just wanted to add my two cents into what's been going on because i think it could be helpful.
the things about steve-o aren't new, even if new things have come out and linked other people to it, and all the information is important to know, him being a piece of shit isn't new. that's why me and a lot of other people don't choose to platform him on our blogs, even if we do post about jackass or the other jackass guys.
i also think it's fine to still consume jackass content like the movies or shows. jackass is an ensemble, certain cast/crew members are more popular than others, but there are still so many other people who put the work in to make this content that aren't horrible. while i wouldn't ever watch steve-o's solo stuff, and i've always felt uncomfy watching wildboyz, a lot of these projects are easily found on the internet archive so no money will go to the people involved.
also, basically reiterating what @endless-shrimp-tour said, a lot of things are problematic within the jackass sphere. i have endless things to say about how misogynistic and racist the early cky films can be, but i still watch them and like them. i absolutely hate the ai usage in the new fear factor content, but i still watch it for johnny knoxville (who also doesn't personal condemn ai).
i think it's very normal and REALLY good to be aware of the things in the media you like that you find weird or problematic. it doesn't have to take away your full enjoyment of the media, but you should be able to point out the things that are wrong, or the things that make you uncomfortable personally. not everything is black or white, and horrible shitty people exist, and they always ruin good things.
the best fanfiction you've ever read was written by a woman in her 40s before she made dinner for her kids. it was written by a teenager after school when they should've been studying for a history test. and a barista came up with the idea while they cleaned the espresso machine and busser fact-checked it on their break and the post-doc edited between writing grant proposals and the nurse apologized for typos in the notes after a long shift and behind every drabble and one-shot and multi-chapter fic there is a person with a wonderful and interesting and chaotic life and it is such a privilege that we get to be a part of it because they decided to do this thing we all share, for fun.
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.
"there are certain kinds of deaths that one should not be expected to relive, certain kinds of connections so deep that when they are broken you feel the snap of the link inside of you"
