#challengers patrick

[wyniepooh]

Closer

you thought that you were already close with patrick and art; turns out, you could get even closer.

Boardingschool!patrick & boardingschool!art x boardingschool!reader.

it’s no secret that the three of you were close.

Everyone at school acknowledges it by joking that you’re practically their manager, because you’re on the bleachers at every practice, seated front row at every match, and the second the games finishes (usually in their favour), the first person they go running to is you.

in fact, you're all so close that you've developed a habit to follow them into the locker room after every practice. if anyone ever questioned your entry into the room, they’d both chime at the same time: “she’s ours.”

neither of them bat an eye when you sit down on the bench between the metal lockers and watch them get changed because it’s you, their little manager, and they didn’t ever hide anything from you.

You’d read them the daily school news, explain the daily school gossip, and update them on any homework they missed in the name of tennis practice. they’d thank you in their typical ways by ruffling your hair and throwing their sweaty shirts on you before sandwiching you in a suffocating hug.

You shriek and laugh and say, ‘stop it!’ but really, you’re too focused on the feel of their bare chests against you— slippery from sweat and hot from the heat— to care about anything else.

There’s always a brief moment after all the amusement when the laughter dissipates and you’re all just staring at each other. Your smile fades, and suddenly you’re painfully aware of their rapid breaths rising against you on either side, and the heat of it all fills the silent air with something else other than just audible breaths.

Today it’s patrick who looks over to art first, who returns his stare with pressed lips. you catch a flicker of something in their eyes, but they looked away before you could decipher it. However, it was clear that a silent agreement had been reached right in front of you. you suspect that for the first time since you transferred to the school, they were hiding something from you.

patrick breaks the silence first, turning slightly away from you to gently close his locker as he murmurs, “you know, there have been a lot of rumours on campus lately.”

You scoffed, stuffing your agenda into your bag before smoothing a hand over your hair. “Really? What kind of rumours?”

Patrick shrugged. He pulled a shirt over his shoulders, nodding his head towards art. “Rumours about us, mostly. Tell her, art.”

art purses his lips multiple rimes before speaking. “It’s just trash talk,” he pauses. patrick glances over to him one more time, flashing him a subtle glare before art finally continues, “there's talk about how the three of us are suspiciously close, or whatever.”

“I guess it’s not so much a rumour as it is true,” you responded. You tilted your head towards them both, eyes squinting with humour as you questioned, “you guys do consider us close, right? I mean, after all I do for you guys, I’m honestly glad that people are speculating and starting to appreciate my efforts.”

“It’s just,” Patrick turns back around, shuffling his feet to sit down across from you on the bench with legs on either side of the wooden plank. His hands are gathered in the middle, fingers attempting to itch closer and closer to your own without you seeing.

“We could be a lot closer, you know.”

You raised an eyebrow at Patrick’s sneaky hands, a slight smile still intact on your face as you asked, “How close can we get, pat? There’s a limit to everything. Even the sky.”

“he’s right.”

You almost jump at the sudden voice you hear in your ear. you cleared your throat as he slid closer towards your back. Art mirrored Patrick’s movements with legs on either side of the bench, but his hands fiddled with the edge of your hoodie as he rested his chin on your shoulder.

“We could be a lot closer.”

You observed the way art pressed his lips together, snuggling his face into the side of your neck as Patrick’s thumb rubbed circles on your hand. you hadn’t even registered that patrick was now grinning, guilding your unsuspecting hand towards his dark curls.

You instinctively wrap your fingers around his wet hair, and you almost gasp when you hear patrick whimper. He pants heavily against your wrist, lips tickling the tender skin as he breathes, “why don’t you come over to our dorm after class?”

You shake your head, dropping your hand from his head. “I don’t think-“

“Please,” art whispers against your neck.

You close your eyes, sucking on the inside of your cheek as you sighed deeply. For a beat, you simply listen to the sound of their synced breathing, taking in the familiar smell of the locker room, and the familiar smell of them. When you open your eyes again, Patrick and art are both eagerly staring at you, pleading with silence.

You suddenly laugh, smiling uncontrollably as you lean back against art and pull patrick closer by the hand that is still wrapped around yours. patrick gladly scooches closer until his nose is practically rubbing against yours, and he returns your laughter with a chuckle of his own.

“Okay,” you mutter while glancing back at art, whose mouth was agape with something adjacent to shock.

“so let’s get closer.”

-

a/n: “why don’t u come over to our-“ bags r packed.

[ervotica]

i just saw someone talk about pornstar!patrick and my third eye opened up

shut up i’ll die actually

warnings; smut, 18+, fem!reader, pornstar!patrick, p in v sex, allusions to reader being eaten out, patrick is hot <3

a/n; i’m insane for this actually. pls send more pornstar!patrick asks i’ll beg for them 🥹

this is him <3

thinking of a self made pornstar!patrick, started off making solo videos of him jerking off in the dirty backseat of his car. utterly surprised when viewers couldn’t get enough of him and he earned enough money to make a living off of making porn of himself.

he starts inviting other men, women - anyone who shows interest in him and his videos - to shoot with him, and soon he has a plethora of people lining up for a chance to fuck him, even if it’s on camera.

he bypasses the entire queue when he catches wind of you, a soft little thing with a mean streak he so desperately wants to explore, and he’s running straight to your messages to set a date.

he pays for your transport and your stay — a five star hotel that is far more expensive than anywhere you’ve been in your entire life.

it doesn’t feel orchestrated when the camera starts filming. it doesn’t feel like an act as he works you up with his hot breath over your cunt and two thick fingers that sink into your weeping hole. it doesn’t feel fake when you bury your fingers into his hair and tug, relishing in the way he moans and ruts his hips into the plush bed beneath you.

and it certainly doesn’t feel fake when he makes you cum harder than you ever have before.

his viewers all envy you, want to be you, when he folds your legs to your chest and feeds you his cock inch by inch. it’s a tight fit, that’s for sure, but you’ve never felt more full, more stretched in your life, and you fucking love it.

the way the head of his cock, a visceral red, notches against your entrance as he sinks in in in, further than you thought possible until the weeping slit burrows against your cervix, the way you keen and clutch at his shoulders as he murmurs praises because you’re being so good, baby, just a little more now.

he’s barely one thrust in before you’re cumming around him with a shudder and a cry, and it’s stronger than anything you’ve ever felt in your life, so easy the way he takes you apart because he’s already memorised your cunt, already knows how to fuck it.

and he’s hooking his arms beneath the dip of your spine, dragging you up to meet his hot mouth in a greedy kiss, all tongues and teeth and fire and passion, and that paired with the way he’s fucking you - the filthy roll of his hips that never slows, never stops - is enough to have you cumming round him again.

he fucks like he’s in love with you and he hates you all at once, spears you open on his cock and keeps you spread out beneath him, teases and taunts until you growl with frustration and claw at him. it makes him laugh, a low, gravelly sound against your lips as he concedes and pistons his hips into you with more fervour than before.

once you’re well and truly fucked out, you crawl between his legs and wrap your mouth around him, and he’s sure he meets god.

and then the camera comes off, and a switch flips in him as he watches you laying on the bed, breathing heavily, eyes closed, a sleepy smile on your face.

patrick zweig might just be in love.

the video skyrockets in views and profits, climbing straight to the most popular he’s ever made. viewers beg him to keep you as a permanent fixture within his channel. and, well, who would he be if he didn’t give the people what they want?

-

challengers taglist; @diorrfairy @igotmajordaddyissues @xotwod-jade @imbabycowboy @cloudnitee @hobocatton

[castiwls]

tense .ᐟ

Paring; art x reader

Synopsis; literally based on babygirl 😭 i saw it yesterday and had brain worms

Requested; no

Notes; reqs and inbox are open !

Masterlist

If he hadn’t been fucked before he definitely was now. He loved his wife more than anything in this world - his family was his world but you? You’d flipped that all upside down.

When Tashi mentioned hiring a new assistant he hadn’t blinked twice. She’d claimed it would be a good idea to help give someone young experience in the world of sport who is better than his wife to learn from.

He’d half expected some meek teenager to be standing there when he’d opened the door - someone who would stutter over their words and be half terrified of his wife (like so many people had been) but that couldn’t have been far from the truth.

From the minute you’d first smiled at him and introduced yourself he knew he was in trouble. The way your eyes had lit up like a kid in a candy shop almost as he’d let you in, the way your gaze had almost pierced right through him as he’d left you both alone on Tashi’s request.

Art knew he should have pushed you away. He should have built a wall - his wife was your boss and technically so was he. Tashi thought you were nothing short of an angel, this bright-eyed girl who was ready to do whatever she asked and she’d quickly grown to enjoy your company.

You had a backbone and she liked that.

That was why you’d started spending more and more time and theirs. Staying for lunch became staying for dinner which led to the situation he found himself in currently.

His hands gripped the wheel tighter as you watched him from the corner of your eye. The nerves were practically rolling off him in waves as he drove. Sure you’d spent time alone together before but there’d always been distance. He’d made sure of that.

Now though, now you were less than an arms reach away and like always you seemed to be analysing him - like you knew something he didn’t. “You look tense?” Your voice broke through the silence as you turned to look at him. You watched him for a moment, your teeth digging into your lip. 

“Is it me?”

Art’s breath caught at your words. He shook his head turning to face you as the car stopped at a red light. “The open’s a few days. You know how Tashi gets.” He lied through his teeth praying that you’d simply take the excuse and move on.

You hummed, your eyes drifting down to where his hands gripped the wheel. 

“You're lying.” 

Your words cut like a knife as you shifted in the seat, your hand braced on the console as you all but leaned into his space. Your lips pulled up into a slow smile as his own parted. 

“Why are you lying.”

“I’m not. Tashi’s been at me all week.”

“She has but that's not the reason you’re tense.”

“It is. It’s not really any of your business.” He’d put his foot down - well at least he was trying to. You knew that tone, the one he used when you’d push your luck a little to far.

“Art,” You sighed your hand moving to brush against his leg as you lent ever closer, your lips a breath away from his. He’d half expected you to do it, to kiss him. He’d wanted you to do it.

He felt like a love-struck teen again as your hand shifted to rest over his thigh. You leaned slightly closer, your lips brushing his and suddenly he didn’t care. He moved trying to finally get the one thing he’d subconsciously been craving.

But suddenly your warmth was gone. 

His vision seemed to clear as he registered that you’d moved back ever so slightly, a glint in your eye at the small needy noise that left his lips. A red blush covered his cheeks as he realised he’d made that sound. That he’d just tried to kiss a girl half his age and he’d actually been disappointed that you’d pulled back.

“The lights green.” You smiled sitting back in your chair like nothing had ever happened.

Art stared at you for a moment. He was fucked.

[dollyyxqzz]

oh how i love patrick zweig

[buki-1]

I think Challengers is a really fun movie.

[protogeistart]

Sending all my love to Josh O’Connor

[pittsick]

2010s SCENE EMO PATRICK HEADCANONS.

cw: +18. mdni. graphic sexual language and imagery. fingering (receiving). impact play (spanking, thigh/cunt slapping). degradation & dumbification kink. praising mixed with humiliation. oral sex (receiving). overstimulation. spit, drool, and messy bodily fluids. use of rings/jewelry during sex. consent-based rough play and bratty dominance. clothing/underwear kink. power imbalance dynamics (soft dom x naive virgin sub).

pairing: scene emo patrick zweig x sunshine!virgin afab girlfriend.

taglist: @blastzachilles, @lvve-talks, @jordiemeow, @strfallz, @222col, @soulxinxthexsky, @diyasgarden, @jinxedbambi, @lexiiscorect, @religionlost, @bluestrd, @jclolz22, @magicalmiserybore, @destinedtobegigi, @fwaist, @talsorchard, @lovefaist, @shahabaqsa0310, @prismozo, @jesuistrestriste

★ ── Patrick paints his nails black religiously. He always messes one up before it dries, curses, wipes it with a corner of his hoodie, and starts again. He lowkey loves when you help him, especially when you sit on his lap to do it.

★ ── His sex playlist is chaotic. It bounces between 2006 Myspace-core bangers and weird remixes. You’ll be getting fingered to “Bring Me To Life” one second and suddenly hear a slowed-down Nightcore cover of something cursed. He won’t even blink.

★ ── He degrades and praises in the same breath. Patrick’s the king of mixed signals: “You’re such a stupid little slut, aren’t you? Gonna cry if I stop touching you? That’s my good girl.” He needs you whimpering and begging, but the moment you seem too unsure, he’ll slow down and stroke your hair. “That’s right, sweetheart. I got you.”

★ ── He wants to take you to Warped Tour (in spirit). He knows it’s dead. But if he ever gets the money, he wants to road trip with you to every dive bar pop-punk show he can find, wearing matching eyeliner and making out behind merch tables.

★ ── He does his eyeliner better than any girl you know. Patrick wears it thick and smudged, a perfect grungy wing that makes his eyes look darker than sin. He always applies it with one leg on the sink to be closer to the mirror and his tongue sticking out slightly. He teases you about watching him, then offers to do yours—and he's shockingly gentle with the pencil when he leans in, thumb under your chin, voice low: “Stay still, baby.”

★ ── Patrick lives to make you cry during sex. Not out of pain—out of pleasure. He’ll talk you through it, whispering filth while his fingers keep curling just right. “That’s it, sunshine. Let it drip down those pretty cheeks. You look so good when you cry for me.” He uses your tears as lube sometimes, just to be a menace.

★ ── His room looks like a haunted MySpace profile. Posters of MCR, The Used, and old Warped Tour lineups. Black bedsheets covered in band patches. LED lights set permanently to blood red. But there’s a framed photo of you on his nightstand. Soft lighting, your cheeks pink, and a sticky note on the frame: “My girl. Hands off.”

★ ── Patrick’s wardrobe is 90% black—but it’s never just black. He layers textures like it’s a religion. Distressed mesh over ripped tank tops, black-on-black graphic tees, low-rise studded belts, and skinny jeans tight enough to kill circulation. His hoodies are oversized and always worn off one shoulder, revealing scribbled Sharpie lyrics on his collarbones (“i’m not okay and that’s hot”). He lives in platform Converse and chains that jingle when he walks. Sometimes he adds arm warmers with little skulls or bats, just because they match his nail polish.

★ ── His favorite thing is getting you dumb and messy. He wants you drooling on yourself, mascara running, babbling his name between broken moans. He’ll pull your panties to the side, rub slow, hard circles, and mock you in that low, teasing voice: “God, look at you. Can’t even speak, can you? Just a dumb little thing with a sweet little hole.”

★ ── His jewelry is cursed and heavy. He layers necklaces like armor: razor blade pendants, lock and key charms, Hello Kitty chokers with spikes, half-tarnished chain links and broken locket pieces. Some of them he got from thrift stores. Some he definitely shoplifted. He wears six rings—most of them skulls or hearts or something chipped. One of them has your initial on it. He won’t tell you where he got it.

★ ── He’s obsessed with ruining cute underwear. Especially pastel sets. Especially the ones with bows or ruffles. He’ll pull them down with his teeth, bite the waistband, and then tuck them in his back pocket. “Too innocent to be wearing shit like this, angel. You know I’m gonna stain ‘em.”

★ ── He makes friendship bracelets with words like “SLUT” and “CRYBABY.” Yes, he actually wears them. Yes, he gives them to people. No, you’re not allowed to take yours off. He once made you one that said “CUMDOLL” in alternating pastel beads. Then he kissed your cheek and told you never to lose it. He says it’s “like a collar, but cute.”

★ ── He gets off on being watched. Not by strangers—by you. He’ll jerk himself off while you’re recovering from your own orgasm, licking his fingers clean and spitting in his hand. “You like that view, princess? Want it inside you again? Then beg for it. Say please.”

[jelly-turkey]

Happy Valentine's Day or whatever... These TOXIC GUYS))0), thanks to my little sister for showing me this stressful movie, the kissing scene and the epic game at the end with the music I can't get out of my head...

[queerinfilm]

Josh O’Connor’s MANY Queer Roles:

🎥 London Irish (2013-2013)

Conor hooks up with his sisters ex-boyfriend, James, whilst drunk

🎥 Hide and Seek (2014)

Max joins a group of young fragile people who start a four-way relationship

🎥 Peaky Blinders (2013-2022)

James is a friend of Ada’s, who’s described as being a homosexual writer

🎥 The Colour of His Hair (2017) [Short Film]

Based on an unreleased script, two men, Peter and John, are black-mailed for being homosexuals in the 1950s

🎥 God’s Own Country (2017)

Johnny, a young farmer, finds himself falling for a Romanian migrant worker who is temporarily staying with him and his family

🎥 Challengers (2024)

World famous tennis players Patrick, Art and Tashi find themselves in a toxic love triangle

🎥 The History of Sound [Post-Production]

Two young men during World War I set out to record lives, voices and music of their American countrymen

🎥 Separate Rooms (Camere Separate) [Pre-production]

Fleeing from the image of his boyfriend who recently committed suicide, Leo arrives in England to descend into anonymity. Yet even here his mind can’t erase the image of his newly deceased partner.

Additionally:

Josh O’Connor helped co-create, write and produce the LGBTQ+ film Bonus Track (2024).

[wormswurld]

more domme tashi thoughts cuz i am nothing without talking about my mistress 🫶

- making the boys lotion her feet, massage her feet, kiss her feet, put her shoes on for her, paint her toenails with their mouth (if they fuck up and get it on her skin they get edged <3) literally anything to deal with foot worship she’s on it !!!!!!!

- having a chores list the boys fulfill every week! whoever does the most around the house gets to eat her out.. loser watches as he’s caged up :(

- mandatory grounding spankings for art (only by hand, rarely by paddle) as for patrick it’s whenever he acts up n bitches out which is typically once a week,, best believe that idiot is getting flogged till his ass is raw!

- uses the boys as human furniture whenever she wants to read a good book

- after a long session with the boys she loves to cuddle.. each one of her pets on either side of her resting on her boobs ❤️

- makes art brush her hair in the morning as she tells patrick to get her clothes all ready for her

- forces the boys to go with her whenever she gets her manipedi’s done.. of course she spoils her boys and lets them get one too

- sometimes if she’s really in the mood she’ll make art put the strap/strap harness on her (loves seeing him blush & breathe all heavily as he waits to suck her off)

- art kissing tashi’s hands and feet before she officially wakes up in the morning, pat is in the kitchen in breakfast duty

here’s some more mommy tashi @gourdyshome !! 🌟

[wh2m]

→ ‘Challengers’ Interview: Jake Jensen On Working With Zendaya And The Psychology Of Tennis

“Josh O’Connor didn’t really know anything about tennis before filming. He even had to learn how to score. We did a crash course in what a three-set match can look like, the scoring and the tie-break. I rode on the bus everyday with Josh so that gave us a bit of time to chat. He was obviously learning as much as he could as fast as he could. But there are a lot of details in any sport to try and pick up and learn. I think the more he felt he could get, the better job he could do for his character, [Patrick Zweig].”

[wyniepooh]

Mess

patrick’s car was always in state of mess. the reason? probably you.

mdni; 18+. car action w patrick.

patrick’s car was a piece of junk. parts of the car seat were peeling, the windows forever had a sticky feeling about them, and the floor was often littered with fast food bags and cups.

and yet, you found yourself in the backseat of it, time and time again.

"your car smells like shit," you'd half-murmur to him, kicking away the various plastic containers with your feet as you attempted to crawl towards him. he'd sit back and watch you struggle for a second before dragging you onto his lap by the small of your back, strong arms wrapping around your waist and inhaling the sweet scent of your hair.

he'd grab your frantic wrists that are impulsively wiping down his dirty windows and hum a gentle 'shh' against your neck, whispering, "we're about to make it nastier anyways."

and you suppose he was right.

because once you were down on your knees and he was guiding your head towards him, once you were gagging and and forming a pool of saliva at the base of his cock, the sharp cups cutting into your skin no longer bothered you.

how could you even begin to care when you’re so focused on balancing yourself against the window as patrick drills into you from behind, a large hand on your lower stomach as he grunts, “you feel that? you feel me?”

You’d spit back at him, “you’re- you’re disgusting, patrick,” hand slipping from the condensation forming on the glass, your breath hitching as he grabs you up by the base of your neck and pulls your back towards his chest.

He pauses for a moment, and you take the time to catch your breath, body almost slumping over from exhaustion. You can feel the drum of his heart on your back, the scruff of his beard against your neck, and you can hear the grin in his voice as he mumbles, “you fucking love it.”

as he begins again from a new angle, a sharp yell escapes you, and you realize that you have no one else but yourself to blame for the mess in the car. the overwhelming pressure begins to build in your abdomen, and you mewl and thrash and bounce back against patrick, because there was no use in cleaning any of it anyways; after all, you’d just make another mess.

-

a/n: I rlly enjoy how we have all just accepted that patrick is a nasty fuck and that we all like it!

[ervotica]

milf!reader fucking coach!patrick because she wants her son to get accepted into his tennis program and they’re old friend who used to fuck in college but she despises him but she’ll do anything for her son👀

warnings; smut, 18+, p in v sex, unprotected sex (wrap it b4 u tap it), cum eating, a smidge of foot stuff if you squint, hate sex, exes (ish) to lovers (ish)

a/n; your honor i need him actually

imagining him wolf-whistling at you when you seek him out on the courts, racket strapped over your shoulder, hand limply holding a basket of tennis balls as you watch him practice his serving, trying and failing not to ogle his entire body through his clothes.

a sweat soaked tank top, slick and transparent. the smell of musk and man and tennis. thick corded thighs dusted with dark hair as he moves fluidly, as though the racket is an extension of himself. a thick bulge in his shorts that, no matter how much you hate him, you want to have your mouth on.

he’s all fire and passion and heat, and you know from experience that trait rings true in all areas of his life.

“so, you’re a milf now,” he drawls, beckoning you closer with a tip of his chin. your mouth is dry, chest so hollow it feels like you’re about to crumble from the inside out.

you roll your eyes, hoping to look more confident than you feel, taking place on the other side of the net.

“and you’re still a prick. your point?”

“why are you here?” he presses, tossing the ball up and catching it with a skilled ease that has your stomach flipping.

“how do i guarantee my son a place in your tennis program?” the words feel heavy on your tongue, struggling not to curl your lips into a sneer at the sight of his smug expression.

“you think i’m a prick but you want me to teach your son?”

“i think you’re a prick but i know you’re good at tennis. and you’re a good teacher. and i want him to be good.” his brow quirks. at least you’re honest.

he discards the tennis ball behind him and crosses the distance between you, long legs coming up to step over the net.

“i can think of a few things.”

that’s how you find yourself at his place, legs slung over his shoulders. it’s wet and dirty, each rock of his hips squelching as he feeds you his cock into your needy cunt inch by inch.

“yeah, know this pussy missed me, baby,” he rasps, pinching at your twitching clit. his throat works around a thick swallow, lips parted in a groan when you clench your cunt round him, shifting your hips upward to allow him to sink further into the wet clutch of you.

“stop talking to my pussy, you freak,” you hiss, quickly silenced as he flattens his thumb over your swollen bud, rolling it in tight circles until you’re creaming round him, wailing with the sheer force of your orgasm

he lifts your ankle, turning his flushed face to mouth at the smooth skin there, huffing hot air against the sole of your foot that has you squirming.

there are some perks to fucking patrick zweig.

he knows every inch of your body, knows what makes you tick and which buttons to press to keep you babbling nonsensical filth beneath him. knows your pussy, knows how to fuck you until you cry.

you’re clinging to his shoulders, almost drawing blood as you dig your knuckles further into that skin, because you know him just as well. know that this gets him going, keeps him rutting into you with that fervour that - despite yourself, despite hating him - you’ve missed so desperately.

because despite hating patrick zweig, no one fucks you like he does.

when he cums it’s in excess, spurt after spurt of it until you’re plugged full and it’s flooding you, dripping out of your spasming hole and gathering over your furled asshole. he gathers some of it with two fingers, feeds it into your eager mouth.

“i’m sure we can work something out about those tennis lessons, sweets.” and he grins, all teeth. the look should have you balking, send you running, but you find yourself drawn to it, clinging to the familiarity of him.

you’re caught in his honey trap once again, and he has no plans of letting you get away this time.

because you both know, no matter how much you claim to hate him, he’s the best sex you’ve ever had.

and he’s sure he can make you love him. just with a little time.

[castiwls]

Sugar mommy!Tashi, who vowed that she would never let anything come between her and getting Art his US Open title, but then you appeared, and she had to have you to herself.

You'd barely babysat three times before she's offering to drive you home, convincing you to let her into your tiny apartment her lips pulling into a frown.

That wont do.

"You don't really want to live here?" She'd coo, backing you against the worn-down counter. "I could make your life so much easier, give you anything you want." Her fingers slowly trailing across your stomach before dipping under your waistband.

A grin pulled at her lips as you all but melted at the first touch of her fingers. "Just think about it..." Her lips brushed your ear as your eyes fluttered pleasure bubbling in your stomach.

"Anything you want..."

She'd had you caught in her web by the time you'd fallen apart, hand gripping her shoulder as you'd agreed blindly to whatever she was saying.

Tashi was quick, efficent as always. The next day she's calling. "We want you to move in." Having a live-in nanny was easier anyway for them - mainly her.

New credit cards found their way into your purse, and expensive gifts and dinners became a new norm.

Any chance she got to shower you with gifts and affection, she would. It was like a drug, the way you'd flush and stumble over your own words as she'd spoil you before taking you apart on the bed she'd given you.

And it's not like Art particularly cared...not when she was happy to share.

[dollyyxqzz]

manifesting this type of relationship 🙏🏽

[unrequitedscene]

→ Naheem Garcia On Playing Tashi Duncan’s Father In Challengers Starring Zendaya, Josh O’Connor and Mike Faist

“They couldn’t have asked for better actors; all three of them were amazing. You’re talking about one of them who was in West Side Story and the other from The Crown. These are top actors and they’re young people. Young but they’re at the top of the game right now – and they have a nice chemistry.”