasn’t watching from the end of the bed anymore- not after that little incident at the bar. “Why don’t you room with us tonight?” Your boyfriend cooed, leaning on the doorframe of his adjoining hotel room. You got a front row seat to this: Ville, beckoning like bait calls an animal into a trap.

Bam spun from where he was stripping down to see him silhouetted, backlit by the light. If this scene were in a movie, the camera would slow pan up Ville’s pale, lithe frame with a slow, sexy brass sting. Rack focus to half dressed Bam, bewildered. If you craned your head only slightly from your spot on the bed, you could see the eager look that flashed across his face as he kicked off his jeans.

Sharing beds. He’d done that before. The difference was that this time, there was a chick involved. Still, Bam thought you were hot since Ville introduced you to him, but there was no way in hell he’d act on that…well, not until he got permission. Amused at how he clumsily nudged in, you snuggled in under Bam’s arm, laying your cheek against the spiraling filigree on his chest. He felt different than your dirging wisp of a boyfriend: wider framed, sturdy in the way that he could take a few good bites to those slumping shoulders of his.

Drifting in all cooly from out of nowhere and slipping quietly between the linens, Ville gave you a coy, almost proud glance. He let out a graceful hum as Bam’s hands slid down the bumps of his ribs, resting at the curve of his back. And it felt perfect- just perfect. There the three of you were, settling in for a heavy, vineous night, together like a litter of puppies.

Within the week, Bam warmed up to the arrangement. From your time on set while he worked out the video, watching him do his little director thing, you got a front row seat to his typical antics and often found yourself entangled in them. Take for example when Bam would impulsively park himself on your lap over a perfectly empty seat while he casually fiddled with his camera, or how midway through your between take conversations with Ville, you would feel his arms wrap around your waist from behind, nuzzling into your shirt.

If you weren't in front of a host of crew and talent, your boyfriend would have reached out and mussed up his hair- cooed something teasing and sweet, but he was smart, and he knew he had an image to uphold. You and Ville had kept your relationship private up until now, so the cover was that you were Bam’s girlfriend- which now wasn’t exactly a lie.

And that brought you to Bam’s last night in Helsinki. Behind the curtain of a V.I.P section in the back of some club, in one of those cozy, inviting little booths- so lovey that you’d curl up there and go to sleep if you didn’t have two very good reasons to stay awake seated on the pleather next to you.

Bam was in heaven, leaning his head on Ville’s shoulder in this puppyish, convivial way as you nestled up against him. Adrift in his sweet little fantasy, Bam’s eyes fell half lidded at the hand rubbing circles on the bruised skin of his hip like he was a car Ville was thinking of buying. All thin lips and tongue, Bam leaned in to kiss you languidly, playfully. Only a sliver of purple light remained between your face and his. Bodies sticking to each other the way spilled drinks feel on chipped, Formica tables, you briefly pulled away to take a draw off your cigarette.

Turning to relish in Ville’s attention while you were distracted, Bam got a few licks and coquettish nuzzles in, kissing him that same soft way he did with you. But that wasn’t fair, was it? Ville liked the power of taking turns with you, passing Bam back and forth the way you might share a bottle of wine- but it was your turn. Bam was greeted with a firm hand on his jaw, tilting him back to face you.

A coy smirk crossed your boyfriend’s face when you yanked him back, fingers tangling in the dark curls as smoky tendrils swam between your lips. Bam’s back arched into you that obscene way you only see in adult films, whining into your mouth. Yes, you were the woman Ville fell in love with, he decided, watching how you could break such a prideful man down with a little rough handling.

The memory has this dim, hazy cast over it, but after you pulled away from that rough, territory-claiming kiss, you remember the following: in loaded glances, the three of you swiftly and wordlessly agreed to take this back to the hotel room. Bam’s gotta go back to cold Pennsylvania in the morning- you just wanted to give him a little warmth to take home, that's it. Consider it a send off. Somewhere, in a hotel room, in the heart of Helsinki, three people are indulging deeply in these foreign, intoxicating pleasures.

[b4mpyre-k1zz3s]

Hello!! Today is my birthday so I thought I’d make some silly art of Bam and myself to celebrate it! I had a really fun time working on the background and trying to replicate that 2000’s, comic art style! Im looking to get back into drawing, so if theres anything you’d like to see, let me know!