knoxvillesjackass

[knoxvillesjackass]

I'm looking respectfully

[knoxvillesjackass]

THIS

[knoxvillesjackass]

maybe some Ryan Dunn x Female reader with some thigh riding 😛🤭

in for a ride - r.d

𝑺𝒖𝒎𝒎𝒂𝒓𝒚: 𝒂𝒏 𝒆𝒂𝒓𝒍𝒚 𝑺𝒖𝒏𝒅𝒂𝒚 𝒎𝒐𝒓𝒏𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒘𝒊𝒕𝒉 𝑹𝒚𝒂𝒏 𝒕𝒖𝒓𝒏𝒔 𝒊𝒏𝒕𝒐 𝒂 𝒕𝒉𝒊𝒈𝒉 𝒓𝒊𝒅𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒔𝒆𝒔𝒔𝒊𝒐𝒏

Warnings: NSWF smut, thigh riding, dirty talk, early morning sex, overstimulation, praise kink, slight dom/sub dynamics?

Word count: 3000-ish

-

The morning slips in like it knows it shouldn’t be there, soft gold light sneaking through half-closed blinds, catching the dust motes and scattering them across the messy room. The air smells faintly of stale smoke and sweat, his aftershave clinging to the sheets from last night, and the dull creak of the ceiling fan fills the silence with its lazy hum. Ryan is sprawled on his back like he always is when he passes out, one arm flung over his head, hair a wild nest against the pillow, the faint stubble of his beard shadowing his jaw. He looks unguarded like this, mouth slack, chest rising and falling slow, boxers riding low on his hips. He’s beautiful in that raw, reckless way that makes you ache for him before your brain even catches up.

You shift closer, the mattress dipping under your weight, and he stirs just enough to crack one eye open. Blue, bloodshot from the night before, but clear enough when they land on you. His lips curve slow, sleepy, amused. “Morning, babe,” he mumbles, voice rough gravel from cigarettes and whiskey. He doesn’t move more than that, just lets his gaze wander over you, the thin strap of your tank top sliding off your shoulder, the bare curve of your thigh brushing his. He exhales, deep and heavy, then lets his eyes fall shut again like he knows you’ll take what you want.

And you do.

You swing a leg over his, settling astride his thigh, the muscle beneath him warm and firm even in his half-asleep sprawl. His skin is hot under the thin cotton of his boxers, and you can already feel the faint tension there, the weight of his body not fully relaxed now that you’re pressed to him. His eyes flicker open again as your hips sink down, grinding lightly just to test, and that grin sharpens into something wicked.

“Fuck, you’re needy this morning,” he mutters, voice cracking into a laugh, and his hand comes up automatically, rough palm finding the curve of your ass and squeezing. He’s still barely awake but the reflex is pure muscle memory—Ryan touching you without thinking, Ryan guiding you into place like you’re meant to be there.

You roll your hips again, slow and teasing, the damp heat between your thighs catching against the fabric of his boxers. The friction sparks through you, sharp enough to make you gasp, and his laugh dies into a groan. “Yeah, that’s it, baby,” he murmurs, eyes half-lidded now, watching the way your body moves against him. “Ride it. Show me how bad you want it.”

The words land in you like a jolt, and you obey without hesitation. You rock forward harder, the pressure of his thigh hitting right where you need it, the rough drag of fabric against your clit making your eyes flutter shut. The sheet twists under your fists as you find a rhythm, grinding down and forward, back and again, each stroke hotter, wetter, the sound of your breath growing ragged in the quiet room.

Ryan props himself up on one elbow, hair falling into his face, his eyes locked on you like he can’t believe how lucky he is to wake up like this. He bites his lip, then lets it slip free with a low “mmm, fuck,” as his other hand drifts up your thigh, fingers splayed wide, calloused pads scraping your skin. He doesn’t guide you yet—he just lets you take what you want, watching with that lazy hungry look like the sight of you using him is enough to get him hard on its own.

The pressure builds fast, too fast, the combination of morning sensitivity and the raw grind of cotton against your soaked core making your body tremble. You chase it anyway, riding him harder, letting the steady firmness of his thigh give you everything. Each drag is sharper, wetter, a messy rhythm of slick fabric and desperate gasps. Your head tips back, hair falling across your face, and Ryan’s hand slips up to grab a fistful, tugging gently so your throat arches.

“Look at you,” he groans, voice hoarse, breath fanning hot against your neck as he pulls you down closer. His beard scratches your skin as he mouths at your collarbone, teeth scraping lightly before he sucks at the spot, leaving you marked. “Grinding on me like you can’t wait… gonna come just from my fuckin’ thigh, huh?”

The filthy tease makes your hips snap harder, the words sinking into you like gasoline on flame. Your clit throbs against the steady pressure, every nerve raw, every stroke sending sparks through your belly. Your moans spill out unchecked now, loud and broken, wet little whimpers that only make him groan louder.

“Jesus, babe, keep making those sounds—fuck, you’re soaking me.” His fingers dig into your ass, finally taking control, dragging you harder against him, forcing your cunt to grind against the exact spot that makes you see stars behind your eyelids. “Don’t stop. Don’t you fucking stop.”

You couldn’t if you tried. Your body is shaking now, thighs quivering as you ride his leg like it’s the only thing that matters, slick spreading across the thin cotton of his boxers, every motion sloppy and desperate. Ryan’s voice is in your ear, low and rough, telling you how hot you look, how good you feel, how he wants to watch you fall apart just like this. His words tumble over each other, groans and curses tangled with praise, until you’re not sure what’s real and what’s just the sound of your own heartbeat hammering in your skull.

The orgasm rips through you sudden and sharp, stealing your breath, your body jerking against him as the pressure finally shatters. You cry out, long and raw, grinding down hard as you ride the wave, stars exploding behind your eyes. Your cunt pulses even with nothing inside you, soaking his thigh, your entire body trembling with the force of it. Ryan holds you tight, hand tangled in your hair, other hand gripping your ass, groaning like he’s the one coming just from feeling you fall apart on him.

“Fuck, baby, that’s it—that’s it, ride it out, let me feel it,” he growls, pulling you down harder against him until you’re gasping, moaning into his chest, your body wracked with aftershocks. He doesn’t let you go until your hips slow, until your forehead drops against his collarbone and your breath stutters against his skin.

“Holy fuck,” you simply mutter, having nothing else to say, too overwhelmed and sensitive. Your breath still comes in shallow stutters against his chest, the last tremors flickering through your body, muscles weak and satisfied in that boneless way that makes you want to sink back into sleep. But Ryan doesn’t give you the chance. His hand slides down between your bodies, rough fingers tugging at the damp waistband of his boxers, shifting you slightly so you can feel the blunt heat of him pressing against your stomach. He groans, low and urgent, the sound vibrating against your cheek where it rests against his collarbone.

“Feel that?” he mutters, voice thick with need, breath warm against your hair. “Been watching you ride me like a fuckin’ goddess—now you’ve got me so hard I could break.”

You lift your head, still dazed, eyes heavy but drawn to the sight as he shoves his boxers down with one hand, freeing his cock. It springs up hard against his stomach, flushed red at the tip, slick already beading. The contrast between your soft, quivering body and the sheer demand of him makes your pulse spike again.

His eyes catch yours, half-hooded but burning. “C’mon, baby. Don’t just look at it. You’re not done yet.”

Before you can answer, he’s shifting his grip, sliding his hands under your thighs and guiding you forward, angling your hips until the head of his cock nudges against your soaked entrance. The wetness from grinding on his thigh makes it effortless, the slide sticky and hot. You moan, high and sharp, your body clenching automatically as the blunt pressure threatens to split you open.

Ryan’s laugh rumbles in his chest, dirty and tender all at once. “Yeah, that’s it. Gonna slide right in. Gonna make you feel me everywhere.”

You sink down slowly, the stretch immediate, raw, your walls parting inch by inch around him. The sensation is almost too much after the orgasm you just had, every nerve still hypersensitive, the burn mixing with overwhelming pleasure until you’re whimpering, clutching at his shoulders for balance.

“Fuck, look at you,” he groans, head tipping back against the pillow, veins standing out in his neck. His hands grip your hips so tight you know you’ll bruise, dragging you lower until he’s fully seated inside you, the thick weight of him filling every space. “Tightest fuckin’ thing in the world, baby… holy shit.”

You can’t speak—your mouth hangs open, sound spilling out in helpless moans as you try to adjust, your body stretching around him. The sun has shifted higher now, beams of gold cutting across the sheets, lighting up the sweat on both your skin, making the moment feel too bright, too alive, like the whole world has collapsed into this one bed.

When you finally start to move, lifting and dropping slowly on his cock, the sensation borders on unbearable. Each glide drags against your swollen clit, the aftershocks sparking again, your pussy gripping him like it can’t let go. Ryan’s eyes roll back, then snap open again to watch every single inch disappear into you, his chest heaving, his jaw tight.

“Yeah, baby, ride me. Fuck, you’re so beautiful like this,” he groans, voice rough, his words spilling unchecked. “Bouncing on my cock first thing in the morning—goddamn, I’m the luckiest man alive.”

Your rhythm builds, hips finding that messy pace between desperation and control. The wet slap of your bodies fills the room now, obscene and perfect, mixing with your moans and his grunts. You lean forward, pressing your hands to his chest for leverage, riding him harder, the head of his cock dragging against every sweet spot inside you until your vision blurs.

He sits up suddenly, arm snaking around your back, mouth crashing into yours. The kiss is wet, teeth clashing, all tongue and groaned curses into your mouth as he thrusts up to meet your movements. The added force makes you cry out, breaking the kiss with a strangled gasp as he slams deeper, hitting a place so good you nearly collapse against him.

“Yeah, you feel that?” he growls into your ear, breath hot and filthy. “Taking me so deep you’re seeing stars, huh? Bet you’re gonna come again. Bet you can’t hold it.”

You shake your head, but it’s useless. He’s right. The pressure coils sharp and fast again, your body dragging you toward it whether you want it or not. His hand slips down between you, thumb finding your clit, rubbing rough circles that make your hips jerk and your cry split the air.

The orgasm crashes harder this time, tearing through you with white-hot intensity. Your whole body locks, then convulses around him, cunt pulsing tight as you scream his name, nails digging into his shoulders. He curses, eyes squeezed shut, fucking up into you through it, gritting his teeth as your walls milk his cock.

“Fuckfuckfuck, baby, squeeze me just like that,” he pants, his own control breaking as he drives harder, faster, chasing his release. The bed creaks under you both, the sunlight a blur through your tears, everything collapsing into sensation.

With a guttural moan he slams in deep and holds, cock twitching inside you as he spills hot, thick, filling you completely. He buries his face in your neck, groaning your name into your skin as his body shudders against yours. His grip on your hips tightens almost painfully, grounding himself in you as he empties, his cock jerking with every pulse of his orgasm.

The world goes silent in the aftermath except for your shared ragged breathing. You slump against him, bodies slick with sweat, cum already dripping down your thighs, the sheets ruined beneath you. The fan still hums lazily above, the morning light now flooding the room in relentless brightness, but none of it matters.

Ryan tilts his head back, sucking in air, then presses a kiss to your temple, sloppy and lingering. “Holy shit, babe,” he murmurs, voice hoarse but full of awe. “If every morning was like this, I’d never get out of bed again.”

You laugh weakly, chest still heaving, but he doesn’t let you go. His arms stay locked around you, holding you in place as if you belong fused together, and in that moment, with the sunlight painting you both gold, you believe you do.

[knoxvillesjackass]

can someone please make a compilation of the jackass guys being worried about each other when shit goes sideways? I love those moments

[knoxvillesjackass]

Girl, I saw your post on Ryan Dunn requests, and I am here to deliver (I’m hyperfixating too lol)

So reader works on the set of Jackass (either as a medic or another position, your choice) and they and Dunn are pining for each other (like idiots in love not realizing the other has feelings) and he gets hurt on set and that results in one of them confessing their feelings

I hope that makes sense!

the right time - r.d

𝑺𝒖𝒎𝒎𝒂𝒓𝒚: 𝑾𝒉𝒆𝒏 𝒂 𝒔𝒕𝒖𝒏𝒕 𝒈𝒐𝒏𝒆 𝒘𝒓𝒐𝒏𝒈 𝒍𝒆𝒂𝒗𝒆𝒔 𝑹𝒚𝒂𝒏 𝒃𝒓𝒖𝒊𝒔𝒆𝒅, 𝒀/𝑵, 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒄𝒓𝒆𝒘 𝒎𝒆𝒅𝒊𝒄, 𝒓𝒖𝒔𝒉𝒆𝒔 𝒕𝒐 𝒉𝒊𝒔 𝒔𝒊𝒅𝒆.

𝒀𝒆𝒂𝒓𝒔 𝒐𝒇 𝒖𝒏𝒔𝒑𝒐𝒌𝒆𝒏 𝒇𝒆𝒆𝒍𝒊𝒏𝒈𝒔 𝒇𝒊𝒏𝒂𝒍𝒍𝒚 𝒄𝒓𝒂𝒔𝒉 𝒕𝒐 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒔𝒖𝒓𝒇𝒂𝒄𝒆, 𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝒏𝒆𝒊𝒕𝒉𝒆𝒓 𝒄𝒂𝒏 𝒌𝒆𝒆𝒑 𝒑𝒓𝒆𝒕𝒆𝒏𝒅𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒂𝒏𝒚𝒎𝒐𝒓𝒆.

word count: 3.100

fluff.

-

The desert heat shimmered off the asphalt as you dragged your medic bag from the van. The air already carried the faint smell of gasoline and sweat, and you braced yourself for another day of watching grown men try to outdo each other in stupidity.

“Morning, Doc,” Bam called from across the lot. He was perched on the hood of a rental, sipping a Red Bull like he owned the place.

“For the last time, I’m not a doctor,” you said, letting the bag thump against the pavement. “But if you’d like me to practice surgery on you, keep calling me that.”

He just grinned and lifted his can in salute. You rolled your eyes but smiled despite yourself. This was the way it always went—you’d been with them since the first movie, long enough that they treated you like a sibling. A sibling whose job was patching them back together every time they tested the limits of Darwin’s patience.

And then there was Ryan Dunn.

“Guess I’m up first,” he announced as he wandered into view, adjusting the helmet in his hands. His beard was a little thicker than usual, his shirt stained with dust and motor oil, but your eyes snagged on him the way they always did. You told yourself it was because you needed to evaluate his physical state. That was your job. That was the excuse you clung to.

“You’ve seen the ramp, right?” you asked, nodding at the monstrosity of plywood and duct tape waiting for him.

“Wouldn’t be fun if it wasn’t suicidal,” he said with that stupid, crooked grin.

You swallowed, your mouth suddenly dry. “Helmet stays on. Pads stay on. If you break anything, don’t expect sympathy.”

He leaned just close enough that his voice dipped low for only you to hear. “What about a kiss on the forehead if I survive?”

Your brain stalled. He laughed it off before you could come up with a comeback, strolling toward the crew like he hadn’t just short-circuited your heart. Idiot. Both of you.

⸻

The ramp creaked as they rolled the rocket cart into place. Cameras whirred to life, and Johnny did his usual intro, hyping up what you were already certain was going to end badly.

“Ready, Dunn?” Johnny yelled.

“Born ready,” Ryan shouted back, climbing in.

You stayed just out of frame, arms crossed over your chest. It was the same dance every time: adrenaline, laughter, and then the inevitable crash. You were the one who had to face the aftermath while they moved on to the next bit.

The cart shot forward, wheels clattering against the ramp. For a second, you thought maybe—maybe—he’d make it. Then the front wheel snagged on a loose board. The cart tipped, and gravity took its cruel prize.

Ryan flew sideways, slamming into the dirt with a thud that silenced everyone.

“Cut! Cut!” Johnny yelled.

You were already moving, bag slung over your shoulder, heart hammering.

When you dropped to your knees beside him, he was curled halfway onto his side, one hand gripping his ribs, the other his thigh. His face was pale under the beard, mouth twisted in pain.

“Ryan, stay still,” you ordered.

He tried for a grin, but it came out ragged. “Guess the cart won.

“Don’t talk,” you snapped, though your hands were careful as you checked his leg. Scraped raw, bleeding but not broken. His ribs, though—you pressed gently, and his sharp hiss cut through you. He clamped his hand over your wrist, eyes squeezed shut.

“Shit,” he muttered.

“Yeah, that’s the clinical term,” you said, forcing your voice steady. Inside, your chest was a storm.

The guys hovered in a loose circle, the rare silence unnerving. “He good?” Bam asked, frowning.

“He’ll live,” you said tightly. “But he’s done for the day.”

No one argued. That alone told you how bad it was.

⸻

You didn’t leave his side until he was in the van, out of sight of the cameras. He sagged against the seat, sweat glistening at his hairline.

“Could’ve been worse,” he rasped.

“You’re lucky you didn’t puncture a lung,” you shot back, pulling painkillers from your bag. “Do you even think before you do this crap?”

His eyes flicked to you, and for once, the usual spark in them softened.

“You were scared,” he said quietly.

The accusation landed like a stone in your gut. You looked away, fumbling with the pill bottle. “You scared me because you’re reckless.”

“Because you care,” he murmured.

You froze. He said it like it was the simplest thing in the world, like he’d just stated the weather.

“You need to take these,” you said instead, pressing the pills into his hand.

He didn’t take them right away. His fingers brushed yours, lingering.

“You know,” he said, voice rough with pain, “I’ve been waiting for the right time to tell you something. Thought maybe if I broke enough bones you’d finally admit it.”

Your chest tightened. “Admit what?”

“That you’re just as gone for me as I am for you.”

⸻

Later, you couldn’t remember who moved first. One second you were staring at him, pulse roaring in your ears, the next your forehead was pressed to his.

“God, you’re an idiot,” you whispered.

“Yeah,” he breathed back. “But I’m your idiot, right?”

You kissed him before you could think better of it. Careful, tentative, nothing like the chaos you were surrounded by every day—but it was everything. His hand trembled as it cupped your jaw, thumb grazing your cheek.

When you pulled back, he was smiling, tired but genuine.

“Guess the crash was worth it.”

“Don’t make a habit of it,” you warned, though your chest ached with something that felt dangerously close to joy.

⸻

The aftermath was impossible to hide. Bam barged into the van five minutes later, saw the two of you sitting shoulder to shoulder, and smirked like the devil himself.

“Ohhh,” he drawled, dragging it out until Johnny and Steve-O poked their heads in. “No wonder she’s been so mad at you all these years, Dunn. Sexual tension.”

“Shut the hell up,” you snapped, but your cheeks betrayed you. Ryan just leaned back against the seat, smug despite his bruises.

“About damn time,” Johnny said, shaking his head with a grin. “We thought we were gonna have to stage an intervention.”

The teasing didn’t stop for weeks. But beneath the laughter and the chaos, something had shifted. Dunn was still reckless, still an idiot, but now his eyes lingered on you a little longer, his touches stayed a little closer.

And you didn’t flinch away anymore.

For years, you’d both been circling each other, too stubborn to admit what everyone else already saw. It had taken a crash, a set of bruised ribs, and a moment where you thought you might lose him to finally break the dam.

The world around you was still madness, still noise and danger and idiocy. But in the quiet moments—between takes, in the van, under the desert sun—you had each other.

And that was enough.

[knoxvillesjackass]

Ryan Dunn fanfic request: if you can write where the female reader is apart of the jackass cast and she decides she wants to play a little prank on her boyfriend Ryan Dunn and it involves some viagra and she thinks Ryan going it’s funny but he ends up taking his sexual frustration out on her but she dosent mind 😛 smut yes

Y’ALL GET ME I SWEAR TO GOD

the pill - r.d

𝒔𝒖𝒎𝒎𝒂𝒓𝒚: 𝒚𝒐𝒖 𝒔𝒍𝒊𝒑 𝒓𝒚𝒂𝒏 𝒂 𝒗𝒊𝒂𝒈𝒓𝒂 𝒂𝒔 𝒑𝒂𝒓𝒕 𝒐𝒇 𝒂 𝒑𝒓𝒂𝒏𝒌, 𝒃𝒖𝒕 𝒚𝒐𝒖 𝒆𝒏𝒅 𝒖𝒑 𝒃𝒆𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒑𝒖𝒏𝒄𝒉𝒍𝒊𝒏𝒆

Warnings: NSFW / Explicit sexual content. Language (swearing, dirty talk) Oral sex (f receiving) Fingering. Unprotected sex.

word count: 2.998

-

“Hi, I’m Johnny Knoxville, and welcome to Jackass!”

The familiar introduction was punctuated with him taking a cream pie to the face courtesy of Bam, and the cameras swung around wildly as everyone howled with laughter. It was another long, sweaty day of filming for what would eventually become Jackass 2.5—bits strung together from the chaos you all lived in. Everyone was in high spirits, running on adrenaline, cheap beer, and the shared mission of getting the stupidest, most dangerous shots possible.

Being part of the crew meant you’d gotten used to the madness. It also meant you had your own ideas brewing, and this time you weren’t just thinking about laughs—you wanted to see how your boyfriend, Ryan, would handle being on the receiving end of something he couldn’t shrug off.

Ryan had been leaning against the hood of Knoxville’s rental, smoking a cigarette between setups, his ginger beard catching the sun. He looked good in that messy, unbothered way he always did—jeans a little dirty, white T-shirt wrinkled, hair uncombed but still soft when you tugged at it. You were already catching shit from Bam and Steve-O for being “gross” when you kissed him openly, but you didn’t care. He’d put an arm around your waist, pull you close, press his lips to your temple like it was second nature, and every time the cameras caught it you could hear the crew groaning theatrically.

“God, get a room,” Steve-O gagged after one particularly long kiss between setups.

Ryan didn’t even look up, flicking his ash in Steve-O’s direction. “You’re just jealous because nobody wants to make out with your scabby ass.”

The crew erupted, and you smirked, leaning against him. This was your rhythm: affection and sarcasm, back-to-back.

That’s what gave you the idea.

You’d managed to snag a couple of little blue pills the night before from a PA who thought it would be funny to “donate them to the cause.” Crush them up, slip them into Ryan’s water bottle—it would be a harmless prank, right? At worst, he’d have to walk around with a hard-on, everyone pointing and laughing. At best, it’d be one of those Jackass legends, replayed for years.

The cameras started rolling again a little later, and Knoxville turned to the lens with that manic grin. “So today’s bit is simple: we’re filming Ryan just… existing. Because somehow that’s hilarious enough.”

“Fuck you,” Ryan muttered from behind him, flipping him off.

“Look at him!” Bam chimed in. “He looks like a homeless wizard. That beard, man, you look like you’ve been jerking off behind a 7-Eleven.”

The insults piled on, and Ryan took them with a half-smile, tossing his cigarette away and cracking open the water bottle you’d doctored. You hid your grin, leaning against the wall as he downed half of it in one go.

The first ten minutes were uneventful. He kept shrugging off Bam’s pushes, trading jabs with Pontius, and draping an arm lazily around your shoulders between takes. But then, slowly, you noticed the shift. He shifted his weight more often, rubbed his thigh against his palm, cleared his throat like he was uncomfortable.

Steve-O noticed it first. “Yo, is Dunn pitching a tent?”

The camera swiveled toward him immediately, and Ryan groaned, hands flying down to cup himself defensively. “Oh, come the fuck on.”

The laughter was instant, explosive. Knoxville doubled over, pointing, while Wee Man cackled so hard he wheezed. Bam leaned into the shot, grinning like a hyena. “Is that a boner, dude? What the fuck? We weren’t even doing anything sexy!”

Ryan rolled his eyes, red already creeping up his neck. “Yeah, okay, because being surrounded by you guys is such a fucking turn-on.”

But the bulge pressing against his jeans was impossible to hide, and the cameraman zoomed in mercilessly. Ryan shoved the lens away, muttering curses. You bit your lip, trying not to laugh too hard—guilt mixed with amusement, because you knew exactly why it was happening.

“Maybe he saw Y/N and got all hot and bothered,” Pontius said cheerfully, always ready to stir the pot. “Look, you two are disgusting with the PDA. No wonder he’s walking around stiff.”

The crew howled, and Ryan reached for you automatically, looping an arm around your waist and pulling you close. He kissed you right there, open-mouthed, tongue and all, just to get them riled up. The catcalls were deafening.

When he pulled back, his beard tickling your cheek, he whispered so only you could hear: “If this is your fault, you’re dead.”

You blinked innocently, but the way his eyes narrowed told you he wasn’t buying it.

The cameras kept rolling as Ryan grew more and more visibly frustrated. He kept trying to sit down, cross his legs, adjust himself when he thought nobody was looking—but of course everyone was watching. Knoxville provided color commentary like it was a sports broadcast.

“And Dunn is going for the classic sit-down maneuver… oh, but wait, the boner still makes an appearance, ladies and gentlemen!”

Ryan groaned, burying his face in his hands, his shoulders shaking with laughter he couldn’t quite hold back. “You guys are assholes.”

Preston patted him on the back with mock sympathy. “Hey, man, happens to the best of us. Usually not on camera, but hey…”

It was relentless. Every time Ryan shifted, someone cracked a joke, and you felt the tension rising in him, the line between embarrassment and irritation blurring. He wasn’t mean about it—Ryan never really was—but his jaw tightened, his sarcasm sharper than usual.

“Glad you guys are so entertained by my dick,” he muttered after another round of heckling. “Jealous much?”

The laughter doubled, but his eyes flicked to you, pointed, questioning. You just smiled sweetly, squeezing his hand in yours.

The cameras eventually cut to focus on something else—Wee Man setting up a skateboard stunt—but Ryan stayed close to you, leaning down to murmur under the noise, “We’re talking about this later.”

His tone wasn’t threatening. If anything, it was weary, frustrated, but laced with that spark you recognized—the same one that came out when you kissed him too long in front of the crew, when you whispered something dirty in his ear before a shoot.

You rested your head against his shoulder anyway, whispering back, “I’ll make it up to you.”

The way his arm tightened around your waist, pulling you closer, told you he wasn’t as mad as he wanted to pretend. Still, the hard line of him pressing into your hip reminded you that the prank wasn’t over yet.

And the cameras had captured every second of it.

-

The night had cooled, but Ryan was still burning up, every nerve lit like a fuse. The crew was too wrapped up in their own chaos—Steve-O hollering as he lit something on fire, Knoxville narrating it like a sports broadcast—for anyone to notice when Ryan grabbed your hand and tugged you fast toward the row of cars. His grip was tight, the kind of silent “enough is enough” message you’d felt before, and he didn’t stop until he’d unlocked his beat-up black car and shoved the passenger door open.

“Get in,” he said low, rough, eyes shadowed under the lot’s buzzing streetlight. You could see the twitch of his jaw, the taut way he carried himself, like if he didn’t get a release soon he’d lose his shit.

You climbed in quick, heart thudding with anticipation, and he was already circling to the driver’s side, slamming the door behind him. The second it shut, his mouth was on yours, beard scratching, tongue demanding. “Fuck, I can’t believe you did this,” he muttered against your lips between kisses. “Whole day walking around like this, everyone laughing their asses off—” His hand slid between your thighs, cupping you, rubbing through your jeans. “You think that’s funny?”

“Kind of,” you teased, voice breaking into a whimper when his fingers pressed harder.

He groaned, half laugh, half growl, yanking your seat lever so it collapsed flat with a metallic clunk. “You’re sick.” He crawled over the console, straddling you, the bulge in his jeans pressing hard against your stomach as he kissed you sloppy, biting your lower lip. His hands roamed everywhere—up your shirt, squeezing your tits, then back down to claw your jeans open.

“Ryan—fuck—” you gasped as he shoved a hand inside, fingers sliding under your panties, finding you wet.

He grinned, cocky even in his frustration. “Yeah, I thought so.” He teased your clit in fast, rough circles, making you jolt, breath catching. “Been thinking about this all day, huh? Watching me suffer?”

You barely managed a whimpering “mmhhnn, y-yeah,” before he shoved two fingers inside you, curling them deep. Your back arched against the seat, a loud “ahhh—fuck, Ryan!” spilling out, the car rocking slightly with your movements.

“Shhhh,” he smirked, kissing your throat, biting lightly. “You wanna give us away?”

Your nails dug into his shoulders as his fingers pumped, wet sounds filling the cramped car. His other hand tugged your jeans down around your knees, shoving your panties aside, clearly seconds from unzipping himself and ramming into you—

knock-knock-knock.

“Heyyyy lovers!”

Bam’s voice, laughing, unmistakable. The sound of the camera clicking on, lens pointed straight through the foggy window.

Ryan froze, eyes snapping wide, then narrowing. “You’ve got to be fucking kidding me.”

“Got a stiffy to match the stiff suspension?” Bam cackled. The red tally light of the camcorder glowed through the glass. “C’mon, Dunn, let us get the money shot!”

Ryan groaned, forehead dropping to your shoulder. “I’m gonna kill him.” His hand left you reluctantly, tugging your jeans back up enough to cover, then shoving his own bulge down, zipper barely containing it. He sat up, middle finger raised high toward the window. “Fuck off, Bam!”

Bam laughed harder. “Jackass 2.5, baby!”

The camera zoomed in, but Ryan didn’t wait another second—he jammed the key in, started the car, and peeled out of the lot, tires squealing. Bam’s laugh faded behind you as Ryan muttered, “Unbelievable. Every goddamn time.”

You were laughing breathlessly, still tingling between your thighs, your jeans damp. “It was kind of funny—”

Ryan cut you a look, beard hiding the twitch of his mouth. “Yeah, hilarious. Glad my dick’s the fucking punchline.” He sped down the road, one hand on the wheel, the other still twitching against his thigh like it couldn’t stay still. His cock pressed obviously against his jeans, painful, demanding.

After a couple miles he yanked the wheel to the side, pulling into a dark patch of shoulder near the trees. Engine idling, he turned to you, eyes blazing. “Get in the back.”

Your pulse jumped. You scrambled over the console, Ryan right behind you, shoving the seats forward to make space. The car smelled faintly of smoke and old leather, but now it was filled with his heat as he pushed you onto your stomach across the seat.

“You had me walking around with this all day,” he said, undoing your jeans fast, dragging them and your panties down to your knees. “Whole crew laughing their asses off—meanwhile I’m about to explode.”

Before you could answer he pushed your thighs apart, buried his face between them. His beard scratched your skin as his tongue licked a hot stripe up your pussy, making you cry out, hands flying to the seatbelt strap for something to grip. “Ahhhhnn—oh my god, Ryan!”

He groaned against you, tongue flicking your clit, lips sucking, his hands gripping your ass to hold you open. Sloppy, messy slurping filled the car, your moans echoing off the windows. “Mmmhh—fuck, you taste so good—” he muttered, voice muffled against you, before diving back in, tongue fucking you deep.

Your thighs trembled, ass grinding back against his face, and you cried out, “Ohhh—fuck yes, yes, just like that—”

He growled, satisfied, tongue working faster until you were shaking apart, a sharp scream tearing from your throat as you came against his mouth.

He pulled back with a wet sound, beard glistening, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. “Still funny?” he asked, voice hoarse.

You barely had time to gasp before he unzipped, shoved his cock out—thick, red, leaking—and pushed you forward, pressing your chest to the seat. He lined up and slid in hard, burying himself to the hilt with a guttural groan.

“Fuckkk, finally.”

You screamed, body jerking forward as he slammed into you, hands gripping your hips like handles. The car shook with every thrust, windows fogging up quick. His cock pounded into you rough, fast, no tenderness—just raw need, the frustration of the day boiling out with every slap of skin.

“Ahhhhnn—fuck, Ryan, so deep—so fucking deep—” you moaned, clawing at the seat beneath you.

“Yeah, take it,” he grunted, pulling almost all the way out before slamming back in, making your whole body jolt. “Been hard since noon because of your stupid little prank—ahhh—” His head dropped back, hair falling in his eyes as he fucked you harder, sweat dripping.

You were babbling his name, crying out each thrust, the wet slap of your pussy around him obscene in the small space. “Yes—yes, don’t stop, please don’t—”

He leaned over you, voice low, broken. “Not stopping ‘til I’m empty, swear to God.” His hips pistoned, brutal, cock dragging against every sensitive spot until you came again with a strangled cry, pussy clenching tight around him.

“Fuuuckkk—oh, yeah, squeeze me—” he groaned, hips stuttering. With a few more sharp thrusts he came hard, spilling inside you with a guttural yell, grinding deep as he emptied out, his breath shuddering hot against your back.

The car went quiet except for the tick of the cooling engine, both of you panting hard. Ryan pulled out slow, collapsing against the seat beside you, sweat-soaked, hair sticking to his forehead.

He laughed, breathless, shaking his head. “You’re an asshole.”

You turned your head, grinning despite the soreness between your thighs. “You still love me though.”

“Yeah,” he admitted, chuckling, eyes closing as he caught his breath. “But next time you drug me with Viagra, I’m telling Knoxville. He’ll make you do a stunt naked as payback.”

You laughed, crawling into his lap to kiss him again, already knowing the crew would never let either of you live this down when you got back.

-

When you and Ryan finally pulled back into the motel lot, it was past midnight. The parking area was still alive with chaos—beer cans everywhere, Steve-O half-naked and yelling at Wee Man to ride a shopping cart off the curb, Knoxville egging him on with that manic cackle. Ryan’s car engine gave one last wheeze before he killed it, and for a second it felt like maybe you could just slip out, head straight to the room, and no one would notice.

Then Bam’s voice cut through the night like a damn siren: “HEYYY, THEY’RE BACK! COME CHECK THIS OUT!”

Ryan froze with his hand on the door handle. “…Oh no.”

Your stomach dropped. The whole crew turned like vultures, eyes gleaming, grins sharp. They weren’t just gathered around a random stunt—they were crowded around Bam’s camera, hooked up to the tiny motel TV dragged outside on a cart, wires strung sloppily through an open window. And on the screen, clear as day, was Ryan’s car rocking on the side of the road. Windows fogged, faint moans audible if you leaned in close.

“Jesus Christ,” Knoxville wheezed, doubled over in laughter. “You two look like you were filming a fucking porno!”

Steve-O was shrieking, clutching his sides. “Oh my GOD, dude, you can hear it! Listen—listen—rewind it!” He jabbed at the buttons, and sure enough, your own voice filled the air: a sharp, breathless “ahhhhnn—fuck, Ryan!”

The group absolutely lost it. Preston wheezed so hard he nearly toppled over, Pontius clapped like it was the best thing he’d ever seen, and Wee Man was on the ground, rolling, tears in his eyes.

Ryan, however, was stone still beside you, red climbing his neck fast. He muttered, “Son of a bitch,” under his breath, dragged a hand down his face, and when Bam grinned at him with devilish glee, camera still in hand, Ryan flipped him the finger without a word.

“Ohhh, look at him! He’s pissed!” Bam cackled. He zoomed in close on Ryan’s face, the red glow of the record light obvious. “Tell the fans how it feels to star in Jackass: XXX Edition!”

Ryan lunged, trying to grab the camera, but Bam danced out of reach, still laughing. “Hey, relax, dude! It’s comedy gold! They’ll eat this shit up on 2.5!”

You couldn’t stop laughing yourself, cheeks hot, partly mortified but also finding the absurdity hilarious. Seeing your own fogged-up car on the motel TV, Ryan’s outline pounding away while the crew shrieked commentary—it was too perfectly stupid, too Jackass.

“Turn it off, you assholes!” Ryan barked, voice cracking between irritation and helpless laughter. He looked at you then, beard hiding the twitch of his mouth, eyes glinting like he was seconds from breaking into a grin despite himself.

Knoxville leaned in, still grinning. “C’mon, Dunn, don’t be shy. America already loves your beard—they’re gonna love your sex tape even more.

Ryan groaned, hands on his hips, flipping them all off again. “I fucking hate you guys.”

Pontius patted him on the back, cheerful as ever. “Hey, man, at least you lasted longer than Steve-O did last week with that stripper!”

The laughter roared louder, and Ryan finally cracked, shaking his head, chuckling low under his breath. He slung an arm around your shoulders and muttered just for you, “We’re never living this down.”

You tilted your head against him, still smiling, whispering back, “Worth it.”

And as Bam replayed the footage for the fifth time, cackling so hard he could barely breathe, Ryan just sighed, middle finger still raised high, and endured the circus—because that was the rhythm of life with Jackass.

[knoxvillesjackass]

would u ever write for ville valo ♡

no, unfortunately…i write about the crew and the crew only ♡

[knoxvillesjackass]

Y’ALL GET ME I SWEAR THE RYAN REQUESTS CAME THROUGH GOD I LOVE YOU

[knoxvillesjackass]

So basically fem!reader x Ryan/Chris/Bam or the whole jackass crew.

The reader is steve-o's sister and a totally rocker/biker babe (dressed in leather pants, band shirts and high boots)(full of tats and piercings)

she's in her room playing the guitar while the guys are over and they hear her play? So steve-o introduces them? Maybe if she ends up bam or so she gets introduced to ville?

She makes korn/soad kinda music :)

Sorry if it's too much

chaos meets chaos - jackass crew (ville valo cameo)

𝑺𝒖𝒎𝒎𝒂𝒓𝒚: 𝑺𝒕𝒆𝒗𝒆-𝑶’𝒔 𝒕𝒂𝒕𝒕𝒐𝒐𝒆𝒅, 𝒈𝒖𝒊𝒕𝒂𝒓-𝒔𝒉𝒓𝒆𝒅𝒅𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒔𝒊𝒔𝒕𝒆𝒓 𝒔𝒉𝒐𝒄𝒌𝒔 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝑱𝒂𝒄𝒌𝒂𝒔𝒔 𝒄𝒓𝒆𝒘 𝒘𝒊𝒕𝒉 𝒉𝒆𝒓 𝒓𝒊𝒇𝒇𝒔 𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝒄𝒂𝒕𝒄𝒉𝒆𝒔 𝑩𝒂𝒎’𝒔 𝒂𝒕𝒕𝒆𝒏𝒕𝒊𝒐𝒏. 𝑾𝒉𝒆𝒏 𝒔𝒉𝒆 𝒕𝒂𝒈𝒔 𝒂𝒍𝒐𝒏𝒈 𝒕𝒐 𝑪𝒂𝒔𝒕𝒍𝒆 𝑩𝒂𝒎, 𝒄𝒉𝒂𝒐𝒔 𝒆𝒔𝒄𝒂𝒍𝒂𝒕𝒆𝒔 𝒂𝒔 𝑽𝒊𝒍𝒍𝒆 𝑽𝒂𝒍𝒐 𝒆𝒏𝒕𝒆𝒓𝒔 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒎𝒊𝒙, 𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝑩𝒂𝒎’𝒔 𝒊𝒏𝒕𝒆𝒓𝒆𝒔𝒕 𝒊𝒏 𝒉𝒆𝒓 𝒃𝒆𝒄𝒐𝒎𝒆𝒔 𝒊𝒎𝒑𝒐𝒔𝒔𝒊𝒃𝒍𝒆 𝒕𝒐 𝒊𝒈𝒏𝒐𝒓𝒆.

𝑾𝒐𝒓𝒅 𝒄𝒐𝒖𝒏𝒕: 2.300 𝒘𝒐𝒓𝒅𝒔.

𝒇𝒍𝒖𝒇𝒇.

-

The problem with living with Steve-O wasn’t the drugs, or the mess, or even the random animals he’d somehow adopt without warning.

It was the people he let into the house.

On any given day, there was no telling if you’d wake up to Ryan Dunn passed out on the porch, Pontius streaking across the front yard in a thong, or Bam Margera skateboarding down the goddamn hallway like your living room was a halfpipe.

You’d learned to drown it out. Headphones in, guitar plugged, fingers tearing out riffs that cracked through the walls louder than the chaos outside.

Today was no different.

You sat cross-legged on your bed, black leather pants sticking to your thighs, a faded Pantera tee draped off your shoulder. Tattoos crawled up your arms, piercings glinting when the sunlight cut across your face. Your boot tapped out the tempo as you layered a riff that was pure Korn with just enough System of a Down weirdness to make it hit harder.

You were in your own world—until Ryan Dunn’s voice broke through from the living room.

“Dude, what the fuck is that?”

Steve-O looked up from the joint he was rolling, blinking. “Oh, that? Uh… shit. That’s my sister.”

Bam whipped his head around like someone had just set him on fire. “You have a sister?”

Knoxville nearly spit out his beer. “Wait, wait, wait. You’ve been keeping a sister from us this whole time?”

Pontius grinned wide, shirt long gone as usual. “That’s not just a sister, that’s a shredder.”

Ryan leaned forward, squinting toward the hallway. “Man, that sounded badass. Bring her out, Steve.”

Steve-O groaned, already regretting the soundproofing situation. “Nah, nah, trust me, you don’t wanna meet her. She’ll chew you guys up and spit you out.”

Which of course, only made them more curious.

Bam shoved Steve-O’s shoulder, laughing. “Shut the fuck up and go get her, dude. You’re hiding treasure in your house.”

“Yeah,” Knoxville chimed in, “and it’s not like you can keep her from us forever.”

Steve-O rolled his eyes, muttered something about bad ideas, and stomped down the hall.

You’d barely finished the riff when he cracked your door open. “Yo, sis—pause the death metal recital for a sec. The guys wanna meet you.”

You gave him a look. “The guys?”

He grimaced. “Yeah. Those guys.”

You sighed, set your guitar aside, and swung the door open.

Silence fell in the living room the moment you stepped in.

You stood in the doorway with your guitar still slung over your shoulder, leather boots scuffed, tattoos peeking from under ripped sleeves. Your hair fell in messy waves, dark eyeliner making your eyes sharp as hell.

“…Well?” you asked flatly.

Pontius clapped like a kid at Christmas. “She’s fucking awesome!”

Ryan let out a long whistle. “Steve, you never told us your sister looked like she could crush our skulls and headline Ozzfest.”

Knoxville smirked. “That explains why you kept her hidden.”

Bam was quiet—at least, for him. He leaned forward on the couch, elbows on his knees, grinning like he’d just found his new favorite thing in the world. “That riff… was that yours?”

You smirked. “Yeah. Working on something heavy. Probably too complicated for your brain cells.”

Knoxville cackled, beer spraying. Pontius practically rolled off the couch laughing. Ryan muttered, “Damn, she’s got Steve’s mouth.”

Bam didn’t even flinch. If anything, his grin got wider. “I like her.”

Steve-O groaned, flopping back on the couch.

“Goddammit.”

For the next half hour, the guys threw questions at you nonstop.

Ryan wanted to know your favorite Korn album. Knoxville joked about filming a Jackass band spin-off. Pontius begged you to play “something sexy” on guitar until Steve-O told him to shut the hell up.

But it was Bam who really zeroed in.

“You into HIM at all?” he asked, leaning toward you like the rest of the room had disappeared.

“Yeah. Ville’s voice is insane.”

Bam lit up. “No fucking way. He’s one of my best friends. He’d lose his shit over your music.”

You raised a brow. “Ville Valo? The Ville Valo?”

“The one and only,” Bam said, cocky grin intact. “You gotta meet him. We’re always filming dumb shit at my place, Castle Bam. You’d fit right in.”

Steve-O threw his hands up. “Oh hell no. She is not getting sucked into your chaos, Bam.”

But Bam’s grin only grew, eyes locked on you. “She already is chaos, dude. I can tell.”

You plucked a sharp riff on your guitar, smirking at your brother. “Maybe the monster was already here, Steve.”

The whole room erupted in laughter. Bam’s laugh was the loudest, and for the first time, you didn’t mind being dragged into the circus.

LATER - CASTLE BAM

Steve-O swore up and down that letting you tag along to Castle Bam was “the worst fucking idea” he’d ever had. Which, considering the man had stapled his balls to his leg before, was saying a lot.

But Bam had insisted—loudly, relentlessly—until Steve-O finally threw his hands up and muttered, “Fine, but don’t say I didn’t warn you when she burns your house down.”

The first thing you noticed when you got to Castle Bam was how the entire place screamed Bam Margera’s brain on Red Bull. Half-pipes in the backyard, ramps bolted to the staircase, walls covered in graffiti, and a giant pirate flag waving over the driveway.

“Oh my god,” you muttered under your breath. “It’s like MTV had a fever dream and left it here to rot.”

Bam, grinning ear to ear, flung open the front door. “Welcome to paradise, sweetheart.”

Steve-O groaned. “She’s gonna fucking hate you.”

Inside was even worse. Novak was already half-naked in the kitchen, yelling about how he couldn’t find pants. Ryan Dunn sat on the couch drinking a beer at 2 p.m., while Raab Himself tried to duct-tape Knoxville’s shoes to the ceiling. Ape and Phil were in the background—Ape yelling, Phil laughing like he’d given up on life years ago.

“Jesus Christ,” you muttered, stepping over a skateboard that came flying past your boots.

Ryan looked up and spotted you. “Holy shit, Steve actually brought her!”

Pontius—who had apparently already found a reason to strip down again—threw both arms in the air. “The rock goddess has arrived!”

You adjusted your guitar strap, smirking. “You guys don’t even deserve to look at me.”

The room exploded in laughter, Bam’s especially loud. He shoved Dunn’s shoulder. “See? I told you she was metal as fuck.”

Ryan grinned. “She’s got sharper teeth than you, Bam.”

“Good,” Bam said, not missing a beat. His eyes flicked toward you, warm and mischievous all at once.

Steve-O groaned. “Oh no. Nope. I don’t like that look.”

Within ten minutes, you were dragged outside to the backyard ramp where Bam and Dunn were already dropping in on their boards. Bam shoved his deck toward you.

“C’mon. You skate?”

You raised a brow. “Do I look like I skate?”

“Yes,” Pontius said immediately, grinning like an idiot.

Bam smirked. “Then prove it.”

You rolled your eyes, took the board, and stepped onto the ramp. It had been years since you’d skated seriously, but muscle memory kicked in quick. You dropped in clean, carved one smooth line, and hopped off before you could eat shit.

The crew roared like you’d just landed a 900.

“Holy fuck!” Dunn yelled, spilling beer down his shirt.

Bam jogged over, grabbing his board back with that wild grin. “Okay, I’m officially in love.”

Steve-O smacked him upside the head. “Back off, Bam.”

But Bam wasn’t listening. His eyes were still locked on you, like he was trying to figure out what made you tick.

The chaos was interrupted when a black Escalade rolled up the driveway. Out stepped Ville Valo, long coat, eyeliner sharp, cigarette already dangling from his fingers like it was part of his hand.

“Speak of the devil,” Bam muttered, jogging over to greet him.

“Bam, what the hell is going on here?” Ville’s voice was deep, smooth, tired.

“Just the usual,” Bam said. “Hey—got someone you gotta meet.” He grabbed your arm without warning and pulled you forward. “This is Steve-O’s sister. She shreds guitar like a demon.”

Ville’s eyes flicked over you, slow and assessing. “So you’re the one making all the noise Steve’s been hiding from us.”

You smirked, crossing your arms. “Noise? That’s art, sweetheart.”

Ville’s mouth curved into the faintest smile. “I like her.”

Bam grinned, looking between you and Ville like he’d just brokered some kind of unholy alliance.

“Told you she’d fit right in.”

Steve-O threw his hands in the air. “Oh, great. Now I gotta deal with both of you corrupting her.”

Hours later, the house was a full-blown circus. Novak had gotten himself duct-taped to a chair, Ryan was passed out on the couch, Knoxville was scheming something with fireworks, and Pontius had declared himself “Lord of the Hot Tub.”

You ended up outside on the back steps, guitar in hand, cigarette burning low between your fingers. Ville sat beside you, listening quietly while you played one of your darker riffs. Bam leaned against the railing, beer in hand, watching you with that same restless energy.

“Sounds like something Jonathan Davis would write,” Ville said softly.

You shrugged. “Guess Korn rubbed off on me.”

Bam’s grin widened. “You two are like soulmates or some shit.”

Ville smirked. “Careful, Bam. Don’t sound jealous.”

Bam shot him a look but didn’t deny it. Instead, he stepped closer, eyes still on you. “I’m just saying… you’re fucking rad. Didn’t think anyone could keep up with this circus, but—you do.”

You strummed one last sharp chord, the sound ringing into the night. Then you looked up at him, smirk tugging at your lips. “Maybe I belong in the circus.”

The way Bam’s grin sharpened, wild and a little dangerous, told you he agreed.

[knoxvillesjackass]

Haiyo :3!! Could you write about a fem!reader who is a begginner skater and in an attempt to impress Bam she gets pretty hurt?

XOXO (⁠≧⁠▽⁠≦⁠)

the fall - b.m

I hope this is sort of what you had in mind!

𝑾𝒐𝒓𝒅 𝑪𝒐𝒖𝒏𝒕: 2.000-𝒊𝒔𝒉

𝑺𝒖𝒎𝒎𝒂𝒓𝒚: 𝒀/𝑵, 𝒂 𝒃𝒆𝒈𝒊𝒏𝒏𝒆𝒓 𝒔𝒌𝒂𝒕𝒆𝒓, 𝒕𝒓𝒊𝒆𝒔 𝒕𝒐 𝒊𝒎𝒑𝒓𝒆𝒔𝒔 𝑩𝒂𝒎 𝒂𝒕 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒔𝒌𝒂𝒕𝒆𝒑𝒂𝒓𝒌 𝒃𝒖𝒕 𝒕𝒂𝒌𝒆𝒔 𝒂 𝒏𝒂𝒔𝒕𝒚 𝒇𝒂𝒍𝒍. 𝑩𝒂𝒎’𝒔 𝒘𝒊𝒍𝒅 𝒆𝒏𝒆𝒓𝒈𝒚 𝒕𝒖𝒓𝒏𝒔 𝒑𝒓𝒐𝒕𝒆𝒄𝒕𝒊𝒗𝒆 𝒂𝒔 𝒉𝒆 𝒕𝒂𝒌𝒆𝒔 𝒄𝒂𝒓𝒆 𝒐𝒇 𝒉𝒆𝒓, 𝒓𝒆𝒗𝒆𝒂𝒍𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒉𝒆 𝒂𝒍𝒓𝒆𝒂𝒅𝒚 𝒉𝒂𝒅 𝒉𝒊𝒔 𝒆𝒚𝒆𝒔 𝒐𝒏 𝒉𝒆𝒓 𝒂𝒍𝒍 𝒂𝒍𝒐𝒏𝒈.

𝒇𝒍𝒖𝒇𝒇.

-

The smell of asphalt and sweat clung to the air like a badge of honor. Skateboards rattled against ramps, the dull crack of wheels on concrete echoing through the skatepark. The afternoon sun blazed, heat shimmering up from the ground, but your focus wasn’t on the weather. It was on Bam Margera—loud, grinning, and magnetic as ever.

He was at the center of it all, as usual. Everyone’s eyes seemed to orbit around him as he skated across the park with ease, weaving around obstacles like it was second nature. Which, for him, it was. The wild grin on his face as he pulled off a trick drew cheers from the crowd, and your stomach twisted—not from jealousy, but from nerves.

Because today, you’d told yourself you were going to impress him.

You’d only been skating for a few weeks, maybe a month at best, but you couldn’t ignore how much you wanted his attention. Not just the casual kind, not the teasing he gave everyone, but something a little more. Something that made him look at you like you weren’t just another kid hanging around the park.

“Yo, newbie!” Bam’s voice carried across the noise as he rolled to a stop in front of you. His hair was a messy halo, sweat dripping down his forehead, sunglasses perched loosely on his face. He smirked, resting one sneaker on his board. “You just gonna stand there looking nervous, or you gonna skate?”

You swallowed hard, forcing a grin. “I’m gonna skate.”

“Oh yeah?” He tilted his head, clearly amused. “Lemme see what you got.”

The group of kids nearby turned their heads, some with smirks, others with curiosity. Your stomach flipped. You weren’t ready for this, not really. But with Bam watching, waiting, you couldn’t back down.

You pushed your board into place at the top of a small ramp—not even close to the size of the ones Bam handled with ease, but big enough to make your palms sweat. You crouched down, heart hammering.

You could do this. You had to.

“Don’t overthink it,” Bam called out, his smirk widening. “Just drop in and ride it. Easy.”

Easy. Right.

You pushed forward, the wheels clattering as they hit the edge. For one glorious half-second, you thought you had it—thought you might actually pull it off. Then your board slipped out from under you, shooting forward. The world tilted.

The impact was brutal. Concrete slammed into your side as you crashed, your wrist twisting awkwardly beneath you. A sharp sting shot up your arm, followed by the dull ache of your knee hitting the ground.

Gasps rippled through the group.

“Shit!” Bam’s voice cut through the ringing in your ears. He was beside you in an instant, dropping to a crouch, his board forgotten. The cocky grin was gone, replaced by wide-eyed concern. “Hey, hey—don’t move. Are you okay?”

You groaned, cradling your wrist against your chest. “I… I think so. Maybe. Ow.”

“Definitely not okay.” His hands hovered for a second before settling gently on your shoulder.

“Lemme see your wrist.”

Reluctantly, you held it out. He took it carefully, turning it slightly, his brow furrowed in concentration. “Does that hurt?”

“Yeah,” you admitted, wincing.

“Damn.” He sighed, shaking his head. “You don’t gotta kill yourself trying to impress me, y’know.”

Heat flooded your cheeks. “I wasn’t—”

“Don’t even.” His tone was softer now, though, teasing at the edges. “I saw the look on your face.”

You tried to laugh it off but ended up groaning instead. Bam glanced around, noticing the eyes still on you both. With a sharp wave, he barked, “Alright, show’s over. Go skate somewhere else!” The others scattered quickly, knowing better than to argue.

He helped you to your feet, steadying you with one hand on your back. “C’mon, sit down before you pass out.”

You limped with him toward a bench, your board rattling along beside you as he grabbed it with his free hand. He set it down with a dramatic sigh.

“Man, your first attempt at showing off and you eat shit that hard? Brutal.”

“Thanks,” you muttered, clutching your wrist.

Bam sat next to you, pulling off his sunglasses so he could look you in the eye. His voice softened, quieter now that the audience was gone.

“Seriously though… you scared the hell outta me.”

You blinked. “You? Scared?”

“Yeah,” he admitted with a small chuckle, rubbing the back of his neck. “I mean, I’ve seen plenty of people wipe out, but… I dunno. Didn’t like seeing you go down like that.”

Your stomach flipped again, but for a different reason this time. He leaned closer, resting his elbows on his knees, his gaze fixed on your bandaged wrist.

“You should ice that,” he said. “And keep your knee elevated. You’re not skating anymore today.”

“What if I wanna try again?” you asked, half teasing.

“Then I’ll steal your board and hide it.” His smirk returned, but softer, more genuine. “Not letting you break your damn neck just ‘cause you think I’ll be impressed.”

You laughed, shaking your head. “Guess I failed anyway.”

Bam turned toward you fully, his expression unusually earnest. “Nah. You didn’t fail. Takes guts to even try. Most people would’ve just stood there making excuses.”

You opened your mouth to respond, but his words stuck with you, heavy and warm in your chest. For once, Bam Margera wasn’t joking, wasn’t putting on a show—he meant it.

The silence stretched for a moment, broken only by the sounds of wheels in the distance. He glanced at you, his eyes lingering longer than usual, before finally cracking a grin. “So… you gonna let me teach you next time? Properly, I mean. Before you kill yourself?”

You smiled, despite the throbbing in your wrist. “Yeah. Deal.”

“Good.” He leaned back, stretching his arms behind the bench. “And for the record… you don’t need to do anything dangerous to get my attention. Already had it.”

Your breath caught. He said it so casually, like it wasn’t a big deal, but the meaning behind it hit you harder than the concrete had.

Bam noticed your stunned silence and laughed, leaning closer until his shoulder brushed yours. “What? Surprised?”

“A little,” you admitted.

He grinned. “Don’t be. You’re not as sneaky as you think.”

You groaned, burying your face in your good hand. “Great. Totally humiliated myself and got caught trying to impress you.”

Bam laughed, the sound warm and unfiltered. “Nah. You just made me like you more.”

You peeked at him through your fingers, heart pounding. His grin softened into something else—something that made your chest ache in a good way. And for once, in all the chaos of Bam’s world, you felt steady.

[knoxvillesjackass]

can someone please come with some dunn requests? i need to get some stuff out of my system loll

[knoxvillesjackass]

He's SOOO good with kids 😍😍

[knoxvillesjackass]

vito get your grubby hands off my man

[knoxvillesjackass]

I love Ryan's little Princess Diana look after the kiss so bashful

[knoxvillesjackass]

🥸 dating ryan dunn 🥸

again bcuz i love him sm

[knoxvillesjackass]

dont mind me, just hyper fixating on mr. dunn right now.

[knoxvillesjackass]

the dream

ASK BAM- RYAN DUNN X READER 🧸🫀

Desc: You’re not in love with Ryan Dunn—at least, that’s what you told Bam. But when you show up at Ryan’s place that night, the line between what you say and what you feel starts to blur.

A/N: Sorry this is long asl- also looking for people to like pre-read my work and check grammar and if I’m using the same words a lot because I go blind to it after a while lmk if you’d be down

Warnings: Smut is kind of implied, Making out

Word count: 1609

“So, are you guys in love or not?” Bam inquired.

You’d suddenly began to regret the borderline lecture you’d given him on the ups and downs of your not-really-a-relationship-relationship with his best friend.

You told Bam about the time that Ryan had come to your house when you were sick, with medicine and at least attempted to try and make you something to eat. You told him about the times that Ryan held you and kissed you like nobody ever had before.

But you also told him about the time that Ryan ignored your calls for a week with no explanation.

So, the answer you gave to Bam about whether you and Ryan were “In love or not” could be one of a thousand answers. You could tell him what you thought the answer to that question was last week, or yesterday, or right now. They were all on a spectrum, ranging from rosy pink to dead black.

You rolled Bam’s splintered board left to right with your resting ankles, trying to distract yourself from thinking too hard about Ryan.

“Well?” Bam demanded.

You blinked your eyes savagely hard. “No. We’re not in love.”

Bam leaned back, and I thought for a second he was going to protest. “Alright. But does he know that?”

You ignored what Bam said, and said your goodbyes to him before giving him a quick, pathetically weak hug.

You told yourself you weren’t walking to Ryan’s house for any particular reason. Maybe just to clear your head. Maybe to prove to Bam that he was wrong, and you two could just be allowed to have a summer fling and be friends.

Ryan’s front door was unlocked, like always. You stepped inside without knocking, knowing he wouldn’t give a fuck, and saw him sprawled on the couch.

The TV glow shone against his skin, casting coloured shadows over his face. He looked up at the sound of the door closing, squinting at you like he wasn’t sure if you were real.

“You lost or something?” His voice was hoarse, like he hadn’t spoken in a while.

You crossed your arms. “No. Just thought I’d stop by.”

Ryan sat up and stretched, the hem of his white t-shirt lifting up to show a sliver of skin. His eyes were very tired, but he smirked. “Yeah? Or did you just come over to crawl into my bed?”

You sighed. “No.”

Ryan was studying you. His gaze had that intensity that made your skin prickle, like he could see straight through you. You hated that. You hated the way he could make you feel so obvious.

“I saw Bam earlier,” you admitted, stepping inside. “He asked me if we were in love.”

Ryan let out a quiet laugh, shaking his head. “Oh yeah? And what’d you say?”

You swallowed. “I said no.”

Ryan’s smirk fell for just a second. Then he nodded, tongue running over his bottom lip like he was thinking something over.

“Cool,” he muttered. “Good to know.”

Something about his tone pissed you off. It was like he knew that you wanted him to ask why you said no. So he gave you absolutely nothing.

“It’s true, no?” you pressed, hating the way your voice sounded. Like you were asking instead of stating a fact.

Ryan shrugged. “I dunno. You tell me.” His voice was lower now. “You’re the one who keeps showing up at my house to get in my pants.”

Your breath caught in your throat. “Don’t start that shit.”

He leaned forward, resting his forearms on his knees. “What shit, (Y/N)?”

“Acting like I’m the only one who—“ You broke off.

Ryan scanned you up and down for a minute, his expression a mixture of confusion and amusement. Without warning, he reached out, grabbed your wrist and pulled you closer. You let him, even though you should have pulled away.

His grip was loose, but enough to keep you grounded next to him on the couch.

“Well, if you’re not in love with me, why do you keep looking at me like that?”

Your pulse spiked. “Like what?”

Even though his lips twitched, there was no humour in it. “Like you’re waiting for me to prove you wrong.”

You should’ve pulled away. You should’ve laughed, rolled your eyes, anything to break the tension that had settled so thick between you. But you didn’t.

“I’m not waiting for anything,” you murmured, but it came out weaker than you wanted.

Ryan exhaled a quiet laugh. His thumb brushed once over your wrist before he let go. You hated the feeling of its absence immediately.

“Yeah?” he muttered, leaning back again. “Then why are you still here?”

You really should’ve left. You should’ve left some snarky comment behind you and walked out before you let him get to you. But you stayed. Because you always do.

Because no matter how many times Ryan ignored your calls, or pulled himself back as soon as you thought he was letting you in, no matter how many times he made you feel like you were chasing something you could never catch. You wound up right back at his door.

“Maybe I just like making sure you’re still alive,” you muttered.

Ryan smirked, tilting his head toward you. “You think about me that much?”

Your stomach twisted. “Don’t flatter yourself.”

But now he was watching you, and it wasn’t casual. His eyes flicked all over you, and you felt so aware of yourself, your crossed legs on his sofa, the way your hair fell, whatever way your hands sat. You wondered if what you were doing was weird or wrong. Of course it wasn’t, but the way he stared made you so conscious.

It was classic Ryan fashion actually. He didn’t like being the first one to break. He liked pushing people, waiting for them to crack. But for the first time ever, you weren’t breaking.

He shifted towards you, closing the space between you before you could even think too hard about it. His leg pressed up against yours, warm through the denim. His fingers found their way to your hair, featherlight, but intentional.

“So, if I were to fuck you right now, and it be the last time, you wouldn’t care?”

You should’ve said yes, or laughed, or maintained that you did truly believe this whole arrangement was nothing, and most surely not love. But when he pulled your head forward, you didn’t move away.

His fingers curled against the back of your neck, he was giving you every opportunity to pull away.

You didn’t.

Ryan let out a breath, maybe relief, maybe something different. Finally, his lips met yours.

It wasn’t careful. It wasn’t soft. It was a kiss that didn’t leave any room for doubt, like he was trying to erase every time either of you had ever pretended like this meant nothing. His hand slid up, tangling into your hair, pulling you closer, like he was asking you to stop him.

You just kissed him back just as hard.

Because this was how it always went down . You’d say to yourself it didn’t mean anything, that it was just a summer fling, that you weren’t in love, but the second Ryan touched you, none of that mattered.

His other hand grazed your waist, fingertips pressing just enough to make your breath stop. He smirked against your mouth, like he noticed, like he knew.

Cocky bastard.

You pushed at his shoulder, just enough to push him back against the couch. “You’re such an asshole,” you muttered, breathless.

Ryan grinned. “You say that every time.”

You stared at him, chest still rising and falling too fast. His hair was messy, his lips slightly swollen, and you hated how he looked so relaxed while you were still desperately trying to catch up.

“Because it’s true,” you whispered back.

Ryan just tilted his head, still smirking. He reached out, hooking his finger through the belt loop of your jeans, not pulling, just holding.

“You still leaving?” he asked, voice low.

Maybe it was the right idea .

But you weren’t going anywhere.

Ryan didn’t say any more. He didn’t have to, really. His finger stayed hooked in your belt loop, a loose, lazy hold, because he knew you weren’t pulling away.

You grabbed his face, pulling him into another kiss, rougher this time, teeth grazing his bottom lip just to feel him react. He did, with a sharp inhale through his nose, his hands finally gripping your waist like he’d been holding himself back.

You felt him move underneath you, pressing up against you, and suddenly the couch felt too small, too uncomfortable, too not enough. Ryan felt it too, because in seconds, he was pulling you up, dragging you with him as he stood, hands steadfast at your hips.

His mouth didn’t leave yours as he backed you toward his room.

You knew how to get from his couch to his living room, eyes closed and backwards with muscle memory. You barely noticed the path you took,only that Ryan’s hands never left your skin. His fingers curled under your shirt, dragging it up, and you let him, raising your arms just long enough for him to pull it off.

Ryan smiled at the sight of you, then leaned in, lips brushing against your ear. “Still not in love with me?”

You exhaled sharply, pushing at his chest, not to shove him away, just to make him shut up. He only laughed, but before he could say anything else, you pulled him down onto the bed with you.

That was the last smartass comment he made for a while.