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here is a masterlist of most of what i've written about challengers! keep in mind that all works are fem reader insert as of now. :) i have also only included longer blurbs for now.

*MOST IF NOT ALL ARE NSFW; MINORS DNI

emoji anons: 🐞 🌷 🫒 🎀 ⭐ 💐 🐀 🫐 🦅 🐼

His body fully envelops yours, dick rubbing against your ass as he shows you how to point the cue. whispering in your ear what ball you should try to hit.

“don’t hit the white ball in.”

it makes you shiver a bit, how close he is. but he’s just being nice!!

cw: holding someone hostage, i guess ??

!!!

patrick decided a long time ago that your and his relationship (or whatever it was)--was better left between the two of you. because as soon as third parties got involved, it just, ironically, got messy. hard to explain, you both dug yourselves in a hole. nobody would understand and truthfully he wouldn't expect them to.

he went over to your house one thursday afternoon because you had promised him lunch and were in one of your moods where everything he did was bad and you were pissed off and erratic. you had blown up his phone:

are u coming?

i made your favorite!!!! and you don't even care

should i just throw it away? why do you hate me? you are so disrespectful i try to do something nice for you and this is what i get

r u with another girl or something? she's probably a fucking whore

just like you

patrick bangs on your door with an open palm. he's in a rush for some reason; he has a back pack and is all but shoveling his sandwich into his mouth.

"why're you in such a hurry?" you rock forward on the balls of your feet, staring at him.

patrick wipes his fingers and hands you the plate. "i have a midterm in twenty minutes. 'm sorry, i gotta go."

"i thought midterms were last week." you don't phrase it like a question. for you, its not one. it's a fact. everyone knows midterms are the second of october here.

"not this one."

"what class's it for?" now, you're just looking for anything. averted eyes, a hiccup in his delivery.

"statistics."

"i didn't know you were taking stats."

patrick rolls his eyes. "well it's not the most interesting topic. i gotta go, i don't have time for this."

you step on your tippy toes and wipe a crumb from his lip. "you left something in my room last time."

"i'll get it later!" he's exasperated now, trying to wrangle free from your grasp.

"you don't need your computer charger?"

"jesus--fine. i've been looking for that. thanks."

and, as you lead him into your room, you lock the door behind you, trapping yourself in.

"sit on the bed please."

"what the fuck are you doing?" patrick obliges, knowing it's not worth it to put up a fight. "i really need to go, honey. i can come back later, okay?"

"you can just stay." you straddle his lap; patrick can see you're not wearing a bra and your tank top is thin. your thighs are warm against him as you grab his wrists. before he realizes it, he's cuffed to your bed post.

"did you just cuff me?"

you wobble your lip. "just stay. you don't need to leave."

"I have a test!"

"i dont like being lied to."

and patrick sat like that for hours. the time for his test came and went, as did tennis practice and dinner plans with his teammates. patrick couldn't reach his phone to call anyone, and he had long ago rubbed his wrists raw trying to break free. it's no use--your bedframe is metal.

"i'm thirsty." patrick complains.

you're quick on your feet and get him a cold glass of water, urging him to sit up for you. you hold his chin. "swallow."

patrick can tell that this is your dream--him being at your every whim. you knowing exactly where he is and what he's doing.

"are you hot? do you want me to take your clothes off?" you feel his forehead with the back of your hand. he's sweaty and restless.

patrick spreads his legs.

"yes or no." you slap his knee.

"fuck--sure. yes, it's hot in here."

so you crawl on all fours, using your teeth to untie his sweatpants. pawing at him and pulling the fabric down his legs, his boxers too. he can't hide his erection, red and bobbing on his stomach. leaking pre cum because you're kissing his thighs and your breath ghosts over him.

"i know you like this." you lick a stripe up his cock and he whimpers, pulling at the cuffs.

"fuck--yeah i do. but wouldn't you like it better if i could touch you?"

"no." you answer shortly. "i like that you can't leave. your hand wraps around his dick and he twitches as you bunch his t-shirt up so you can see his chest. "you're so handsome like this." running your fingers over his abdomen, he shudders, looking at you through hooded eyes. your underwear is soaked; he can see up your skirt.

"t-thank you."

"do you think i'm pretty?" you rock your clothed pussy over his erection and he nods profusely, lip trapped between his teeth.

"so pretty." he bucks his hips up and you push them down, sucking your teeth.

"not so fast." a quick slap to his cheek. he unhinges his jaw to ease the sharp pain, groaning at your unreasonableness. "i'm in charge here. obviously."

"take your dress off." he commands. always trying to have the upper hand.

"you dont have any power over me right now."

"i'm going to call the police when you fucking uncuff me."

"no you won't." a scratch down his abdomen before you spit on his cock and hover over it.

he's nodding profusely, begging you to fuck him with his eyes, the desperation red in his cheeks, creeping down his neck.

"fuck me good and maybe i won't."

you laugh before sinking down on him, to which he groans, hips snapping up to feel you deeper and deeper.

"yeah? you like that?" you cradle his jaw; tears are pricking his eyes. he's frustrated not because he's handcuffed to your bed, but because he can't move. can't show you who's in charge. can't fuck you into the mattress and tell you to go fuck yourself.

all he can muster is a small, "mhm, fuck--"

so you fuck him like that. hands on his chest as you bounce on his cock. feeling the entire length of him sheathed inside you, balls deep, before you snap your hips back up and you're empty again. your bed squeaks, headboard rocking against the wall. patrick's mouth hangs open as he grunts, and you lean forward to push your fingers into his mouth, opening him up for you so you can spit on his tongue. so you can kiss him and feel the sweat on his forehead against your own. so you can hear how much he loves you through the squelch of his dick pounding into you from below and the way he moans your name against the shell of your ear.

OH HELL YEAH

Actually just busted everywhereeee

He knows she watches him, leaves him strange gifts ect or accidentally leaving her presence behind, an academy locker slightly ajar, a handprint, a hair, a bracelet.. He loves to give her things to drive her crazy to keep her coming back. A little peek of his hairy belly, a little mention of a hobby hes never mentioned before to string her along because he knows she wants every morsel of detail she can get

His friends dont realise how long shes been watching for because they may have only noticed it recently because shes usually more "hidden" but patrick knows. Hes seen her since almost the beginning and never mentioned it to his friends. She makes him feel alive. He thinks he probably thinks about her more than she thinks about him.

cw: stalking

"meeting" patrick at a match (meeting is a strong word--you never even spoke to each other) and instantly becoming enamored. obsessed. you're on thin ice with most people in your life and your probation officer, but you're not even causing any harm. you know that you and patrick are meant to be and it's just a matter of time before he realizes that. so you're not doing anything wrong by being proactive. by trying to understand him.

you stayed behind that first night, slipping into the men's locker room after everyone had left. you rifled through everyone's lockers and found a few things of patrick's that pointed you in the right direction--a photo of him and some friends. a pack of cigarettes. a receipt to a convenience store around the block.

first, you left a kiss on the receipt paper. just a little hint to show him you were there. for him to wonder about you. what you look like. if you've met before. soon, you're at most of his matches. even the little ones that don't really matter. even the practices. but those are more private; you have to stay hidden. usually under the bleachers. soon, you're lurking around his house and leaving used pairs of underwear in his mailbox.

he noticed you immediately: pretty, but with crazy eyes. he'd see you everywhere, yet he didn't know your name. then, one day, you were at a match you weren't supposed to be at. it wasn't trespassing per se, but it was strange because nobody there knew you. yet you waltzed right into the men's locker room. 'by accident'--of course. and patrick, sensing you would do it, timed it perfectly. him getting out of the shower as you glanced in.

water dripping down his earlobes, balancing on the tip of his nose, his bottom lip. he was too busy using his towel to ruffle his hair dry, leaving him naked in front of you. tan, toned, hairy and perfect. your patrick.

you grew weak and flush because you'd never gotten this far and you swore patrick winked at you. you knew your inkling was correct--he was meant for you and you for him. so he keeps you going like that. purposefully mentioning his favorite restaurants and when he goes to the grocery store. that he uses a laundromat right now because his washing machine just broke, but luckily there's one right by his apartment.

one day, when you're feeling bold, you write him a letter. you tell him how much you love him. how you want to have his babies and get married. you'd love to make love to him, but you'd be just as happy to let him use your body. claim it as his because in reality, it already is.

patrick's friends find the note and tell him it's weird. that they're going to call the police because this can get dangerous fast. and, because he knows you're near (and he feels slightly protective over you)-- he tells them not to overreact.

"i'm sure it will die down soon."

you feel like that sealed the deal. he loves you. and the next time you get your mail, you find the letter you wrote. it's folded up and in a new envelope. it's sticky with what you realize is patrick's cum, a signature of sorts. now, he's the one watching you, his car parked down the street while you look quizzically at the page in front of you.

“tell her what?”

“that our waitress smiled at you and asked for your number.”

“i dunno.”

patrick. YOU KNOW YOU MF INSTIGATOR.

he’s so addicted to you and your insane, obsessive behavior that he has become a liar just to draw it out of you more. he just loves how red with anger you get, stuttering over your words and knitting your brows together. looking like you want to kill him and kill for him all at the same time. and nothing gets you riled up more than when another woman shows him attention. and, with patrick being as hot and charming as he is—happens a lot. So there’s really no need to lie but he does it anyway. all serious and slack jawed.

it makes you so mad, so needy for reassurance. you have to make him remember how good you are to him, which usually means patrick ends up fucking you from behind but you’re doing all the work. bouncing your ass back on his cock and looking into his soul while you do it. grinding your hips down and moaning his name over and over. he feels how your cunt flutters around him when his fingers dig into your ass. how your pupils are saucers and your hair is all messy from patrick gathering it in his hand while he kissed you.

“you’re ruining my life.” Patrick pushes your head into the pillows, hand strong on the back of it. Takes matters into his own hands now, aiming to hit that spongy spot inside you that makes you cry. “you bring out the fuckin’ worst in me.” Your ass jiggles against his pelvis and he sucks his teeth, ripping your hand away from its spot in between your legs, rubbing your clit.