@sunalovely - Tumblr Blog

Jul 23

Head Over Feet

→ Pairing: Johnny Knoxville x Female! Reader

→ Summary: A third movie, this time in 3D, and two daughters to help cause havoc on set. Sometimes you're worried it'll be the last time they ever do this, but you know in your heart these boys will never stop. You don't think you want them to.

→ Word Count: 11k

→ Multi Chapter

Jackass 3D

<- prev.chapter

With your parents on yet another retirement cruise, they’d given you the keys to their villa in the valley to walk the dogs. They hadn’t meant for you to allow the cast and crew to set up to film a stunt for the brand new movie. But where better to film with a jet ski than surrounded by gorgeous landscape, with a free pool to use, and a hedge to attempt to jump over?

It wasn’t your idea, you had to admit, but Jeff had promised to pay for any damages before your parents got home, so you agreed.

And now you were in a toga. Or, rather, you were in a bedsheet styled like a toga, even though you weren’t going to be on camera. You stood in your normal space beside Jeff and his new 3D camera, entirely certain that the 3D technology was just going to make every stunt look even more gross. Johnny climbed onto the jet ski in the same blue suit he’d worn to your Las Vegas wedding five years ago, and Ryan, in his bedsheet toga, gripped the rope to keep it from taking off before you were ready.

The camera focused solely on the group of people standing on the sun-kissed white stone, all dressed in bedsheet togas, except for Chris Pontius, who had decided that for every stunt involving water, he had to dress as Bunny the Lifeguard. Even when you were teaching your daughters to swim, Chris had shown up as Bunny the Lifeguard and had derailed the entire experience by making them laugh too hard to concentrate.

Your eyes flicked to the ramp at the other end of the pool. Beyond the hedge, you’d helped the rest of the crew pad out the proposed landing spot, but it didn’t help with your swirling anxiety. Your husband was almost forty; any bad landing could seriously fuck him up.

They started rolling, and you were forced to keep your worries to yourself.

“Not many people knew us during our college days, but man we were wild,” Chris said to the camera, and the rest of the cast started giggling at his dramatic way of speaking. “I mean we were having wet t-shirt contests, bitchin’ summers, body shots… corn holing.” April and Phil were the only ones who didn’t laugh, most likely because they had never heard the term before. You glanced towards your husband, and he was already watching you over his prescription sunglasses, smirking. He winked, and you felt the heat careening through your body. You had to admit the more your husband aged, the hotter he got. Like whiskey. “And Johnny Knoxville, the King of Spring Break.”

Everyone started to chant toga over and over as Johnny revved up the jet ski.

“I’m Johnny Knoxville. This is the jet ski.”

Ryan let the rope drop, and the jet ski went flying, up the ramp and through the top of the hedge. There was a particularly loud thud as the jet ski finally landed, and you flinched, though Johnny’s laughter was even louder, even wilder than you were expecting. Usually, when his laughter grew that manic, you knew he’d hurt himself.

You followed the boys around the hedge, followed their whooping and their hollering, their cheers, their laughter, with the hollow sense of dread you’d gotten used to while filming. You fixed your backpack onto your shoulder and tried to keep your toga from falling off as you followed, the bedsheet tangling around your feet the faster you went. You finally reached the group to find Johnny crawling towards them. At least he could crawl, though he was wincing with every breath he took.

“You totally landed it,” Wee Man yelled.

“How far did I go?”

“You went pretty far, man.”

You stayed behind the camera the way you always did, just out of sight, just out of reach, until your husband gave you the go-ahead to patch him up. This time he didn’t, just stared at the hedge he fucked up by driving right through it.

“I was scared, man,” said Bam, wringing the toga in his hands. “I’ve seen a lot of crazy things during spring break, but that took the cake, man.”

“I didn’t exactly stick the fucking landing.”

“No, I think you did.”

As they all started cheering about him being the King of Spring Break, Johnny slowly pushed himself to his feet, wincing, huffing, clutching at his ribcage. You assumed he’d gone hurtling over the handles of the jet ski upon landing, hurting his stomach in the meantime, and he wasn’t as spry as he’d been back during the first movie. Though he was working out more. Ever since you’d had Kennedy, your second daughter, Johnny had started doing squats. And lifting. You were always so shocked by the lifting, and the way his arms were getting stronger.

“Let me look.”

You started unbuttoning Johnny’s shirt before he could stop you, though he never did. He was your perfect patient, and beyond that, he loved having your fingers trailing across his stomach, gently prodding to see if anything had broken.

“You should wear this more often,” Johnny teased, absentmindedly playing with the knot on your shoulder, knuckles grazing the bare skin underneath. It had gotten easier to ignore your friends around you, to pretend it was just you and Johnny in your tiny bubble as you checked the bruising around his ribcage and he dragged his fingers along the freckles on your shoulders. At first, you’d been too shy to even kiss Johnny on set. You’d gotten over that after eight years.

“It’s a bedsheet.”

“A sexy bedsheet.”

You giggled, already rebuttoning his shirt. It was just a bruise. He’d be a little winded, a little sore, but he’d be ultimately fine. You’d seen him go through much worse.

“Keep your paws to yourself, King of Spring Break.”

And Johnny started laughing too, loud and free, arm dropping to wrap around your waist and pull you close enough that he could hammer a hundred soft kisses against your temple, over and over, while you mulled around and rewatched the footage, and laughed with your friends. All of you wearing bedsheets as togas in your parents' villa. All of you pretending to be spring breakers despite getting ever closer to forty.

All of you back again and laughing for a third movie.

✗ ✗ ✗ ✗ ✗ ✗ ✗ ✗ ✗ ✗

The coffee in the office was far better than the stuff on set.

Here, in the Dickhouse Productions office building, they had real coffee machines, where you could pour a latte without having to pay for it, though they hadn’t quite upgraded to having syrups yet. You’d have to start leaving hints that you wanted access to vanilla lattes. On set, you could only get coffee from huge metal urns, and you had to add more creamer than usual just to mask the burnt bitterness of it.

It was one of the reasons you didn’t mind hanging around the office. Of course, you’d rather be out filming, watching their stupid stunts over and over as they aimed for the best shot and you had to keep patching them up. But you didn’t mind coming back to the office when the boys had to, mostly because of the coffee machines, but also because it was the only time you got to see Priya, Head of Development, who let you sit in her office to work in peace since you didn’t have an office of your own. For some reason, she was never victim to the boys’ pranks, yet she was probably the jumpiest person to work for Dickhouse. Everything scared her. Even you, when you accidentally placed the coffees down on her desk too heavily, and she jumped out of her chair.

She stared up at you, hand held to her chest like she could stop her heart from beating right out.

“Cappuccino?”

“Do you have to walk so quietly?”

“It’s a gift. Good for scaring my husband.” You sat on the other side of her desk, rolling your latte between your hands. You’d come straight here – by way of coffee machine – from the High Five prank that Johnny and Wee Man had set up on the other side of the office. It was basically just a giant hand that would send the recipient flying as soon as it hit them, and you were sure you’d hear the laughter even from here as they claimed their first victim.

“They’re doing that hand thing today,” you told her as you started setting up your laptop. It whirred to life, sounding like it had lived far too long. Johnny was always telling you to get a new one, and you were always refusing. You had everything on it.

“No!” Priya shuddered. “They’re totally doing it to Ehren.”

“For sure. They’re going to make him look dumb.”

You and Priya continued to gossip between every sip of coffee, and work without worrying about being randomly pranked halfway through. They were too focused on their big hand anyway; they’d probably forget the two of you were even in the building. You slowly worked through safety reports that had been gathering dust in your emails, ordered more supplies for you and Ed, and ignored the distant sound of screeching laughter from across the office. You recognised your husband’s laugh immediately, the taunting way it echoed down the hall. Even though you enjoyed the peace and quiet of Priya’s office, it did sound fun down there.

No doubt your husband would tell you all about it on the drive home.

You slammed your laptop shut with the sort of heavy sigh that hopefully conveyed just how incredibly exhausted you were with typing out the same stuff over, and over, and over. You needed more coffee, you needed lunch, and you were sick of looking at safety reports. It was always bulls with these damn movies, and bulls meant more safety regulations, and that meant longer reports.

“Are you hungry? I heard there was soup today. Do you want to go get some?”

“You know–” Priya started shutting down her computer. It always made the room warmer, you realised, after the couple of hours you’d spent in here with her. “–I didn’t even notice how hungry I was. I’d love soup.”

You both reached for your respective bags, talking about soup, slowly pottering around her office until you were both ready to leave. But you never got to reach the door, for merely seconds later, the horns that had been so carefully hidden inside of her office went off. Loud and unrelenting, screeching in your ears, making both of you scream from the suddenness of it all. You tried to block out the sound with your hands over your ears, but it bled through. You knew they’d been trying to figure out how to prank Priya for weeks, but you didn’t realise today was going to be the day.

Then you heard it. The laughter from outside of the office, so familiar from the very first giggle. Like the beat of your very own heart. And though you wanted to be mad at him for scaring you, too, how could you not love the sound of his laughter echoing around the office?

You found him in the hallway, on his knees and struggling to breathe through his laughter, clutching what you assumed was the detonator to set off all those horns. How did they even get them in there without Priya noticing? Lance was there with the camera, and Ryan was on his back laughing, all of them humoured by managing to get Priya with the horns like they’d been working on.

“What the fuck was that?”

Johnny looked up at you, eyes brimming with mirthful tears, smile splitting his lips. You stood over him with your hands on your hips, and you knew he’d like that, knew that he liked being on his knees in front of you even if this time all he was doing was laughing. You tried not to let your own humour shine through, though you had to admit the prank was a good one. You just wished you’d gotten to see it from the outside, instead.

“Angel, you–” Johnny tried to catch his breath, but he was laughing far too much. “You weren’t meant to be in there.”

You flicked his head, and when he fell back laughing, you couldn’t stop giggling too. Your silly husband and his even sillier pranks. Though he loved doing the dangerous stunts, loved getting it on camera just to make other people laugh, what he clearly loved the most was the silly, easy stuff like this. The sort of stuff that they riffed about and eventually turned into a bit. The sort of stuff that even made the victims giggle because there was no way to stay mad at him for this.

“Come on, Priya, we deserve some soup after that.”

“Oh, there’s no more soup. Ehren dropped it all.”

✗ ✗ ✗ ✗ ✗ ✗ ✗ ✗ ✗ ✗

It was the first time you’d taken your daughters to the Gary Leffew School of Bull Riding, but it probably wouldn’t be the last.

Unless, of course, they were completely traumatised watching their father getting run down by bulls – or for this stunt, specifically, water buffalo – that they never wanted to come back. Maybe that’s why Johnny wanted to bring them, in some odd roundabout way, to put them off engaging in stupid stunts. You wouldn’t be surprised. Johnny was pretty vocal in wanting your daughters to follow after you instead of him.

But they weren’t put off by him getting concussed by a bull just this morning, so they probably wouldn’t be traumatised by this.

“Good luck, daddy,” Ramona yelled from her seat on top of the paddock fence. Johnny sent her a thumbs up, which she mirrored. She was, to nobody’s surprise, his carbon copy. The exact same shade of pitch-black hair, the same warm brown eyes, and that smile that was just a little bit crooked and a whole lot like sunshine. He was wearing a thick pink cardigan with the Jackass logo you’d sewn onto the pocket, and because Ramona wanted to be just like him, you had to make her a similar one.

Kennedy, on your hip, was your double. Thankfully. You weren’t so sure you could deal with three Knoxville’s running around your house.

The boys stood on the other side of the fence to watch Johnny’s roller buffalo stunt closer, to capture all of their reactions as your husband danced around the muddy paddock in his roller skates before they set the buffalo on him. Steve-O leaned against the fence beside Ramona to catch her if she fell. Ever since he’d gotten sober, your eldest had clung to his presence like a rash. Steve-O could barely go anywhere without Ramona following him, asking him everything that was on her mind while you and Johnny got a break from the questions. Your daughter was a curious child, and would ask why? even when you didn’t have an answer.

Kennedy rested her head on your shoulder. She was clearly tired from the long day of bull-related stunts, but she desperately wanted to keep her eyes open and watch Johnny dance terribly. You kept bouncing, hoping she would fall asleep before your husband got tossed by some buffalo.

He stopped his dancing once the buffalo were ready, moving in front of the gated pen, and you held your breath as the gate was eased open. He’d already had one concussion today, and you’d voiced your opinion on him doing this stunt on the same day. He’d at least waited the four hours to be safe, but all your talks on Second Impact Syndrome did nothing to dissuade him. It’d be funny, he said. He always said that.

The buffalo caught him right in the crotch and sent him flying upwards.

Ramona laughed so hard she had to hold onto Steve-O to stop from falling off the fence, and you felt more than heard Kennedy’s giggles against your shoulder. Your husband crawled towards his cheering, laughing friends, clearly pleased with all the laughter and clearly in so much more pain. He was still using that damn catheter for his urethra; you’d be sure to remind him on the drive home, while the girls were fast asleep in the back seat and he held an ice pack to his aching crotch.

“How’d that feel?” asked Gary Leffew, as Johnny managed to push himself to his feet, groaning and giggling, and making sure not to meet your eyes when he knew your gaze would be filled with worry.

“Felt like shit. Felt like I just got run over by a water buffalo.”

As everyone laughed around him and told him how good that looked on camera, Johnny finally sludged through the mud to lean against the fence beside Ramona. She grabbed his face and covered it in kisses, and you forgot all about your worry as you watched him smile so softly at your daughter. Once she was done making him feel better, as she claimed, he turned that smile onto you, and you were pretty sure your knees turned to jelly right in that moment.

Even after eight years, your husband could still make your stomach flip completely with just one look.

“You should try riding a buffalo, daddy,” Ramona said, as Johnny leaned all his weight against the fence.

You both laughed, and your fingers carded through his hair, soft beneath your touch. There was some silver starting to bleed through the black dye he got you to touch up every couple of months, which swirled something low in your gut you were ashamed to think about. How could you convince him to stop with the box dye and let the silver grow out?

“Daddy’s had enough of water buffalo for now, princess,” Johnny joked. He curled into your touch just a little, just enough to show he really needed the comfort of your nails against his scalp. Some nights, after you’d put the girls to bed, Johnny would lay his head on your lap and fall asleep as you massaged his head, and he’d always joke that he was getting too old.

You never thought he was too old.

“He needs mommy to make sure he’s working all right.”

You flicked his head, but your laughter rang out, clear and bright, and full of love. He was, as you found out later that night, working perfectly fine down there.

✗ ✗ ✗ ✗ ✗ ✗ ✗ ✗ ✗ ✗

The toys had been tidied away, the paper lanterns strung up between the trees in the garden, and the finger foods set out on covered platters in the kitchen, just ready to be taken outside when all the guests had finally arrived.

You heaved a sigh and fixed Kennedy on your hip.

Kid’s birthday parties were too much work, and yet, every year, there you were putting all your time, money, and effort into making sure everything was perfect for your daughters. Kennedy probably wouldn’t even remember this; she was only two today after all, but you still had to make sure everything went perfectly to plan. That everyone showed up on time. That the food was carefully labelled so nobody had to worry about allergies. That your neighbours didn’t start smoking weed outside, as you’d specifically asked them not to do when your daughters were in the garden, and even given them prior notice of the party so they could prepare. You didn’t want to give any of the guests even the smallest chance to complain.

“Chill out,” you heard, and then Johnny was at your back, hands kneading the tension from your shoulders. You let your head tilt back just enough. Just enough for your muscles to relax. Just enough for you not to feel so tense. Trust your husband to make you feel better with just a whispered word.

“I just want today to be perfect.”

“It already is.” He pressed a soft kiss to the back of your neck. “Because Kennedy got to spend her birthday morning with us, and she loved it. And now, all her friends from all those little classes you take her to are going to come here and make her day even better. What’s there to worry about?”

“Everything–”

“Nothing. Now gimme the baby while you get ready.”

You twisted towards your husband and found, to your surprise, that he’d gotten dressed. He wore one of those dark grey button-ups that always made his arms look delicious, especially when he rolled up the sleeves to his elbow so you could see the veins in his forearms, and dark jeans slung low on his waist with his favourite Knoxville belt. You always liked when he didn’t button every single button of his shirt, so you could see the dip of his throat and, further down, the gutters leading down past his jeans. It took you a second too long to lift your eyes from his waist.

“Do you have to dress like that?”

He crouched so you were level. “What’s wrong with the way I’m dressed?” But with that smirk on his face, you knew he was well aware of the effect he was having on you. “At least I’m not still in my pyjamas.”

He was, you were mad to admit, completely right. Your guests would be arriving in just over an hour, and you were still in your pyjamas. At least the birthday girl was dressed in the matching Blues Clues set she always gravitated towards, and you’d just have to worry about wrestling Ramona into clothes that didn’t just match her dad. Which was the biggest struggle, since she wanted to look just like Johnny every single day of her life.

You handed him Kennedy, and rushed upstairs, counting down the minutes with every movement. Where had the time gone this morning? It felt like only minutes ago when you’d gathered to open Kennedy’s birthday presents. You’d played Disney soundtracks on the CD player, and listened to her giggle every time she ripped through the wrapping paper, which she was far more enamoured by than the Play Doh, or the phonics Playtime Bus, or the trike waiting outside for her. Yet hours had passed. Hours of you setting up. Of cleaning away toys that had been strewn around in the excitement. Of labelling the food, and setting up the decorations, and trying to stop your youngest from undressing after you spent so long dressing her.

You poked your head into Ramona’s room, and found she was dressed and fixing sparkly stickers to her arms. Johnny must have dressed her too. Huh. At least you didn’t have to ask him to do that, and at least your daughter was managing to stay dressed – just embellishing the way she knew how. Denim shorts over pink tights and a pink Paul Frank top. All of her sparkly stickers were pink, too. Your daughter knew exactly how to coordinate.

“Did daddy pick your outfit?”

“No.” Ramona giggled. “I picked. He picked my shoes.” And, just as you should have guessed, on her feet were the black Converse exactly like his. With the Jackass skull and crossbones in place of the logo, and pink laces to match the rest of her outfit.

“Do you want to help mommy pick her outfit?”

Ramona jumped up, dropping her body stickers on the carpet, completely forgetting about them so she could race ahead of you to your bedroom and start rummaging through your wardrobe. Most days you let your daughters help pick your outfits. It’s not like you had a crazy range, and most of the time, they chose jeans and whichever graphic top that was actually Johnny’s but that they wanted you to wear. You chose your outfit, and with every item that you picked out, she nodded or shook her head, like this was Ru Paul’s Drag Race and she was the Michelle of your immediate panel. Eventually, you ended up in your comfiest pair of linen pants – thankfully, because if you were going to be running after kids all day, you wanted to be comfortable – and the kind of off-shoulder top that could be considered dressy with the right sandals to match. Which you, luckily, had.

You still had twenty minutes to spare.

Johnny was just finishing the balloons by the time you and Ramona got back downstairs, and he wasn’t alone. Chris was helping him, both of them engaged in a competition of who could blow up the most balloons the fastest, while Kristy kept Kennedy entertained so she didn’t accidentally get in the way of the fiercely competitive men.

As Ramona hugged your friends, it was clear she had expected Steve-O to show up with Chris and was disappointed by his lack of presence. You met Johnny’s eyes across the room. Had Kristy shown up with Chris or had they just conveniently arrived at the same time? Though you were pretty sure you hadn’t actually invited any of the Jackass guys to celebrate your daughter’s birthday party. You’d just celebrate next time you took the girls to set, with cake and streamers and more presents you’d have to try to shove into the car.

Your husband smirked, and you knew that look on his face. They’d shown up together.

Oh, you were so bringing this up later.

Kristy jumped up as soon as she saw you, swinging Kennedy upwards to sit on her hip. Your daughter was completely enamoured with the curls dangling down her neck, and kept pulling them just to watch them bounce back into place.

“I got the cake!”

“My saviour.”

Kristy followed you to the kitchen. In all the movie-making, party-preparing commotion, you’d completely forgotten about the birthday cake, and had to call in the order last minute with your favourite bakery, who were, thankfully, more than happy to accommodate your request even if they had to rush. And Kristy, as your best friend, was more than happy to pick it up on her way to the party to stop you from stressing out even more.

You’d been stressing about the cake all morning, anyway.

You unboxed the cake on the kitchen island, slowly, making sure it was perfect. This had to be the perfect day, because your daughters always deserved to have their birthdays be the best days of their lives. You could barely remember your childhood birthday parties, but you knew your parents still put all the effort in to make them perfect, if the photographs they carted out every time you went to visit were anything to go by.

“So, I didn’t see your car out front,” you mused to your friend, trying to busy your hands with the cake, though she could probably feel you watching her out of the corner of your eye. Kristy stopped bouncing Kennedy for the briefest moment. Most people wouldn’t have noticed, but you caught it immediately. Caught the slight hint of hesitation, the flicker of her gaze to the door you had just stepped through as if she was expecting Chris to step through and confirm exactly what you weren’t saying.

“I, uh, walked?”

“Did you?”

“No.” She slumped against the kitchen island, and you finally looked at her, properly. Finally met her eye so she would see that you knew exactly what she was terrible at hiding. “Chris picked me up.”

“Did he?”

“I know you know. You know I know you know. Heck, even Kennedy probably knows, and she’s only two.”

You couldn’t stop the grin from breaking out on your face, loud and bright, just the tiniest hint of teasing hidden behind your teeth. “You’re dating Chris Pontius!” Kristy started giggling, trying to hide it against your daughter’s head, but Kennedy started laughing too, and then that set you off. From the living room, you could hear the laughter of your husband, your friend, and your oldest daughter as they continued their balloon-blowing competition.

Kristy and Chris had been flirting with one another for as long as you could remember, though you were pretty sure it all started that day outside the hospital, when you’d first appeared on the steps with Ramona in her carrier, and your friends had been waiting with a car seat in one of the crew vans. You could sense then that their smiles were a little bit more than just smiles.

Ever since then, there had been something hidden in every glance between them.

“I can’t believe you’re hard-launching your relationship at my daughter’s birthday party.”

“Hey! Someone needs to bring the drama. Now, should we drink some wine?”

By the time the first guests started arriving, you and Kristy had already finished a bottle of wine, and Johnny had set up the piñata, and the plastic axe-throwing, and all the other games you were pretty sure were too old for a bunch of toddlers.

It was the best birthday party in the neighbourhood.

✗ ✗ ✗ ✗ ✗ ✗ ✗ ✗ ✗ ✗

Johnny got his worst ideas from America’s Funniest Home Videos.

You couldn’t deny that watching two kids run at a tree with a pole had made you laugh, but your husband had fallen off the couch with his laughter and started talking about using it for the movie. He brought it up the next day in the office, and two days later, he had the pole, and he had Ryan, who was willing to do anything as long as it looked good on camera.

You waited on the sidelines with Jeff.

You weren’t quite sure what Johnny was expecting to happen. Probably that he would just bounce back. But the pole snapped right in two, and cut through his thumb. There was blood everywhere. You rushed into action immediately, fully aware that his maniacal laughter only got that loud when he was in pain. While you ignored the laughter of the rest of the crew, you led your husband to your new medical tent. Finally, you and Ed had been given a medical tent to fill with all your equipment while filming on set, no longer just having to rely on your backpacks, no longer just having to pray and hope the injury wouldn’t be so bad you’d need to rush to the hospital.

You started to wash out the wound. Johnny sat as well as he could, though he hissed and flinched every time you got a bit too close to the crux of it with the antiseptic. He was completely unaware that Rick had followed you with the camera. They loved this sort of stuff for the deleted scenes; injuries always padded out the extras on the DVD.

“Just breathe, baby, you’re doing so well,” you soothed as you set up the shot of anaesthetic, using that soft, lilting voice you usually used to keep kids from crying on set after getting slightly hurt. Johnny was silent, breathing heavily through his nose, but you could see out of the corner of his eye that he was slowly getting hard through his grey sweatpants.

You tried to push down your smirk. He hadn’t noticed you’d seen it, so you kept up your soothing voice, putting it on just a little bit more than you usually would, letting your fingers graze his knees as you reached for the suture kit by his hip.

You were so going to fuck him once everyone left your tent.

“Right, I’m going to start the stitches. If you feel any pain, I want you to tell me. I know you’re the type to not say anything for the camera, but–” You speared him with the same expression you used on your daughters to get them to do what they were told. “–I’ll know.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

He was rock hard.

You could barely hold back your smirk now. You liked that you could so easily turn on your husband when all you were doing was stitching him up. You liked that he still wanted you even after two kids. You liked that just a little bit of nursing, just a little bit of sweetness, was enough to make him lose all composure. Once the camera was gone, his hands would be all over you, and you weren’t exactly going to tell him off for it.

You were more than ready to try making baby number three.

“You’re so sexy when you take charge of me like that, angel,” Johnny whispered in your ear as you finished off his sutures, Southern accent curling around your senses, breath warm on the side of your face.

You forced everyone out of your tent, and made sure they heard him calling you angel over, and over, and over again.

✗ ✗ ✗ ✗ ✗ ✗ ✗ ✗ ✗ ✗

Ramona had been bugging Johnny all day to let her film something for the movie.

Ever since she’d seen Ryan and Dave get blasted with blue paint in the porta-potties, she wanted to try something herself. Something that would also explode. She was almost four, as she reminded everyone she saw that day, and that was clearly old enough to be in the movie. You’d been the one to break the news that only adults were allowed to watch daddy’s movies, but it was not enough to deter her.

“Okay, princess, you can film a stunt with daddy.”

Ramona cheered so loudly you were sure anyone else filming at Paramount that day could hear her. She started running circles around Johnny, talking a mile a minute about all the stunts she wanted to do, while you and Kennedy watched from your fold-out chair by the coffee urn. Your eldest was the far more excitable of the two, with a hundred things to say to everyone she met, while her little sister just wanted to watch everything she did. Kennedy was the gigglier of the two, you had to admit. She’d laugh at bread baking if you gave her the chance.

“Uncle Steve! Preston! Come watch my stunt!” Ramona shouted as the two men came over to grab coffees, clearly not expecting to be accosted by a four-year-old. You still weren’t quite sure what she and Johnny had decided for her, but every cast or crew member that walked by got roped into gathering behind Lance’s camera to watch. Soon enough, almost everyone was there, shouted over by your daughter, sending you confused glances that you could only respond with a shrug.

Johnny still wouldn’t tell you what the prank was, just handed over a small pair of safety goggles for Kennedy that Bam helped secure around her head while you held her on your hip.

“Hi, I’m Johnny Knoxville,” your husband said to the camera, once they were ready. All you could see was the two litre bottles of Coca-Cola sitting on the ground behind him. “This is my lovely assistant–”

“Ramona Clapp.”

“And this is Soda Wars.”

You did not like the sound of that.

Johnny and Ramona added an entire packet of soft mints, each, to their respective Coca-Cola bottles, quickly shut them, and tried to pick them up to shake them. You all collectively took a step back when you realised what was about to happen, when you were all sure you did not want to be caught in the crossfire of the sodas once they opened again. At least Johnny had the insight to give Kennedy and Ramona goggles, and you always made sure to keep a clean set of clothes in the car. Your kids were always getting messier than they had any need to be. You might as well start carrying entire wardrobes for them both everywhere you went with the state they got themselves into, sometimes.

Everyone counted down from three, loud. Kennedy had already started giggling.

The lids came off.

Soda went flying everywhere. It was loud, and sticky, and messy, but by the time the bottles had run out of soda, your husband and daughter were breathless with laughter, huddled on the floor covered in Cola. You should have been mad they’d gotten so dirty, but you couldn’t keep the smile off your face, and not just because Kennedy was giggling and wriggling so hard you eventually had to put her down just so she could run and join the sticky, messy pile they made in the middle of the set. Your silly little family were always up to something. Always trying to make you laugh even after long days at work. Always trying to bring a little bit of sunshine on the greyest days of your life.

It worked every time.

“Mommy, join the pile,” Johnny goaded, and you knew that smirk on his face.

“No way.”

“Come on, mommy!”

“Leave me alone, Knoxville.”

But he was already on his feet, and you were never fast enough to outrun those ridiculously long legs of his. Johnny caught you within seconds in his sticky, soda-covered grip, swinging you upwards and making you laugh. Over all the noise, all the laughter, you could hear the pitter-patter of your daughter’s feet against the concrete, and then they were there too, armed with smaller bottles of Coca-Cola full of mints. Your laughter mixed with screams as they took aim and Johnny held you in place, allowing you to fall victim to their fizzy soda attack.

All caught on tape to be watched over and over again at every BBQ, every birthday party, every single time you needed to hear their laughter again.

✗ ✗ ✗ ✗ ✗ ✗ ✗ ✗ ✗ ✗

Ellis was a paramedic you’d met back during your nursing days, and you usually met up for drinks twice a year when you remembered, the sort of casual friendship that was made up of complaining about work, tequila shots, and the occasional funny cat video.

So when Johnny told you about his stupid new stunt idea – which was, as you reiterated every day up until the actual stunt itself, not only stupid but incredibly dangerous – you called Ellis and asked if she’d be able to bring the rig to the dog park. Just in case the dog did more damage than you could carry in your backpack.

She arrived by herself and put on the flashing blue light just for you. Ellis had married her rig partner, Clive, three years ago, and they were never seen without the other when their rig was involved, but it was probably for the best that she'd left him at home. You didn’t want another friend watching your husband’s embarrassing moment in person. Not when the whole world was about to see it in 3D.

“So, what’s this all about, again?” Ellis asked once the two of you had gotten comfy in the back of her rig, your feet dangling. She’d even brought you a coffee to cradle while you watched Jeff, Lance, and Johnny set up the stunt, and the animal handler kept the dog out of the way.

“PJ’s getting chased by a dog, and it’ll probably bite him.”

“And you need my supplies because it can chomp?”

“Exactly.” You clinked your coffee cups together. “You’re really just here to watch. I’m the one who cleans him up.”

“So, where’s the girls?”

“Oh no, I wasn’t bringing them to see this. That’s too embarrassing to live through.”

Ellis laughed. She had the same sort of hearty chuckle you were used to hearing on set. You laughed too, loud, carefree, the same way you laughed when you and Ellis got a little bit too drunk on your bi-yearly catchups and your husband had to come pick you up because there was no way you could walk home. Johnny looked up from tying his laces, and though you were too busy laughing to see it, he smiled like he’d been waiting years to hear that sound again.

Jeff didn’t get it. Johnny made you laugh like that every fucking hour of the day, and yet he smiled like it was his first time hearing it every single time.

“Hi, I’m Johnny Knoxville, and this is Bad Dog.”

Johnny ran to the stand built for the stunt, jumping up to catch it and wrap his legs around the top before the dog could bite him. But the dog was much, much faster than he could dream of being, and he only got about halfway up before the dog jumped and bit right through his chinos. It clearly got a good chunk of ass between its teeth because he started shouting Oklahoma – the Jackass safe word they’d had for years now, and that you’d barely heard anyone use – until they got the dog off of him.

Your husband used every curse word he knew as you both met each other in the middle of the dog park. His chinos were covered in blood, and you were so incredibly thankful you’d had the foresight to call Ellis last week, elsewise you’d be rushing him to the hospital as he crouched in the backseat of the car.

“Pull down your pants and lie on your front.”

“You tryna proposition me, woman?”

You pushed Johnny towards the gurney. “Next time I’ll let the dog bite the whole thing off.” Johnny pouted, but you could see the humour starting to tug at the side of his mouth. He did as he was told, pulling down his pants to just under his ass and lying on his front, head nestled on his arms so he could watch you work comfortably. Even if he had to get so incredibly hurt just to do it, he liked watching you work. Watching you slip into the woman who’d been a nurse in her early twenties, who he’d never really got to meet, who took charge to stop someone from bleeding out because that’s what she was taught to do. And he liked being the one to snap you out of that headspace with that giggle of yours that made his heart throb.

As you cleaned out the dog bite, you noticed that Johnny’s ass was really jiggling. Like a lot. A lot more than you’d ever noticed throughout the years. Must be all that working out that he’d taken up when he was worried he was getting a little too old, even though you told him time and time again that thirty-nine wasn’t old.

“Lance, can you tell I’ve been doing squats?” he asked the cameraman, picking up on how fascinated you suddenly were by the jiggling physics. You’d be sure to put them to the test later, once his wound had healed. “You know I couldn’t have done this on the first two movies, ‘cause I really never did squats or anything back then.” With the wound clean, you could see it didn’t really need stitches. Just a dressing to keep it from bleeding any more. “But now, I’ve been really working out my butt and legs – for my lady, here – and it gave the dog something to bite on. A pretty good something to bite on if you ask me.”

You laughed, and leaned over to slap your husband’s other ass cheek just to watch it jiggle, too.

“Angel!”

“What? I love your perky ass. It’s cute.”

You were still giggling. Almost too much to get the words out. Lance was choking on his laughter from behind the camera, and most likely, they’d only put this scene in the 3.5, but the fans would latch onto it for years as a tiny window of insight into yours and Johnny’s relationship. A relationship you still kept behind-the-scenes but that you’d allow them glimpses of from time to time, in the interviews when Johnny couldn’t help saying ‘my wife’ during every story, in the cut scenes where your worry for him transcended through the camera and made the watchers anxious, in the soft way you called him PJ after every stunt with adoration and concern dripping from your voice.

At least you could be grateful that the tabloids kept you and your daughters out of it.

✗ ✗ ✗ ✗ ✗ ✗ ✗ ✗ ✗ ✗

The bar was a lot more upmarket than the ones you usually visited.

You felt completely out of place as you followed Johnny to one of the tall tables of dark brown wood. Everything was made of dark brown wood, sleek and clean, to go with the rest of the dark walls, and floors, and deep orange bulbs hanging from the ceiling without shades. The music was too quiet to really hear, though it was nothing you recognised, and was drowned out by the general din of smartly-dressed people who side-eyed you as you passed their elegant tables, topped with elegant drinks and fancy garnishes. It was the sort of bar with brass foot rails, beer pumps in the exact same shade of dim gold, bottles of expensive liquor lined up behind sparse decoration.

It was not the sort of bar someone would go to wearing a short bandage skirt and the highest pair of Charlotte Russe platform heels she owned. But there you were, looking like you’d stepped out of Teen Girl while the rest of the women in here looked like they’d come from high-fashion runways in Milan. Their blazers weren’t as form-fitting as yours, and they hadn’t paired them with a satin sleeveless top either, it seemed. They looked elegant. You looked like you should have been at a club, instead.

“You should have told me we were coming here,” you hissed at Johnny, as he helped you up onto the plush stool. He’d picked a round table in the corner, under one of those shade-less light bulbs drowning you in a deep orange glow that you were pretty sure did not work with your skin. There were no TV’s in here, no jukebox, no grumble of blue-collar workers as they finished off their work week with more beers than necessary. The floor was wooden. You were used to sticky carpets and pool tables, dart boards and rock music, vodka shots and Jack Daniel's with Coke. In a place like this, you’d order wine. Or gin. Or one of their speciality cocktails that cost way more than it was worth and was mostly mixers.

“Why? I thought it’d be a nice surprise.”

“PJ, babe, I dressed for Bill’s.” Your usual bar was Buffalo Bill’s, though there was nothing Buffalo about it. Maybe, back in the day, it used to be a cowboy-themed place, but that had all been torn down to turn it into the dive bar you were used to.

“I like what you’re wearing.”

“You’d like it even if I was in sweatpants. Or nothing.”

“Oh, I’d especially like it if you wore nothing.”

You kicked Johnny under the table, quick, swift, though your humour lay underneath. Your husband chuckled about your unladylike behaviour, and for a moment, as you both laughed, leaning closer to one another to read the cocktail menu, you could forget the other people in the room, you could forget how quiet it all was, you could forget how out of place you felt. Your hair was all wrong, your outfit all wrong. You always felt misshaped through your pregnancies, though your husband had never made you feel as if you changed. But with his laughter in your ear, and his foot pressing against yours, you felt as if there was nowhere else in the world made for you.

You could be anywhere, and it would be fine as long as Johnny Knoxville was by your side.

The waiter stopped briefly at your table to take your drinks order, and disappeared again, leaving you alone with your husband. In the corner, it wasn’t so bad. You couldn’t see the crowds behind you, the eyes glancing your way every time Johnny laughed too loudly, the whispers every time you kissed him with no qualms. You could not really care less. Let them whisper, let them look, let them see two people so in love that even a crowded bar could hold them back from one another.

Johnny pulled his seat around to sit by your side, let his knee knock against yours. You drank your watered-down cocktails as he brushed the hair from your face. You joked about Chris and Kristy babysitting your daughters for the night while your hand lingered on his knee. You laughed, and giggled, and leaned so close it was hard to see where you started and where he ended.

“Um, excuse me.”

You and Johnny turned your heads almost in sync to find a young couple standing at your table. They were younger, younger than you’d been when you first met Johnny, early twenties at least, and had the same pattern of dyed hair. Jet black with red underneath. A myriad of piercings covered their ears and faces, and you were surprised that they hadn’t even covered their tattoos for an establishment like this. For a moment, you had a sudden swelling of pride. Funny, how you had spent so long worrying about how you looked, how out of place you felt, and here these two were, absolutely unashamed to stand out.

“Sorry, we didn’t want to interrupt, but we couldn’t leave without saying hello. We’re huge Jackass fans.”

You were pretty sure they weren’t even old enough to watch the show when it was airing. But they looked at Johnny like he held all the secrets to the universe, and you knew you looked at him like that too. You wondered how nervous they’d been to interrupt your flirting, your laughter, your lingering touches. You wondered how long they had sat at their table and argued about whether or not they should even say anything. You wondered who was the first of them to notice, and who pushed the other to finally come forward, and who was the one to introduce the other to Jackass in the first place.

“Fuck yeah. Don’t worry about interrupting, we love saying hello,” Johnny said, and the young couple looked a lot less nervous. They handed over their napkins for him to sign. They’re called Lexie and Matt, and they’re both skateboarders, and they met at a midnight screening of the first movie that their local cinema was showing a few years back. They watched Wildboyz when it was airing, and they got tattoos of their favourite stunts – him an alligator walking a tightrope for the Alligator Tightrope stunt in the first movie, and her a perfect outline of Ryan’s Butt X-Ray that you immediately took a picture of to show him the next time you were on set.

Johnny loved meeting fans. He seriously didn’t mind being stopped in the street to say hello, to take photographs or sign autographs, because he loved listening to them talk about how much the franchise meant to them. Even if it just meant giving them excuses to hang out with their buddies, or because it got them into skateboarding, or even because they just got a laugh out of it. That’s all Johnny wanted: to make sure everyone was laughing. And when they told them how much they laughed at a certain stunt, or because of a certain joke, you couldn’t help but adore how much his face lit up. That’s exactly why he did this. That’s exactly why you never complained when he stopped to meet fans, not when they could make him so happy with such simple words.

“You too?” they asked, turning to you with their napkins held out, and you froze. Nobody had ever asked for your autograph before. Nobody ever really knew you.

Even Johnny blinked.

“Me?”

“We know you’re not in it much,” said Lexie. “But I love whenever we get a glimpse into the work you do. And you’re in the point-fives, like, all the time. It probably sounds crazy, but I sometimes just watch the scenes with the two of you because you’re so cute. You’re both so in love, it’s better than a rom-com.”

“Trust me, she watches a lot of rom-coms.”

“I do.”

“Oh, Lex, tell them about your training.”

“I’m training to be a paramedic so I can eventually be a set medic, too.”

Your hand shook as you took the napkin from her. You were someone’s inspiration. You were the reason someone was training to be a paramedic, so they could do the same job you did, so they could be just like you. You didn’t know where to find your voice. You didn’t know what to say without bursting into tears.

Johnny’s hand found your knee under the table.

“I started as a nurse, actually,” you told her, signing the napkin under your husband’s name. “And then I got super burnt out and thought I’d change it up; that’s how I ended up being a set medic.” Lexie stared at you like you held all the secrets to the universe, and you knew why Johnny liked it so much. It was oddly powerful knowing you could help someone in such a simple way. “I’ll write down the name of the company I first worked with. They hire a lot of newbies, so it’s a good start. They do small production sites, usually, but you can work your way up. End up on blockbuster movies.”

Lexie giggled and held her newly autographed napkin to her chest. “Maybe I’ll even work on the next Jackass movie.”

You and Johnny laughed too. He scooted closer, hand climbing up your knee, and you felt the tell-tale tingles in your body, fully aware of his position wherever he was. You shared a look, and you always liked the soft way he smiled just for you. The way you could almost see his pupils transform into tiny love hearts as you filled his gaze.

Nobody had ever looked at you like that before.

“We’ll keep an eye out.”

And you knew, if there was another movie, that Johnny would make sure there was space for a third set medic just so Lexie-from-the-upscale-bar could have the chance to live out her dreams. Dreams mean a lot more in Hollywood than most people expect, and sharing them can do a girl a world of wonders.

“You know what my dream is?” you said to your husband as he paid your bill, both of you actively refusing to look at the high number you’d racked up with all those watered-down cocktails. “To make out in the back of a cab with a very hot older man.”

His hand found the small of your back, and his Southern accent curled around your ear just the way you liked it, low and needy. “I think I can make that happen, angel.”

You made the cab take the long way home.

✗ ✗ ✗ ✗ ✗ ✗ ✗ ✗ ✗ ✗

Johnny had convinced you to be on camera.

Willingly.

You weren’t always a fan of the Irving Zisman stunts, and were rarely around for them because he wasn’t doing anything dangerous, but he’d convinced you to come along today. According to Johnny, he’d been imagining you in this role since he and Jeff had come up with it, since getting to kiss you on screen was basically his dream when you were usually so opposed to PDA on set.

They’d given you a half-baked script to read over while you sat in hair and makeup beside your husband, though while his took almost four hours to get right, all you needed was a bit more concealer to make you look younger, and your hair parting to change to match the teenagers you saw combing the streets. Kristy had helped you pick out clothes in Hollister, too, though you weren’t sure you’d wear these tiny shorts ever again.

It felt too weird being in front of the camera.

You should have been on the other side, next to Rick and Jeff, out of sight. You were not used to being here.

“Hello, I’m Irving Zisman, this is my wife, and this is my granddaughter. And today, I’m a really bad grandpa”

“No, you’re not grandpa. You’re the best,” you pitched up your voice. Johnny turned to you with an aww, and kissed you before you could even catch your breath. It felt odd with the amount of makeup he had to wear, as if these lips didn’t even belong to your husband, as if it was a complete stranger running his hand down your spine and over the bump of your ass. It made you shudder.

“Irving!” snapped the actress playing your grandmother, and Johnny finally pulled away. Even with all the makeup on, even though he looked completely different, there was no changing those deep brown eyes of his. Those eyes that softened as soon as they met your gaze. Those eyes that were always watching you in every room.

As soon as Jeff yelled “cut”, you wiped the kiss from your mouth with the same sort of intensity usually only found in toddlers, and your husband laughed so hard he had to hang onto you to keep himself standing.

“You don’t like the makeup?” Johnny asked, still laughing, still hanging off of you. Even when he was dressed up like a grandfather, he still had that oddly boyish charm that’d endeared him to you, the same cartoonish body movements that could make you giggle even when you didn’t feel like it.

“It’s gross.”

“How come?”

“It feels like…”

“Like kissing your grandpa?”

You both laughed like there was no camera, like there was nobody else on set but the two of you. Just Johnny with his hand slowly creeping down your side. Just you leaning against him like it was enough to share the load of the world. Just the two of you the way you always were, completely wrapped up in each other’s orbit, completely oblivious to everyone else’s looks.

Johnny’s hand snaked over your ass, and you slapped his hand away.

“What? You look great in those shorts.”

“Don’t even try it, Knoxville.”

Once everyone was ready, and all the hidden cameras and microphones were attached to button holes, Johnny led you out onto the streets of Los Angeles. He kept reminding you to act natural as he snapped photographs with the old-school camera you’d rented, though that was easier said than done when you knew what the plan was. There was a reason you were always on the other side of the camera. It was as if you could sense them all watching, and your spine was too rigid, and you couldn’t act natural even if your life depended on it. You were not an actress, and with the way this was going, you were never going to be.

The street was crowded, and Johnny chose the most inconvenient spot to back you up against the wall, to drop his head and mould your mouths together. You got used to the makeup pretty quickly. Maybe because the way that Johnny’s hands clutched your waist reminded you of drunk nights making out outside of the bar, with the brick wall scratching you through your clothes, with his voice dripping that Southern accent in your ear, with his tongue pushing against your lips because he knew exactly how you liked to be kissed. You also didn’t want to admit that the thought of being caught kissing a much older man – or, really, a much older version of your husband – actually thrilled you.

You could forget all about the cameras with Johnny’s mouth on yours.

It was harder to get lost in the kiss when Johnny kept manoeuvring you to bump into the poor guy on the phone. The clear victim of this prank, who you could feel glaring at you every time your thigh hit his shoulder, and your husband apologised.

“‘Scuse me, homeboy, can you take our picture? I’m sorry to bother you,” Johnny eventually asked, and the man agreed, though you could tell he was wary. His eyes narrowed at you, like he was trying to place you, though he gave up on it to set up the camera. Johnny started kissing you again, sloppier this time, handsier, more exaggerated for the stunt.

“No, imma pass,” the stranger suddenly interrupted, trying to pass the camera back, while Johnny tried to argue with him. “Miss, are you under age?”

You had to work to school the shock from your face. Your disguise had worked, even if it was just a combination of makeup, a slightly different hairstyle, and clothes from a shop you’d never actually been into before. You were thirty-four, nowhere near looking underage, and yet your prank had actually worked.

“No, she’s my granddaughter. She’s of age. She’s nineteen.”

“You can’t slap your granddaughter’s ass like this, sir.”

“She’s of age.”

“You could go to jail for that.” You struggled not to laugh, and had to hold your hands over your mouth to keep your amusement from slipping out. The first time they’d ever actually tried to involve you in a prank, and it had worked. There was a certain rush to it. No wonder they all loved doing it so much. “You should be ashamed of yourself. You shouldn’t be doing that to your granddaughter.”

Your fake grandmother showed up to add fuel to the fire, and as the three of you walked away arguing, the laughter trying hard not to slip out, you realised you actually wouldn’t mind being involved again. You weren’t quite ready for their life-threatening stunts, but the harmless pranks were much easier to stomach. Much easier to prepare yourself for. If they asked you to, you wouldn’t mind dressing up again to go out into the crowds and choose a victim of something completely harmless.

Later that night, when Johnny had pulled the mirror over to stretch you out in front of, you reached up to tug on his hair. Specifically where the grey started to peek through every few months that he made you dye to fight off the old age he was so afraid of.

“You should let the silver peek through more.”

Johnny chuckled. Not his usual laugh. The deeper one he usually only let you hear during sex, when you caught him slightly off-guard during your more vulnerable moments, when life stopped being a performance.

“Don’t tell me I’ve given you an old man kink, today.”

And you laughed too, because as it turned out, Johnny Knoxville was very good at giving you new kinks for the bedroom.

✗ ✗ ✗ ✗ ✗ ✗ ✗ ✗ ✗ ✗

The girls finally went down an hour and a half after bedtime.

The day had been long, and you couldn’t quite get the stench of Steve-O’s burning flesh out of your nose, so when your daughters had refused to go to bed when they were supposed to, Johnny had thankfully taken over reading the bedtime stories. You just got to lie there in Ramona’s big bed, your daughters curled up on either side of you, while your husband read through storybook after storybook after storybook until finally – fucking finally – both of your daughters were sleeping soundly, quiet snores echoing from them. They slept the same way, with their mouths hanging open and their arms splayed, taking up as much space as the world would allow them.

Johnny carried Kennedy to her own bed, and you trudged downstairs to the couch. You honestly could have gone to bed yourself, curled up and forgotten about the long day, about watching Steve-O attempt to cross a fire pit on a beam and fail, about having to deal with his burns while he just laughed it off. You thought when he got sober he wouldn’t have done anything quite so life-threatening, but you suppose that was just him. He loved it, either way, and you were always there to help patch him up on the other side.

“Tea, angel?” Johnny cocked his head around the living room door, wearing that sleepy, soft smile that was found only at home, found only surrounded by your family.

“No. Just you.”

He knew what that meant well enough, and his smile widened. Love poured out of the cracks, and washed away all the bone-deep tiredness of long days on set, of worrying about the people you cared about every time they got hurt.

“You’ll get better cuddles in bed.”

You followed Johnny upstairs, let him undress you and help you into your pyjamas, let him help with your nighttime routine because it always felt better to watch him enjoy himself as he applied your lotion, and fixed your hair into place, and massaged the kinks from your neck. And, when he was sure you were well taken care of, he pulled you into bed, wrapped his arms around you, and refused to let go. Arms he had definitely been working out, you noted, head resting on his growing biceps.

“I’m tryna get bigger muscles than Pontius.”

“Never gonna happen,” you yawned into his neck, then yelped when he pinched the fat of your waist. You lay like that as the minutes ticked by, talking about pointless stuff, and things that mattered, and all the things you would forget about in the morning. You reminded him of your mother’s birthday coming up, and that you’d have to visit his family soon, and that he needed to pick up milk after filming tomorrow. It was easy to lose track of the time with his arms around you, with his voice gently filtering through the lamp-lit night, with the soft way you both laughed when you reminisced on something from so long ago you could barely remember the details.

A knock came from the half-open door, and you both sat up a little to see which of your daughters it was.

Both of them, holding hands, staring up at you with their father’s big doe eyes.

You reached out. “Come on, then. Up you come.” And they climbed into bed, and found their favourite spots right between you and Johnny, curled up and asking you to tell them more stories. So he told them all about your first kiss, and by the time he’d told them of the rain dripping off the ends of your nose, the three of you were fast asleep, all sleeping with your mouths open and your arms sprawled.

And Johnny Knoxville had never been happier.

✗ ✗ ✗ ✗ ✗ ✗ ✗ ✗ ✗ ✗

Hi! Hope you enjoyed! I love writing flirty, married JohnnyxWife in every situation (and you know I'm super excited to write grey-haired Johnny for the last chapter!)

tag list: @vvvioletstarsss @imogenmeandyou @girlfriendwithbowsinherhair @thefemininemystiquee @reaamon20 @simonsbluee @shinybugvinyl @ayyyeeluhmow @faceache111 @frequentnosebleeder @sub-aro @cakewiththecreamer @fuckfuckshitfuck

sunalovely

Jul 23

closer2closure

milk & kisses

ville valo / f!reader

a/n: sorry for my absence, work has been taking up so much time recently. this is a bit self indulgent — simply because i’ve been daydreaming about this scenario quite a lot. thought a lot about 2003 ville < 3 :-).

warnings: mostly fluff, slightly suggestive

wc: 2k

“gosh, i’m exhausted,” you complained in a whisper, as you sank into the edge of the bed, slipping off the several of layers you had stacked upon yourself in the morning, before your tackling your treacherous schedule of attending the day’s courses and a morning shift. you had returned home and to your room to a fond surprise: your boyfriend still tucked asleep in your bed and bundled in your sheets as sunlight seeped through the blinds, a gentle reminder that he had in fact slept until noon. ville sleepily grunted in reply of your sudden movement on the bed, rolling over to lay himself face down on your pillows that he had now drooled all over, and reaching out an arm to rub your lower back in greeting. you found him so humorous, although it was for the most unintentional reasons — he acted like such a cat, the way he slept for hours throughout the day and his general personality, you couldn’t help but chuckle to yourself. “good morning, again.” you looked over your shoulder as your hands worked to untie your shoe laces, admiring how ville’s curls had become tangled in his sleep.

he huffed in response, his heavy eyelids, caked with days old eyeliner, finally opening up towards you, a smile creeping onto his face at the sight of you. ville thought you were the most precious thing ever; the smallest things you did, such as peering over your shoulder to greet him, already had him resisting the urges to tug you by the torso and under the sheets — if only he weren’t so tired. “good morning, doll.”

you felt like a teenager with the way you felt yourself react to ville’s sweet names for you. the sight of him didn’t help, either — he was snug in your blankets, presumably shirtless, as the sunlight that seeped from the windows reflected glimmer at its touch to his bare back. you trailed tour gaze from where his hand had slid under the back of your shirt to his face, his sleepiness caught him vulnerable, and feeling your skin after only a few hours of you being gone making him feel that he had gone months without you. you couldn’t always help but stare in awe frequently at the sight of ville.

he was not oblivious to your habit, more so, he was fond of it, and sucked up every second you so admirably studied him; he was smitten at your attentiveness to him. ville sat up from here he had laid, crawling closer to where you sat on the edge of the bed, his hand staying firm on the small of your back all throughout the movement.

“let’s get back to bed if you’re so tired, yeah? doesn’t a nap sound good, love?” he cooed, leaning in to whisper into the shell of your ear, chuckling as your face reddened and turned away, pulling off your shoes that you had forgotten you were unlacing.

“… i’d like that. have you not slept the whole day, though?” you sharply inhaled, feigning some sort of confidence to cover the fact that you were practically putty under him. not only had ville caught you red handed with your staring problem again, but he was, in fact, shirtless, and now practically leaning himself against your back. eventually, both of his hands were crawling up your shirt, crawling to unhook your bra and guiding you to get it out from under your shirt. he would victoriously fish it out hooked on a finger from under your tee, stuffing it god knows where on where he claimed was “his” side of the bed. you could only scoff in disbelief of how much of a man he would act like at times.

ville’s hands would soon return to find warmth under your shirt, that would end up him cupping your breasts and brushing his finger pads across your nipple. he had gained a habit of subconsciously playing with your breasts whenever it seemed appropriate, becoming more of an act of a strange display of affection, though not always trying to get in your pants. his hands lingered, coming down and onto your back, where he had begun massaging you tenderly as you leaned backwards onto him. “has anyone ever told you how good you are with your hands?” you joked, resting your head on his collarbone, snickering to yourself as you heard ville scoff.

“no, not really.” he joked in return, his hands slithering to the front of your waist, hooking you closer into his figure. he pulled you into the center of the bed where you were now practically laying on him, letting yourself bask in the moment. the rays of light kissed your flesh warm, while ville’s innocent touches and sweet flirts burned your heart. after a long day, this is all you wanted — all you could have asked for. you’d rolled off off him onto the mattress, shutting your eyes as you breathed in the musk scent of ville that lingered on your sheets. the slight notes of cigarette smoke made you reminiscent on the first time you had met your now boyfriend, to which you could only grin ear to ear to yourself at the memories.

ville slumped next to you, propping his head up on his hand that he leaned on, enamored at the peace that radiated off of you. his free hand tucked itself into your hair, caressing it as he felt your arms tangle around his hips, pulling him closer to you. the sound of the birds chirping on the other side of the window sung softly amidst the summer quiet. “you should stop going to class and work and spend all that time in bed with me, darling.” ville suggested with a slight plea in his tone — though he tried to play it cool, you knew him enough to see through his facade, he was truly just like a begging child.

“we would rot here. i doubt you’d able to not be in the studio for that long, either.”you stupidly smiled in reply, pressing kisses onto his collarbone before peering up to him.

“aye? you really think i would prefer being in a room with four guys than in bed with you?” he snickered, his free hand coming to brush your hair out of your face.

you shrugged, “if you minded it that much, you wouldn’t be off touring so often.” you bit back another shit eating grin; you entertained yourself by putting him in these loops of questions. ville rolled his eyes, his hand trailing down your curves to rest on your ass, giving it a gentle squeeze, somehow affirming that he would much rather spend all his days alongside you than have to leave you alone for months.

“you drive me mad. you know that, doll?” he replied, his hand coming down to grasp the flesh on the back of your thigh. “even when i’m away, the thought of you gets me so worked up. the calls aren’t enough.”

it’s like he could see directly how his words made your soul mush, as he chewed on his lip with his bright eyes staring right down at yours. suddenly, he nudged you off of your side and laid you back flat against the bed, crawling to tower over you. his bitten up lips peppered yours and your jaw in wet kisses, as a hand lingered over the hem of your shirt once again to pull it upwards, stopping it right under your chest to expose your torso. his fingers ghosting over your rib cage snd stomach before finding its way into your hair, caressing it out of your face whenever it got in his path of kisses.

“baby, i’m too tired, i don’t think i can right now.” you gulped feeling your face flush, taken aback in shock of the sudden bliss that consumed every sense. your hands instinctively found ville’s waist, trailing along his sides as he traced his fingers over your hair and jawline. he lifted his head from where he had been inhaling your scent, his blinking resembling a cat’s slow blinks. full of adoration and peace.

“me neither, sweetheart. let me love you while you relax.” he purred before returning to collide his lips to yours. there was an erotic tranquility that set in the moment — the heat between the two of you was warm enough to cause goosebumps against your cold skin, but ville was so tender. he nibbled at your lips for an entrance, his tongue finding yours inside of your mouth. unintentionally, he moaned against your mouth — although it wasn’t the first time he had moaned at your touch, it had felt like you were making out with him for the first time again. you smiled against his lips at the pure music that you had heard come from him.

he had let his body weight fall upon yours, leaning into your face like a hungry man in need to consume you for survival. your hands came up to entangle in his bedhead curls, pulling him closer into you. noses clashed, foreheads bumped, yet you had never felt so innocently needy for your boyfriend’s mouth on your own. it felt different this time around, maybe it was your exhaustion and his morning drowsiness, with the afternoon sun urgent to make its presence in the room that made this moment feel so unique. passion was thick in the evening air, though refreshing and serene. in such a harmonious ambience, you could only dream of simply falling asleep in the moment.

“i hate having to leave you. i don’t like thinking about it, either, love.” ville pulled away to catch stray breaths, gasping to you before quickly smushing himself to you once more. while your lips continued to be slick and bitten by ville and his saliva, you began to notice his heart pounding against his chest onto your breast. it was incredible how the mere thought of your absence had already made him miss you, but you weren’t complaining, if it meant he would try to eat you alive by making out.

“maybe we should reconsider rotting in here?” you airily giggled, pulling away to lick your lips and wipe them with the back of your hand. ville breathed staggeringly, resting his chin on your chest as he regained his composure. clearly, he relished the way you licked his saliva off of your mouth by the way he tried to hide away his smile and the way his heartbeat felt like it was bound to explode.

“i wouldn’t be against it,” ville replied, tugging the comforter over himself as he spoke, “let’s start now.” he added. you shook your head with a chuckle — he had woken up less than an hour ago, made out with you, and that had been all that had taken for him to be sleepy again?

“haven’t you slept all day?” you asked, in a matter of fact. he truly was if a cat had become human.

“yes, but you said you were exhausted. unless you would like to do something to really tire you out, darling?” he raised his eyebrows at you with a sly, joking expression that suggested it all, to which you could only laugh your embarrassment away with. you grabbed the sheet that he had pulled over the both of you, tugging it closer.

“on second thought, i think a nap sounds perfect.” you pretended to yawn, watching ville yawn in reaction to yours. he chuckled, rolling off of and next to you, pulling you close.

“oh, thank goodness. my pecker would snap off if we did anything this early.” he joked, before snuggling his face into the crook of your neck. it was two in the afternoon, but you only shook your head at your own dismissal of the thought. if you had said yes, you knew ville wouldn’t had hesitated to immediately bend you over, but the thought of him spooning you while you napped wad a much nicer idea at the moment.

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