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b4mpyre-k1zz3s · 7 months

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Jackass in Japan!

Y/N is flown out to Japan with the Jackass cast to help keep them in line while filming Jackass: The Movie. Unfortunately, nothing goes as they plan.

Johnny Knoxville X Gn!Reader

(Fluff)

Warnings: Highly suggestive content, crude language, alcohol, implied drug use, implied sexual content, improper use of sex toys, cross dressing, fights, vomiting, urine, nudity

4.7K Words

An: Aaa more manager Y/N!! I know I wrote it a lot but I LOVE the dynamic they have with the guys (especially Johnny!!) A few of my friends actually took a trip to Japan not too long ago, so this was partially inspired by that! Also apologies from deviating from my usual update schedule! This fic is just SO GIANT at least by my standards!! Anyways thank you for all the requests and please keep sending them in!! I love reading them and I love writing them even more! XD

As a country of etiquette, social subtleties, and rich culture, Japan probably wouldn’t be your first destination to fly the guys out to film in. Maybe a chain restaurant play place would be better- no sharp objects and everything made of plastic and easily sanitizable. You begged Jeff to cut you some slack just this one time, but after a totally sincere and completely not bullshitted speech on his behalf about how ‘integral’ you are to the team, you agreed to come along to babysit- make sure none of them run off to far.

Three hours deep into the flight to Japan and Steve hadn’t stopped bouncing his knee since takeoff. Somewhere between annoyed and concerned, you decided to find out what the hell was the matter and peered through the gap in the seat in front of you.

“Hey. Hey, hey dude! Dude, we should get- like, some of those tiny liquor bottles, right? Like, the kind they got on planes?” Steve waved his hands wildly as he rambled to Chris, staring at him with dinner plate wide eyes. In contrast, Pontius didn’t even look at him, drifting between sleep and consciousness, “Oh? Oh, yeah. Sure.” You knew Jeff warned you about this, but the results of Chris’ tendency to mix sleeping pills with red wine could be managed by bringing him an extra pair of pants. What you couldn’t seem to reign in, though, was the hummingbird buzzing next to him.

Snapping you out of your little bird watching trance, Steve whipped his head around to you, staring back through the gap about an inch from your face with a grin a mile wide, “Y/N! Y/N! Hey! Think y’could grab me some’a those?” He jabbed a finger at Ryan’s tray table, sticky and littered with at least twenty multicolored little bottles of liquor- some full, some empty, and some half drank as Ryan leaned his forehead against the seat in front of him in a drunken stupor. Steve’s restless fingers thrummed against the leather headrest he rested them on, unable to sit still.

You debated for a moment whether you could swipe one while he was busy working on the one in his hand, but before you could do anything your attention was torn by the retching noises you heard next to you. Johnny was folded into the seat next to you, his long legs awkwardly zig zagged under the seat in front of you as he clutched onto his paper airsickness bag for dear life. Of course, Steve found it hilarious because, for once, it wasn’t him throwing up, “Haha! Knoxville’s yackin!” Johnny leaned over, nearly on top of you as he tried to stabilize himself. God, he was heavy. Glaring at Steve with hazy loathing, he clutched the vomit filled bag up with wordless intent- the kind of intent you really didn’t want to be seated in the front row for.

The threat worked and you watched Steve shrink back in his seat as Johnny fell back against the barely padded leather, his complexion more akin to a boiled egg than anything human. You felt a little bad for the guy, even though just a second before he was smothering you in his chest. Oh, and great timing- here comes the stewardess, with her pretty high heels and her cart full of sodas and tiny liquors and little bags of peanuts. Steve hailed her like a cab and, after finishing his stuttery, incomprehensible rant that she just smiled and nodded at, she stopped next to Ryan, tapping him on the shoulder with a perfectly manicured nail. “Excuse me, sir? Can I help you with those?” He blinked his eyes open slowly, glancing around him, only just seeming to notice the sea of plastic in front of him. “Oh…Yeah.” And in one fell sweep of his arm, he brushed the pile of bottles into the trash can attached to the cart she was pushing, a handful of bottles clattering to the ground. Bending down to grab one, he held a yellow plastic bottle up, blinking behind his sunglasses, “Can I get some more of these too?” She nodded. Glancing over to Johnny, you saw his complexion get a little greener. You added to Ryan’s request, “And can we get some more of those bags, please?”

Somewhere in the 20 hour flight, you ended up falling asleep on Johnny’s muscular shoulder, which would have been kind of a sweet moment if it wasn’t for him stirring you every now and then with his gagging. While you were fading back asleep in between one bout of vomiting and another, you felt Bam squeeze past your knees as he got up to use the bathroom. Thinking nothing of it, your eyes remained closed until you heard rolling plastic and you felt the smack of his head hitting your knees. “Motherfucker!” He rubbed the back of his head, looking up at Ryan with dazed rage in his eyes, “Pick up your goddamn bottles!” Ryan couldn’t seem to care less as Bam scrounged on the ground, grabbing one of the mini bottles and hucking it at his head, missing by about six inches.

You rubbed Johnny’s back as everyone waited for him to finish hurling the rest of his guts into a trash can. Stumbling back to you, he wiped his mouth, “Okay, okay- that’s it.” The gate was pretty crowded and you really had to keep an eye on everyone. Sighing in exasperation, you wondered how you were going to corral these idiots all the way to the train station, much less the hotel. “Okay, everybody!” You clapped your hands, getting their attention before making a fist at your side, mimicking holding something, “Grab onto the invisible rope!” It was a trick preschool teachers used when kids didn’t want to hold each other's hands when they went somewhere. Sure, on one hand, you were dealing with fully grown men, but on the other hand they were very tired, somewhat intoxicated men, so equal odds.

“This is so fuckin’ stupid.” Bam grumbled, “Invisible rope my ass…” He turned back around snidely to Ryan who followed behind him, “Who do they think they are? Jeff?” Raising his eyebrows and still half plastered, Ryan glanced at Bam’s clutched hand, “And I see you’re still holding the invisible rope…?”

As you sat down on the train, you finally had a moment to relax. It was around sunset now, and the windows of the train car glowed golden as the automatic doors slid shut, the entire car completely silent. Jeff had the guys under control, you told yourself, he keeps them on a short leash. You deserve a nap. Reclining against the plastic seat, your eyes fluttered shut for just a moment- just a second, a flap of a butterfly’s wings.

And when your ears perked up to the sound of snickering you realized just how wrong you were in assuming Jeff would cover your ass. A small crowd formed around Pontius who had passed out, the giant piss stain on his pants front and center for any of the horrified witnesses as the guys artfully graffitied every inch of his now shirtless body. Among these, a comically large penis pointed to his mouth and “I ♡ YAKUZA” was scrawled across his back in sharpie. People whispered and looked on at the scene in dismay while you panicked and did your best with damage control.

By the time you got to your stop, Chris looked like a public bathroom stall, and frankly smelled like one too. The only thing you could do was hand him his discarded shirt he threw off when you got on as everyone was rushing to get up and leave, but he shook his head, very clearly still high and looking around like he’d never seen your face before. He slurred his words, “C’mon, Y/N. Who wouldn't want to see this hyper-masculine, Adonis-like physique?” Instead of heeding your insistence, Pontius took this as an opportunity to flex his admittedly impressive muscles at you. You tried your best to reason with him, putting on your happiest, most super nicest voice ever in desperation, “Oh, of course! But listen, it’s really cold out right now, and you can’t be catching a cold before filming tomorrow, right?”

He seemed to take a moment to process what you were saying before nodding a little. By then, it was just you and him on the train and people were starting to board. You didn’t have a lot of time, but the plan was working, “That’s right! So can you put this on?” It was like trying to reason with a five year old. But sure enough, after a few slow blinks, he wriggled it over his head without an argument. The things you do for a living.

When the group got to the hotel, Jeff got the room keys from the front desk while you grabbed some food from a vending machine, enough to tide you over until the next morning. By that point, everyone was exhausted, sitting in the lobby chairs half asleep, or in Steve and Ryan’s case, fully asleep. It was kinda cute, seeing them all passed out, stretched out on couches or resting heads on each other's shoulders, like the calm little center of their usual chaos.

By the time he came back, nobody questioned the fact that Jeff got only three keys until you were all crowded together in the elevator. Bam was the first to pick up on it, “Hey. Where’s my key?” Jeff leaned against the dimpled metal siding nonchalantly, “Knoxville’s got your key.” Sighing, Bam waved his hand in front of Johnny’s sleep line covered face to wake him up from where he was dozing off standing up, “Dude. Hand it over.”

“What? I only got one key- this is mine.” Drowsily, Johnny pulled the single brass key out of his pocket to prove it, the plastic room number tag dangling from one end. Blinking a couple times, Bam still had enough energy to get pissed, “We- we have one fuckin room?” He continued his fatigued interrogation as they walked down the hall, “Well it’s a suite, right? Right?”

It was not a suite. It wasn’t in the same zip code as a suite. Crowded in the door, the only sounds in the hallway were the slamming of two doors- your’s and Jeff’s. “Huh. Only two beds…” Johnny broke the silence, “That means…this one’s mine!” Making a mad dash, he flung himself at the nearest bed, stumbling over his own feet. Hot on his heels, Bam shoved Ryan out of the way but tripped, rolling to the carpet as he was clamored over by the rest of the guys, sputtering curse words. Far after everyone laid their claim, Steve wandered in, still half asleep. They had forgotten him downstairs. “Oh, hey buddy!” Johnny grinned, “You're gettin’ the couch tonight.” This earned him a sigh of exasperation, “Really? The fuckin couch? Come on dude! Why don’t you get fuckin’ Y/N- they got a room all to themself!” Swinging his long legs off the bed, Johnny chuckled, “Gladly.”

Halfway unpacking, your head turned at the knock at your door. You were caught a little by surprise by the towering man leaning against your door frame as you opened it, staring down at you with that charming glint in his dark eyes. “Knoxville?” His voice was sweet as he looked over you with the ghost of a smile on his face, “You sharin’ with anyone tonight, sweetheart?” You looked back at your one open suitcase and the two beds in the room, then back at him, “No…?” Johnny quirked an eyebrow at you as he leaned down a little closer, his grin growing to show just a sliver more of his teeth, “Would you like some company?”

With a sweet smile and a flutter of your eyelashes, you shut the door in his face. That was for throwing up on you on the plane.

Later that evening, Chris strutted back into the room a few hours after they sent him to go grab food, holding bunches of plastic shopping bags in his hands with pride like a hunter with his first kill of the season. The noise alerted Johnny, getting up from in front of the television, his stomach growling, “God, what took’y so long, Pontius?” Without taking another look, he reached a hand into one of the bags, rummaging through it for something to eat, “Isn’t there a seven eleven across the-”

Bam and Steve peeked into the kitchen at just the perfect time to see Johnny yank the thick, purple object out of the bag as Chris watched, absolutely delighted. Staring at the thick, oblong shape and feeling its weight in his hand, Johnny didn’t know what to do. Almost as an instinct, he threw it. It bounced once on the wooden table before falling perfectly upright, wiggling a little. The sight of a purple dildo swaying gently in the breeze made the room howl with laughter, everyone collapsing against furniture. Once the laughter subsided, they attacked the contents of the bags like wild dogs.

“Holy shit!” With wide eyes, Steve parked himself on the couch and perused one of the many porno mags, completely mystified, “And I thought the chicks in Poland were hot…” Peering over his shoulder, Bam squinted disbelievingly at the four page gatefold that unfurled, “No way- they gotta be fake.” Not taking his eyes off of the glossy pages, Steve shook his head, “Nuh-uh. C’mon, look at that, she’s clearly-“

Slap! The noise reverberated through the room as Steve was suddenly whacked upside the head with a floppy, purple blur. Chris didn’t even have the chance to shout ‘Lombardi!’ before he was on the ground. The ensuing fight and wrestling match was loud enough to tear Johnny’s attention away from the Tenga egg he was trying to blow up like a balloon, but not enough to wake up Ryan who had been sleeping like a baby through this entire ordeal. This wouldn’t be the case for long.

As soon as he wriggled out of his grasp, Pontius went after Johnny. Unlike Steve, however, he had a head start and a chase ensued. Ducking behind chairs, under tables, and in and out of doors, they went around and around. Steve chased Chris who chased Johnny, the room echoing with yelling and whooping and thumping from running into furniture. It was like Scooby Doo. This, in turn, woke up Ryan. In the middle of the commotion, he snatched the dildo from Chris’ hands, ran to the door, and hurdled it down the hallway like a fifty mile an hour fastball, sending it soaring before he slammed the door and trudged back to bed.

You heard something hit the plywood of your door with a thump while you sat in bed, watching tv in a language you didn't understand and pretending you knew what was going on. Part of you was weary to investigate, but your curiosity was overwhelming and you went to check it out anyway. There it was, laying on your doorstep like an abandoned baby on a church stoop. Glance left, glance right- nobody in the hallway. No witnesses. It’s not like anyone would see it if you took it, right? You shrugged. Oh hell, why not?

“Dude- you can’t just leave it out there!” Bam argued with a still half asleep Ryan who had since laid back in bed, “Well, why can't you go get it?” He sighed, conceding and running out of the door. From the hallway a few seconds later, Bam excitedly yelled back, “Guys! The fuckin thing- it’s gone!” Everyone flooded outside to aid in the search, but no dice. Johnny got up from where he was crouched next to a potted plant, “Where the hell’d you throw it, Dunn?”

“I don’t know! The thing probably landed outside the manager’s room!” Glances were shot. Silence.

Morning filtered softly through the windows overlooking Shibuya, illuminating the absolute pigsty the room had become in just one night. Really, it was impressive they could trash a hotel room that fast- they should be in the Guiness book of world records. Blinking his eyes open lazily, Johnny did a double take when he felt a second body pressed against his. It was Steve, wearing a dreamy smile while resting his head against his chest. On his other side was Pontius, not laying on him like a lovesick girlfriend, sure, but instead sporting quite the sheet tent while snoring on the other side of the bed. After getting shoved off, Steve tumbled to the scratchy, unvacuumed carpet, only stirring just slightly, rubbing his head as Johnny threw a flat pillow at him.

After a few minutes of trying to get back to sleep, Johnny reluctantly rolled out of bed to the sound of your insistent knocking at the door. Looking scruffy and disheveled, clad only in the pair of white boxers he slept in that sat just low enough on his hips that you could see a little bit of the hair leading below his waistband as he leaned against the doorframe, looking down with half lidded eyes, his gaze fixed on either you or his manhood. His voice was thick and low, still groggy from the night before, “Mornin’.” A smirk crept onto his face, “Knew you’d come’t your senses.” As much as usually annoyed you with his flirting this time was different. Maybe it was that look behind his eyes that suggested what he wanted or the warmth radiating off of his muscular body, but you had to keep yourself from stumbling over your words as you almost forgot about what you came there to tell him, “Huh? What- no. No! You guys are late! Let’s go!” Leaning to one side, you peered under his arm, looking at the hurricane that hit their room, “Oh my god, how did y-“

“Aaaaah!!” There was a shriek from the far bed that undeniably came from Bam as the covers flew up in a flurry of white sheet. He sounded like April. Frantically scrambling to his feet, he stood wide eyed, with his back pressed against the glass window…ass naked. The entirety of Shibuya was getting mooned by him. Not even worried about exposing himself, he flew into a panicked explanation, jabbing a finger in Ryan’s direction as he barely stirred, still in bed, “Y/N! Y/N- Ryan’s knee was in my ass!”

“All of you! Get up!” You didn’t try to dispute the claim, much less question it as the boys slowly dragged their feet, groggily getting dressed as they stumbled out the door. Herding them like sheep, you followed behind to make sure none of them wandered off or got attacked by wolves, lingering next to Johnny for a little too long as he eyed you. “Have a good night, Y/N?” He couldn’t have known, “Yeah, s’pretty alright.” The grin playing on his lips told you otherwise, “Really? Was it?” There was this knowing insistence in his voice as he got this maniacal little glint in his eyes, continuing, “If last night was a color, would you say it would be…purple?”

Oh, he knew alright.

The shoot went pretty well- you got to spend a day lounging on a beach while Chris and Steve swam with some whale sharks, so you couldn’t complain. They jerked off some sea cucumbers, filled their shorts with live shrimp, and you got a front row seat to the show. Thousands of people were gonna be paying twenty bucks to see this in theaters, and you get this for free. Lucky you!

The problem came, however, later that evening, when Steve gave you a call. You picked up your buzzing flip phone and glanced out at the dark cityscape through your window, knowing whatever he said wouldn’t be good before he even opened his mouth, “What?” From the noises on the other end of the line, it seemed like he was in the midst of an argument of sorts as he spoke over the line, “Hey, bro man dude!” He spoke with the kind of feigned enthusiasm that you only get when someone’s about to tell you something bad, “Do you, like- know how to do makeup?”

Reluctantly, you agreed to help him after he explained the whole situation to you, but you didn’t grapple with what you would actually be getting into until you showed up on the scene. You found them in the dark alley next to some nightclub, crowded around…someone who was making a lot of commotion. As you got a little closer, you saw it was- oh god, it was Bam, completely disillusioned to whatever scheme he was a part of. Chris was trying feebly to apply what looked like lipstick to his lips but he wasn’t getting very far. Noticing you, he stepped back a little, revealing the canvas you would be working with. Leaning against the wall feebly in red plastic heels and a shiny purple spandex dress, Bam looked like the definition of a hot mess. God, they even shaved his legs.

“Shut up! Just get over here!” He could practically read your mind and was clearly impatient, but it was hard to take Bam seriously in that shiny blond wig they put him in. Johnny handed you the shopping bag of makeup they bought as you sighed, twisting open a tube or mascara. You got to work as Johnny awkwardly explained how they were turned away at the door and, thinking the club didn’t want them to turn the place into a sausage fest, they thought the bouncer wanted them to get some chicks. “Unfortunately, the only one of us who speaks the damn language is Steve here- what’d you say to those gals back there?” Johnny elbowed him and you could hear the proud grin in his voice as he said with gusto while, at the same time, also stumbling over his words, “Watashi wa chiisana whinna-o motte imasu!”

“You guys fuckin’ owe me…” Unsteadily swaying on his stilettos, Bam was still shorter than Ryan who had his arm around his shoulders as they walked back around to the club, music thumping so loudly from within that the windows shook. Ryan went to raise his voice to speak to the bouncer, but before he could, he wordlessly lifted the velvet rope and everyone's faces lit up! You were honestly surprised that the plan worked, but, yet again, you knew it could only work so well. Just as Bam got one shiny red foot inside- click! He looked back at you with those scared, wide eyed looks kids get when they get dropped off at preschool for the first time as the bouncer ushered him inside, deserting the rest of you.

“Great fuckin luck…” Steve said what you were all thinking, “What’re we gonna do now?” Scrounging around in your pocket, you grabbed a crumpled up a map as you stopped under a streetlamp to clumsily unfold it and point to a circled location- it was a fancy restaurant that just so happened to have a bar inside.

It was the kind of high class establishment that you walked into and immediately felt out of place in, with lots of hand carved wood and yellowy paper lighting fixtures, where everyone talked in whispers and you weren’t allowed to let your glass make a noise when it hit the table. The five of you took apprehensive seats at the bar, sticking out like a handful of sore thumbs. Not sure what to do, you started up small talk, but you couldn't get more than a few words out to Chris before your attention was stolen away to what was happening at the far end of the bar.

From the corner of your eye, you saw the blur of Steve getting yanked up by the back of his shirt like a kitten at the hands of the burly bartender behind the counter as he angrily shouted at him in Japanese. He dangled for a moment, wearing that deer in the headlights look, before he was unceremoniously tossed out onto the sidewalk outside. Chris, always considerate, was the first to flee, then came Ryan as he finished up his drink.

You held a hand out to Steve, gripping his cut up palm in yours and potentially contracting who knows how many diseases as you helped him to his feet while he ranted, “Dude! I don’t know what the big fuckin deal was- all I asked for was some sucky!” He couldn’t be serious, but the look on his face told you otherwise. Sure, his Japanese earlier was broken, but shit, it wasn't that broken. “Steve- Steve.” It was a challenge to keep a straight face as you tried your very best to clarify, “It’s sake, not sucky.” A look of wide eyed clarity crossed his face before he chuckled, smiling at his own stupidity.

Your desperation that night had led you to this little hole in the wall ramen shop tucked away practically underground. In stark contrast to your previous whereabouts, the ceiling was so low that you needed to duck through the door and the walls were so skinny you needed to shuffle past the counter seats with your back to the wall. But it was quiet and the food was cheap, so you all sat in an exhausted little row in front of the guy who made the food as you slurped your noodles, steam wafting onto your faces.

Swallowing a mouthful, Chris was the first to speak up, glancing out the steamy window at the nightclub across the street, “Hey, s’anyone know where Bam is?” Your chopsticks stilled in your bowl as realization hit you like a freight train. “Oh my god…” You could hear Ryan and Johnny start cracking up as you rubbed the space between your eyes, your head nearly falling into your noodles, “We forgot Bam…” Your one job and you fucked it up. Johnny patted your back like how one would pet a big dog, grinning, “Ah, don’t worry, Y/N! We'll get’im on the way back.”

That was an hour ago, and if you thought he looked rough when you ditched him, you didn’t know how to describe Bam as he hobbled out of the doors on only one heeled foot, his lipstick hopelessly smeared across his cheek as he angrily stuffed his already askew wig into a trash can. It really was kind of funny with how pissed he looked. “Hey, dude! How’d it go in there?” Ryan put his hand up for a high five but just received an exhausted head shake in return, “I don’t wanna talk about it. I…am so drunk.” Putting an arm around him, Ryan nodded, “Okay, buddy.”

By the time you got back to the hotel, everyone was more than ready to pass out on their feet. Everyone, of course, sans whoever was knocking on your door at three in the morning. Looking through the peephole, your suspicions were confirmed as you opened the door, “Knoxville?” The hallway was silent as your eyes trailed up his body, landing on a rare apologetic expression he was wearing. A sorry smile played on his lips as he spoke quietly, “Hey, Y/N. Just wanna say sorry for me’n the guys screwing the night up. Maybe, I dunno- I could come in for a coffee? Nightcap?”

Something in you compelled you not to shut the door, “Sure. I think I’ve gotta few bottles in the mini bar. Come in.” Following you into your comparatively spotless room, Johnny bent down and fished around in the fridge without even asking you. Standing behind him, your eyes fixated on the gold lettering spelling ‘Knoxville’ on his black leather belt as the back of his shirt slid up, exposing about an inch of skin on his lower back, an oddly sensual act you felt simultaneously turned on by and a little guilty for watching. He grabbed four random mini liquor bottles, one in between each finger, and plopped down on top of your sheets. “Grab a few for yourself.” Typical. There were only two left so you grabbed them, taking a seat next to him, both pairs of legs outstretched on the scratchy bedspread as you drank and reminisced about the day you just had by the yellow light of your bedside table lamp.

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