Y/N, the manager of America's worst-behaved band of celebrity misfits, babysits accompany them on a trip to Remember.
Johnny Knoxville X reader
Fluff)Warnings: Very suggestive content, crude language, drug use, alcohol, urine, flirting, bar fights, nudity (it's Jackass)
You spent the whole taxi ride to the hotel agonizing- but when didn't you before a job? MTV sent you along to babysit the worst-behaved man-children in entertainment leading up to some live event thing, and you knew nothing good could come of this. Of course, these routine concerns were exacerbated by the nature of where it would be held- the bad behavior capital of the U.S.- Las Vegas.
As you squinted out the taxi window for the hotel they were put up at, you couldn't help but get transfixed by everything. It wasn't every day you got to see this kind of stuff. The ornate, hulking buildings, the multicolored blinking neon, the drunk guy getting thrown out of the strip club-
"Ughhh..." Your head thumped against the glass. Why now? Rummaging in you pocket, you threw a handful of dollars at the driver and threw open the door, dashing through thankfully stalled traffic. From the neon-bathed sidewalk, Bam didn't even notice you until he was practically staring at your shoes as you leaned down, trying to help him up. His head whipped up, looking at you, confused, "Y/N...?"
Drunkenly mumbling and completely ignoring your attempts to help him, Bam practically climbed you as he made his way to his feet. His forehead and cheekbone were badly scratched up and dripping from the rough concrete. "Ahahaha!! Oh my god- dude!" Just as he was booted out, Ryan stumbled after him, laughing like this was the funniest thing he'd seen. Bam, still holding onto you like Gene Kelly to a light post, gave Ryan an admittedly wimpy shove, swaying, "Shut up...Y'fuckin asshole..."
Coming up behind you, you heard a recognizable, raspy yell. "Aaah!" Steve grinned as he nimbly darted out of the swinging doors, ducking around you as Pontius followed, hot on his heels like some kind of circus act. Chris laughed as he gave chase, "Ooh~!" He spoke in a sing-songy high pitched voice, holding back giggles, "Why don't you come back and finish up that lap dance, big boy?" Even you couldn't help laughing at the situation while you tried to diffuse it. "Okay, okay, this is fun, but-"
"But...?" Johnny leaned over you, surprising you with how quietly he slank out amidst the chaos, making you jump a little.
He grinned and leaned over to you, speaking in a low, beer scented drawl, "Aww c'mon, Y/N...can't we just have a little fun?" Sighing, you rolled your eyes, "You have a live show in an hour- you should already be at the hotel by now! Why- did you go to a strip club anyway?"
"We're in Vegas. We're gonna go to the strip club!" Bam, rather matter of fact said. "Plus, Steve knows some of the ladies here!" God, if any of them would know strippers, it would be Steve. He reached over to high five Bam, "Yeah! Discounts!" Rolling your eyes at them, you continued, "Whatever, let's just get you to the hotel."
Of course, amongst the groans you did have to convince them using a bit of a bargaining token- a trip to the hotel bar. Of all the places they could be, that was probably the best- a relatively safe environment for the level of carousing these guys were accustomed to.
"So, what're you planning on doing at the show anyway?" You sipped your drink, idly chatting with Johnny. While you were usually on your toes, you felt relaxed enough to take your eyes off of them for a minute, and when he invited you to have a drink- of course, you weren't one to turn that down. He chuckled, "Well, there'll be some of the usual- staplers, 'bustin cans of beer on our heads..." He trailed off.
Maybe a couple feet behind you at the pool table, Chris was talking to some stranger, and you could tell things were getting heated. Knowing him, they were probably disagreeing over something stupid like which Charlie's Angel was the hottest, so you didn't pay too much mind as you went back to scanning the establishment. Taking a sip of your drink, you started again, "Really? That's it?" Your eyes drifted from the sticky countertop to the yellowing 70s lights that hung from the low ceilings and back to the stained, green felt pool table. "Well," Johnny took a sip of his beer, "There is this- this one thing-
