Johnny Knoxville

Roleplayer/Writer/Comedian Please comment on my fanfic's I do requests Dm to rp

[philipjohnclapp]

Fandoms I’ll write:

Also, I can write as basically anyone. No limits, but I prefer angst & smut. Leave your suggestions/request please.

JACKASS MASTERLIST

Click Above!! ^^

I Am The Number Four By Pitticus Lore

That Was Then This is Now By S.E. Hinton

The Outsiders By S.E. Hinton

Rumble Fish By S.E. Hinton

Tex By S.E. Hinton

Taming The Star Runner By S.E. Hinton

Hawkes Harbor By S.E. Hinton

Jackass [MTV Show and Movies]

Spree

Action Point

Rosy

Gnarly By Steve-O

Grease

Hairspray

Hamilton

Stranger Things

BoJack Horseman

Cobra Kai

Karate Kid

Erased

Zach Stone is gonna be famous

Devilman Crybaby

My Hero Academia

The Breakfast Club

Young Guns [All Movies]

ST. Elmo’s Fire

Freejack

the War at Home [100% YESS!]

In the Custody of Strangers [PLEASE]

Up the Academy

Teachers [1984]

The Three Wishes of Billy Grier

Wild Things

Drugstore Cowboy

My Bodyguard [1980]

Kiss before Dying

Liar's moon

Youngblood [A fav]

Oxford Blues

The Hotel New Hampshire

Rain Man

Born on the Fourth of July

Dirty Dancing

Ghost [1990]

Road House

Point Break

Red Dawn

Grandview USA

The Hitcher [both]

Secret Admirer [1985]

Haikyuu

The Umbrella Academy

Top Gun

Top Gun Maverick

Jerry Maguire

Just Tom Cruise in general

House MD

Inception

The Cable Guy

House MD

[philipjohnclapp]

Are you the real Johnny Knoxville in real life😱😱😱😱😱😱😱😱😱😱😱😱😱😱😱😱😱😱😱😱😱😱😱😱😱😱😱😱😱😱😱😱😱😱😱😱😱😱😱😱😱 iohny oknockvulle

Yes, don’t tell anybody.

[philipjohnclapp]

︵︵ 𝓐 𝓗𝘈𝘓𝘓𝘖𝘞𝘌𝘌𝘕 𝓝𝘐𝘎𝘏𝘛 𝓦𝘐𝘛𝘏 𝓙𝘖𝘏𝘕𝘕𝘠 𝓤𝘛𝘈𝘏 ── 🎃

Starring: Johnny Utah x Implied Female Reader

Word Count: 2847

A/N: Read as you will! This was a prompt given to me by a server I am in! Halloween night with a chosen keanu character.. maybe expect another! The reader can be sorta taken as male or female, I left it open enough. As always feel free to comment your ideas/requests!

The Los Angeles night was alive and well with the pulse of Halloween, the air sharp with the scent of dry leaves and sea salt. It was getting colder out. Surfing season was just about over now, and Johnny Utah was missing it. The boardwalks hummed with costumed kids shrieking, and their respective adult counterparts stumbling in and outta bars, their laughter cutting through like distant crashing waves.

And you’re in Johnny Utah's small beachside home, the windows are all cracked in order to let in that cool October breeze. It’s been a few months or so since the chaos of the Ex-President’s case, since Johnny had chased Bodhi into the storm at Bells Beach and came back empty handed. You think Johnny knowingly let him go, but you never mention it, and he never brings it up. Bodhi had slipped away, like the ghost he was into the surf, leaving Johnny with a mixture of frustration and respect. Since then the FBI’s moved onto other cases, and closed that one, but you could tell that Johnny was still haunted, his eyes sometime drifting to the ocean like he’s waiting for Bodhi to reappear, and maybe he will, but you know he won’t.

Tonight, though, you’re determined to pull him out of that funk he’s in. Halloween is your opportunity, your chance to shake things up. To remind Johnny that there was more to life than just chasing ghosts. You’re standing in the living room, hands on your hips, watching him all sprawled out on the couch with a beer in hand. He’s in a faded FBI tee and jeans, his hair was a little longer now than it was, it curled on the edges from too many days in the salt and sun, you think it might even be starting to turn blonde. It makes you think of Bodhi, and you frown. He’s still got that quarterback charm, but there’s also a new edge to him, something restless that’s only grown since his last lead, and since Bodhi had ‘got away.’ He was supposed to be dead and buried, it was supposed to be the end of that chapter. When you dig into graves you don’t find gold, you find bones.

“Alright, Utah,”

you say, grinning as you lean against the doorway.

“Time to get into the spirit!! We’re doing Halloween right this year!”

He takes a slow sip from his beer, and he gives you a look.

“Halloween? Really, babe? You know ‘m not big on that stuff. Costumes, crowds, it’s all too much like chasing perps through a carnival. I’d rather surf or watch Jaws.”

You step closer to him then, shaking your head, that frown is back.

“No way. You’ve been brooding over Bodhi and those waves for weeks. Tonight, we’re having fun. Couples costumes, the full commitment. I’ve been planning this forever!”

Johnny lets out a groan, but there’s a spark in his eyes, a hint of that reckless energy that you so dearly love.

“You’re serious? What’s the costume? And don’t say it’s something cheesy like Romeo and Juliet.”

You cannot help but laugh at that, almost felt like you had the old Johnny you fell in love with back. And suddenly all doesn’t feel lost. You go and pull two garment bags out of the closet and set them down on the couch.

“Oh, it’s cheesy, but it’s perfect.”

You proceeded to unzip one to reveal a black leather jacket and a pair of the tightest jeans he’s ever seen.

“You’re Danny Zuko from Grease, and I’m bad girl Sandy from the end of the movie, y'know, leather, attitude, full deal.”

He stares at the jacket, his expression caught exactly between amusement and disbelief. It felt almost like some practical joke.

“Leather pants? You want me to look like I’m auditioning for a rock band?”

“You’ll look hot,”

you say, before you proceeded to toss him the jacket.

“And we’re not just dressing up to sit here on our asses either. There’s a Halloween party on Venice Beach, music, dancing, costume contest. The whole thing works, and we’re going.”

Johnny catches the jacket with the hand that wasn’t holding the beer, he holds it up like it’s evidence. It was like he was the fun police, but you’ll bring him outta this slump. You have to.

“A party? With drunk vampires and fake blood? You’re killing me.”

You step closer, you were close enough now to catch the faintest scent of salt and soap on him. And he hasn’t even surfed.

“Johnny, you’ve surfed 50 foot waves, jumped out of a plane without a parachute, and went undercover with bank robbers. You can handle a little dancing.”

You brushed your hand along his arm, your voice dropping the slightest bit.

“Besides, you might like what I’m wearing.”

His eyes flicker, a slow smirk tugging at his lips.

“That so? You gonna show me now, or make me wait?”

“Patience,”

You tease him, stepping a foot back or so to where you once were.

“Get dressed, we’ve got a night to own, Utah.”

— — —

It takes a lot of convincing, Johnny grumbles about the tight jeans and the gel that you slick into his hair, but by the time you both are ready, he’s all in. The leather jacket hugs his shoulders perfectly, the jeans show off his athletic build in a way that makes you pause, heat creeping up your neck and makes your cheeks hot. His hairs all slicked back, giving him that classic Danny Zuko look, and he gives you a playful spin, throwing a ‘Well, a-huh-huh” that’s so dead on you cannot help but double over in laughter.

You’re not holding back either. The black outfit, the tight pants, the off the shoulder top, and red lipstick. It all transforms you into the Sandy bold, bad girl persona. The heels add a little sway to your step, and your hairs teased into big, wild curls. And only when Johnny's eyes linger and trace your body do you really know you’ve got him now.

“Damn,”

he says, his voice low and almost even reverent.

“You’re trouble.”

“Sandy’s supposed to be,”

you reply, striking a pose then.

“Ready to roll, Zuko?”

He grabs his keys, shaking his head but he’s still smiling.

“Let's do this before I bail.”

— — —

The party on Venice Beach is a riot of color and sound, it almost looked like a rave. The boardwalks packed with ghouls, superheros, and a guy in a disturbingly realistic shark costume. A bonfire crackles on the sand, casting flickering shadows on everything that surrounds it, and a band’s blasting a shitty rendition of a ‘Dead Man’s Party’ by Oingo Boingo with more enthusiasm than skill. You tug Johnny through the crowd,his hand warming yours, his eyes scan through the chaos like he’s on duty.

“Relax,”

You say, squeezing his hand.

“No bank robbers here, just bad costumes and worse music.”

He chuckles, maybe a little nervous but he’d never admit it, he pulls you closer.

“Force of habit. I mean, you sure you don’t want to head back? We could raid the candy stash and watch something bloody?”

“Tempting,”

You say, though it’s better for him, for the both of you to get out. He cannot spend the rest of his life chasing ghosts, there was more to it.

“We’re here now. And I want everyone to see how good you look.”

The night unfolds in a haze full of music and laughter. You drag Johnny onto the dance floor, where he surprises you with moves that proves he’s got way more than just surfing in his repertoire. The band shifts eventually to, ‘You’re the One That I Want,’ and both of you lean into it, belting out the lyrics under the string lights. Johnny's hands are on your hips, his grin wide and unguarded, and for a moment, you can see the weight of Bodhi’s escape lift off of him. He’s here, with you, fully in the moment. He’s not going anywhere.

You both enter the costume contest, hamming it up with exaggerated ‘Grease’ poses and also a clumsy attempt at the hand jive, both you both lose to a couple dressed as Beetlejuice and Lydia. Johnny's arm remains around you as you laugh it off, the cider you’ve been sipping making everything all warm and blurry. By the time you’re both sweaty and a little buzzed, you’re ready to call it a night and throw in the towel.

“Home?”

You ask, leaning into him as you head to his ford mustang.

“Home,”

He says, his voice carrying a promise that makes your pulse quicken.

— — —

Back at his home, the air feels much different. Charged. Heavy with anticipation. The windows are still open, the ocean’s rhythm mixing with the quiet, now empty streets. Everyone has gone home by now, and Halloween is gonna come to a swift end. You kick off your heels, your feet sore from dancing, and Johnny shrugs off that leather jacket, leaving him in the world's tightest black tee that clung to his chest. The ‘Grease’ vibes lingering, but it’s starting to shift into something more raw… something real.

You’re in the kitchen now, grabbing a glass of water when Johnny comes up right behind you. His hands find your waist and grasp onto it firmly, lips brushing against the back of your neck, sending a shiver down your spine.

“You know,”

he murmurs, his voice rough,

“this outfit has been driving me crazy all night.”

You smile, setting the glass down onto the counter and turning to face him.

“Oh? Sandy getting under your skin?”

His eyes are dark, intense, the same look he gets when he is locked onto a target.

“Not just Sandy,”

He says, as his hands slide up your sides, they trace the tight fabric.

“You.”

And you kiss him then, slow, and deep, tasting the faint tang of cider and salt. With that his hands tighten, pulling you even closer, and you can feel the heat of him through the thin layers of your costumes. The kitchen counter presses into the small of your back, you know they’ll be a line tomorrow, but you couldn’t care less now, you were way too caught up in the way that his fingers dig into your hips, and the way his breath catches when you nip at his lips.

“Johnny..”

You say, breaking the kiss to meet his gaze.

“You’re really into this, huh?”

His grin is sharp like a wolf's, and hungry like one too.

“You have no idea.”

The counter is cold in contrast to your skin as Johnny tugs at the zipper of your top, his fingers steady yet deliberate, he peels it off to reveal the skin hiding underneath. Peeling you like an orange. You’re still in the really tight leather pants, the material clings to your thighs, and he pauses just for long enough to look at you and really take you in. His gaze is heavy with want in a way you’ve never seen it before.

“Fuck,”

he breathes, it was almost to himself, and the sheer rawness in his voice sends all the heat in your body to start pooling in your stomach.

You pull his tight black shirt off like it’s nothing, like it’s the worst thing ever, and toss it aside. Your hand roams over the hard planes of his chest, over the scars from older cases and wipeouts, they feel faint under the care of your fingers. You tease at the waistband of his own pants, your voice challenging,

“Your turn, Utah.”

He doesn’t hesitate, he hardly ever does. Everything with him is precise, exact. He sheds the pants within record timing and he leaves himself in nothing but his black briefs that do absolutely nothing to hide how much he wants you. You’re both sorta still in half costume, more like a quarter, the ‘Greaser’ fantasy adding a layer of playfulness and heat between you two. His hands find your thighs, lifting you onto the counter, and you wrap your legs around his waist, the tight pants stretching as you pull him even closer.

He kisses you again, much harder, his hands sliding under the waistband of your pants, working them down with a mixture of both impatience and care. You laugh as you sort of shimmy out of them, the moment is light but charged, reminding you just how easy it was to be with him, even now. Once they’re off, you’re left in your underwear, and Johnny's hands are absolutely everywhere, your hips, your waist, your chest, mapping you with an insatiable hunger that makes your breath hitch.

“You sure?”

He asks, pausing to meet your eyes, his voice was rough but soft on the edges in a way that was only ever reserved for you.

“Very sure,”

you say, pulling him closer.

“You?”

His grin was all and the only answer that you needed. He tugs your underwear down, slow and deliberate, and you return the favor, sliding his briefs off until there’s absolutely nothing between the two of you. The cool air of the home contrasts with the heat of skin as he steps closer, his hands spreading your thighs. You can feel him, hard, and ready, and the anticipation makes your heart race inside of your chest.

“Tell me what you want,”

he says, his lips brushing against your ear, voice low and rough.

“You,”

You say, your hands tangling in his greased back hair, pulling him closer. He moves slowly at first, teasing, drawing out every sensation until you’re gripping his shoulders and urging him on. When he finally pushes himself into you, it’s with a controlled intensity that makes you gasp, your legs tightening around him. The countertops edge bites into your hips, but you barely even notice, lost in the friction, the heat, the way his hands hold you like you’re the only thing keeping him grounded, here.

And you move together, finding a rhythm that’s urgent but unhurried, like you’re both chasing something and savoring it at the same time. His lips find your neck, your collarbone, leaving a trail behind of warmth and faint bites that make you moan. They might be here tomorrow as well. You tilt your head back, giving him more, and he takes it, his teeth grazing just enough to send sparks through you.

“Johnny,”

you gasp, your nails digging into his back. He groans, the sound vibrating through you, pushing you closer to the edge. The kitchen fills with the sounds of your breathing, the creak of the counter, the distant hum of the ocean. It’s messy, intense, and yet it is so perfect.

When you both finally shatter, it’s like a wave breaking, overwhelming, consuming, leaving you both trembling and clinging to each other. Johnny rests his forehead against yours after, his breath ragged, his hands still holding you, gripping you close as if you’d somehow slip away from him. And for a moment, you just breathe together. The world narrows to the space between you.

— — —

You’re both laughing softly as you clean up together, pulling on just enough clothes to be ‘decent’ but too damn lazy to even bother with the full costumes. You weren't going to go out again anyways. Johnny grabs two beers from the fridge, and you collapse right onto the couch into a puddle of mush, your legs draped over his lap. The ‘Grease’ vibe long gone, your hair back to how it usually was, Johnny’s damp from washing the gel out in the sink, everything was replaced with an easy comfort of being together, the afterglow lingering like the warmth from a bonfire.

“So,”

he says, handing you a beer,

“Halloween’s not the worst, I guess.”

You grin, clinking your bottle right against his.

“Told you. You just needed a push.”

And he pulls you closer, his arm around your shoulders.

“You’re trouble, you know that?”

“Only for you.”

You say, leaning in for a soft lingering kiss. You skip the horror movies, neither of you need any extra adrenaline. Instead, you put on ‘Grease’, laughing as you sing along. Johnny's voice was surprisingly good on ‘Greased Lightnin’.’ You try to recreate the dance moves. stumbling over each other in your half costumed, half dressed state, the candy bowl still untouched on the coffee table.

The Trick or Treaters all long gone by now, the night quiet except for the ocean that was outside. You fall asleep tangled together on the couch, Johnny's arm around you, the TV humming still softly. Bodhi might still be out there, a shadow in Johnny’s mind, but tonight you’re giving him something else to hold onto. And as you drift off, you know that Next Halloween, you’ll push him again. Maybe Bonnie and Clyde, or maybe even just this, you and him, lost in each other as the rest of the world faded away.

And you can both agree that this is the best Halloween either one of you has ever had.

[philipjohnclapp]

Before the Break

Starring: Johnny Utah, and Bodhi

Word Count: 3737

A/N: Long time no see! I know this isn’t Jackass, but Point Break is just as good!! AS ALWAYS LEAVE YOUR REQUESTS! Dm's are always open to roleplay as well!! Sort of implied Johnny x Bodhi

The sky hadn’t opened yet, not really. There was only the faintest scrape of pale blue above the horizon, it was almost as if somebody had drawn a line with chalk and forgot to finish and left it half-done. Johnny’s sneakers sank slightly in the wet sand as he stepped across the beach, and closer towards the water as if it was calling for him, the cold had bitten through his improper footwear, and socks. And he could hear it before he saw it, the surf breaking, the wind that was rattling across the decently sized stretch of beach, the faint hiss of foam rolling up and pulling back again, repeatedly. There was a rhythm to it, like a song, one that made his chest tighten, like it was trying to match his own pulse.

He had been awake for hours, Johnny wasn’t even sure if he had even slept. His house had been too quiet especially without Tyler, and sleep had almost felt like a betrayal. His hands had itched the entire night, not from a rash, just restless, and empty, until he gave in and left walking right out into the darkness. Now, with the ocean spreading out like a sheet of slate in front of him, the air smelled deeply of salt and something even deeper, something that stung the back of his throat and burned his eyes.

And Johnny spotted Bodhi before he even realized he had been looking for him. The silhouette was crouched real low near the waterline, board under one arm, his knees bent like he was waiting for a wave that might not even ever come. Even from the distance he was at, even without the sun illuminating him, Bodhi moved like he owned the space, as if the sand and sea bent around him willingly. For all he knew, it might’ve. Johnny had never felt smaller, not physically.. he was taller, but somehow invisible in comparison. Like the tide itself had claimed him and left only Bodhi in the center of it.

Johnny had stopped just a couple feet short of him, just far enough to feel the tension that was thrumming through the air. He hadn’t come here to talk, not really. Hadn’t even known Bodhi was here, it was almost like they were synced, with his body dragging him here. But he thinks he came here to see, to measure Bodhi up against what he thought he knew. And somehow, even before the first words had even been exchanged, he knew he was already behind. Bodhi always was a few steps ahead, a half a beat in front, like he could see the end of the line before anybody else had known there was even a track to begin with.

“Cold,”

Johnny said, though his voice almost sounded strange in the empty morning. Too loud, and too small at the same time. But Bodhi didn’t look up. His shoulders were squared up to the ocean, chin tilted slightly downwards, sharp blue eyes tracking the next swell of water.

“Mornings always cold before it breaks,”

He said. His voice was low, and teasing in a way that made Johnny want to argue, but he didn’t. He never did, he just let that want grow until he didn’t know what to do with it anymore.

Johnny shifted on the sand then, he was trying really hard not to think about the fact that Bodhi probably already knew. About him. About the badge in his pocket, all the lies he had told, the nights spent pretending not to notice the edges of Bodhi's gaze lingering for too long. Bodhi's eyes missed nothing ever. Johnny had known that the first time he’d watched him carve a perfect line across a wave, daring gravity itself to catch him. There hadn’t been a bluff in it, no hesitation, just a sense of certainty. Only this time, Johnny had realized it was aimed at him.

He wanted to ask a question, something casual. Something that would sound like he didn’t care, even though he did, he cared badly. He opened his mouth then,

“You surf this early often?”

Bodhi finally lifted his head, the wind was caught in his hair, wild and dark with the lack of light, whipping it around his face in strands that stuck to the damp skin at his temples. Only then he wishes he was closer, so he could observe more, maybe tuck a strand out of his face, but immediately as he’s thinking that he wants to hit himself. It sorts throws him off balance, that thought, and he forgot he even had asked him anything at all until he heard Bodhi answering.

“When the waves are right I don’t wait for daylight,”

He answered, his gaze met Johnny’s for a second, just long enough for the recognition to sting, and for Johnny to break it. Bodhi continues like it’s nothing anyways,

“..You ever see it, Utah? The ocean before it decides to move?”

Johnny swallowed, the words felt too sharp, and his mouth felt too dry. He nodded once.

“I’ve seen it.”

He lies through his teeth then, the truth was he hadn’t. Not like this anyways. Not with a horizon like that, pale and unreadable, stretching into something that felt bigger than the sky or the sea or even Bodhi. This was a type of emptiness that demanded attention, that made him feel the very edges of his own decisions. Every lie that he told, every small betrayal, all pressed down on his chest like a person sized paper weight. And yet, he couldn’t look away. Not from him anyways.

Bodhi shifted then, loosening his grip on the board, and started pacing along the waters edge, footprints tracing short lines in the wet sand. Johnny followed him, careful to maintain distance, careful not to look desperate, careful not to do anything that would give him away. But he felt it anyway, that pull. It was magnetic, invisible, fucking inescapable. Bodhi was a storm that you didn’t get to choose to stand in front of. You either got out of the way, or got swept up.

“You always get up this early?”

Johnny asked again, softer this time. He couldn’t tell if it was sleep ringing the edge of his voice… or just him. It didn’t matter, he thinks.

“Not always,”

Bodhi's eyes flicked to him for a fraction of a second, and Johnny caught it. The hint of something that was unspoken.

“Sometimes it’s just better to watch than to jump in.”

Johnny clenched his fists in the pockets of his hoodie. He wanted to push, to demand some sort of honesty, to force Bodhi to speak the truth he was already carrying. But he knew it wouldn’t have mattered. Bodhi's honesty was selective, precise, and measured. He chose his moments, like waves picking their own course, leaving Johnny chasing the swell without ever catching it.

He glanced at the horizon, there was a faint shimmer of light now, brushing against the tips of the waves, revealing the churn beneath them. The water was restless today, alive, and dangerous. Just like Bodhi, just like everything Johnny had gotten himself roped into.

“I think I know why you’re up here,”

Bodhi said suddenly, his voice too calm, it was teasing and dangerous. Johnny’s heart drops right into his stomach, and Bodhi continues without ever missing a beat,

“You’re looking for something.”

Johnny hesitated, he couldn’t help it. He opened his mouth, then shut it. He felt like a fish out of water, how could he explain? He wasn’t trying to measure the man he had decided to follow, the man he was already tangled up with, the man who didn’t trust anyone, not really. Not even the people that he let close enough to breath the same air as him.

“Maybe,”

He said finally, letting the word hang. Standing alone.

Bodhi laughed softly, low, the kind of sound that should’ve been comforting if Johnny hadn’t already known it was a weapon; if Johnny had been anybody but Johnny Utah.

“Maybes a good place to start, it’s where everyone begins. Maybe’s where everything changes.”

His hands itch, but Johnny doesn’t scratch them. The waves roll even closer now, as if even they are listening in, water spitting up across the sand, foaming… and retreating with a rhythm that seemed impossible to resist. Johnny watched Bodhi kneel, setting the board down, hands brushing over the surface of the wet board like he was reading it, like it was a language that only he understood.

“I used to think,”

Bodhi had said then, voice really low, almost to himself,

“that if you watched long enough, you could see the end before it came. That if you were smart, you could step aside and never get hurt.”

Johnny wanted to tell him that he knew, that he had seen it. That he was a wolf in sheep's clothing, that he had the badge, and the lies, and the duplicity all bundled up like a knot inside of his chest. But he didn’t, he couldn’t. Couldn’t jeopardize the progress he made, couldn’t throw away his first job as an agent just for some bank robber. He wasn’t the Bonnie to his Clyde. He wasn’t even a Bonnie. Bodhi was testing him, and deep down Johnny knew it. He had always known it. The thought made his throat tighten, and even though its so cold out he thinks he might still be sweating. So, instead, he just nodded his head.

“I know what you mean.”

Bodhi's eyes flicked back up again, and for the briefest moment, they met fully. All of the weight of the unspoken things pressed against Johnny, and he felt exposed in a way he hadn’t in years. Maybe Pappas was right, he was getting too close.. too personal. Bodhi knew, of course he knew. He always did, but the question wasn’t whether Bodhi knew, it was what he would do with that knowledge, and how far he would let Johnny come before letting it unravel everything he built.

The wind gusted, carrying the sharp tang of salt, and the smell of the ocean into Johnny's lungs. He felt it in his chest, a deep, aching pull that he couldn’t name. Couldn’t escape. He knew the tide was rising. He could feel it beneath his feet, the sand shifting, the water inching closer, and he knew, even before the waves broke, that nothing would stay the same after this morning.

Right then, Bodhi stood back up, picking up his board, his shoulder straight, and movements deliberate.

“You can watch, Utah.”

His voice was dangerous, yet still steady, and inviting.

“Or you can jump in.”

Johnny’s heart hammered against his ribcage. The choice wasn’t his, not really. He had been swept up long before he had even arrived, dragged right into a current that had always been moving faster than he could run. Bodhi was the ocean, the storm, and the surge of water that couldn’t be tamed. And Johnny? He was already in it.

The first light began to edge over the horizon, thin and pale, brushing the waves with a silvery sheen. Johnny felt the cold press even deeper into his bones, the wind tearing at his hoodie, the sand sticking to his damp sneakers. He took a step closer then, but not too close. Not yet. Bodhi’s shadow stretched long across the wet sand, and Johnny knew that it would always feel that way. Larger, untouchable, and impossible to hold.

“Don’t get too comfortable,”

Bodhi said to him, his voice carrying over the swell.

“You might think you know the waves… but they change.”

He always had a way of saying the truth without ever actually speaking at all. Johnny swallowed hard, he felt caught, he felt like he had been spread wide open and vulnerable. He wanted to say something, anything. He wanted to tell Bodhi that he understood, that he wasn’t going to go anywhere, that he was in this as far as it went. But no words came, he stunned him to silence once again. Made him choke on the weight of his own tongue. So, he only watched the waves, the swell, the storm that had already begun in the quiet spaces between them.

And for a long moment, they just stood there. Two figures on the edge of the world, both daring each other to take the first leap into the end. The salt in the air, wind cutting across their faces, surf breaking like distant thunder. The ocean moved beneath their feet, alive and endless, and Johnny understood something he had been trying so hard not to feel; he was already in the middle of it and there wasn’t any turning back. He thinks he might’ve just bitten off more than he could possibly chew.

Johnny shifted again on the sand, letting his gaze sweep across the dark water. The waves weren’t just ‘moving’, they were alive. Thrashing, and curling like the fingers of something too big to grasp. He tried hard not to think about what Bodhi meant when he said, ‘You might think you know the waves…’ because he did know, and that was exactly why it hurt. Bodhi had known him longer than Johnny had known himself, had seen through every attempt of his at being ‘just another guy at the beach.’ The thought knotted inside his chest and he had to fight the urge to take a step closer, just to prove that he belonged, just to prove he could stand there without being swept away.

“You ever get scared?”

Johnny asked finally, he didn’t know why. It just came outta him. The words tasted strange on his tongue, heavy and sharp, but still his all the same. Bodhi didn’t answer him right away either, he adjusted his board under his arm and took a long step towards the water, letting the waves lick at the tips of his bare feet.

“Scared?”

He said at last, voice low and even.

“Scareds… temporary. It comes and goes in waves, you learn to ride it or it drowns you.”

Johnny nodded slowly, even though he knew Bodhi wasn’t really talking about the waves. He was talking about everything. About living on the edge, about breaking rules, about the danger he himself had signed up for when he joined the FBI, when he’d started this game. Johnny's chest tightened, he wanted to argue. To tell Bodhi that fear mattered, that it should, but Bodhi wasn’t listening for that. Bodhi was listening for honesty, for the truth, and maybe, in some twisted way, he was trying to measure it out of Johnny. Get him to fess up the truth of who he was, but Johnny had a feeling that Bodhi already knew.

The wind gusted once more, tearing over the surface of the water, whipping at Bodhi’s hair. Johnny could see the faintest shadow of a smile, just the corner of his mouth, it was playful and dangerous all at once.

“You really think you’re ready for it, Utah? Really ready?”

Johnny hesitated, it was like he forgot everything he knew. The words weren’t just about the surf, they were about everything he’d been hiding. Everything he was trying so hard to protect. About the badge, about lying to everyone that he cared about, about following a man who made him feel both alive and terrified. He could answer, but he knew any answer he gave would be a lie. Bodhi didn’t want lies, he was like a bloodhound who could smell the bullshit. He wanted to see what Johnny was willing to risk.

“I… I’m trying,”

Johnny said finally. Not enough. Not nearly enough, but true. He tried to keep his voice steady, tried hard to make it sound like he meant it. Bodhi’s eyes softened, just for the fraction of a second, and then the storm returned to them, dark and unreadable.

“Tryings not enough, you got to feel it. You’ve gotta let it move through you. Otherwise you’re just standing on the sand while the world passes by.”

Johnny’s stomach tightened again. He felt the weight of the sand beneath him, the wind so cold it went through him, and the salt stinging his eyes. He wanted to step forward. Wanted to tell Bodhi he understood that he wasn’t afraid. Not really, but he couldn’t. Bodhi had a way of seeing through everything, of reading the edges of someone before they even realized the danger was there. And right now, Johnny felt like he was being exposed in a way he hadn’t felt in years.

The waves broke even closer now, sending sprays of foam across the sand. Johnny’s sneakers were soaked now, the cold seeping into his socks, but he didn’t move. He couldn’t. Bodhi was too magnetic, too alive, too untouchable. He had always been like this, always the one moving ahead, always the storm you couldn’t predict. And Johnny.. Johnny was already caught in it.

“Why are you here?”

Bodhi asked suddenly, stepping back and letting the board rest against his shoulder. His voice carried over the surf, calm n teasing, but there was an edge to it that Johnny couldn’t exactly place. And the words were out there in the air before Johnny could even stop himself,

“I.. I don’t know, I just needed to see.”

Bodhi nodded, almost imperceptibly, like he understood but didn’t approve.

“Yeah. That’s why everyone comes here. To see something they can’t have, to feel something they can’t hold. You can’t own the ocean, Utah. You can’t own it, you can’t tame it, and you sure as hell can’t make it do what you want.”

Johnny looked at him, at the way the surf moved around Bodhi's legs, at the calm control in his posture. He wanted to argue with him, to tell him that he wasn’t trying to own anything, that he was just.. following, trying to understand. But Bodhi didn’t want that. Bodhi wanted him to recognize his own position in the world, tiny, exposed, and human. Completely at the mercy of forces that were bigger than himself.

He swallowed hard, letting the words stick in his throat. Instead of speaking, he just watched, felt every shift of the waves, every movement that Bodhi had made, like it was all some sort of test, a measure of how much he could take before eventually breaking.

“You ever think about what’s next?”

Bodhi asked, breaking the silence.

“After the waves, after the sun comes up, after the rules get broken?”

Johnny felt that tightness deep in his chest, he had thought about it, of course he had. Every day, every hour, he tried to imagine what it would be like when this had ended, when Bodhi made his next move, when the line between right and wrong blurred so completely he couldn’t see it anymore. But he didn’t answer, how could he? Bodhi didn’t want just an answer, he wanted truth, and the truth wasn’t something that Johnny could even say yet. Bodhi tilted his head, letting his gaze sweep over Johnny, sharp and measuring.

“You’re holding something back. I can see it, I always can. Don’t think I don’t know what’s in your head, what’s in your heart. You’re trying to play a part, but the waves don’t lie. I can read you, Utah. Always have.”

Johnny’s throat tightened then. He could feel the weight of it, the accusation, the understanding, the danger all wrapped into one. Bodhi had always seen too much, known too much, and yet here he remained, letting Johnny stand, letting him breathe. That was the part that Johnny had hated the absolute most. Bodhi didn’t have to let him stay here at this moment. He didn’t have to let him watch the horizon, watch the waves, watch the storm gathering in silence. And yet, he did anyway.

“I’m.. I’m just trying to keep up.”

Johnny said finally, voice low, almost swallowed by the wind. Bodhi smiled, a fleeting twist of lips that didn't quite reach his eyes.

“Tryings a good start, Utah. But you’ll need more than that if you want to last. You’ll need to learn to move with it, not against it. The waves will take what they want, and the world will do the same. You can’t fight it forever.”

Johnny nodded, but he didn’t speak again. He couldn’t, words just felt small and cheap. Insufficient for the enormity that he was feeling, the pull of Bodhi, the danger of his own choices, the inevitability of what was coming. He stood there, letting the wind whip across him, letting the salt sting his eyes, letting the surf crash in time with the rapid thumping of his heart. Bodhi shifted, lifting his board, and taking a step toward the water again.

“You can watch if you want, or you can step in. But don’t think that you can stand on the edge forever, the tides coming, Johnny. And it doesn’t wait.”

Johnny swallowed once more, he felt the truth of it deep inside of his chest. In his bones, in the taut line of his shoulders. He was already in the tide, already moving with forces he could barely comprehend. And Bodhi.. Bodhi was the storm to be reckoned with. The ocean, and the wave that he could never fully master.

And for a long moment they both just stood there, silent except for the hissing of the surf, the wind tearing across the sand. The horizon began to lighten, pale silver was bleeding into the edge of the waves, and Johnny realized, with a sinking certainty, that everything was just about to change. He didn’t know how, or when, but he felt it.. the slow, inevitable pull of the tide, the moment when the calm finally becomes chaos, when the storm finally breaks.

He understood, in the quiet, cold predawn light, that there was no turning back now. He was already caught in it, already swept up by Bodhis orbit, already part of something that was bigger than himself. He could only watch, and pray that he didn’t drown.

The ocean stretched before them, it was endless and alive, and for the first time, Johnny Utah understood completely that there was no turning back no matter what happened next.

[philipjohnclapp]

Hey, I wanna roleplay the Bloodhound Gang, or Jackass. I can play a mean Jimmy Pop, and I'll do anything.. or you can send me your requests so I can write 'em, dm's and inbox is open!

[philipjohnclapp]

Golden Hour

Starring Johnny Knoxville and Steve-O, featuring Bam, and Ehren

Word Count: 1732

A/N: Hey, it’s been a while.. I haven’t roleplayed in ages.. and It’s been even longer since I have written anything Jackass related, so take this as an apology. Sorry if it lacks my usual charm. If anyone wants to roleplay I am interested, I'm thinking on writing some BHG related stuff. So, stay tuned for that. Feedback and requests welcome, and this fanfic can be taken as any Jackass era.

There were very few constants in the world that was Jackass,, if you could even call it that, if anything it was the underworld. Everyones worst nightmares all mushed together, until it created.. this. A lousy excuse for entertainment, but the constants were as followed.. someone was almost always bleeding, and somebody else was always laughing about it… and if Johnny Knoxville said something along the lines of, ‘Hey, I have an idea,’ someone’s dignity was about to be killed, a slow, wet death. You’ll probably regret even humoring him, but, hey; whatever gets you your fifteen minutes of fame, right?

And it all started around noon on some Thursday, that kind of day that smells like a boys lockerroom, and melted plastic. Everyone was gathered around what they were ‘optimistically’ calling the ‘set,’ but what really was just a rented garage in East L.A. Steve-O was sitting manspread in a busted office chair with one of the arm rests missing, legs crisscrossed like a kid, and there was a camera already pointed at his face. O was gnawing, nervously, at the inside of his cheek, as if his very instincts were trying to crawl their way outta his mouth to try and slap some sense into him. And he knew that look on Knoxvilles face, that squinty, smirking, glint of a man who has weaponized his very existence. If he wasn’t so eager to have more footage in the movie he would’ve been outta here by now.

Johnny strutted in like a ringmaster to a rather unhygienic circus, holding what appeared to be a standard plastic water bottle. Maybe once had a label on it that said ‘Deer Park,’ or something, but all the important brand details looked to have been ripped off. Accidentally or on purpose, he honestly couldn’t tell you. Really, the only problem.. the only thing that stuck out about that almost ordinary bottle was the fact that it wasn’t clear, not entirely anyways.. which is usually standard for bottled water.

It had a sort of yellow tint to it, that type of shade that belonged in a urinal or hospital chart. And it was warm, visibly warm. You could see condensation fogging up the inside of the bottle like it had secrets for christ sake.

“Steve-O.”

Johnny said, almost flatly. And already Bam was giggling behind the camera like a school girl. Johnny couldn’t hide his growing, one could say devilish smirk, he looked almost giddy himself as he continued,

“I present to you.. a revolutionary new beverage, something I designed myself. Johnny-Ade.”

And Steve-O blinked twice, his expression mixed.. and he was already sweating bullets despite the fact he hasn’t done a thing yet, his nose scrunched as he zeroed in on the bottle Johnny was now shaking in front of him like dog treats,

“Dude.. Is that.. I swear to God, Johnny- is that your fucking piss?”

And Knoxville raised an eyebrow like it had been some sort of personal attack, and now he was highly offended or something.

“What?! No, it’s an experimental beverage I came up with! It’s like Gaterade, but for guys who hate electrolytes and love danger.”

Steve-O didn’t believe it for one second, because of course he didn’t. Everyone knew that Johnny didn’t make a fucking beverage and that he just went out back and pissed in an empty water bottle, he wasn’t stupid.. and certainly not enough to drink his rotten pee blindly.

“Dude, you’re fucking holding it like it’s a bottle of pee.”

He grits his teeth, and he sorta tries to maneuver the office chair back some to get further away from Knoxville, and his piss surprise bottle. Johnny watches, and he doesn’t inch forward at all, just sorta stares at him like he does. Even behind those dark shades Steve-O could tell he was staring at him, maybe sorta starting to get pissy that Steve-O isn’t playing along like he should. But you cannot blame him, he’s never been a big piss drinker.

“I’m holding it like it’s a gift, O, yknow it’s really rude not to accept a gift?”

His voice is all smooth and coaxing, like he was doing Steve-O a favor. And for extra measure, he wiggles the bottle enthusiastically as if to prove his point some more, that not so mysterious yellow liquid splashing up the sides of the bottle like a shitty pee snow globe. His face was smug, the same smugness he almost always radiated when someone else's dignity was about to be obliterated.. or when he knew he was about to get what he wanted, and Johnny? He always got what he wanted.

And the other chuckled darkly behind the camera, knowing exactly what kind of a nightmare was brewing and saying nothing like always. It wasn’t camaraderie, it was more so a firing squad where everybody wanted to see if the guy would flinch.. or not. Steve-O didn’t blink at first either, he just stared down the bottle in Johnnys hand. His face held that sort of dead eyed suspicion, usually reserved for horror movie basements or like gas station food.

And then his gaze slid up to Knoxvilles face, slow and painful, like his neck muscles were trying to delay the inevitable. As if he didn’t have a choice or something.

“You’re offering me piss with the same tone Santa uses for handing out toys,”

He said, flatly, his voice was like a perfect cocktail of disgust and resignation. There wasn’t any shock, only the ache of a man who has seen too much, and swallowed even more.. and yet at the same time somehow lived to doubt again. And Johnny just looks at him with what one might consider to be a wolfish grin,

“And yet I still bring joy to millions,”

He says brightly, clutching onto the bottle like a man presenting the finest of wine. He gestured towards it with both of his hands, like it was a trophy, a relic, or some cursed artifact that had been passed down by a long-lost civilization of even dumber people. People who were more of a Jackass than them. Steve-O let out a rather dry laugh that didn’t quite make it past his teeth, and then he spoke.

“Dude, this is the most manipulative thing you have ever done.”

And Johnny feigned offense, puffing up like a cat.

“That’s not true, remember when I had convinced Pontius he got someone pregnant in Belgium and we staged an entire Maury Povich style reveal? That was psychological warfare, and this is just performance art.”

From behind the cameras, Bam snorted loudly. Nearly dropped one of the cameras he had been holding up. His laughter had that high pitch wheeze that meant he was about to hit the damn floor.

“Dude, if he drinks it, I’m seriously gonna hurl.”

Bam said, he didn’t even attempt to hide the glee in his voice. Steve-O stared at the bottle as if it might start growling at him. It was too fucking warm, too yellow. The sort of yellow that didn’t belong in beverages, it belonged in crime scenes.. and maybe health code violations. The condensation on the inside made it a billion times worse, gave it a freshly harvested vibe that made his stomach twist into knots. And he speaks to no one in particular, maybe just himself.

“This is how it ends for me, huh? I die from drinking the world's sketchiest bottle of water.”

And Johnny somehow is still composed, and holds out the bottle to Steve-O,

“It's a blind taste test,, for science.”

There was a moment there, a brief one where Steve-O actually considered maybe saying no. But no one had ever turned down a stunt with a camera on and dignity within reach. And so, he took the bottle with the same expression a man might have holding a vial of anthrax. And he uncapped it slowly, like he was disarming a bomb. The smell hit first, pungent, acidic, disturbing earthly like. He couldn’t help but gag, but he steadied himself, and he locked eyes with Johnny.

And then, without another word uttered, he sipped.

The silence that followed afterwards was thick and suffocating, like the air itself was cringing. Steve-O held it in his mouth for a second too long. He swished it once.. why the hell did he swish it? and then he swallowed with the grim finality of a man about to meet his ancestors.

“Jesus Christ.”

He croaked, blinking through what might have been tears, or maybe early onset hallucinations. He wasn’t sure. He sorta wishes he had actual water,, or any liquid that wasn’t piss to get the taste out of his mouth, the one that still lingered behind.

“That tastes like if someone peed into a compost pile and left it in the sun for a week.”

And then Johnny bursted out laughing, hard, and uncontrollably. His whole body fucking convulsed as he doubled over, shrieking with joy. Hell, it wouldn’t be a shocker if he started clapping his hands and shouted what a golly good show this was.

“Oh my god! You actually did it!”

He gasped between his fits of laughter, comparable to King George lll,

“You sipped on it like you were judging a fucking wine tasting, O!”

And Steve-O wiped his mouth on the sleeve of the jacket he was wearing, his eyes were wide with fury. That taste of hell on earth lingering in his mouth, unrelenting. It was neverending, and he thinks this is the closest you could probably get to hell on earth.

“Dude. If I find out that was actually your fucking actual piss… if I EVER find out… I’m.. I’m gonna start putting things into your food. Subtly. A toenail here, a clump of hair there, a fucking pebble. You won’t even know. One day, you’ll be halfway through a sandwich and realize it crunches.”

That’s the moment when Ehren wandered on in, still mid bite on a burrito he got from lord knows where. He was like a clueless npc in an active minefield.

“Hey, what’s going on?”

Without thinking, or flinching, Johnny turned around and handed him the same bottle. He doesn’t even explain what it is,

“You thirsty?”

And Ehren? Lord bless his fucking soul, nodded enthusiastically and CHUGGED the rest. Nobody warned him, not even Steve-O.

[philipjohnclapp]

ahhh i think i asked before but i forgot! do you write yandere/dark fics?

I do!!

[philipjohnclapp]

Your fics are PEAK they're literally so good I hope you're doing well

I am doing well, anon! If you want more feel free to send a request in.. thank you for the praise!

[philipjohnclapp]

hello jackassers,

Do you want me to continue writing Jackass fanfics?

Please, I am dying!!! I miss your historically accurate work!

No

Voting ended onDec 24, 2024

also, if you wanna rp hit me up.. and as always leave requests in the inbox

[philipjohnclapp]

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welcome to the se hinton/ supernatural roleplay server and hangout! as it says in the title. you can roleplay as a canon or an oc or both! theres a ton of channels and roles to choose from. theres countless bots, and other people to meet. we are system friendly, and also we allow nsfw and other topics! we allow partnerships, roleplay styles very. preferably literate writers, though! theres movie nights, music discussion, plot discussion and more! this roleplay takes place pre-events in se hinton books, and at the beginning of the television show supernatural. we love music, and everything se hinton! hope to see you guys here very soon!

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# LORE

this server is basically an alternate universe of the se hinton books/movies. the major difference is instead of it taking place for the most part in 1965 to (lord knows what the other years are for the books) it takes place in 1985. along with that in this alternate universe supernatural beings exist and this collide with the show ‘supernatural' which means characters from that show can be claimed as well. along with that some of the outsiders characters can be supernatural beings as well- but they are not seen as socially acceptable and to the average person they do not know they exist. as it is in real life it is just 'fairytales'

this server sets off following the beginning of season one in supernatural, dean winchester goes to stanford to get his brother (sam winchester) to help find their father. as they embark on that journey they run into this creature that knocks them in a whole different timeline, thus ending up in tulsa oklahoma; how will they adjust? running into greasers and socials trying to fight supernatural beings themselves, and find a way home… the rest is for you to decide!

talking about tulsa as a whole, as of late theres been strange occurrences in town, sightings of creatures 'less' then human,, weird noises at night.. people in town that arent from there, and more people disappearing. especially since the winchester boys showed up in town,, and its only a matter of time until you vanish too.

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we offer!

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> - great & friendly staff!

> - tons of roles

> - movie nights

> - tons of different channels

> - random giveaways

> - multiple canons to play as

> - many many ocs

> - no roleplay restrictions

> - writing, drawing, and more channels to help express yourself!

> - tons of emojis

> - hard to find content

> - tips and resources for writing

> - graphic roleplays

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what are you waiting for? your adventure ahead of you awaits! pick your legacy! get rivals, start drama, find love! it all could be yours!

see you soon!

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https://discord.gg/gTKqdcEPsQ

Check out the ❝𝙞'𝙢 𝙤𝙣 𝙩𝙝𝙚 𝙝𝙪𝙣𝙩, 𝙞'𝙢 𝙖𝙛𝙩𝙚𝙧 𝙮𝙤𝙪!!❞ || AN SE HINTON SPN RP SERVER community on Discord - hang out with 17 other members and enj

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[philipjohnclapp]

ahh okay awesome!! just fyi i love really really dark stuff so feel free to make it as dark as you want! could i please request a chris pontius x reader taking place in the early 00’s, maybe reader is a celebrity/actress/tv personality and their close friendship is all over the tabloids. she’s also in jackass occasionally. but the whole world and especially chris wants it to be more, but she just isn’t sure. maybe one day the jackass crew is getting really wild and they’re doing some drugs, and chris gives her something that’s laced? he takes what he wants from her and is trying to get her pregnant so she can’t leave him. feel free to change anything you’d like! and if you need to post it on Ao3 that’s ok just let me know what your username is! :) thank you so much!!!

I think that you made it up, I think that your mind is gone.

Word Count: 5715

A/N: It is not very good, to my standards anyways. It just seems rushed. The ending is bad, the smut feels rushed. And I’m sorry for that, but it’s lengthy. And I think there’s plot, and you freaky people might like it. I have plenty other fanfics as well that I think are better so don’t judge this as my best work. As always I hope you like it anyways, and feel free to leave requests. Also, this takes place in MTV era. Obviously a girl YN.

There weren't many girls in Jackass or strung to it, there were medics, and other people who were around, but that didn’t have much to do with Jackass. They were so in and out so frequently that they really didn’t matter to the Jackass image, but there was one girl. One girl who was really starting to get tied to it, she was more famous than them, probably more famous than Bam. A true celebrity, and Chris was just absolutely infatuated with her. He truly didn’t know what to do with himself.

Chris usually had no issues with getting what he wanted, well, when it came to chicks anyways. He was practically swimming in them, but lately, fuck, he only wanted one thing. One person. He was lucky enough to string on some sort of friendship with this Jackass girl, actually he’d say they were pretty close if she just wasn’t so disinterested in him most of the time. It was really getting under his skin trying to plan ways to corner her, to get closer. Because this friendship just wasn’t cutting it, he needed to have her.

Even the papers were starting to reflect this, this want, his desire. They’d make articles trying to push and shove at this relationship, “look at the way he looks at her!” And fuck, he wished she seen it too. He was determined for her to see it too. Because he wasn ’t gonna let this slip, even if she said no. There had to be a way; there was always a way to get what he wanted. Not just any girl would do.

He really has tried other fucks since this lust, this life taking fascination has started, but it just couldn’t stop it. Or at least lesson his animalistic urges. In fact it’s gotten to the point where he can’t get hard with any girl. Without the images in his mind of fucking her, the Jackass girl. And now his fantasies weren’t even cutting it, so he had to find something else. He had to get this shit on the road, have this come into fruition before he fucking dies or something. Because he’s got a huge sex drive, and a crush like a boy in kindergarten.

He thinks he might’ve found his opportunity, one of the guys was hosting a rager, or maybe it wasn’t a party and it was just them. Or maybe it was some random person he knew throwing the party, he couldn’t remember all the details, the only thing that registered him was Y/N was gonna be there, the Jackass girl. The one who caused this rut, the girl who made his heart swell, and his palms sweaty. This was his chance to finally get what he deserves, the one time he actually wants something and it plays hard to get.

So, Chris does the only logical thing, what every guy his age does when they have a crush. He calls around for dealers looking for something in specific, he even went as far to ask Steve-O, and in his squeaky gruff voice he said, “fuck no dude, I’m not into that type of shit.” And Chris just frowned, he didn’t get upset often, but that surely bothered him. This wasn’t wrong, Steve-O was nuts and strung out on every drug. He resisted so much trying not to beat him up, stay the bubbly Chris and not the blood lusting one because that’s what this girl was making him do. Luckily, Steve-O gave his details to someone who could help him, and he went on his way with his tail wagging between his legs.

Chris met with the dealer the day before the party, just in case. He’s never put so much thought into something before, he’s never been so on edge. He never even told Steve-O why. His palms were all sweaty, and he kept looking around while he got the roofies, shoving a wad of cash into that guys hands before he headed on home with a racing heart.

He cleaned his apartment, once- maybe twice. Fuck. He was just in the zone, making sure everything just looked the way it should if that made any sense at all. He even cleared his search history. He was so paranoid, but the more he thought about it the more wrong it started to feel. He shook that thought from his head, discarding it. His mind was just playing tricks on him. So, he set the pills on his nightstand and then he went to bed. Like a kid the night before Christmas, he just couldn’t wait.

He tossed and turned all night, waking up more than a handful of times. Anxious, wanting the night to go by faster, but it didn’t. Eventually he gave up and he just got out of bed, deciding he’d just get ready for the day. Call it quits. He had a rewarding day ahead of him, and his cock jumped at the thought of it, but he couldn’t be so lucky to get a hard on. He just signed and hopped on into the shower, taking a lengthy shower, a cold one. And when he was done he slipped on some cameo shorts, no boxers, and a shirt with some cheesy slogan plastered on the chest. When he was done he went back over to his dresser, grabbing his truck keys, and the pills and shoving them into the pockets of his shorts before he headed out of the door. He wouldn’t show up empty handed.

The party was starting relatively early, as some sort of hangout and then it’ll just escalate into drinking and whatnot later. But he wasn’t gonna go empty handed. The drive to the liquor store was a rather quick one, he picked up two 24 packs of beer, not even really caring for the brand as he flashed his ID, paid for the items and then he left. Putting the drinks in the passenger side before heading to the designated party house. His heart was racing. Hopefully the stars aligned for him tonight. With the help of some sweet old roofies.

To his surprise a decent amount of people were there, quite a few cars parked outside the giant house. Maybe it was Jeff’s, he couldn’t tell. It’s not like he went to his place often enough anyways. Exiting his truck as he carried both packs of beer, with a silly grin on his face as he walked up the drive in, someone running up beside him as he walked. Cocking his head to the side only to be met with good old Knoxville, who greeted him.

“Hey, party boy.. you brought drinks!”

He said enthusiastically, once they were inside, Knoxville ripped open one of the boxes Pontius was holding and he snagged himself a beer without question. It was the key to his heart. Even if the beer wasn’t exactly for him. Then again, that didn’t matter as long as his pills were safe, which they were. He hoped Y/N showed up, his whole night counted on it. If it didn’t he’d probably go home and cry. Pontius’s smile turned into a frown as he headed into the kitchen. Setting down both sets of 24 packs, fetching himself a beer too. Though, he wanted to stay as sober as possible so he could marinate in the experience.

Opening his own beer can as he stayed in the kitchen, just sipping on it for a while. He didn’t know how much time had passed until some strangers started flooding in, which he talked to for a moment until he peeled away to find someone he knew. He ended up finding a few of the guys, Tremaine, Preston, and Spike. Who he happily chatted to, until Y/N had come on over, he practically jumped when he seen you, a huge grin plastered on his face as he wrapped his arms on around you into a rather tight embrace.

“Hey Chris-“

You spoke. Being cut off by the sudden embrace, you just smiled and laughed. He probably already drank a decent amount, you liked hanging out with him though. Honestly, you weren’t even sure you were gonna go, mostly because of how big the party was gonna be and you could always drink at home. At least Chris was here, and you could always sneak off with him later.

“You’ve already had a lot to drink, haven’t you?”

You asked, purely out of curiosity as you pulled away from his embrace, eyeing the can of beer. And Chris’s brain just sorta short circuited for a moment as he quietly nodded. Even if this was his first beer, and he barely drank half of it. He was that careful. One was good enough to keep the edge off. He was playing it safe after all.

“Not enough, want me to fetch you a beer?”

He asked you, finishing off the rest that was in his own real quick. Before pulling it away from his lips and setting it down on some random countertop. He looked at you real carefully for a moment, and that focused look made your brows twist. Shaking off that random unnerving feeling that crept up your spine as you agreed.

“Yeah, okay. I might as well.”

You mumbled, even though for a moment you thought if you listened hard enough you could hear your mind screaming at you not to. But you shrugged that off too, just all that stress from the media and everything else getting to you. Just needed to relax a bit, and the beer would

Certainly do that for you. Also a bit of chatting with Chris always made your days a bit better. And you were glad that for once everyone was in the same

place, maybe you’d even go find Bam later. You’ve been wanting him to introduce you to his brother since you’ve really been starting to take a liking to CKY. The music was really good, maybe you were just delusional, though. Who knows.

Once you gave him the go ahead (he was gonna get you a drink anyways regardless) he parted ways from you briefly. Even though that was the utmost last thing that he wanted to do, he wanted to be as close as possible to you, but he’d have to wait. He couldn’t mess that up.

He smiled at you, it was sharp. Actually; everything about Chris was sharp right now, all of his features, all crooked and seemed sharp enough to stab you. It was different. That was different, his boyish shine was nowhere to be found, and you’ve never felt so terrified before. Maybe you were just being paranoid, it’s okay. Chris was always fine, now wouldn’t be any different.

Chris slipped back into the kitchen, leaving you with that uneasy feeling in your gut. He thought about the drink of choice, and he went for some sort of hard beverage, to of course enhance the experience. Pouring the strong liquid into the cup, and mixing it with some sort of soda. He left the solo cup on the counter as he felt around his pants pockets until he pulled out that baggy he had achieved earlier that day. Or maybe it was yesterday, he couldn’t exactly remember. Crushing the pills up in the bag until it was a fine powder, before he opened the baggy and shook all the powder out into the drink. Making sure he got every grain out before discarding the baggy in his back pocket. He stuck his index finger into the drink, swirling around the powder in it until it dissolved enough for him to be satisfied. Once he was done he picked back up the drink and left the kitchen, trotting back over to Y/N like an obedient dog. But he was anything but that, he was one bad dog tonight.

While he was gone you just stood there, debating leaving or not, but you decided you didn’t want to be an asshole for no reason. So you waited, defying your mind and soul. And then Chris was back before you knew it, with a solo cup of some sort of liquid. Your brows furrowed to one of confusion as you looked into his brown eyes, one’s that lacked that usual warmness. There wasn’t a sparkle in them,

“That’s not beer, is it?”

You asked. The look he had on his face was weird, as if he forgot how to control his face. Like he was making it up on the spot, and when he replied he stumbled over his words a bit. Making it all up on the spot as he held the drink forward, shaking it a bit to bring your attention to it. So you would take it.

“No,, there wasn’t any that I could see, but this stuffs better, trust me.”

Assuring you, well, pleading with you to take it. Like if you didn’t he might die. Fabricating a story and throwing in a few white lies, there was obviously beer. You knew it too, hell, you seen the beer in the kitchen when you were in there. But you ignored that sign again, of course you did. Caving in and taking that drink from him. He watched you take a long swig of the drink, it tasted bitter, but that could be because it was one of your first drinks, it was probably nothing.

“Good,, right?”

He says rather nervously as he watches you take your first sip, you weren’t so sure on how to react so you just give him a nod and a slight smile. A nervous one that was rather forced when you pull the brim of the solo cup away from your lips. You shake away that feeling again and decide fuck it, you’re at a party, your friends party. And nothing will happen to you because of that, so you start drinking more of the drink and Chris starts to loosen up a bit and converse a bit more. Before you knew it almost all of the drink was gone and your body was starting to sway.

And then you felt a rather firm hand grab onto your waist, supporting most of you as you leaned into it. Turning your head to the side to see whoever was grabbing you. Your head feeling all fuzzy, and your vision getting blurry. It was Johnny, you could tell by his shades, and you could see the concerned look on his face,

“You alright, Y/N?”

And Chris intervenes, knocking his hand against Johnny's wrist rather sharply, pushing him away. He traded Johnny's hand on your waist with his own as he interjected.

“She’s fine, don’t touch her PJ.”

You opened your mouth to say something as you turned your head to meet Chris. You were barely able to do that, moving your head was a whole lot harder than it was moments ago. No word came out of your mouth, just a glob of drool. And before you knew it your vision was fading. The last thing you heard was Johnny's muffled voice, you weren't able to make out the words as your vision faded to black.

“What the fuck did you do to her?!”

Chris caught your very limp body as you started to fall, switching from the way he held you to bridal style. Shooting Johnny sharp daggers as he growled at him in a way that could only be described as animalistic.

“You don’t understand, man, I fucking need this.”

He was no better than a dog, Johnny could hear the low guttural growl fall from his mouth. He said nothing, Johnny smiled at him through his dark shades. Putting his hands up in defense,

“Alright, alright. No need ta go all feral on me,, but, man.. She’s fuckin’ hot, ya gotta lemme fuck her”

Johnny's accent was strong, eyeing Y/Ns passed out corpse. The same way Chris did, with the utmost desire.

“Fuckkk… her tits are wonderful.”

Chris actually laughed at that, but frowned at the idea of having to share Y/N with him. Furrowing his brows as he replied, he sounded off. Not as warm as he usually was, his voice was all sharp like a cactus.

“Only if you keep your mouth shut about this, PJ. I’ll slice your neck if you tell a soul.”

Something told Johnny that he wasn’t lying, he swallowed hard and nodded his head obediently. Honestly, he wouldn’t complain. Not a soul, this would just be a fond memory to look back upon. He understood the assignment.

“Yessir, you’ve got it.”

With another firm nod from Johnny, he followed Pontius whom started to walk rather quickly. And then he went up a flight of stairs, disappearing into a bedroom that wasn’t his. PJ shut the door right behind them, making sure to lock the door real well. This is where the fun started.

Pontius threw your limp body onto the bed, it was like you were a doll. An unconscious doll, anybody would think you were dead if it wasn’t for the fact you had a pulse. You must’ve done something really bad to end up here, perhaps this was all of life’s karma adding up to conspire against you.

Chris smiled to himself, letting out a soft exhale as he watched you from the foot of the bed, Knoxville somewhere behind him already pulling down his jeans and boxers to his mid thighs.

Your “best friend” did the same. Pulling down his loved cameo shorts in one swift tug before he palmed himself through his striped boxers, something of a blue-green color. Already developing himself an erection. He rubbed his calloused palm against his clothed dick until his semi became a full on hard on. He let out a sharp groan. He decided to spoil himself, pulling his hand away and pulling down his boxers. Letting a small clothing collection build at his feet, and then pulling off his shirt. This is one of those things in life that you do completely naked.

When he was done stripping, he decided he didn’t need a condom. He needed the full experience of you, and no protection involved, because getting you pregnant was just a plus to him. He got closer to the bed before just climbing on top of it, mumbling something about Johnny waiting his turn as Chris got onto his knees. Sinking them into the bed as he watched you hard. You didn’t move, but he watched your chest rise and fall. Your clothed chest. You were wearing such a pretty dress. He’d try his best to not ruin it too much, but Chris could make no promises.

Chris had already gone far enough, and why waste an opportunity like this with a condom? This could be his only time and it would definitely just get in the way, so he didn’t bother. Of course he didn’t bother, even if he had a condom in the pockets of his shorts. Screw protection. He wanted to share liquids with you.

He could gawk at you forever, but time was limited. This wasn’t his place, and he didn’t know when his potion of “love juice” would wear off. Plus, he wanted to enjoy you as long as he could. And he feels like he would just explode if he didn’t get to touch you, so he did.

Pressing both of his hands against your thighs. Running them up and down your smoothed legs, going as far as to your skirt, and then back down again. His heart jumped every time he neared the hem of it, it was a very short skirt anyways. He wondered if you did that on purpose, so all the guys would stare at you. That thought made him jealous. It really bothered him.

And then he stopped abruptly. Johnny had stepped closer from where he was in the corner of the room. He had his hand pressed against his clothed dick in his dickies. Rubbing himself as he watched you and Chris through his dark shades, like the pervert he is.

Chris couldn’t contain himself any longer, the longer he postponed this the less time he would have with your luscious body- and he wanted to enjoy it thoroughly. And he would.

His dick was pressed into the sheets, his tip an agitated almost purplish color as he ruined the sheets with his precum. Leaving a wet stain on the almost pristine bed set. He was antsy, and eager. A dog losing its patience when waiting for a treat, he’d take his treat now thank you very much.

Finally taking his hands off your legs he had been caressing ever so sweetly, his hands ghosted the edge of your skirt. Stopping for just a moment, before he resumed and grabbed onto the small piece of fabric, flipping your skirt up. He wouldn’t take it off; at least not yet.

His breathing hitched for a moment as he gazed at your lacy underwear, the colors complimented your skin perfectly. He wondered if you wore them for him, and the idea that you might’ve made his heart flutter, he couldn’t take them off either. Not something so pretty. He could work around them too, probably.

Chris couldn’t wait much longer, well, he wasn’t gonna wait any longer. The clock was ticking. Johnny was getting rather fidgety back there, and well, he couldn’t have tonight gone wrong. He’s already waited a lifetime, how much more should he have to go through to have you? He deserved this. He deserved you, all of you. And you were gonna know that by the time he was done with you.

Inching himself closer to your smaller frame, he was between your legs and was probably barely an inch away from your groin. His right hand was pressed into your inner thigh, sliding upwards until his fingers could drag against the borders of your precious lingerie. Which definitely wasn’t what it was.

Grabbing onto your underwear, he pulled it to the side so he could reveal your pussy to himself. And for that moment he held his breath. His head hung low, and the anticipation was killing him. It felt like a dream, but it wasn’t. He knew it wasn’t. It was a dream come true. This was officially the best day of his life. He boasted to himself mentally. He wondered if Knoxville would think he was crazy if he said that out loud? Deciding he didn’t care. It didn’t matter. Knoxville should be happy that he’s allowed to even watch,, maybe even touch you if he’s good. But maybe not.. Why should Johnny be allowed to touch you when he’s barely gotten to touch you himself?

Chris knocked the thoughts of Knoxville out of his head, he wasn’t fucking Johnny. He was fucking you. The once in a lifetime opportunity that he was wasting to instead think. Yeah, he’d pass on that

His left hand wrapped firmly around his rock solid cock, as he pressed his tip against your entrance. As if your body knew, you were already wet for him. He could feel it. It sent chills down him as he wished he could bask in it longer, but he couldn’t. His manhood couldn’t take it.

Rubbing his tip up and down your folds, just testing the water works. It felt heavenly, he let out a groan and he shut his eyes. Embracing the feeling just for a moment. That is all he needed and then he was ready to go at it.

Sliding his dick down until he was pressed against your opening, he slowly pushed himself in. Using his hand as guidance since your unconscious body couldn’t.

It wasn’t easy, no, not one bit. Your body was rejecting him, and that beyond thrilled him. Feeling the tightness of your cunt only fueled him more. Getting antsy, and lacking any sort of humanity, he thrusted forward. Even though he was probably less than a quarter way in. He let go of his dick, and your underwear. Putting his hands somewhere else instead.

He reached them forward, his dick still inside of you as he instead grabbed onto your boobs. Your clothed boobs, still wearing that dress. And as he did so he pushed himself (almost) all the way inside of you. His body was all tense when he did.

“…Jeezus baby..”

He breathed out, as if you could hear him. It fell onto deaf ears as he waited a second, just staring down at you. You almost looked peaceful, except the crinkle in your brow. But peaceful to him. And he was gonna wreck it, claim your humanity, and mark you as his.

Chris slid back out almost all of the way before sliding back in rather roughly, his breathing hitching as his grip on your chest tightened.

“Fuck, you’re so tight.. so tight for me.”

His voice was husky, deep. And even Knoxville was on his heels listening. He was pretty sure by now Knoxville was so close that his knees were touching the back of the bed. He wasn’t checking, his eyes were all on you.

Slowly starting to rock himself back and forth until he got some sort of pace, and he did. Biting down on his bottom lip. His whole body was clammy. And by now he was more so gripping onto the top of your dress than he was your breasts. Just because it was easier to grab.

Pontius could only be satisfied with a slow pace for so long, and the fact he didn’t have anyone complaining to him about speed.. or his fucking gigantic dick was nice. And for once he preferred the quiet. But he’d be lying if he didn’t say that he wanted to hear your moans. He did. Maybe next time he could.

He had to work with what he got, and his time was draining quickly. So, he picked up the pace for the sake of him and his painful boner. His thrusts started to quicken into targeted thrusts. Slamming into your cervix every time. His breathing starting to get heavy with every thrust, he was like some horn dog desperate for its next climax. And he was. The excitement of being inside of you was unreal. All of his dreams were coming to fruition.

The longer strands of his short hair falling forward and into his face, but that didn’t seem to bother him. Or slow him down. He didn’t need to see to get the job down; and it didn’t dull the experience either. This has already been memorable and he wasn’t even done yet.

Grabbing fist fulls of the top of your dress, pulling you up slightly as his grip had tightened. Thrusting forward like his life depended on it, his hips staggered as he let out a groan, cumming inside of you,

“..Take it all baby.. shiiit.. take it all.”

He breathed out as he thrusted forward one final time, deep inside of you as he emptied himself completely. Painting your insides with white.

Chris squeezed his eyes shut as he stayed still. He wanted nothing more than for this to be an everyday thing. To be with you until the end of time,, and so he was a little careless. Of course he was. And the worst thing he could do right now was cum inside of you. But he never said he was smart, and he never said that this wasn’t his plan all along. He in fact wanted nothing more than to come inside of you. To make you his, to have a child with you. Even if he had to do this again, make history repeat itself. He’d do whatever he had to do.

Pontius didn’t wanna move but he knew he had to. What made that certain is he thought he felt you move. And that spooked him, as he opened his eyes he heard Johnny speak,

“Hey, party boy. Think she’s waking up, let’s go.”

And then he felt a hand on his shoulder, it was cold. It was Johnny, and he was right. Even if he didn’t want him to be. Chris slowly pulled out, with more careful consideration than he had earlier. Wiping his dick off on your dress. Before he got off the bed and turned to face Knoxville.

Johnny was completely clothed, and he had Chris’s clothes in his hands now. He couldn’t tell what Johnny was thinking either, the glasses covered his eyes. Bastard had a weird habit of wearing sunglasses inside, and his facial expression was unreadable otherwise. Johnny handed his clothes back over to Chris.

“I’m heading out, I’ll see you later Pontius.”

Johnny stated, a slight smirk noticeable on his face before he turned away from him and headed to the door they came in from initially. He had some sort of small camera in his hands that he tried his best to hide. But Chris didn’t say anything, favoring it to be nothing instead. Knoxville opened the door and headed downstairs lord knows where.

Chris nodded his head, frowning slightly as he got dressed. His eyebrows furrowed as he took one glance back at your stirring form, before he turned away and left the bedroom as well. Disappearing down stairs into the party. Becoming one with the other forms downstairs. Leaving you to your own demise. After all, it was the least he could do.

It had been terrible, truly. Your night has been terrible. You woke up with a foggy head not really remembering the night that had happened, and it took you a long moment to come to reality. Your body was sore, unbelievably sore. And your crotch had hurt even more. It was like an excruciating pain. And when you really looked around the room you realized you didn’t know where you were, but you were alone. And that you have been violated. You felt liquid inside of you, jizz dripping down your leg and you cringed. But you had to get up and get out of here, so you did.

Somehow managing to try and fix yourself and get downstairs. Most of the party was gone, still you avoided everyone you saw because you looked absolutely terrible and the last thing you needed was someone seeing this. Seeing you like this.

You exited the “party” going straight to your car and entering it. Sitting in the driver's seat. You leaned back, mumbling a bunch of profanity. This couldn’t be happening to you, could it? Trying to clear your head enough to think of what to do now. And once you had a solid plan you drove off. Driving home because thankfully you had everything you needed there. Well, not everything. But being at home now would really make you feel a whole lot better.

When you got home you went straight to the bathroom, digging around in all the cabinets until you found what you were looking for. By now you were barefoot, ditching your heels as you had walked to the bathroom. You pulled a pregnancy test out of one of the cabinets. Standing in front of the toilet as you managed to pee on the test, even though it hurt. And for the moment this was about the only thing you thought about. The only thing right now you could do. Bringing the test with you as you waited for the results, praying to god for a negative as you exited the bathroom and went to the living room.

Setting down the test on the coffee table because you couldn’t care less about the sanitation, you punched in the numbers to the only person you thought you could call, picking up the phone as it rang. Hoping to god your publicist would answer. And they did. Thank fucking god.

“Y/N?”

He said, his voice sounded funny but you chalked it up to it being early. It was the early hours of the morning.

“Hey.. I have a problem.”

You said, your voice quieter than intended. Taking a nervous glance at the test. Your eyes widening when you seen two lines on it,

“Shit… fuck! It's positive.”

“What’s a positive??? You’re pregnant, aren’t you.”

“Yeah.. fuck. Shit.”

“It’s fine, don’t worry. It’s fine.. who were you with?”

“I.. Chris..? Last night,, but..”

You froze. As all the pieces started to click in place, shit. He really did this to you? Your best friend? Of course. This couldn’t be happening to you. You hung up on him rather quickly. Sitting down on the couch, absolutely devastated. You were fucked, this was career suicide. And you didn’t even want this to happen, you didn’t even know.

You didn’t know how long it had been when your phone went off, you spent the past probably about an hour on the couch nervous brainstorming all the possibilities, and then probably another thirty pacing back and forth. And then you were on the couch again when your landline went off. You stopped what you were “doing” and you picked up the phone instantly on the second ring, and it was some person who worked at TMZ asking about your pregnancy?? And talking about details no one knew. You freaked, not even getting any words out before you hung up and called back up your publicist,

“The tabloids are already on it?? What the hell do I do???”

“Don’t even worry about it, no publicity is bad publicity, Y/N. This will be good for your career, after all the fans have been hinting at you and Chris for months. It's about time you made it official to the world.”

Your face fell as you heard a knock on your door, and a very familiar chipper voice boasting about some news article of you and him, and rambling about the fact that they were calling you a slut, and he thought otherwise. And that he couldn’t wait to be a dad, and that you would come around. Whoever said Jackass was a good idea should kill themself.

It wouldn’t be long until the footage was released, Knoxville was an excellent camera man.

[philipjohnclapp]

Do you have any requests for Pontius or is there anyway I can send a couple in? My man doesn’t get enough love and it’s almost sickening 😩🫶🏼

Send them on in! I always want more, whatever itches my brain just right will be written!! (Well, I’ll get to them all but there’s a time and place)

[philipjohnclapp]

One of you guys roleplay Jackass with me, if you want to use an oc sure, but I prefer canon. Pretty please!! Dm me or something!!! I can roleplay anything, I’m pretty damn literate (a lot of words) I’ve got ideas, I’m not afraid of anything no matter how fucked up- and I can write some bitching smut.

[philipjohnclapp]

Drop a request, I’m feeling frisky.

You can request AS MUCH AS YOU WANT IDC

(Check my pinned for what I’ll write for and if it isn’t there just request for whatever anyways, I’ll write anything no matter how immoral. Nothing is off limits REMEMBER THAT. Also stop asking if requests r open THEYLL be open forever no matter how old this post is.)

[philipjohnclapp]

Rigged Game of Ping Pong

Goretober Day: 3

Prompt: Bullet Wounds

Word Count: 602

A/N: This is Bam Margera from Jackass forever and it is a Drabble, I know I dont quite follow the rules, but I come up with ideas as I go, so, suck it.

He wanted to one up Knoxville, he always did. After all he started this whole Jackass thing, he should be the main guy. He fucking deserved it, all of it. And now that he wasn’t even a part of the whole “clique” he had to do something to get the gaze back on him. To get his TMZ articles, to get his name. And that was one upping Johnny, doing something far more gnarly, beating him and his stupid gun trick.

Bam got his dumb gun license for this stunt, picking up an awfully powerful gun. One that trumps Johnny's puny girl gun by a long shot. Only the best. He wasn’t a puss. He’d do a closer range, he’s got the balls that Johnny lacks. Fucking pussy.

Dunn was gone so he couldn’t film his dumb shenanigans, he had no team to film him, and no family either. So, he was on his own. Bam had his phone connected to a tripod. Right in the back of Castle Bam. He was standing on some pathway. Unlike Johnny he didn’t have one of those “safety vests”, well, you know. One of those bullet proof vests. He was lacking one. It wasn’t like he didn’t have the funds, it was just to look better. How much better could suicide look?

Bam was swinging the gun around in his right hand as he looked at his phone camera, nothing but a slight smirk on his face. He didn’t have zero protection, he had one of those life jackets that you’d wear on a boat. Which was nothing, but he thought it would add a nice touch; and it did.

“Hello, I’m Bam Margera, and this is the REAL safety test. Fuck you Knoxville.”

Bam boasted, giving the camera a fierce glare. He had all the confidence in the world, what could go wrong? Nothing. Absolutely nothing. It is funny to say that he was as sober as he could be too.

After his introduction he adjusted his feet, and he stopped swinging around his gun. After all, it was really dangerous. As a joke he pointed the gun at a camera and made a pew noise, before he pointed it at himself. Aiming a bit higher on his chest as best as he could. The gun already cocked and loaded as he squeezed the trigger.

His ears ring like church bells and it felt like he was kicked right in the chest. The gun flying out of his hands, landing more than ten feet away. Bam stumbled backwards, and then he tripped. Falling straight onto his ass.

And the dumb vest did as much as you would expect, nothing at all. The bullet went through it like ease, like a knife and some cheese. It was too easy. And it didn’t stop there, in fact it plunged straight into his chest.

Shattering where the clavicles met the Manubrium, and shattering the manubrium into thousands of micro pieces at impact. Blood spewing right out like a hose, his skin peeling, and chunks of muscle torn from the close shot. It was excruciating, and inoperable. Nobody could fix that, the shards of bone were ricocheting anywhere internally it could, like micro knives stabbing everything. Like a rigged game of ping pong. Scoring every. damn. time.

Bam Margera yelled out in pain, squeezing his eyes shut as if that would help him. The camera continued to roll, capturing all of that. His hands shooting up as he clawed at his chest. Begging for help even though nobody was there. And certainly nobody would be coming for him.

[philipjohnclapp]

Cheap cologne, even cheaper cigarettes, and Tennessee whiskey.

Goretober Day 2

Prompt: Strangulation/Choking

Word Count: 1317

A/N: This beats yesterdays, I hope y’all like it. It’s a bit rushed, but, you know. I’m also filling a request with this too- a win-win for me.

Drinking was always fun, especially when it was with Knoxville. Or just with Knoxville, when his eyes were just on Steve-O, and Steve-O alone. Away from the eyes of everybody else. This was the only time he could shut down his attention whore antics; well, not completely. Just for everyone else, but he always wanted Knoxville's attention. Whether that was requited or not, he fed off it like a tic on a dog.

It was another one of those times, one of his favorites. Just Knoxville in him locked in the bathroom of some frat house. The bathroom was trashed and Knoxville was leaning his back against one of the tiled walls. Steve-O was hovering in front of the sink, he had just done a line; well, Knoxville did too. And Knoxville watched him with an amused look as he watched through the mirror's reflection, watching the light blood trail from Steve-O's nose. Watching his nose scrunch up, as he wiped the blood with the pad of his thumb. Staying there for a moment before he had turned to face Knoxville.

“Fuckkk, dude.. that shits strong.”

Steve-O rasped, finding himself leaning his back against the brim of the sink, as if he could barely keep up and needed something to hold him. His hands ghosted the edge of the sink. Perhaps to hold onto it. Feeling like he was starting to lose all mobility in his waist down, his head all fuzzy from his mixed substances. He wished he could see Johnny's eyes right about now, and not just that taunting, amused, smirk.

“I got only the best for ya, doll.”

It wasn’t a complete lie. He didn't do blow often, but when he did, he REALLY did it. Plus, it felt like a time of celebration. Why not celebrate in a locked bathroom with a bony chick with the only feminine feature about him being his chicken legs, and maybe his Angelina Jolie lips. Otherwise he was about as masculine as they come, no chick has a dick, but Steve-O's barely counted anyways.

Steve-O started to wobble on over to Knoxville, tripping over his feet as he did. Knoxville grasping onto both of his arms, helping to keep him standing. Steve-O just looked at him with dazed eyes, and he laughed. Even though his cheeks tinted with a light shade of red, slightly embarrassed.

“Sorry, dude.. but fuck, thank you so much.”

He hummed, not even backing away from the arms that held him, it was probably the only thing keeping him upright now. His body swayed forward as he got a nice whiff of Knoxville. His cheap cologne, and even cheaper cigarettes. Fucking Tennessee whiskey, he found himself taking a deep inhale. It made his head spin.

“You know…”

Knoxville started, if he didn’t have his shades on Steve-O would be able to see that weird look in his eyes, his stomach flipped at the thought of it. Bringing his head up slightly as if to try and look into his eyes, see past the too dark shades. And maybe even predict his next words,

“Hm?”

Steve-O enlightened him, even the hm sounded slightly slurred. Couldn’t even get that right. His head felt like it was weighing him right back down, so he stopped trying to look up and he looked straight back down at his worn sneakers. Toe and toe with Knoxvilles.

“You could pay me back with a kiss, O.”

His voice sounded too cool, too serious to be a joke. That made Steve-O's nose scrunch. To make it even worse, Knoxville changed the placement of his hands from grasping onto Steve-O's arms, to his waist instead, hulling his ass up pretty much.

He laughed again, a rather nervous one. Unsure how to go about it. It felt wrong, it was wrong, but when did he ever do something right? Nobody was here, and nobody would be there. It wouldn’t hurt to indulge in something. Fill that deep desire that was starting to make itself a home in his gut, so he agreed. Like a sorry fool; nobody could resist Knoxville's charms. Not even Steve-O apparently.

“If you insist.”

As the coke started to kick in, he found himself with the balls to go through with it. Barely managing to lift up his head enough to almost be at levels with Knoxvilles. Kissing the edge of his mouth, cause that’s all he could reach from how he was standing.

Johnny pulled him closer. It surprised him, it made his heart skip a couple beats. His face was flushing. He was now chest and chest with Knoxville. Johnny tilting down his head enough to where they could kiss, Johnny pushing his fingers down onto his hips. Digging them into his bones until it started to burn, and he squealed. Which was muffled by Johnny suddenly pressing his lips completely against Steve-Os. Steve-O deepened it rather desperately.

Johnny's tongue flickered out and he licked Steve-O's bottom lip, before pulling away and somehow managing to flip them around. To where Steve-O's back was now pressed hard against the bathrooms tiled walls. Johnny spoke in a husky voice, it was low and made shivers run down Steve-O's spine as he leaned his head back against the tile. Looking at him with eyes of want, his stomach started to burn with desire, even though the pain of Johnny's grip was there. Even though Johnny was a guy and he shouldn’t be turned on by this.

“Yer a fuckin’ needy whore, Stephen.”

He growled, if his grip could get any tighter, it did. He was gonna have Knoxville shaped bruises tomorrow, he let out a whine as Johnny spoke, rubbing his groin against whatever part of Knoxville was closer. Desperate. He wasn’t even sure what for.

And then Johnny suddenly let go of his waist, only one hand did, but still. It was his right hand. He wrapped it before Steve-O could say a word around his neck. Pressing about as hard as he did on his waist. Hard enough to leave his vision all splotchy, to prevent any word from falling from his now agape mouth. Not even a needy noise.

Johnny pressed his groin against Steve-Os, he could feel Johnny's semi through his jeans. If Johnny wasn’t cutting off his oxygen he’d be on his knees right now. If his bones weren’t all mush he’d have his dick in his mouth.

Knoxville pressed his lips against Steve-Os mouth, kissing him rough and hard. Dragging his teeth against his lip and biting at it. He was sure that his lips were chapped and starting to bleed now. But Johnny licked whatever blood came from his lips without a word. With each kiss, Johnny's hand tightened around his throat, his vision was starting to tunnel as he started to grind himself against Johnny like the dirty dog he was. Trying to let out a moan that wouldn’t escape.

Steve-O's heart starting to race with worry, like the fight or flight was starting to kick in. His hands shooting up to grasp onto Johnny's arm. Subconsciously digging his nails into it. It felt like his eyes were about to bulge straight out of his head. Like they would explode like water balloons. He was leaving deep crescent moons into Johnnys arm. Steve-O had tears coming from his eyes as his head started to lull forward, he could barely keep his eyes open now. They were so close to shutting, and then Johnny adjusted his grip, and it felt like his head would pop off like in a cartoon. His face flushed a deep shade of purplish red as he slipped into a blissed out unconsciousness, coming in his slacks.

The last thing he heard was Johnny letting out a low moan, one he hoped to remember when he woke up. He needed to do cocaine with Johnny Knoxville more often.

[philipjohnclapp]

If you’re gonna be dumb, you gotta be tough

Goretober Day 1

Prompt: Stab Wounds

Word Count: 748

A/N: This is REALLY bad, I wrote it rather quickly (like ten minutes) and I haven’t written anything in a while, so, read at your own risk.

It was just another day on set. They finished up whatever stunts they were filming for the day, and went straight to the bar. Somewhere he spent the majority of his time, usually trying to get free drinks. Because he couldn’t pay the five bucks for a drink, but a free five dollar drink and an ego boost is so much more worth it, so, Steve-O decided to show off.

And show off he did. Sitting on one of those dumb spiny barstools with a cocky shit eating, yellow, grin on his face. Looking at the customer next to him who was showing off his cool “butterfly” knife to whatever chick was on his opposite side. And that’s when an idea came to his mind, a way to snag a drink, a way to get everyone’s attention. So, he got the knife holder's attention.

“Hey, dude, bet you a drink I can balance the tip of that knife on my nose.”

Steve-O found himself boasting, as he turned on his chair to face the man. Something he’s done quite a few times, he’d say he perfected it by now. The man looked at him with curious eyes, looking away from the fair lady, and giving his gaze to Steve-O instead,

“Oh yeah? I’d like to see you try.”

The man let out a rather amused laugh. Handing over the pretty purple knife to Steve-O. He took it earnestly, ready to get himself a free drink. Hopefully a real strong one too.

Steve-O flipped open the knife, and eyed the pristinely sharp blade. Tilting his head back and letting out a just as sharp exhale as he put the blade tip against the tip of his nose. Somehow getting it to start to balance. His head shifted to the side a bit to keep it still; as still as he could anyways.

And then something he really didn’t expect to happen, happened. Knoxville put a rough hand on his shoulder, shaking him completely. Taking him by absolute surprise as his head lulled forward and the knife slipped, slicing the edge of his nose and starting to fall. His head jerked suddenly as he let out a whiny groan in pain, panicking and trying to catch the knife with his hands. Instead he full heartedly grabbed the knife by the blade with his left hand, slicing open all his digits. It felt like molten lava. While he tried to switch the knife from his left to the right he managed to stab himself right in his right palm, all the way through it in a rather clean plunge. Steve-O's eyes started to water.

“What the fuck, man??!”

The knife's owner on the stool next to him yelled at Steve-O, a look of disgust and anger was present on his face as he stood up, pushing Steve-O hard. Kicking him right when he was at his lowest, absolutely pissed.

“Fuck.. holy fucking shit, O!”

Knoxville yelled out as he took his hand straight off the others shoulder, looking at him with absolute horror, and major disbelief. Like he couldn’t just believe what he saw, Steve-O was trembling as he grabbed onto the counter with his left and right hand trying not to fall off the stool from the shove. Lodging the knife even further through his palm, severing more muscle and bone and important tendons and veins. He let out a sharp cry. As he stood up. Mumbling a few curses, as he tried to grab onto the guy he was trying to impress earlier with his rather bloodied hands. One had a fucking knife through it.

His breathing was all labored as he ruined the man’s white button up. Clenching onto it like he was the next coming of Christ, absolutely pleading with him, like a child pleading not to go to school. Pleading for help, pleading for just about anything right now. Steve-Os ears rung, and that man’s look of anger changed to one of surprise. And then disgust once more. Shoving Steve-O right off him, and spitting in his face.

“Yer fucking scum!”

His voice slurred slightly as Steve-O fell down, hitting against the bar stool behind him as he got knocked to the floor. In absolutely agonizing pain. He watched as the blood pooled from his nose, and both hands. Looking down at his now ruined shirt, and then back down at Steve-O. Giving him one more final vengeful kick, before he averted his gaze to Knoxville.