⊹ ࣪ ˖ Competition Part 2 ⊹ ࣪ ˖
fem!soccer!fem!reader x baseball!schlatt
The campus was crawling with athletes and ego. Jerseys in clashing colours, chants echoing off old brick buildings, the kind of buzz that made even the cockiest players double-check their game faces.
Y/N adjusted her warm-up top as she passed the baseball field. She wasn’t looking for anyone in particular, obviously. Just… casually checking out the competition.
And there he was. Schlatt. Leaning on the dugout rail like he owned the place, twirling a baseball between his fingers like it was part of his DNA.
Their eyes met. Predictable.
“You lot got lost on the way to the kiddie field?” he called out, loud enough that half his team turned to look.
Y/N didn’t break stride. “Nah, just passing through. Wanted to see what mediocre looks like in person.”
A few soccer girls chuckled behind her. He smirked.
“Didn’t know your game was scheduled for the same time as ours. Shame. Won’t be able to watch you lose.”
She stopped, turned, arms crossed. “That’s cute. Thinkin’ you’d be invited.”
Schlatt jogged a few steps closer, stopping just shy of her personal space. “C’mon, don’t tell me you wouldn’t wanna impress me.”
“I don’t need to impress someone who thinks chewing gum and wearing sunglasses is a personality.”
He leaned in just a little, grin lazy and dangerous. “Then why’re you already tryin’ so hard?”
Y/N didn’t flinch. Just smiled that smile she knew got under his skin.
“Tell you what,” she said, walking backwards now, heading for her pitch, “you win your game, I might—might—let you carry my water bottle.”
Schlatt laughed, low and cocky. “You lose yours, and you’re wearin’ my jersey next week.”
And just like that, the line was drawn. Game on—on and off the field.
The sun was starting to dip, casting long shadows over the stadium steps. Y/N sat near the bleachers, still in her kit, grass stains on her knees, a sheen of sweat on her skin she hadn’t bothered to wipe off yet.
They’d won. 3–2. Tight game. Rough one, too. Her left shin was definitely gonna bruise.
She was pulling at the laces on her cleats when a shadow fell over her.
She didn’t even have to look up.
“Was hopin’ you'd be too humiliated to show your face after that little strikeout meltdown in the fifth.”
Schlatt huffed, dropping down next to her like he had a right to. His jersey was stained with dirt and whatever bruised ego he’d collected from losing.
“Please. I could hear your tantrum from the pitch.”
He shrugged, elbow resting casually against his knee. “And you? You looked... decent out there.”
“Oh wow,” she said, mock offended. “High praise from the benchwarmer of the century.”
He grinned, teeth catching the last of the sunlight. “Didn’t say I wasn’t impressed.”
Silence settled for a second—only the muffled sounds of other games wrapping up, sneakers on pavement, someone yelling for a missing water bottle.
“You still want me to carry yours?” he asked, flicking his eyes to her bag.
She looked at him, brow raised.
“Yeah,” he said, like it physically pained him. “I remember.”
They locked eyes for a moment longer than necessary. Something slowed down between them.
Then she smirked. “Nah. I’m good.”
He laughed, shaking his head. “You’re impossible.”
He looked at her then, really looked. Less cocky this time. Quieter.
“Maybe I’d be easy... for you.”
Y/N blinked, thrown for a second.
But before she could come up with a comeback that didn’t sound like a full-blown confession, he was already standing.
And just like that, he was gone. Leaving her with a racing heart, a dumb smirk on her face, and a very inconvenient flutter in her stomach.
I lounged across the couch, legs draped over one armrest, a few of the other girls curled up beside me. The house still buzzed from our win—some of the team had gone out to celebrate, but a handful of us had chosen the quieter option: movie night.
There was a bit of back-and-forth about what to watch. I’d thrown out The Outsiders—shot down instantly. We ended up settling on Star Wars, the original ‘70s one. Classic. Safe.
Don’t get me wrong, I love Star Wars. But tonight? My mind was galaxies away.
God. What the hell did he mean earlier? That line… “Maybe I’d be easy… for you.”
Was he joking? Flirting? Was that even real or did my brain just decide to romanticize a casual throwaway comment?
I tried to focus on the film, but my thoughts were running wild. Like, was it completely insane to text him? Just something small. Teasing. No big deal.
I started mentally drafting a pros and cons list.
Pros:
– I’d get to mess with him.
– If he bit back, that’s leverage.
– He’d definitely be the one thinking about me after.
Cons:
– The girls would absolutely roast me.
– If he was joking, I’d die.
– He’d have the upper hand forever.
…Okay. Risky. But I was already reaching for my phone.
Shit. I didn’t even have his number.
“Y’alright, Y/N?” Kenzie asked, eyeing me with a smirk. “You look like you’re having a full-on war in that head of yours.”
I forced a smile. “Yeah, no, I’m good. Just... hey, random—did you ever get Schlatt’s number? Back when you were hanging out with Kyle?”
She raised an eyebrow, slow and suspicious, but pulled out her phone anyway. “Yeah… why?”
I shrugged, all casual, like this wasn’t a totally deranged move. “Just need to ask him something.”
Kenzie sent it over without pushing—thank god.
i sent him a casual text, just asked how post-loss glow ws treating him.
Seconds later, my phone buzzed. One image attached.
Surrounded by the girls on our team—the ones who’d chosen to go out tonight. One of them had an arm around his neck. His smirk was deadly.
I typed before I could overthink it:
too busy watching star wars.
what’re you doing with our soccer girls?
thought you hated their guts, slugger.
Regret set in immediately. I stood up quickly, heart hammering.
“I’m gonna head upstairs,” I muttered to the girls.
Kenzie shot me a knowing look but didn’t say anything.
Her phone buzzed before she even made it halfway up the stairs.
didn’t know your girls were so friendly 😏
should’ve come out.
i was hoping to see you
She stopped cold. Right there on the stairs. Barefoot. Heart skipping like it had somewhere better to be.
He wanted to see her?
He was hoping—
Nope. She wasn’t gonna spiral. Not now. Not over a text sent from the middle of some rager with her teammates fawning all over him.
Her thumbs hovered. Then typed.
don’t need to be surrounded by a bunch of girls to get attention.
i already won my game 😘
She didn’t expect the three dots to appear right away.
yeah
but you still haven’t won me
Before she could even decide how to react, another message came in.
Y/N stared at the screen.
Was he drunk? Was he serious? Was she actually considering this?
She glanced out the front window. The night was quiet. Still. Half the team was out. The other half asleep or pretending to be.
Her fingers moved on autopilot.
west side of campus
corner house. music’s loud
back door’s open
Her heart pounded so hard she felt it in her throat.
Five minutes later, she was out the door—hoodie thrown over her pyjamas, phone in hand, telling herself it was just to see what the big deal was.
Not because she wanted to see him.
Not because she couldn’t stop thinking about that stupid line.
im fully convinced i've forgotten how to write bc wtf is this bro
