Josh O'connor - Tumblr Posts
HAPPY NATIONAL BOYFRIEND DAYYY TO MY BOYFRIENDS + MORE
HAPPY NATIONAL BOYFRIEND DAYYY TO MY BOYFRIENDS + MORE
HAPPY NATIONAL BOYFRIEND DAYYY TO MY BOYFRIENDS + MORE
i’m definitely not normal about this
Sooooo????? This is not a drill!!!!!!!!! My bsf asked me something like "What music are you listening to except that depressed girl ???" And the thing is she KNOWS that I listen to my babygirl Elizabeth Grant with my ears& soul more than anyone ever could do I was like "Oh...Nirvana's great (greatest of all time)" And she sent me a voicemail sayin "Why TF didn't u tell bout em earlier. I loveeee thiss" WITH "That's what makes u beautiful or how tf it's called".......................................
........................,............................................................................................................. I'm done y'all 🎀
He's soooooo bbg🎀🍒😍🌹😫😫😫 I be drinkin his cum like... ANYWAYS. If u feel lonely hmu.
this joyride edit has me foaming at the mouth
cr. altxneu (idk what platform but i found on twt)
Josh is hot!
JOSH O'CONNOR God's Own Country (2017)
okay so when is he linguine in a live action ratatouille? and where is josh o’connor as remi the rat?
I am clawing at the walls. Thank God for behind the scenes photos
(From @/danielboulud )
love is overrated
patrick x reader
The two of you lay sprawled across the couch, the faint glow of the afternoon sun filtering through the curtains, casting a warm light over the room. Your head rests comfortably on Patrick’s firm stomach, the steady rise and fall of his breathing a familiar rhythm beneath you. His hand absentmindedly strokes your hair as you both settle into a shared silence.
“Did you see Art and Tashi today?” you ask, a soft laugh escaping your lips, breaking the quiet. “Jesus Christ.”
Patrick chuckles in response, his body rumbling beneath you, the sound low and comforting. You can’t help but smile at the shared amusement.
“They're so gross!” you continue, shaking your head slightly. “Like, I’m happy for them, don’t get me wrong, but they make me sick.”
Patrick’s hand pauses for a moment, then resumes its gentle caress. His agreement is unspoken, but the easy way he laughs along with you is enough. There's a peacefulness to this moment, a sense that neither of you needs to fill the space with too many words.
You sigh, closing your eyes for a beat before gazing up at him through half-lidded eyes, your head still nestled against him. “Can you even imagine acting like that?” you ask softly, the question lingering between you. “I don’t think any man could make me act like that.”
He shifts slightly beneath you, his fingers still tracing lazy patterns in your hair, his eyes meeting yours for a brief, thoughtful second. There’s something unspoken in the air—something neither of you are quite ready to confront, but it hovers just on the edge of awareness, waiting for the right moment to be acknowledged.
Patrick doesn’t say anything immediately, but his hand on your head speaks volumes. His presence is steady, reassuring, but there’s a tension in the quiet that suggests the conversation isn't quite over, that there's more than just laughter and casual musings lying beneath your words.
————
The living room felt like a memory, warm and worn, the light dimmed by the fading evening. The once playful chatter between you and Patrick had settled into something quieter, deeper—an unspoken connection neither of you wanted to define. It had been months since that afternoon spent laughing about Art and Tashi, months of you and Patrick spending more time together, slipping effortlessly into each other’s lives.
But tonight, something felt different.
You were sitting on the floor now, leaning back against the couch, Patrick’s legs stretched out on either side of you as he sat behind, his presence as familiar as the space you shared. The TV played softly in the background, though neither of you were paying attention. You could feel his eyes on you, the weight of a moment neither of you had spoken about pressing in around you both.
“So,” Patrick began, his voice softer than usual, a little rougher at the edges. “Are we going to pretend we’re still just friends, or are we finally going to talk about it?”
Your heart skipped, even though you’d half-expected the question to come sooner or later. You stared ahead, not quite ready to turn around and meet his gaze. The sound of the TV buzzed like static in the background, a distant hum that made the silence between you feel louder.
“I don’t know,” you murmured, your voice barely audible. You could feel his presence leaning in closer, the familiar warmth of him now carrying a kind of urgency that wasn’t there before.
Patrick sighed lightly, his breath brushing the back of your neck. “I can’t stop thinking about it,” he admitted. His hands, usually so casual and unbothered when they touched you, now rested deliberately on your shoulders, gentle but sure. “About us.”
Your chest tightened at the words. They hung in the air between you like a tether, something binding you to a truth you hadn’t fully allowed yourself to confront. For months, you’d let the playful banter and late-night conversations keep you afloat, but now… now everything was different.
You turned your head slightly, just enough to glance back at him. His face was earnest, his green eyes steady, searching yours for an answer. And in that moment, the laughter and easy companionship you had always shared felt distant—replaced by something far more complicated.
“Do you remember what I said that day? About Art and Tashi?” you asked, your voice barely above a whisper.
Patrick’s brow furrowed slightly, but he nodded. “That you could never imagine acting like that with someone.”
You swallowed hard, your throat dry. “Yeah,” you said, your voice quiet. “I lied.”
His breath hitched, just for a second, and you could feel the weight of those unspoken moments between you. The way his hand would linger on your arm a little too long, or the way you’d find yourself watching him, waiting for him to notice you in a way that wasn’t just friendly.
Patrick let out a shaky laugh, the sound more surprised than amused. “I figured,” he said, his hands still on your shoulders, his fingers tightening slightly, almost as if he were anchoring himself. “I don’t think I could ever act like that with anyone either. Except you.”
You turned around fully this time, kneeling between his legs, your faces inches apart. The air between you felt electric, like the entire room was holding its breath.
You didn’t need to say anything more. There was no need to analyze every moment that had brought you to this point, or to go back to all the times you’d both skirted around the inevitable. You knew it. He knew it. And now, there was no going back.
Patrick’s hand reached up, brushing a strand of hair from your face, his touch light but deliberate. For a moment, he just looked at you, his expression unreadable but undeniably tender.
“I don’t want to mess this up,” he whispered, almost as if speaking the thought aloud made it real.
“You won’t,” you said, surprising yourself with the certainty in your voice. And then, before either of you could second-guess, you leaned in, closing the distance between you, your lips meeting his in a kiss that felt like it had been waiting to happen for a long time.
It wasn’t rushed or intense, but slow, almost cautious—like you were both testing the waters of something you’d both been afraid to ruin. But as soon as it happened, everything else fell away. The laughter, the teasing, even the conversations about Art and Tashi seemed distant now, irrelevant.
When you pulled away, Patrick rested his forehead against yours, his eyes still closed, a soft smile tugging at his lips. “So… what now?”
You exhaled slowly, your fingers still lightly touching the fabric of his shirt. “I don’t know,” you admitted, the words honest but not uncertain. “But I think we’ll figure it out.”
Patrick grinned, his eyes fluttering open, looking at you with the same affection and ease that had always been there—only now, there was something more behind it.
“We always do,” he said, his voice filled with quiet confidence, as though everything that had happened between you up until this point had been leading to this.
And for the first time in a long while, you believed him.
acting exercises
mike faist x actress!reader
Another press day. Another round of cameras, microphones, and the same recycled questions. It had become routine by now—sit in the chair, smile, deflect, repeat. But this time, the stakes were different. This time, you were seated next to Mike Faist, pretending, as you had for months, that nothing more than co-star camaraderie tethered you together.
You settle into your seat, smoothing the folds of your tailored suit as the interviewer approaches. His handshake is firm, his smile polite but perfunctory. The room is bright with stage lights, the kind that make everything feel more exposed than it should. You glance at Mike out of the corner of your eye, watching as he exchanges a casual word with Josh O’Connor. The three of you have done this dance so many times now, it’s almost mechanical—the smiles, the laughter, the shared glances that don’t mean what they should.
But then, there’s the secret. The small, electric undercurrent that hums between you and Mike, pulsing just beneath the surface. No one in this room knows about it. Not the interviewer, not the crew bustling around with cameras, not even Josh, who’s become like a brother during filming. Only a few close friends and family know the truth—that when the cameras stop rolling, when the world stops watching, the way Mike looks at you is anything but platonic.
The thrill of it buzzes in your veins. It’s almost too easy, this charade. Like an acting exercise you both excel at, slipping into the roles of co-stars, friends, professionals. But there’s something exhilarating about keeping the truth just out of reach, like dangling a secret in front of the world, daring them to catch on. The fans had begun to notice, though. Some had dissected every shared glance, every tiny gesture. The theories were out there, swirling online in a frenzy, but nothing concrete. Not yet.
"Nice to finally meet all of you! The movie was brilliant," the interviewer says, pulling you back into the moment. He shakes each of your hands, his enthusiasm palpable, but it’s the same script you’ve heard all day.
"Let’s talk Challengers. Your performances were all incredible."
The conversation begins, questions flowing smoothly about the film, the dynamic between your characters. You and Josh riff off each other easily, your responses playful and full of light, the way seasoned actors do when they’re deep in promotion mode. And then there’s Mike—quiet, thoughtful, answering in his usual understated way, the way that makes fans lean in, dissecting every syllable for something deeper.
But then, just for a second, his gaze flickers to you. It’s brief, barely noticeable to anyone else, but you feel it like a spark catching in the air between you. His eyes are dark, steady, and in that glance, everything is there—everything you’ve hidden, everything you’ve left unsaid in public. The nights spent together, the whispered secrets, the laughter that only you two share. The press day facade is a mask you’ve worn well, but beneath it, your real life with him simmers, waiting for a chance to break through.
You answer another question, something about the intense dynamic between Tashi and her lovers, laughing as you describe how complex the relationships are. But there’s an edge to your voice now, something just a little too knowing. Mike shifts in his seat beside you, his posture casual, but you know him well enough to catch the slight tension in his jaw.
The interviewer moves on, asking about the emotional weight of the film’s final scenes, and as Mike answers, you catch Josh shooting a playful glance between the two of you, as if he senses something, a teasing smirk barely hidden behind his professionalism. You wonder how much he suspects, how much anyone here really knows.
The interview drags on, each question blurring into the next, but that flicker of tension remains. You and Mike continue your careful dance, weaving through the conversation, but the air between you feels charged, like something about to break. And you realize, with a strange sense of excitement, that maybe it wouldn’t be so bad if the world found out. Maybe it wouldn’t matter if this secret, this thrilling game, was finally exposed.
Because in the quiet moments, when the cameras stop flashing and the lights fade, it’s not the act that excites you. It’s him.
“shouldn’t you be prostituting yourself for a place to sleep tonight?” part 2
patrick x reader
a/n: thank you for enjoying this enough to warrant a part two😭❤️
his vulnerability is palpable now, the bravado he used to wear like armor has long since crumbled, leaving him raw and uncertain. "thanks for letting me come over," he says, voice low, almost unsure. you offer him a small, tentative smile, still unsure of what to say. it feels like meeting him for the first time again, only this time, he's a little more broken, and you're a little more cautious.
"it's fine," you murmur, though the awkwardness lingers like a thick smoke, curling in the silence between your words. it’s strange, how once you shared everything, and now you can’t even find the right way to ask him if he's doing okay.
he shifts, clearing his throat, his eyes flicking toward you, and for a moment, it’s like the old patrick peeks through—a faint shadow of the boy who used to tease you relentlessly, just to see you smile. “you know, you haven’t changed much," he says, voice soft with an edge of something you can't quite place. you laugh, but it’s a nervous, light sound, and you shake your head.
"you have," you reply, maybe more bluntly than you meant to. his smile falters, but he nods, gaze falling to the floor. “yeah,” he whispers, “i guess i have.”
your eyes linger, skulking over his unshaven beard, his bright blue eyes still brash, yet weary. the same eyes that used to gaze at you with so much love, affection. now with caution.
for a moment, silence wraps around you both again, the weight of what’s been lost too heavy to carry into conversation. and then, in a voice that's just a bit too careful, he tries to break the tension, offering a half-hearted flirt. “you ever think about… us? like, back then?” he asks, eyes meeting yours, vulnerable in a way that makes your heart twist. you don’t answer immediately, and he fumbles, quickly adding, “not that i’m—i don’t mean…”
you smile gently, shaking your head. “i do,” you admit quietly, and for a moment, the tension softens, the past stretching like a bridge between you both. but you both know it’s not the same anymore.
he leans back, sighing, a small, tired laugh escaping him. “i missed this,” he says, almost too softly, and there’s a warmth in his voice that you haven’t heard in so long. you smile only the tiniest amount, exhaling gently.
smoothing out your jeans, you glance toward the small, cozy bedroom down the hall. “you can take the bed,” you say, almost too quickly, trying to avoid any more awkwardness. “i’ll sleep on the couch. it’s fine, really.”
patrick’s brows furrow, his eyes narrowing slightly in offense as he straightens up on the couch. “what, do you think i’m some kind of barbarian?” he says, his voice laced with mock indignation. “you seriously think i’d let you sleep on the couch in your own house? come on.”
you open your mouth to protest, but before you can get a word in, he stands up, crossing the room with a sudden burst of energy. “i’m a gentleman!” he exclaims, a playful edge creeping into his tone. “do you have any idea who you’re dealing with? i would never let you do that.”
you blink, a small smile tugging at your lips despite yourself. “patrick—”
he cuts you off with a dramatic wave of his hand, his expression shifting into something more earnest, though there’s still a spark of mischief in his eyes. “no, no. we’ll both take the bed. but—” he raises a finger, like he’s just come up with the grandest idea, “we’ll put up a partition, like we’re children or something. afraid of cooties.”
you can’t help but laugh, the tension easing a little. “a partition?” you ask, crossing your arms, amusement dancing in your voice. “and how exactly are we supposed to do that?”
he glances around your living room as if searching for something to use. “pillows,” he says, nodding decisively. “we’ll make a wall of pillows. you stay on your side, i stay on mine. it’s foolproof. totally respectful.”
you raise an eyebrow, trying to stifle your laughter. “and you’re sure this is the best solution?”
“absolutely,” he grins, the first real smile you’ve seen from him all night. it’s like a flicker of the old patrick—confident, playful, always pushing boundaries just enough to make you laugh but never too far. “you’ll see. i’m a perfect gentleman. nothing to worry about.”
shaking your head, you relent, half-amused, half-unsure how you got roped into this. “alright, fine. but if you cross the pillow wall—”
he interrupts with a hand over his heart. “i solemnly swear, i won’t cross the pillow wall. i’ll be on my best behavior.”
you roll your eyes but can’t suppress the smile pulling at your lips. “okay, okay. let’s do this.”
as you both make your way into the bedroom, you can feel the strange mix of nostalgia and vulnerability between you. patrick starts arranging the pillows with a kind of exaggerated seriousness, making you laugh despite the lingering tension. for a moment, it feels like you’re back in the past, before everything got complicated.
when the bed is finally set, with a lumpy, but passable pillow barrier between you, patrick flops down on his side, dramatically throwing an arm over his face. “see? foolproof,” he mumbles, his voice softer now, as if the weight of the day is finally catching up with him. “thanks for this, really,” he adds, quieter, more sincere.
you lie down on your side, pulling the blanket up to your chin, the soft hum of the city outside filling the quiet space between you both. “it’s no problem,” you whisper, staring up at the ceiling, your heart beating a little faster than you’d like to admit.
there’s a long pause, and you almost think he’s fallen asleep when he speaks again, voice low and tentative. “i don’t… i don’t really know how to be this person anymore,” he admits, and in the darkness, you can hear the vulnerability in his words. “but i’m trying.”
you turn your head slightly, looking toward the wall of pillows that separates you. “i know,” you say softly. “and that’s enough.”
for a while, neither of you speaks, the air between you settling into something that feels less awkward, more familiar. the silence feels heavy, but it’s a comforting weight, like you’re both slowly relearning how to exist in each other’s lives.
and somewhere between the rustling of sheets and the soft rhythm of your breaths, you fall asleep, the pillow wall standing firm, but the distance between you both somehow feeling a little less vast.
—
the morning light filters in through the curtains, soft and golden, and you blink awake, feeling the warmth of something—or someone—pressed against you. your heart skips a beat as you realize the pillow partition is gone, and you and patrick are clung to each other, bodies entwined like vines, arms wrapped so tightly you feel like you might snap apart if you move. it’s like the earth itself has cracked between you, splitting the continents, and you’re clinging to the only thing that’s keeping you from drifting away.
for a moment, you stay still, your heart hammering in your chest as you process how close you are. patrick’s arm is draped over your waist, his leg tangled with yours, and his breath is warm on your neck. he stirs, and suddenly, you feel him realize the situation too. his body tenses, and then, almost in slow motion, you both awkwardly pull away, limbs fumbling as if you’re unsure where one person begins and the other ends.
you clear your throat, sitting up and avoiding his gaze, hoping your flushed face isn’t too obvious. but then you glance over at him, and his situation is definitely not helping matters—patrick, fully aware of his morning wood, shifts uncomfortably, running a hand through his disheveled hair. “uh, sorry, i—” he mumbles, his voice rough with sleep, clearly embarrassed. “it’s, uh, it’s morning, you know?”
you laugh nervously, feeling heat rise to your cheeks. “yeah, i know. it’s, uh, fine.” you quickly get out of bed, trying to pretend this is totally normal, not at all weird or intimate or… whatever it was. “do you, um, want to take a shower?” you ask, eager to shift the focus.
“yeah,” patrick says, a little too quickly. “that’d be great.”
you lead him to the bathroom, still feeling a little flustered. “towels are in the cabinet,” you say, pointing without making eye contact, because the sight of him is making your heart do weird things again. “just, uh, help yourself.”
as he steps into the bathroom, closing the door behind him, you exhale, trying to calm the fluttering in your stomach. get a grip, you tell yourself. it was just… sleeping. innocent. but the way you held each other, like the world would break apart if you let go—that wasn’t just sleeping, was it?
shaking off the thought, you busy yourself by heading to the kitchen to make breakfast. you crack some eggs, fry up bacon, anything to distract yourself. the sound of the shower running helps, but it also gives you too much time to think. you don’t have clean clothes for him. what’s he going to wear when he comes out? you wrack your brain, and then it hits you.
when patrick finally steps out of the bathroom, damp and only in a towel slung low around his hips, your mouth goes dry. he’s standing there like some kind of ridiculous rom-com cliché, water droplets still clinging to his chest, and you can feel yourself blushing again.
“sorry,” he says sheepishly, running a hand through his wet hair. “i don’t have any clothes…”
you blink, tearing your gaze away. “right! uh, hang on. i… might have something.” you dart past him to the closet, rummaging around until you find them—his old college clothes. you’d kept them, hidden away at the back, not thinking you’d ever have a reason to pull them out again. but here they are, and you’re holding them in your hands.
“here,” you say, handing them over. “they’re, uh, yours. from… college.”
patrick looks at the clothes, then back at you, a slow smile spreading across his face. “you kept these?”
you shrug, trying to play it cool, but the warmth in his voice, the look in his eyes—it’s making your heart race again. “i guess i did,” you mumble, turning away before he can see how flustered you are.
“awww,” he teases softly, pulling the clothes from your hands. “didn’t know you were so sentimental.”
you roll your eyes, but your smile gives you away. “just put them on,” you say, trying to sound exasperated, but the blush creeping up your neck betrays you. “breakfast is almost ready.”
as he disappears back into the bathroom to change, you lean against the counter, heart pounding in your chest. what is happening here? this was supposed to be just an awkward sleepover. a kind gesture to an ex boyfriend going through hardship. but it’s starting to feel like something else entirely. and the fact that you still had his clothes—his old clothes—it’s stirring something deep inside you, something you thought you’d buried a long time ago.
taglist:
@diorrfairy @fallout-girl219 @blahox
comment if you’d like to be on the tag list !
challengers fans let’s be friends maybe?? let’s kiss??? 😚
rules & writing list!
hi everyone! i just wanted to post some rules & general guidelines for my blog. i want you all to enjoy my work. if you are ever confused if a certain request is against my rules, don’t be afraid to ask!
navigation pinned wattpad
𖦹 my most recent work; n/a
𖦹 currently working on; london girl, tyler owens.
𖦹 my request box is currently; open.
𖦹 i am partial to writing smut, i can and will deny your request if i think i cannot write it properly or if it’s illegal, non-con, unethical, etc.
𖦹 i do not write anything regarding a physically/ mentally abusive relationship.
𖦹 i do not write ship fics ( character x character. )
𖦹 please do not spam my inbox with your request; i’ll get to it as soon as possible!
i currently write for;
𖦹 she’s got a boyfriend anyway! the 1975
matty healy. george daniel. ross macdonald.
𖦹 i heard the piledriver waltz… arctic monkeys
alex turner. matt helders.
𖦹 i just can’t find my honest face! inhaler
elijah hewson. josh jenkinson. robert keating. ryan mcmahon.
𖦹 it’s murder on the dance floor… saltburn
felix. oliver. farleigh. venetia.
𖦹 ain’t no love in oklahoma! twisters
tyler owens. kate carter. scott. jeb. boone.
𖦹 stay gold, ponyboy… the outsiders
dallas winston. darrel curtis. sodapop curtis. ponyboy curtis.
𖦹 we’re fated to pretend! celebrities
timothée chalamet. jacob elordi. jack schlossberg. harry styles. gene gallagher. john f kennedy jr. aaron taylor johnson. cillian murphy. mike faist. josh o’connor. john f kennedy. bobby kennedy.
thank you all again, lots of love! 💋
© mardybummers (2024—) all rights reserved.
This gif is my holy grail, literally can’t go a day without seeing it THE WAY THEIR NOSES FLICK ON EACHOTHER
homosexual? no, HOBOsexual.
I audibly moaned
Focus on me..