Risky Business: Chapter 1
When work and play overlap, it's hard to keep your infatuation with your castmate a secret.
Johnny Knoxville x Reader, Fem Y/N, Minors DNI!!!
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It's hard enough to tell a first date that you’re a writer, but telling them you’re a comedy writer and you might as well just get yourself off of that barstool and head home. To be frank, trying to create a successful career in the entertainment business is almost impossible if you weren’t born rich enough to survive the bottom of the barrel paychecks or fortunate enough to have your daddy give you the writer’s seat on SNL. The same apartment you bought seven years ago barely fits you and your four pieces of furniture, and you’ve received more rejected stories back from publications than it feels like you’ve sent out. And the rent? Let’s just say it's the reason you’ve been eating cup-o-ramen and microwave family dinners since you moved out to LA at 18.
But still, in those moments where it all seems like it isn’t worth it, it hurts your heart to let down that hopeful little girl you used to be. The kid who would sit her parents down by the couch and read the first fairytales she wrote. The teen who found confidence in making a fool of herself on stage with her theatre friends. The young adult who still stands here now, spending hours polishing her “breakout pieces” to fulfill her desires of one day returning to her hometown as a success.
It’s times like these where your friends are crucial to surviving career slumps - especially when those friends have connections that you can never seem to get any use from. An out of the blue call from your friend Ally led to Monday lunch at your favorite sandwich place. She was an old friend from high school whose attendance at USC as a film major made it easy for you two to keep in touch. In Ally’s case, she was lucky to be born rich enough to attend a prestigious school, which landed her right where she wanted (and right where you needed) to be.
“So,” Ally asked, “how’s your writing going?” You begin to play with your fries, lazily dipping them in your ketchup. “It’s…y’know,” you take a long pause, followed by an exasperated sigh. “Its a fucking mess, if you can believe it. I think my mom’s just waiting for me to call the home phone any minute now to ask if my dad’s cycling machine is still occupying my old room.”
Ally lets out a small chuckle. “Well, I didn’t call you just so we could make small talk for an hour.” She reaches down into her bag and pulls out a stack of papers. “This was given to my office from MTV. I think it’ll be right up your alley.”
You reach your hand out and grab the papers. Flipping lazily through it, you gather the idea that it's the opportunity to be a part of a full length feature comedy as a member of a modern day circus of torture. The name is recognizable: “Jackass,” you’ve heard it both channelsurfing on your couch Thursday nights and when bad drivers pass your window. The idea of legally signing to have your health be manipulated for entertainment leaves an uneasy feeling in your stomach: one that sets your creative heart ablaze.
“Now you should know the audition process is, well, unique,” Ally’s eyes nervously watch as your grin grows wider with each page turned. “They want you to demonstrate your capability to be reckless enough for their team,” she places her finger on the page, “some ideas including, ‘flinging yourself off of small surfaces or minorly puncturing your skin with various objects.”
“I can do ten times fucking better than that,” you finally take your gaze off of the page to meet Josie in the eyes, grabbing her face. “You’re a godsend.”
Ally giggles slightly. “Just promise me you’ll at least be smart about it.”
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The tape arrived three days later at the footsteps of Jeff Tremaine. Battling a headache from heavy drinking the night before leads himself to picking the package off of the doorstep and immediately throwing it on the couch at the chest of his sleeping partner in crime, Johnny Knoxville. “Tape, your duty to watch this time while I try not to kill myself,” Jeff groans, dragging himself to the kitchen.
Johnny wakes up squinting at the bright lights in the living room, still wearing yesterday’s clothes and the smell of last night’s brandy on his lips. Grunting as he moves his body off of the couch, he rips open the package and shoves the tape into the TV.
He’s beginning to flip through your resume you attached for a split second when his eyes catch the digital gaze of yours. The image displayed on the screen of the television is a grainier version of you in a pink and brown bikini in front of a locked community skate park. You chuck a bucket-worth of soapy water down a half pipe and slide head first down the curve, screaming and laughing like you’ve wanted to do this all of your life. Various cuts are shown of you trying to jump on rails and slipping around the park, your joy never faulting as you accumulate bruises and cuts from the sudsy concrete below. While it wasn’t the craziest stunt he and Jeff had come across, there was something about you that made Johnny want to throw every other submission in the garbage. The way your eyes lit up and your body moved had his mouth parted in both awe and intrigue. He’s shifting in his seat whenever you look up at the camera, doe-eyed and manic, and he might just fall over onto the carpet below when from the kitchen..
“Are you watching fucking porn right now?” Jeff shouts, peeking from the corner at Johnny.
Johnny, flustered and amused, shouts back, “I’m watching the tape you asked me to look at, idiot.”
Jeff rolls his eyes. “Just try to keep your drool from getting on my couch, okay?”
As Jeff turns to enter back into the kitchen, Johnny gets up from the couch and practically speed walks over to Jeff to hand him your resume. “She’s perfect for the show, I swear,” Johnny asserts.
“Fuck no Johnny, we’re not letting her in the movie just because you think she’s pretty.”
“Jeff I swear, she’s bubbly and insane. She’ll give the movie exactly what we’re looking for.”
Jeff glares at Johnny, practically shooting lasers out of his eyes.
“Jeff, please.”
Jeff sighs, grabbing his head with his hands. “Look, I’ll go watch the tape right now if you make me coffee, deal?”
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Five minutes later, coffee given and tape watched, Jeff decided to give you a shot at being in the movies. And twenty minutes after that, you hear your phone ring while you're taking your morning shower, practically running out of the room in your towel to pick up the call.
“Hello?”
“Hi, it's Johnny from MTV, is this the girl with the skate park audition?” The voice you hear catches you slightly off guard; it’s equal parts bright and sultry.
You laugh. “Yeah, that would be me.”
“Okay, perfect.” You hear him clearly, and catch the idea that he for some reason seems nervous. “Well, we would love to have you be a part of the crew if you’re still up for it.”
“Really?” You exclaim, having to stop yourself from screaming over the phone to this man you just met. “I would love to, thank you so much.”
“Don’t mention it, you -I mean your tape- was amazing, and, well, we need someone like you in the group.”
The compliment throws you off guard, but you try your best to keep it professional. “I’m flattered, thank you Johnny,” you say.
“So, I guess we’ll see you in three weeks when we start shooting?”
“Looking forward to it. See you then.”
“See you, y/n.”
The call ends, leaving you dancing around your apartment in your shower cap in sheer joy of being employed. But behind that feeling of utter pride at your step in the direction you’ve been waiting your whole life to get, you can’t help but hear in the back of your mind the way your name rolled so smoothly off of Johnny’s lips.