Chapter Text
A job’s a job. You showed up for work every day and you did your job well, because frankly you needed the money, even if your job was being a professional tightass.
You got the job from your estranged uncle’s wife. They had a position open and you fit the bill, you weren’t a lawyer so they didn’t have to pay you like one. Part of you wishes you went to law school like your parents wanted, but here you are, in sunny California, babysitting nearly a dozen over-aged frat rejects. Safety coordinator worked on a technicality, that was your official title.
Your entire job was saying no to them, which you can only imagine goes over so well. Before you were officially designated their safety coordinator, you watched the ‘pilot’ sent into the office, which happened to be the leader of the group, Knoxville, testing out various safety equipment, with a grand finale of him shooting himself point-blank with a handgun while wearing a bulletproof vest.
Speaking of Knoxville, he seems to relish in your agony; he does with his friends, so why wouldn’t he enjoy yours. Every morning, he’ll waltz up to you, grin wide like a crocodile, ready to tell you whatever supreme bullshit he had planned for the day.
This morning was no different, you sat in your office, waiting for the 10 am knock at your door. No one ever came any earlier, only Knoxville and his dark sunglasses.
Sure enough, the knock came, and Johnny walked in, all Cheshire grins, two coffees in hand, and pitch black sunglasses.
“Good morning, Knoxville. What’s your pitch for today?” You ask, politely folding your hands in your lap, eyeing the coffee.
“What’s the rush?” He asked, pulling the seat at the end of your desk out with his foot.
The desk wasn’t originally yours, but it was eventually given after you and Knoxville had too many public disagreements, but most would call it a ‘yelling match.’ And these arguments had been somewhat of a spectacle for the crew. The guys generally called you a tight ass and went on with their day, but sometimes they would watch with wild amusement as you’d stand on your toes to get into Knoxville’s face, leading to color commentary from the guys, demanding cameras before Knoxville got smacked.
“You got me coffee. How did you know my order?” You ask, hesitant to pick up the cup.
“Well, I naturally assumed black, because it’s bitter like your soul, but I thought better and asked around.” He says, settling into the chair.
Usually the meetings didn’t have this level of pomp and filler. He must really want something.
“And what did you find?” You ask, still unsure.
“Two cream, two sugars…and with how you’re looking at the cup I didn’t put a scorpion in it, I promise.” He says.
When he settled into chairs, he’d stretch out, taking over as much space as he could, arms crossed over his chest.
“How about a spider?” You ask, eyebrows raised as you finally reach for the cup.
“Nope. Just coffee, two sugar packets, two creams.” He assures, then takes a swig of his own coffee.
You take a sip of the coffee, and it’s just as you like it, no funny business, just coffee. You take another large swig, sighing, then leaning back. He follows suit, matching your movements as you sit in silence for a moment.
“So, what’s all this for? What do you want to do now?” You ask.
He sucks in air through his teeth, rolling his head side to side, taking a large stretch. He really is dragging this one out.
“I wanna get shot by a crossbow.” He says.
You blink at him for a moment, as a sheepish grin spreads across his face, even with his pitch-black sunglasses you could see his eyes sparkling with pride.
“No.” You say, not even giving it another thought.
“Why not?” He’s almost as quick in his response.
“Because we can’t show you getting murdered on television.” You say, almost incredulous that you even have to explain this to a grown man.
“There’s gonna be precautions…” he tries, but you’re already pulling out a notepad, frantically writing it down. “I’m gonna have knight armor on because we’re gonna be in England!”
Great, now you’d have to read the laws about accidental death on British soil.
“When will you be traveling?” You ask, not looking up from the manilla notepad you’re writing on.
“Eh, in a couple weeks, we have a few more stunts to shoot here.” He estimates, you can almost hear him shrug.
“Fantastic. You’re not gonna do that.” You say, clicking your pen as you look over your notes, that read along the lines of Knoxville wants to try and kill himself again wrongful death England research crossbow lethality
“Go to England?” He asks, pleased with himself.
“You know what I mean.” You say, tapping your pen against the notepad. “I…I just-“
“We’ve already signed our souls away, why not? What could happen?” He asks, careening his neck to try and see your notes.
“Okay, beyond your death, which you don’t seem to be worried about-“
“I won’t die…”
“What about permanent injury? What if it paralyzes you or- punctures an organ or-“ you sigh, putting your head in your hands, already starting to get a massive headache.
“And… nothing else we do regularly falls under that umbrella?” He asks.
You hear him shift, instinctively you slap down on your notepad, pulling it back onto your lap. He giggles, amused that you anticipated him. He’s right though, basically everything they did was under the same clause, but it just was the level of how close they got to that ceiling, and it seemed they loved getting inches away, practically kissing it.
“I…suppose…but now this means I’ll be going to England.” You say, picking your head up.
“Yes!” He throws his hands up triumphantly. “Oh, I think you’ll like England! I’ve heard they’re all stuck up, wet blankets, I think you’ll fit right in.”
“Don’t push it, Knoxville, I can still say no.” You remind, rubbing your temples, careful not to touch your eyeshadow.
Honestly you have no idea why you put on makeup, at this point you rub your eyes so aggressively all day it just ends up looking like you were hit by a bus.
“Yeah, yeah.” He dismisses, standing up. “Looks like I’ll be bringing you coffee more often. You’re a doll, a sweetheart. I’ll be seeing you later for the barbecue.”
Before you can say anything else, he shuts the door behind himself as he giggles. What barbecue? A company barbecue didn’t sound half bad, but that would’ve been relayed to you, and his glib tone definitely implied it was just another stunt that would make your migraines flare.
You finish the rest of your morning researching exactly what MTV would be reliable for if Knoxville was to die horrifically by crossbow wounds, before a beeping of your wrist watch reminds you it’s time to change and get ready for the shoot. You quickly learned not to wear your office clothes on set, instead opting for whatever band t-shirt you can find and jeans, any material that washes easily honestly.
Today’s outfit is no different, you close your office door and singular decrepit window, and throw on an oversized band t-shirt from when you were in college and more fun.
Simply arriving at the shoot makes you uneasy, given that you’re in a backyard and there’s already a kiddy pool filled with meat. You’ve already taken an aspirin before arrival but the sudden urge to take another kicks in.
You skirt on the outside of the yard, going to meet the camera man, Rick, and the director, Jeff. They seem to be the most understanding of your job position, and give you a little grace.
Greetings are made all around, Jeff waves a guy in a chef’s hat over.
“Hey, Pat, this is our safety coordinator.” Jeff says, gesturing to you. “She’s here to make sure we don’t get hurt beyond reasonable entertainment.”
“Nice to meet ya, you wanna pour some wine in?”
He asks, holding out a glass jug. You shake your head. “Alright. See you around.”
You smile as he leaves, then turn to Jeff.
“What’s going on again?” You ask, resisting the urge to pull your shirt over your nose, watching steaks be ripped from their packages and dumped into the kiddy pool.
“Human barbecue.” Is all Jeff supplies.
If it wasn’t for the slabs of meat being dropped in, you’d almost feel the need to ask if they’re indulging in cannibalism today. You pinch the bridge of your nose thinking about how you were so ready to have that be a possibility.
“Do we have any medical staff here yet?” You ask.
The shoot looks rather bare-bones, but a medical professional was always on set, that was a basic requirement.
“Isn’t that your job? Gettin’ ‘em here?” You hear Knoxville call from across the yard.
Before you can say anything else to reiterate that you don’t remember agreeing to this, a hand claps your shoulder.
“EMT and fire department right there.” Jeff assures, pointing to two men from their corresponding positions, both with their hands folded in their lap and unease in their eyes. “Rest are pitching the medical tent as we speak.”
You sigh, but find yourself a seat, you’re already remembering whatever vague idea they gave you for this stunt that you somehow agreed to. Part of you begins to think burns are easier to report than a crossbow injury, maybe this’ll keep his ass out of England and away from that crossbow.
As the shoot continues to be prepared you watch with a clinical but disinterested gaze as the cameras set up, as wine poured into the pool. The hot California sun does nothing to help the god-awful smell. There’s a dog, which continuously keeps coming over to you and you happily pet.
So engrossed in petting said dog, your head whips up when you hear a wail of pain.
“This grass hurts!” Knoxville wails, standing up and wiping his ass off.
Looking over at such a sight gave you an eyeful of Knoxville’s bare ass, his hand attempting to cover the front of him and mostly failing. You look up bashfully at the sun, but at this point you think you’ve seen almost the entire cast naked. You try to keep whatever shred of professionalism you can, but every day the margin gets thinner.
“That’s a lot of swingin’ meat.” Knoxville laughs as you look down to see him covering himself with a slab of meat.
One deep breath, and you’re back to looking at the sky. You hear the crew continue to laugh and prattle on, but you continue to avoid looking at the inflatable pool full of meat, wine, and a naked Johnny Knoxville.
Eventually the meat and Knoxville leave the kiddy pool, and the meat is thrown into a wheelbarrow lined in aluminum foil. You can feel your stomach turn.
You’d think your nerves would be shot by now, but a small part of you still gets nervous when you watch Knoxville climb into a fire-proof suit, dangling with meat. It takes a ridiculous amount of time to even dangle the steaks from the suit, you watch as they all assemble it.
“Here, let’s at least- can you intro?” Jeff asks.
Johnny nods, grimacing a bit at how long he’d been holding his arms straight out. Still, he looks into the camera, and says his line.
“Hello I’m Johnny Knoxville, and this is the Meat Suit.”
After his intro, it’s not long before the stunt begins, Rick hurriedly placing himself at Knoxville’s feet to get a good shot. You can't help but stand up, watching with anxiety as he used a crutch to get over to what was a metal fence, roaring charcoal beneath him.
Cheers and laughter spread, although it’s all subtly laced with concern. You press your lips firmly together instead, watching the flame, it’s low but without the suit he’d surely be in danger, well, even more.
For the sake of consistency, he rolls over. You even watch as they paint the meat on his back with a mop soaked in barbecue sauce, that elicits a giggle from you at just how ridiculous it was.
“Want me to flame it up?” You’re not sure who asks, you’re too busy watching the fire.
No, that sounds terrible.
“Not while my face is right here.” Knoxville says before rolling off.
At least he had some self preservation.
You make sure you’re still able to get a clear view of what’s happening, but as the flames rise, you let the professionals take the front. Honestly, it ends quicker than you thought. Once Pat throws liquor on the fire, Knoxville jumps up quickly, ending the stunt.
You get close again to do a quick check, the first responders surrounding Knoxville to scan for any injuries.
“How’d that look?” He asks you, smile wide, eyes a bit wild.
“Stupid.” You say, shaking your head as the medics pull away.
“Fantastic. Now let’s get these steaks off me so we can eat!”
You’re a bit stunned about how quickly the crew jumped to, everyone freely and happily taking a steak off of the meat suit. You, on the other hand, sat on the other side, with your chair under the medial tent, hoping that food poisoning didn’t count as something MTV could be liable for.
Yet, everyone eats, giggling and laughing as they happily ate the food that was moments ago marinating in an inflatable pool, germinating with Knoxville’s privates.
“Hey!”
Your head picks up, Knoxville is whistling to get your attention. He begins to wave you over, and for a moment you hesitate before dragging yourself over.
“Ya gonna eat?” His grin is shit-eating.
“Absolutely not.” You say.
“Oh. Vegetarian?” He asks, head tilted to the side.
“No.” You shake your head.
“Then what’s the hold up? Daddy’s provided dinner!” He can’t help but laugh at himself.
The crew around him chuckle at your squirming.
“I’m good, thank you.” You try to seem convincing, not letting your disgust show, but it’s hard, and these guys were blood sniffing sharks.
“Hm…it’s pretty good… it’s Roach’s special sauce.” He says.
“Yeah! Why not?” Jeff adds, coming from whatever corner of the yard he’d disappeared to. The man always had an uncanny ability to know when someone needed goading. “It’s bonding!”
“I… appreciate it, but I ate before I came.” You insist.
“C’mon, like Jeff said, it’s bonding!” Rick joins in, also sensing what’s going down.
You look around, noticing that everyone is now looking at you, expectantly. In the center of it all is Knoxville, all smiles, holding out a slab of meat.
“How about this, you take one bite, just one little bitty bite, and you’ve got an invite to the bar with us tonight…and I’ll get your first round.” Johnny offers, pulling off a piece of the meat with his bare hands.
Now it truly was a bonding experience, you’d be saying no to a night out with your co-workers, and proving yourself to be the ultimate square.
“Buy all my rounds and I’ll eat it out of your hand.” You say, staring Johnny down.
“Deal. Eat up, buttercup.”
There’s a small chorus of claps, but you can tell everyone is now waiting for the stunt, the dare more like it, to start. You wait for a moment for Knoxville to get up, until you realize he wants you to come to him, his legs spread for you ti sit in between.
Oh.
Fine.
You take in a deep breath, and kneel down, settling yourself just next to Knoxville, not in-between his legs like he had positioned himself. There’s silence, and he offers you the small piece of meat on the flat of his hand. You lean over to take it, using your mouth like you promised.
There’s immediate cheers. You begin to understand why the guys do shit like this.
“Ah-ah! Wait a minute! She’s gotta swallow!” Knoxville says, holding up a hand.
You furrow your eyebrows at him, taking a few quick chews before swallowing the meat down. You stick your tongue out for proof, Knoxville squeezing your cheeks to open your mouth wider. The cheers rise up again, but it only fades into the background as your heart pounds. Johnny’s eyes meet yours for a moment and not a moment more, burning like cigarettes on your skin. You can feel your skin flush just a tad.
He switches his grip to your shoulder, pulling you up, triumphant, you can’t help but smile with the clapping and laughter.
Knoxville’s lips brush right past your ear, you can feel the smile.
“Drinks are on me, sweetheart.”