mahkis

[mahkis]

he looks like such a whore in this frame my god.

[mahkis]

THERE’S BEEN A MISTAKE…..Challengers, you guys won Best Song and Best Score

[mahkis]

woke up this fine morning thinking about being domestic with patrick😔 waking up in his bed wearing nothing but panties and lying skin to skin with him and he’s so warm and strong and the blankets are so heavy and cozy

anon you read my mind we’re literally on the same wavelength or something 🙂‍↕️

Before you even really woke up, merely stirring, lost somewhere between asleep and awake, you felt the familiar warmth of Patrick’s body. The feeling of him next to you comforted you, seeping into your hazy dream. You nuzzle into him, practically pressing your face against his chest as he threw an arm around you carelessly, pulling you closer into him (if that was even possible).

When you eyelids finally fluttered open, you were met with the sleepy gaze that graced Patrick’s face. He looked so handsome like this, you thought. Little stubble dusting his jawline, eyelids droopy, and a dopey grin across his lips as he stared at you. The little freckles on his face always seemed more noticeable in the mornings, but you assured yourself it was just because you were reacquainting yourself with him every morning, trying to memorize every feature to carry over into your dreams at night.

But your favorite thing about him on mornings like this was the slight rumble of his voice when he first woke up and the way you could feel the vibrations of his voice when he spoke as you laid chest to chest. “Morning babe,” he murmured. You felt a little tickle against your chest as you laid against him. You smiled, dazed, trying to keep your eyes open as you fought sleep.

“Mmm, morning.” You mumble into his chest, the feeling of your lisp against his collar bone causing him to breathe in just a little sharper that time. The sheets were tangled between your legs, the duvet covering you two like a toasty cloud, keeping you safe from the outside world. Here in bed it was just the two of you.

He wrapped his arms around your waist, pulling you up just a bit so he could pepper kisses all across your face. The feeling of your skin on his was a thing you could hardly explain. As he held you tightly, but not too tight —just as much as he knew you liked—, you felt safe, warm, and like you could call this your forever. It was like you two were one, unable to detach for fear of ever being apart again.

You traced nonsensical shapes between the delicate freckles that scattered over his shoulders as he fought the urge to tickle your sides. He didn’t want to ruin the calm of the moment, even if his mischievous nature called to him. He’d found himself cozier in your embrace than he’d been in a long time, maybe in his entire life, and he wasn’t going to ruin a good thing while he had.

[mahkis]

[mahkis]

LMAO

[mahkis]

patrick somehow seducing a sports journalist whos supposed to be interviewing him and as a result he just gets a fluff piece

It’s all very this pic to me….

You’re the journalist who’s hired to interview Patrick following his unprecedented success at the US open. It’s his first major and he’s in his thirties, ranked in the top 300, and relatively unknown. He makes it to the semifinals, only to be knocked out in a tiebreak set with Art Donaldson (who goes on to win the tournament, his very last slam). It’s interesting and timely, considering the events of New Rochelle and all of that history between Patrick and the best American player in recent history.

And it is a serious interview, for the most part. Sometimes his answers skew on the side of being a little douchey, but they seem earnest enough. He’s proud of Art even though he swears the line judges fucked him over, he’s confident that he’ll qualify for the Australian open in the new year with his new coach (who he refuses to reveal). His gaze flickers between your tits and your face when you’re asking him questions, and when you find yourself losing yourself in his handsome features as he talks, his lips twitch into an arrogant smirk as he asks if he needs to repeat himself.

It’s annoying how badly you want to fuck him.

And by the time you’ve wrapped, when you’re gathering your equipment and cameras and recorders, you stop caring about hiding your attraction to him. When he sidles up close behind you, his aftershave and cologne overwhelming your senses and smiles a cocky, annoyingly sexy smile and asks if you “want to continue this conversation over drinks?”

And you do. Very much so. So much that you don’t care as much as you should when you have to pay the tab. His hand is on your thigh by drink number two, fingertips dimpling plush flesh as he runs his thumb just beneath the hem of your skirt.

“You’re soft,” he murmurs against your ear, and his breath is so warm it should be strange that he gives you goosebumps.

Under the cover of shadows, he lets his hand slip further beneath your skirt. He tells you, off the record, about going to boarding school with Art Donaldson, and promises he’d have turned out a huge fucking loser without his guidance. His phone buzzes with multiple notifications from Tinder, which he does his best to ignore.

“Sure you don’t want to take that?” You ask as his phone buzzes again. “You could get lucky.”

He locks his phone and traces his thumb along your inner thigh. A thrill runs through you as his fingertips ghost against the front of your panties, teasing you with the barest hint of attention. “I will.”

And you could have offered a quick, “I never do this,” when you let him pull you into his hotel room later that night, but you don’t want to take the time to remove your lips from his. Patrick kisses with an overwhelming sort of hunger— like he’s starved and you’re the only thing he has an appetite for. His hands play beneath your skirt, tracing the seam of your cunt through your panties, teasing over the bud of your clit. You gasp into his mouth and he grins. You lick the back of his teeth with your tongue, and he tastes like temptation.

He handles you like a pro— tossing you down onto the springy mattress and tugging your legs apart with big, strong hands. He wastes no time tearing off the sodden panties you wear— plain, boring, navy cotton, because you were not supposed to end up here after a stupid throwaway interview. He tucks them into his pocket. You pretend not to notice.

Your chest heaves with the shaky breaths you take as you just… wait. Completely at his mercy as he spreads your cunt open with his fingers and watches the way your hole twitches, begging to be filled. He smirks from his position between your thighs and presses a slow, wet kiss to your clit. You can’t hold back the shaky moan that slips past your lips, which only seems to encourage him.

Patrick doesn’t stick to that long. You figure he doesn’t stick to anything for very long, except his floundering tennis career. Slow, teasing laps become hungry, desperate strokes with the broad flat of his tongue, tracing the shape of you from your hole to your oversensitive clit. It’s wet and messy— a sticky mix of saliva and of your own arousal that he spits back onto you. He stretches you open on his thick calloused fingers, sucks your clit between his lips and makes white spots blur your vision.

He’s so good that it kills you. You think it might kill you as he fucks you on his fingers to an orgasm, and keeps going until the hotel duvet is damp with spit and your juices and your thighs shake uncontrollably. Just the barest brush of his thumb over your clit makes you whine and squirm. It’s rare to fuck around with someone who can manage to make you cum, let alone make you cum that hard.

“Don’t tap out on me.” You stare at the veins in his hands, watch them ripple beneath his skin as he pops the button of his jeans, peeling them down like he’s unwrapping a present. You’re sure he thinks of it that way. You’re sure you’ll think of it that way before long.

He flips you onto your stomach, presses between your shoulders until your back is arched invitingly, so you’re presented to him just as he wants. He slides in slow, so you can adjust to the stretch of him, so he can watch the way your cunt swallows inch after inch, stretching obscenely to accommodate him.

You just have to lay there and take it as he drills into you— panting into the ugly floral duvet, eyes rolling back as he hits those perfect spots inside of you again and again and again. He offers mindless praise, groaned out as he reaches down to squeeze one of your tits with the hand that isn’t rubbing your clit. That’s it, squeezing me so tight, just take it like that.

He fucks you like he’s laying claim to your pussy, to your body— ruining you from then on out. And it’s not like is confidence is unfounded. Not with the way you’re dripping down your thighs, so wet that the sound of his cock tunneling in and out of your cunt is obscene. The headboard bounces off the wall, punctuating each brutal thrust.

It’s all quick and desperate. It isn’t long before you’re cumming around him, and he doesn’t last much longer after that. He pins you with his body weight, cock pulsing as he spills inside of you, his groans muffled against your throat.

And then it’s over. He rolls off of you and slaps your ass for good measure. A wordless, “alright, we had fun, you can get out now.” So you get dressed in your little pencil skirt and blazer that you’d worn to the interview, sans underwear, because Patrick was a gross little thief.

“Write something sweet about me, yeah?” He says before you walk out to your car.

And god fucking damn it. You do.

[mahkis]

when you ride patrick he fucks you back and says filthy, disgusting things in your ear … when you ride art, he goes stupid and limp, grunting and whimpering into your mouth as he holds onto your ass so tightly it starts to bruise

[mahkis]

Josh O'Connor in Challengers (Luca Guadagnino, 2024)

[mahkis]

patrick zweig with a partner who is a homebody book lover

[mahkis]

attending a zweig gala as the guest of honour, patrick's girlfriend

[mahkis]

um men who are bigger than you and tower over you in every way possible but he's obsessed with the overwhelming intimacy of missionary sex. his whole entire body covers yours, and he loves the way it's almost like he's shielding you from the world, that the wanton expressions you're making and the way your body reacts is all for his eyes only. he can control how deep he fucks into you, can carefully watch the faces you make to see if he's hitting all the right spots. loves the way he can hold your hand as he thrusts into you; especially loves the feeling of every cell in his body going weak from how overwhelmed with his love for you he gets. the eye contact is the best and worst part for him; best because he loves looking at you, to know you feel the same, but worst because you always make him go weak in the knees. his arms can barely keep him upright, and he has to bury his face into the hollow of your neck and shoulder and-

[mahkis]

A new year started and I’m still not over this man

[mahkis]

not sure if you celebrate christmas but happy holidays Eli!! I hope you’re having an amazing day ilysm!! 💗

ZEHRRRR i’m so sorry this is a late reply my sweet angel i literally shattered my phone on christmas eve lmao. i hope you had a lovely, cozy, warm holiday season full of the people you love in your life who make you happy!! you truly deserve it baby

[mahkis]

missionary but you keep apologizing for being loud so he tells you to “stop fucking apologizing” and tilts your head so your mouth is lined up with his ear and just fucks you harder

[mahkis]

tashisita…

patricksito..

artsito 😔

[mahkis]

lawd 🚬🚬 need a minute to recover from these whores

[mahkis]

YASSSSS LEMME KNOW YOUR THOUGHTS POOKIE

your reblogs have me thinking… challengers AU with matsukawa and makki 😶‍🌫️

ZEHR YOUR MIND????? oh my god i’m gonna cook something up now thank you so much for bringing this to my attention 😝😝😝