ᴀʙᴏᴜᴛ ୨ৎ : ALONDRA JAKAI was born on May 18 , she attends boarding school with some of her best fiends , ZAHRA , GENESIS , AND JALEESA .
ᴡʀɪᴛᴛᴇɴ ᴀʙᴏᴜᴛ ୨ৎ : ALONDRA JAKAI has written and will be writing more smut this week , she hasn’t wrote smut in a long time but she will . she hopes to continue writing for juju watkins more often . she also wants to start writing for deb smikle .
ꜱᴇxᴜᴀʟɪᴛʏ ୨ৎ : ALONDRA JAKAI came out as lesbian when she was nine . she started liking womens sports ever since she got the opportunity to go to U.S OPEN on her tenth birthday
ꜱᴘᴏʀᴛꜱ ʙɪᴏ ୨ৎ : ALONDRA JAKAI consistently plays the number of sports , softball , basketball , tennis , and flag football .
ʟᴇᴀᴠᴇ ᴀ ᴍᴇꜱꜱᴀɢᴇ ᴀᴛ ᴛʜᴇ ᴛᴏɴᴇ ୨ৎ : hey goodies !! it’s loni and i really hope you all enjoy my page . uhm try not to bully or nothing , just always remember to spread positivity within your area . reqs and dms are open . tysmm for following ♡︎.
And not in the cool, nighttime way. It’s the kind of dark where you know it’s still mid-afternoon outside, the sun trying its best through the blinds — but it doesn’t matter. The kind of dark that clings to your skin. The kind that doesn’t let go.
You haven’t been to class. You haven’t eaten. Your phone died two days ago and stayed dead. Your roommate texted once, then stopped. Probably figured you needed space.
She doesn’t know what happened between you and Paige.
Nobody really knows.
Except Azzi.
Because she’s the one Paige kissed three days after she ripped your heart out and walked away.
You wish you could scream. Or cry. Or punch something until your knuckles split and burn. But the truth is — you’re past that part.
You’re numb now.
A few days earlier
“You’re too much.”
That’s what she said.
You were sitting on her dorm bed, UConn hoodie hanging off one shoulder, the sleeves covering the shaking of your hands. The nerves. The fear. The way your chest burned every time you saw her drift away from you without explanation.
And she was standing. Arms crossed. Like you were something to be solved. An inconvenience.
“I can’t deal with you breaking down every time I don’t text back. I can’t fix you.”
That last part?
That was the one that knocked the air from your lungs.
“Fix me?” you asked. You weren’t even angry. Just stunned. “You think I want you to fix me?”
She sighed. “I just want to focus on basketball right now. The championship is days away. I don’t have time for…”
She didn’t finish.
But you knew what she meant.
Present day
The headlines flashed all over the TV in the student union:
UConn Takes the Title. Bueckers and Fudd: Unstoppable Duo.
There’s a picture.
Azzi’s arms around Paige. Paige’s smile — real and bright and warm.
It used to be yours.
You were supposed to be there. You were supposed to be in the stands. You were supposed to wear her name on your back and feel the rush of pride when she made history.
Instead, you watched from your twin-sized bed, with a bottle of water and a silence so loud it pressed against your temples.
Your journal sits on the floor. Open. Scribbled in all directions. Torn at the corners. A graveyard of thoughts too heavy for your voice.
“I would’ve died for her.”
“I think something in me already did.”
“I shouldn’t be here.”
That last line stares back at you the longest.
And maybe you meant it metaphorically when you wrote it. But now, staring out the window, you wonder if it meant something else.
There’s a knock.
Once.
Twice.
“Open the door.”
The voice makes your blood run cold.
You don’t move.
“Y/N. Open the damn door.”
Still, you don’t move.
A second passes. Then a third.
Then she’s in — someone must’ve given her the key — and she’s in your room and standing there like she didn’t set you on fire and leave.
Paige.
Blue hoodie. Hair up. No cameras. No Azzi.
Just her.
Just your ghost.
“What do you want?” you ask hoarsely.
She looks like she’s about to cry.
“I saw the journal.”
You blink. Then go cold. “You broke in here to read my journal?”
“No— Azzi found it. You left it at the gym weeks ago. I didn’t mean to—”
“Wow,” you laugh bitterly. “So not only did you break my heart, but you let her read my breakdowns? That’s cute.”
That’s not what happened,” she says quietly.
You sit on the edge of the bed. Your hands grip the sheets like you’ll fall if you let go.
“You moved on in three days.”
“I didn’t—”
“You kissed her in front of the whole country.”
Silence.
Your voice cracks. “You said I was too much, Paige. So what, she’s easier to love? Less messy? Less broken?”
“I didn’t move on. I just… ran.”
You stare at her. “From me?”
“From everything.” Her shoulders shake. “I was scared.”
“You don’t get to be scared,” you whisper. “I was scared. Of losing you. Of never being enough. And then I wasn't enough.”
She walks over. You flinch when she sits beside you.
“I’m sorry.”
“Too late.”
You look at her. Really look at her.
And for a second — she’s still yours.
For a second — this is fixable.
But then your eyes drop to her hands.
She isn’t wearing your bracelet.
She hasn’t in weeks.
Are you okay?” she asks.
That question sends something violent through you.
“Do I look okay?” you snap.
She pauses. “No. You don’t.”
You stare at the wall.
“I’ve had thoughts. Dark ones.”
She turns her whole body to you. “I know. That’s why I came.”
You meet her eyes, and for the first time in days — you let it out.
The tears.
The heartbreak.
The parts of you that fractured the night she left.
And she just pulls you in. Arms tight. Face buried in your neck.
“I messed up,” she whispers. “You’re not too much. You never were.”
Your sobs come harder.
“I can’t sleep,” you admit. “I haven’t eaten. I keep thinking if I disappeared no one would even notice.”
Paige shakes her head. “I’d notice. I notice everything about you. Even when I try not to.”
Silence.
Then—
“I love you.”
You almost collapse from the weight of it.
“No, you don’t.”
“I do. I just didn’t know how to love you the right way back then. I got scared. You felt too real. I thought you’d leave first.”
“You pushed me.”
“I know. But I came back.”
You pull away. “You’re with Azzi.”
She looks down. “Not really. We tried. It wasn’t right. She’s—” She shakes her head. “She’s not you.”
You don’t kiss her that night.
You don’t forgive her either.
But you let her hold your hand.
And when the sun rises, and the room is finally bright again—
You get out of bed.
That’s something.
Maybe even everything.
.⋆♱ - remember to always speak your mind . if you or anyone you know is experiencing depression , or maybe even pain . please tell someone , don’t think that at anytime they’ll treat you differently , you are a human too
☀︎༄.° SYNOPSIS. there's something about the stranger that's been visiting the surf shack you work at all week— you just can't figure out what. maybe it's just how tall and hot she is, her goofy little smile, or the way she says your name. whatever it is, you're determined to figure it out— only after you teach her how to surf.
contains. strangers to lovers, slow burn, fluff, smut
notes. one, pics aren't meant to indicate reader's ethnicity ofc i just felt it fit the aesthetic. two, it's hardly proofread and i haven't surfed in years so sorry if anything is inaccurate plz ignore and suspend ur disbelief. and finally, i ultimately went w this being reader insert rather than an oc fic, but i do call y/n 'soleil' in my head— just wanted to share that bc i think it's so cute 🤍🌊
playlist. view by shinee / sky walker by miguel ft travis scott / surfin' u.s.a. by the beach boys / teenage dream by katy perry / sunsetz by cigarettes after sex
words. 7.56k
the sun beams down hard, burning through the marine layer and making the old wood of the surf shack look almost golden in it’s light.
you’re leaning on the counter, elbow propped beside your half–drunk, melty smoothie, watching boredly as a drop of condensation runs down the side of the cup. a seagull cries overhead, waves crash in the distance.
it’s the hottest week of the summer, according to the news.
the shack is your dad’s, passed down from your grandfather, and you’ve been working here every summer since you were fifteen. days go by slow. the morning rush— if you could even call three tourists and a guy named skip a rush— has long passed. now, it’s just you, salt air, and a playlist of indie songs playing faintly from your phone in a plastic cup for extra volume.
you don’t notice her at first. the shack’s wooden floor creaks under the weight of a footstep, and you glance up out of habit.
the girl approaches your counter, tall and blonde. she’s wearing an unbuttoned white top over a black sports bra and blue swim trunks, the brim of a baseball cap shading her face, holding a water bottle in one hand and a wad of cash in another.
“hey,” she says, voice easy as she sets a few twenties down on the countertop. “just need a board for a couple hours.”
you blink, suddenly more alert. not because of the request— you rent out boards to half the town— but because something about this girl is… familiar. the voice? or her face? you can’t quite place it. you take in her physique again, as subtly as you can— she’s jacked. you wonder if maybe she’s a pro surfer from somewhere, because geez.
“name?” you ask, already reaching for the rental log. “and soft board or hard top?”
“paige,” the girl says. “soft’s fine. i’m still figuring this break out.”
“first time in sarasota?”
she nods. “way nicer than miami, i heard.”
“you heard right,” you say, just making conversation as you sort out the cash. “where you from?”
“minnesota, but i live in texas.” paige replies.
“minnesota?” you raise your eyebrows, voice lilting. “oh, that’s horrible.”
that earns you a laugh, amusement glinting in her blue eyes— or maybe that’s just the sunlight. “yeah, it’s nothing like this— but hey, that’s home.”
you write down paige without a second thought, then hand her the change. “you’re good. racks are out back. the ones with orange tags are beginner–friendly.”
paige smiles, then glances down at the name stitched into your tank top. “thanks, y/n,”
“be careful not to burn out there, minnesota,” you call out, as paige turns toward the sand.
“i’ll try!” paige tosses over her shoulder, smiling with a glance back at you.
and just like that, she’s gone, walking toward the surf, longboard balanced under one arm. you watch her disappear into the glittering edge of the ocean, brow furrowed.
that name. that face.
you definitely know her from somewhere.
paige is back at about the same time the next day, looking to rent another board.
you don’t know why you’re so surprised. plenty of tourists come by and rent multiple days out of the week. you guess you just weren’t expecting to see her so soon.
she’s wearing the same cap and trunks again today, but no shirt. just a sports bra. pays in cash again, but tells you not to worry about the change this time. makes conversation.
there’s that itch of recognition, too, at the back of your head as you chat. it won’t settle, even as you tell yourself that maybe she just looks like someone you know.
you turn the rental log to her and pass her the pen, letting her sign it this time, and she jots her name down— just paige, again— before thanking you with the flash of a smile, grabbing a board, and heading out to the water.
hm.
by time paige returns, two hours or so later, the sun is overhead and the beach pulses with heat.
the wood of the surf shack has grown warm under your bare feet, and the back of your neck is slick with sweat, the mini standing fan on the counter doing little to help. you’ve peeled off your uniform tank top, leaving you in cut–off denim shorts and an orange triangle bikini top, body glistening with sweat and sunscreen.
you’re perched on your stool behind the counter, lazily sketching flowers and waves onto the corner of the rental log in pen, when a voice comes, “i got something for you,”
you look up, and there paige is again. the hat’s gone now, blonde hair clinging in wet strands to the side of her face, beads of salt water still dripping from her shoulders. she has the board tucked under her arm and a lazy smirk tugging at her mouth.
“longboard survived,” paige says. “can’t say the same for me.”
you grin. “you wiped out?”
“bad. it wasn’t my fault, though— thought i saw a shark, but it was just a stingray.”
“oh my god,” you chortle, shaking your head.
she leans the surfboard gently against the side of the shack and steps forward, arms crossed loosely, the corner of her mouth still curved upward. her gaze flicks briefly to the side of your neck, where your hair is sticking to your skin.
then, down to your chest, lingering just a second too long before dragging back up to your face.
“hot?” paige asks casually. you almost can’t tell if she’s talking about you or the weather.
“practically melting,” you reply, droll, lifting the straw to your smoothie to your mouth as if the mere mention of the heat triggers your thirst. “how’re you holding up, minnesota?”
“not bad,” paige says, leaning up against the counter, arms resting along the edge. “might not’ve used enough sunscreen on my back, though.”
“what is that, anyway?” she asks, pointing at your drink, dry throat evident in her voice. “looks good.”
“this,” you say, tapping the cup for emphasis. “is how you survive seven hours on the beach every day. there’s a shop that sells them just up the road with a plastic flamingo out front. can’t miss it. pomegranate, pineapple, and coconut milk is my go–to.”
paige hums. “pomegranate, pineapple, and coconut? sounds weird. guess i’ll have to try it.”
“you can thank me later,” you smile, smug.
she pushes off the counter, standing upright. “we’ll see about that. have a good one, y/n.”
for some reason, you don’t want her to go yet.
“you, too.”
the morning’s already heating up by the time you clock in for work, but there’s a breeze today— light and salty, lifting a few strands of your hair out of place ever so often. you got to the shack early, opened up before the sun really crested, and on the way in, you plucked a bright pink hibiscus bloom from a bush near the parking lot and tucked it behind your ear, just because. it matches your pale pink bikini top, tied behind your neck in a quick, practiced knot.
you’ve got a bit of pep in your step today, despite the heat. there’s a rhythm to the way you move throughout the shack, humming along to the song playing from your makeshift phone–cup–speaker thing.
you’re restocking wax behind the counter when the thud of something hitting the countertop makes your head turn.
it’s a clear plastic cup, its contents a familiar shade of reddish–purple, already sweating condensation. on the other side of the counter, paige is grinning, her own half–drunk cup in hand.
“pineapple, pomegranate, coconut,” she says, proudly. “the lady at the smoothie place says hi, by the way.”
“you brought me a smoothie?” you say, both surprised and flattered.
“figured it’s only fair, since you put me on,” paige replies, leaning on the counter. “and you looked like you were about to die of heatstroke out here yesterday.”
a smile creeps onto your face. you stop what you’re doing and turn fully to the counter, taking a sip— cold, tangy, sweet. perfect.
“okay,” you say. “you win. that’s actually really sweet of you. thank you.”
paige shrugs. “no problem.”
you hum around your straw, looking up at her— really looking, now. she’s not wearing the cap today, her hair tied into a low–effort bun at the back of her head, and you immediately decide you like this look on her much better. you can see the sharp lines of her cheekbones and jawline more clearly, pink lips fixed in that stupid smirk. skin sun–kissed and eyes so blue, they rival the turquoise waters behind her.
you can’t help it anymore. you have to ask. “are you sure i don’t know you from somewhere?”
paige hesitates— only for a moment, but still, you notice.
“i don’t think so,” she laughs, almost convincing. “i’ve only ever been to miami a few times. this is my first time up the coast.”
you playfully narrow your eyes at her, but you decide to let it go. for now. “mm. you must have one of those faces, then.”
“trust. i’d remember you.” she adds, letting her voice drop lower and, for once, you’re grateful for the heat; you can blame it for the way you flush a shade of deep pink.
“i think you’re just buttering me up for a free board,” you say, setting your smoothie down. “you’re lucky you’re cute, paige from minnesota.”
paige smiles, dopey, and takes a sip from her smoothie. her eyes flick casually from your face to the flower tucked behind your ear. “i like the fit.”
“hm?” you glance up at her.
“the flower, and all the pink,” she says, motioning toward you. “it’s giving… mermaid barbie princess. but the hot, evil kind.” she decides, after her eyes sweep over you.
you snort. “evil? you mean like sirens?”
“yeah, that,” paige smirks. “something tells me you could successfully lure a person into the water.”
you laugh at how forward she is. “in your dreams,” you reply, turning back to the box of surf wax.
paige isn’t in any rush to get out to the water today. she doesn’t ask for a board or hand you any cash. just stands there, drinking her smoothie, making conversation about the music playing from your phone like she has nowhere better to be.
you think you really should remind her to get her board, at least for business purposes, but you look back at her as you work— her eyes trained on you, sun casting her in a dreamy glow— and decide not to say anything just yet.
let her stay a little longer.
the shack closes early on wednesday, as it has every week for the past thirty years.
you’ve spent the past hour sweeping up sand to the best of your ability and straightening the board racks, glancing back at the beach every so often, hoping for a familiar head of blonde hair to appear.
paige doesn’t show.
it’s fine, of course. you just thought maybe she’d stop by, maybe pick up the conversation from yesterday where you’d left off. she’d ended up on an extra stool behind the counter with you, dogging on your music taste and playing the new drake album for you, “so you’d have something to listen to other than that hippie music.”
oh well, you think, as you lock up the shack. tote bag slung on your shoulder and flip flops in hand, you make your way to the wooden stairs the lead from the beach to the parking lot, warm sand sticking to the soles of your feet. you’re only halfway up when you hear someone call out, “hey! y/n!”
you look back to see paige at the bottom of the steps, following after you. “wait up!” she shouts, and you stop in your tracks, feet on different steps.
“i was just about to stop by,” paige says, slightly breathless, leaving three steps between you when she stops. “i didn’t know y’all closed early.”
your stomach does a little somersault, unexpectedly. “yeah. wednesdays are always slow.”
she nods like she’s making mental notes, then gestures over her shoulder, at the beach. “i was planning on renting again.”
you smile. “you and that longboard are becoming a thing.”
“what can i say? i’m loyal.” she grins back. “hey, you surf, right?” she asks, suddenly.
“do i surf?” you blink, then chuckle a little. “yeah, i’m alright.”
“would you be down to surf with me?”
she almost sounds tentative as she asks the question— so un–paigelike that you’re almost taken aback.
you look past her, scanning the beach. it’s not too crowded today, but it’s siesta key in the middle of the summer, so of course there’s still a lot of people. kids running and playing in the sand, a group of teens playing volleyball, couples sprawled out on their towels. the current’s not bad at all, from what you can see— the waves aren’t huge or anything, but you could still catch a pretty good surf.
“yeah, sure,” you reply, shrugging, though a smile plays at your lips.
paige smiles, wide and triumphant. “cool. let’s grab some boards?”
you hesitate. “shit, mine’s at my apartment across town.”
“well, lucky for you, i know the girl that works here.” paige says, starting back toward the shack.
you laugh, falling into step beside her, hyperaware of how close she’s walking next to you as her sandals slap against the steps. you unlock the shack from the back door, switching on the lights, paige following you inside.
you grab one of the better–waxed boards, a tri fin shortboard with a hard top, leaning it against the counter as paige gets the one she’s been renting all week.
without thinking about it, you strip out of your oversized t–shirt and linen shorts, revealing the lavender bikini you were wearing beneath your clothes— the triangle–cut top and cheeky bottoms aren’t ideal for surfing, but your rash guard and surf shorts are also at your apartment, so this will have to do. you reach into your tote that’s lying on the counter, grabbing a bottle of sunscreen, knowing well that it needs to be re–applied every few hours.
you don’t realize that paige has been intently watching you until you struggle to get full coverage of your back, and she steps forward, “here— i got you,” reaching out for the bottle.
you nod, handing her the bottle and turning around, heart thudding as you move your hair over your shoulder.
her hands are firm as she spreads the sunscreen across your shoulder blades, smoothing it along the curve of your upper back, fingers dragging along the base of your neck. you shudder despite the heat as her hands move slow and deliberate down your back, before lingering up at your waist.
“all good,” she clears her throat, letting go finally, but your skin tingles where she touched.
“thanks,” you breathe. “do you need any?”
paige shakes her head. “nah, i’m good. put some on right before i pulled up.”
then, swiftly, she grabs both boards with ease, one under each arm, and flashes you a grin. “let’s go.”
you paddle out together, arms slicing through the water, boards bobbing gently beneath you. paige is strong, powerful shoulders making quick work of the surf, like it’s nothing. still, she’s a beat behind you, watching as you glide ahead.
reading the water is easy, like a cherished book you’ve returned to over and over again. you pop up and catch your first wave with clean, practiced form, and paige lets out an impressed whistle, before she even gets the chance to paddle for one of her own. that familiar sense of fearlessness swells within you, coursing through your veins, exhilarating.
you see the opportunity for an air, so you take it, confident. you crouch low, building speed as you approach the lip of the wave. just as it starts to pitch, you shift your weight and launch off the top, board and body lifting into the air. for a moment, you’re floating— then, you guide the nose back down, landing on the face of the wave and riding it out.
the landing isn’t as perfect and clean as you’d like, but still, you feel fucking cool as the spray of whitewater disperses below you.
you look back mainly to make sure that she hasn’t tombstoned while you were distracted, and paige is watching you, jaw ajar. she makes her way to you, floating just past the break. “show–off,” she accuses, breathless and smiling. “‘alright’, my ass.”
you smirk, shrugging casually. “i’d say that was pretty alright.”
“you just tony hawk’d that shit. stop playing.”
you laugh, pushing a piece of wet hair out of your face. “wanna learn? i can’t teach you how to do that in a day, but i can show you some other pretty cool stuff.”
“uh, fuck yeah?” paige replies, eager.
what ensues for the next forty minutes is you teaching paige how to cutback— which, really, is just you trying to be constructive and not laugh every time she topples off of her board and into the water. but eventually, she gets it, executing the move like a stiff chicken on a longboard, but executing it nonetheless.
she’s very proud of herself, going on about how she wishes she could’ve gotten it on camera as she drifts lazily beside you. you’re both taking a break, sitting upright on your boards, knees brushing beneath the water. there’s a salty breeze, and the sun feels less punishing out here.
she turns to you and asks, “so, how’d you learn?”
“my dad taught me,” you start, motioning back toward the shore. “marty. he owns the shack. his dad— my grandpa, the og marty— opened it in the seventies and my dad took it over before i was born. expanded it through florida, plus myrtle beach and tybee island. i’ve worked at this one every summer since i was fifteen.”
paige smiles like she’s connecting the dots in her head. “ah, marty’s surf & sand. makes sense now.”
“yep. family business.” you nod, legs swaying in the water. “what about you? i’m sure they don’t just provide surfing lessons in minnesota.”
“got into it while i was on vacation in fiji last year. they were doing lessons on the beach and i decided to try it, just ‘cause, but it was cool as hell. i mean, this is nice, but the ocean over there? it’s gorgeous, man.” paige explains, gesturing over the water with her arms stretched wide. her boards bobs unsteadily beneath her and she yelps, grabbing onto it again. you laugh and she shoots you a glare.
“fiji, huh? i’ve never been, but i spent the last couple of years of school studying abroad in trinidad, and then in italy. it was unreal. any time i wasn’t working, i was out in the water.”
paige listens diligently, nodding along. “what’d you study?”
“marine bio at good ole’ umiami. i just graduated back in may.”
“oh, shit? okay, einstein, i see you,” paige says, genuinely impressed, and you giggle, feeling a little shy.
“yeah, totally slumming it out here in florida, einstein–style.” you joke dryly.
“you call this slumming it?” paige says. “you got it good out here. city’s nice, great food, amazing views.”
she has a point. you just get a little insecure about the fact that you didn’t have some shiny lab job lined up directly after college, like most other people in your program. everyone moves at their own pace, you’re aware, and comparison is the thief of joy— it’s just something you get in your own head about sometimes.
when you think about it from paige’s perspective, though, you realize you do have it pretty nice. and you’re having more fun out here, floating on the ocean next to a pretty girl, than you probably would being in a sterile lab all summer long.
“croatia and thailand are nice, too,” paige notes. “i went before i learned, but the surf would be perfect.”
“you travel a lot?” you ask.
paige nods. “for work, mostly.” she slips.
“what do you do?” you question, genuinely curious.
“uh— i work in athletics.”
“like, coaching? or management?” you press.
“yes, coaching. i coach. kids, on a team— high school kids.”
you suppose that makes sense. just looking at her, it’s obvious that she works out a lot, practically all defined muscle and hard lines. your eyes zero in on her abs, tanned, beads of saltwater rolling down them. you lick your lips subconsciously, mouth suddenly dry.
“hey, my eyes are up here,” she teases, having noticed your eyes roaming.
“i know that.” you reply, trying to play it off, failing miserably.
“you sure?” she raises an eyebrow, voice low. tempting you.
you flick a little water at her, and she gasps like you’ve betrayed her gravely. “oh, okay. it’s like that?”
“what’re you gonna do, minnesota?” you taunt, grinning.
she answers swiftly: splashes you with both hands, sending water right into your face.
you shriek, laugh, and retaliate, and then suddenly you’re both in it— one moment splashing and tossing water at each other like little kids, screaming and grinning and soaking each other entirely, and then underwater the next, both your boards tipping with the force of your movements and lack of balance.
water rushes up around you both, sinking down, eyes wide. you open your eyes, salt stinging a little, and the sight of paige has laughter literally bubbling out of you.
you kick up first, breaking the surface with a gasp, laughing and sputtering as you push hair out of your face. paige follows soon after, shaking the water out of her hair, flinging it in your direction.
she’s got a look on her face, and you’re half–expecting her to splash you again, but she swims to you instead. your heart races as one of her arms loops around your waist in the water, pulling you close, legs tangling together as you keep yourselves afloat. your faces are only inches apart now.
her eyes drop to your lips. smirks.
then, she leans in and kisses you, finally. you sigh contently, arms wrapping around her neck, letting yourself just melt into her. she tastes like mint and seasalt, lips soft and moving insistently against yours.
and even though you’re surrounded by miles and miles of cold, perfect blue, something glows inside your chest, warm and pink.
“you know what i just realized?”
“hm?”
“you tricked me into a date today.”
paige quirks an eyebrow, chewing thoughtfully. “did i?” she asks, feigning innocence.
you nod, licking mango crema sauce from your thumb. “impromptu surf session, tacos, beer. sounds pretty romantic, if you ask me.”
a lazy grin spreads across her face. “so, what i’m hearing is… you had a good time.”
you smile. “maybe.”
and then she kisses you again, cradling your chin in her hand to guide your mouth to hers. you’re seated directly next to each other on a bench table outside the old salty dog, your favorite place for lobster tacos and homestyle tortilla chips. you insisted paige try them when she offered to take you out for food, after you’d toweled off and hung up your boards for the day. your legs are stretched over her lap, the side of your body braced against the tabletop.
you nearly didn’t make it out of the shack earlier— paige had lifted you up onto the countertop, positioning herself between your legs as she licked into your mouth and her hands roamed your body, and if not for the knowledge that your father is the only person allowed access to the security camera system, you just might’ve let her have you right then and there.
this kiss, now, it much calmer. paige’s lips are warm and sure, like she’s been waiting all week to do this and finally can. you feel all woozy when you break away, pupils dilated.
paige hums, “i’mma ask you out properly next time. sound good?”
you nod, still dazed, and she pecks your lips again. fondness unfurls in your chest, tinges your cheeks. it’s insane how much you like her, and you don’t even know her full name.
the two of you continue to talk and finish your food, sipping the last of your beer when it dawns on you that you’ve been out all day, most of which was spent with paige. it’s pretty late now, the sky a deep indigo and the temperature’s dropped significantly. you shiver as a cool breeze blows, shaking the remaining deli paper on your trays.
paige notices, caressing the goosebumps your arm gently. “you ‘bout ready to call it a night? i can take you home.”
you hesitate. the idea of saying goodbye— of this day ending— sits weird in your chest. but it is dark and the restaurant won’t be open for much longer. “okay,” you agree.
you walk hand–in–hand to paige’s rental car, a black jeep suv still parked in the beach parking lot. when you reach it, paige opens the trunk, digging around for something. “here,” she passes you a soft grey hoodie.
“uconn?” you wonder aloud, reading the bold navy–blue lettering plastered on the front of the hoodie, along with the logo of a dog, before pulling it over your head. it’s plush on the inside and smells just like her. you slide your long–dead phone into the front pocket.
“as in university of connecticut,” paige replies, closing the trunk. “graduated from there a year ago.”
“damn. that’s almost worse than minnesota.”
paige chuckles, shaking her head. “girl, get in the car.”
you walk over to the passenger side while paige climbs in behind the wheel. she starts the car after you enter your address into the gps, one hand on the steering wheel and the other settled on your thigh, palm warm. her thumb rubs slow circles into your skin.
the sensation sends you right back to the moment in shack earlier, feeling a familiar pressure appear between your legs.
she’d had to wrench herself off of you after you brought up the unfortunate camera situation, but not before huskily promising to, in her words, “fuck you stupid later.” you were grateful for the extremely cold beach shower water as you rinsed off, maybe a little more than salt and sand, afterwards.
now, in the comfortable silence of this car ride, it’s all you can think about, her voice echoing inside your head. you watch her drive, side profile glowing in the passing streetlights. she gives your thigh a firm squeeze, mouth pulled into that half–smile that tells you she’s thinking the exact same thing you are.
you decide, right then, that— at least for now— you don’t care who she is, as long as she keeps touching you.
you can care later.
it’s a short drive. “this it?” paige asks, pulling into your apartment complex parking lot.
“mm–hm,” you nod, as she pulls into a spot. you hesitate for a second, toying with the hem of her hoodie. then you look at her, expression neutral but voice soft. “you’re coming up, right?”
paige raises an eyebrow, clearly enjoying this. “so eager,” she murmurs, reaching over to brush her thumb along your jaw. “can’t even wait ‘til a second date?”
you scoff, turning your face slightly to hide the heat crawling up on your neck, unbuckling your seatbelt. “shut up and come on.”
paige smirks as she kills the engine and follows you out. “after you, baby.”
you’re barely even in the door before paige is on you again, lips catching yours in a feverish kiss.
you allow yourself to be pushed up against the wall in your foyer, moaning into her mouth unabashedly. you slide your palms up under paige’s shirt, feeling her muscles, skin warm against skin. one of hers cup your jaw, angling your mouth so that she can kiss you as deeply as possible, the other running down your side before settling on your ass. when you part her eyes are all dark, blue almost completely swallowed by black.
“bedroom?” she asks, glancing around your living room and dining area.
“down the hall, on the right,” you answer, breathless. you let out a little squeak as she lifts you into her arms, legs hooking around her waist. she kisses you the whole way to your room, your hand cupping her face.
you bounce a little when she drops you onto the mattress, barely having time to catch your breath before paige is climbing onto the bed, crawling over you. your legs part so that she can crawl between them, forearms framing your head.
she hovers over you, a small smile playing at her lips. “hi,” she whispers.
“hi,” you whisper back.
her hair’s falling into her face, all beachy, and her lips are kiss–swollen. in the moonlight coming from your window, you think she might be the most beautiful person you’ve ever seen. “you’re so pretty,” you blurt.
“thank you,” paige chuckles. “you’re still okay with this?”
you blink up at her, heart still hammering. “yes,” you say. “duh.”
“good,” she mutters before leaning in and kissing you again.
she sits back on her heels, pulling her shirt and bra over her head and dropping them to the floor carelessly, and you do the same, sitting up to pull off her hoodie, both of you panting. her eyes are trained on your torso as reach up your back to untie your bikini top, letting it slip down your arms before flinging it across the room, and breathes, “fuck,”
she’s back on you in an instant, kissing and sucking at your neck, eliciting a shuddering gasp from you as her teeth graze the skin. then, she’s trailing kisses down over your collarbones, to your chest. her hands come up to knead your breasts just as she sucks one of your sensitive nipples into her mouth.
you moan softly, the heat swirling in the pit of your stomach spurred on by the feeling and sight of her suckling your tits. your hips roll upwards, seeking any kind of contact, arousal pooling between your legs.
paige comes off your nipple with a soft pop. one of her hand moves down to your shorts and you raise your hips, letting her push them down your legs, along with your bikini bottoms. she stares at your face, watching for your reaction as her fingers dip between your folds, collecting your wetness on the tips of her fingers.
she’s satisfied with how desperate the noise you make is and the way your jaw goes slack. “so wet, shit,” she breathes, circling your clit lightly. “all for me?”
“yes,” you breathe, pussy clenching around nothing, practically begging to be filled. “want you so bad, paige.”
“what do you want? tell me, baby, and it’s yours.” she croons, fingers moving frustratingly slow.
“a–anything. please.”
“oh, yeah? gonna let me do anything want?” she smirks. “just take it?”
you bite down on your lip and nod, and she finally sinks her fingers into you, fingers angled just right, moving at the perfect space. you moan in satisfaction, eyes fluttering shut. “so good,” you babble, grabbing onto the arm she has braced on your mattress, nails digging into her bicep. “mmh, yes— right there. oh, my god.”
it’s ridiculous how good at this she is, how quickly she finds that gummy spot inside you, fingers curling slightly. your mind wanders— wondering how often she does this, how many girls does she take out and drive home and then fuck in their beds— but is reeled back in when paige adds her thumb to the mix, rubbing your clit hard, sending sparks through you. you cry out, feeling that pressure between your legs begin to mount.
“you close, baby?” she asks, feeling you tighten around her digits. she grins, lowers her voice. “come on, cum for me. just let go.”
your brain short circuits. “i— i’m cu—”
before you can finish the sentence, you’re cumming. you throw your head back and moan out her name as it washes over you, whole body shaking. paige works you through it, thumb rubbing diligently at your clit.
“fuck,” you pant, coming to your senses. “holy shit.”
paige is staring at your pussy. “made a mess, baby.” she says lowly, and your face burns with embarrassment. you can feel it dripping out of you still.
she moves down your body so that her head is positioned between your legs now, kisses your trembling thighs before licking a stripe up your cunt, cleaning you up. you wince, sensitive. “paige…” her name is broken by the mewl you let out, body instinctively attempting to move away from her mouth. “shit, that hurts.”
she just groans against you and tightens her hold on your thighs, forcing them to stay open, knowingly sending vibrations throughout your core. “tastes so good.” she licks up all your cum before moving up to your clit, sucking it into her mouth.
you cry out, tears springing to your eyes as your back arches above the mattress, hands twisting into your bedsheets. “said i can do whatever i want and you’d take it. i wanna make you cum again,” paige declares, voice gruff. “you tappin’ out?”
you whimper in protest. “n–no, i—” you can’t think. it hurts and it’s deliriating and you can’t take it and you don’t want her to stop. “fuck!”
she sucks at your clit and slides her fingers back into you, thrusting with abandon. it’s not long before the discomfort subsides and your whines turn into moans again, pain melting into molten pleasure. your hips rock onto her fingers, desperate for your release.
“look at that,” she murmurs, slurping loudly. “pussy so fuckin’ good. such a good girl. wanna cum again for me? know you can do it, come on, give it to me.”
you orgasm hits you hard, eyes rolling back as your cunt pulses around paige’s fingers, thighs tremoring. paige eases her fingers out of you and laps it all up, drunk off your taste, babbling about how good you are in between licks. little gasps escape you in the aftermath. when you open your eyes, paige is looking up you, amused and adoring.
“you’re evil,” you chide, voice hoarse, and she kisses your inner thigh, breath hitting your skin as she laughs a little.
“had to get you good, sorry. been waiting too long to do that,” she replies, crawling back over to you.
you snort. “three days?”
“felt more like three years,” she grins stupidly.
you lean over to connect your lips, climbing on top of her so that you’re straddling her waist. you sit upright, paige biting her lip as her eyes follow you, and hook your fingers under the waistband of her shorts, fully intending to show hard that the wait was worth it.
the night is far from over.
you nuzzle into paige under the comforter afterwards, cheek smooshed against her bare chest, your head tucked under her chin.
paige stares up into the darkness at the ceiling, mind swimming. she can’t shake the feeling of a weight pressing down on her— not just due to you being on top of her. it’s her heart, aching with both fondness and guilt.
she wants to tell you— who she is, what she does, why she’s hiding. she looks down, fingers ghosting up and down your spine, mouth poised to finally explain herself.
you’re asleep.
paige exhales a quiet laugh and continues stroking your back. okay, later then. she’ll tell you later.
for now, she allows herself to doze off, giving away to the feeling of your soft skin bare against hers.
you’re still reeling from the night before when you clock in the next morning, the sky streaked orange and blue, waves crashing gently.
it’s a nice, cool morning, but you know it’s just going to heat up later. in the meantime, you’re wearing paige’s hoodie, relishing the way her scent lingers— sandalwood, iris, and cardamom. under it, you have on a cropped rash guard and surf shorts, as you and paige agreed to meet to surf together again right after your shift. you’re going to drive to venice this time, a nearby beach with better, bigger waves.
“so, a bunch of us are headed to new smyrna tonight. waves are supposed to be sick,” skip tells you. “you in?”
“can’t. i already have plans.” you say casually, tone even, though a smile plays at your lips at the mere thought of hanging out with paige again.
skip snorts. “what, got yourself a hot date, or something?” he asks, mostly joking, until he catches the look on your face. “with who?”
“nunya.” you reply.
he shrugs, “your loss, then.”
skip browses around while chatting with you about the most recent developments in pro surfer news, before grabbing a couple containers of wax, a pack of earplugs, and the latest issue of surfer magazine, and placing them in front of you on the counter.
“nice jacket,” skip says, eyes skimming the text on your— well, paige’s— hoodie. “hey, you hear that basketball chick is in town?”
you haven’t heard. you don’t really know anything about basketball, except that the miami heat currently sucks, according to everyone in your town. “which one?”
“paige bueckers. apparently, someone saw her at salty dog last night. i’m trying to get a picture.”
you freeze mid–scan, blinking rapidly as your brain tries to grasp what you’ve just heard. “wait, paige who?”
“you’re kidding. paige bueckers! got uconn their first ring in years? plays for dallas now?” skip digs into the pocket of his shorts, fishing out his phone and typing into a search engine. he turns the screen to you, showing you the google results, and surely enough, it’s paige. your paige, except she’s mid–jumpshot in a basketball jersey. your jaw drops. “usually i don’t even watch the women’s stuff, but she’s tough.”
dallas. basketball. uconn.
it’s all starting to make sense, now— every half–truth, every moment she steered the conversation away from herself. how you recognized her, but just couldn’t figure out where from.
“kinda hot, too, right?” skip asks, clicking on another picture— paige posed on the cover some magazine, mainspreading in a suit. you nearly choke on your own spit.
“um— yeah. she’s alright, for a basketball player.” you reply, trying to play it cool. you can’t get mad at someone for calling the girl you’re into hot, one, they don’t even know you’re into her and, two, she’s been lying to you about who she is for the past week.
“yo, if you see bueckers around, text me. i gotta get that picture.” skip says, taking the bag from your hand after you finish his transaction.
“i’ll try,” you won’t, but still— hospitality. “see you, skip!”
he leaves with a wave, and that’s when you can finally stop and process.
you wonder how many times you’d skipped past her face while flipping through a copy of sports illustrated, trying to get to the surfing section, or caught the last few moments of one of her games while waiting for a surf competition to start on espn. your classmates had made a huge deal about getting tickets to the women’s basketball championship game in tampa just a few months ago, but you’d stayed back on campus in miami— you had no interest in basketball.
you should be mad, but you can’t help but laugh at the absurdity of the situation.
paige doesn’t come by until about two hours later, which gives you enough time to do a full internet deepdive.
a seemingly endless list of both professional and collegiate records and awards. highlight reels and tons of tiktok edits. an army of adoring fans begging her to come back online, wondering where she’s been all week.
it’s ironic, because she walks in just as you’re scrolling down her instagram page. you look up at her, back to the selfie displayed on your phone screen, then back up at her just to confirm that, yes— the girl you just might have fallen for is also a famous and formidable basketball player, and for some reason she kept that from you.
you turn your phone screen off, placing it face–down on the counter, and stand up straighter, trying to seem normal. it’s gotten hot, so you’ve taken off her hoodie, leaving you in your surf garments.
paige approaches the counter, two smoothies in hand, a gummy smile on her face. “hey, beautiful.” she slides your smoothie to you.
“hey,” you eye her suspiciously. “how are you?”
her eyebrows furrow a little. “good? great, actually. i had a really good night,” she smirks, looking you up and down. “how ‘bout you?”
“i’m good,” you reply.
paige falters, sensing that something’s off, just by your tone and the fact that you don’t immediately go for the smoothie. still, she leans against the counter casually. “so, what if i wanted to buy a board off y’all? how would that work?”
“well, you’d fill out the form, pay for it, and then i’d give it to you,” you explain. “just a heads up, the one you like is gonna be around six hundred.”
paige nods, sipping on her smoothie. “no best–head–ever discount?” she asks playfully.
“nope, unfortunately,” you say, opening a drawer and grabbing the the purchase forms. “there’s an atm nearby but we do take card, you know.” you give her the opportunity to choose to explain herself.
paige forces an awkward half–laugh. “ha, yeah,” she brushes the idea off. “i’ll just do cash.”
you huff, grabbing the form. you’re about to give it to her, but then you stop, reaching for the pen yourself.
you write the name down on the form. then, you slide it to her.
paige bueckers.
her jaw drops. she looks up at you with wide, guilty eyes. “how’d you…?”
“a guy came into the shack earlier, saw your hoodie, and asked if i’d heard some hot–shot basketball player was in town. said her name was paige bueckers,” you cross your arms, raising an eyebrow at her. “so, naturally, i looked her up, and— what do you know! she was literally just in my bed.”
“y/n, i can explain—”
“that you’ve just been lying to me all week long?”
“okay, technically, i never lied to you. everything i told you about myself was true. i just left out some… major details.” paige reasons.
you narrow your eyes at her. “you’re not a coach.”
“i coached a team for an overtime event twice,” she says, holding up a finger. “won both times, mind you.”
“you could’ve just told me, paige.” your voice is softer now.
“i know. i know. i swear i was going to, it’s just—” she sighs, coming around the counter. you begrudgingly allow her to take both your hands into hers, intertwining your fingers. “i booked this trip to get away from all that. i was trying to lay low, y’know? just chill and surf. and then i met you— and it was nice, for once, for someone to like me for who i am, not what i do. i guess i just wanted to hold on to that feeling. onto you.”
that is… sweet. you soften immediately at the admission. “i’m sorry. are you mad at me?” she asks, and by the look in her big, blue puppy dog eyes you can tell she’s sincere.
you shake your head. “no. not mad, just extremely confused. and, like, stunned. you are really good at basketball.”
paige laughs a little at that.
“you’re not just gonna run off on me when your trip’s over?” you ask quietly, not meaning to sound as supplicating and vulnerable as you do. you’d really hate it if she was just like any other tourist, gorgeous and golden and here for a week, only to never be seen again, because this, you realize, has gotten real.
“what? no. absolutely not,” paige squeezes your hands. “i do have to be back in dallas in a few days, but i’m not letting you go. you can come to my games, i’ll come visit, we can surf.”
“good. because i really like you, paige.” you sigh, heart swelling.
“i like you, too, y/n. seriously.” paige smiles.
she leans down then, pulls you into a hug, hands pressingly lightly against your back like she’s memorizing the shape of you. your arms wrap around her waist, breathing her in. she pulls back, just enough to look at you.
you kiss her. soft, at first, but then her hand is sliding up to your cheek, and yours fist gently into her shirt. you can feel it— the time, slipping away— but neither of you pay it any mind. the ocean whispers in the background. sunlight filters through the windows.
outside, summer stretches on, and neither of you wants to let go.
☀︎༄.° SYNOPSIS. there's something about the stranger that's been visiting the surf shack you work at all week— you just can't figure out what. maybe it's just how tall and hot she is, her goofy little smile, or the way she says your name. whatever it is, you're determined to figure it out— only after you teach her how to surf.
contains. strangers to lovers, slow burn, fluff, smut
notes. one, pics aren't meant to indicate reader's ethnicity ofc i just felt it fit the aesthetic. two, it's hardly proofread and i haven't surfed in years so sorry if anything is inaccurate plz ignore and suspend ur disbelief. and finally, i ultimately went w this being reader insert rather than an oc fic, but i do call y/n 'soleil' in my head— just wanted to share that bc i think it's so cute 🤍🌊
playlist. view by shinee / sky walker by miguel ft travis scott / surfin' u.s.a. by the beach boys / teenage dream by katy perry / sunsetz by cigarettes after sex
words. 7.56k
the sun beams down hard, burning through the marine layer and making the old wood of the surf shack look almost golden in it’s light.
you’re leaning on the counter, elbow propped beside your half–drunk, melty smoothie, watching boredly as a drop of condensation runs down the side of the cup. a seagull cries overhead, waves crash in the distance.
it’s the hottest week of the summer, according to the news.
the shack is your dad’s, passed down from your grandfather, and you’ve been working here every summer since you were fifteen. days go by slow. the morning rush— if you could even call three tourists and a guy named skip a rush— has long passed. now, it’s just you, salt air, and a playlist of indie songs playing faintly from your phone in a plastic cup for extra volume.
you don’t notice her at first. the shack’s wooden floor creaks under the weight of a footstep, and you glance up out of habit.
the girl approaches your counter, tall and blonde. she’s wearing an unbuttoned white top over a black sports bra and blue swim trunks, the brim of a baseball cap shading her face, holding a water bottle in one hand and a wad of cash in another.
“hey,” she says, voice easy as she sets a few twenties down on the countertop. “just need a board for a couple hours.”
you blink, suddenly more alert. not because of the request— you rent out boards to half the town— but because something about this girl is… familiar. the voice? or her face? you can’t quite place it. you take in her physique again, as subtly as you can— she’s jacked. you wonder if maybe she’s a pro surfer from somewhere, because geez.
“name?” you ask, already reaching for the rental log. “and soft board or hard top?”
“paige,” the girl says. “soft’s fine. i’m still figuring this break out.”
“first time in sarasota?”
she nods. “way nicer than miami, i heard.”
“you heard right,” you say, just making conversation as you sort out the cash. “where you from?”
“minnesota, but i live in texas.” paige replies.
“minnesota?” you raise your eyebrows, voice lilting. “oh, that’s horrible.”
that earns you a laugh, amusement glinting in her blue eyes— or maybe that’s just the sunlight. “yeah, it’s nothing like this— but hey, that’s home.”
you write down paige without a second thought, then hand her the change. “you’re good. racks are out back. the ones with orange tags are beginner–friendly.”
paige smiles, then glances down at the name stitched into your tank top. “thanks, y/n,”
“be careful not to burn out there, minnesota,” you call out, as paige turns toward the sand.
“i’ll try!” paige tosses over her shoulder, smiling with a glance back at you.
and just like that, she’s gone, walking toward the surf, longboard balanced under one arm. you watch her disappear into the glittering edge of the ocean, brow furrowed.
that name. that face.
you definitely know her from somewhere.
paige is back at about the same time the next day, looking to rent another board.
you don’t know why you’re so surprised. plenty of tourists come by and rent multiple days out of the week. you guess you just weren’t expecting to see her so soon.
she’s wearing the same cap and trunks again today, but no shirt. just a sports bra. pays in cash again, but tells you not to worry about the change this time. makes conversation.
there’s that itch of recognition, too, at the back of your head as you chat. it won’t settle, even as you tell yourself that maybe she just looks like someone you know.
you turn the rental log to her and pass her the pen, letting her sign it this time, and she jots her name down— just paige, again— before thanking you with the flash of a smile, grabbing a board, and heading out to the water.
hm.
by time paige returns, two hours or so later, the sun is overhead and the beach pulses with heat.
the wood of the surf shack has grown warm under your bare feet, and the back of your neck is slick with sweat, the mini standing fan on the counter doing little to help. you’ve peeled off your uniform tank top, leaving you in cut–off denim shorts and an orange triangle bikini top, body glistening with sweat and sunscreen.
you’re perched on your stool behind the counter, lazily sketching flowers and waves onto the corner of the rental log in pen, when a voice comes, “i got something for you,”
you look up, and there paige is again. the hat’s gone now, blonde hair clinging in wet strands to the side of her face, beads of salt water still dripping from her shoulders. she has the board tucked under her arm and a lazy smirk tugging at her mouth.
“longboard survived,” paige says. “can’t say the same for me.”
you grin. “you wiped out?”
“bad. it wasn’t my fault, though— thought i saw a shark, but it was just a stingray.”
“oh my god,” you chortle, shaking your head.
she leans the surfboard gently against the side of the shack and steps forward, arms crossed loosely, the corner of her mouth still curved upward. her gaze flicks briefly to the side of your neck, where your hair is sticking to your skin.
then, down to your chest, lingering just a second too long before dragging back up to your face.
“hot?” paige asks casually. you almost can’t tell if she’s talking about you or the weather.
“practically melting,” you reply, droll, lifting the straw to your smoothie to your mouth as if the mere mention of the heat triggers your thirst. “how’re you holding up, minnesota?”
“not bad,” paige says, leaning up against the counter, arms resting along the edge. “might not’ve used enough sunscreen on my back, though.”
“what is that, anyway?” she asks, pointing at your drink, dry throat evident in her voice. “looks good.”
“this,” you say, tapping the cup for emphasis. “is how you survive seven hours on the beach every day. there’s a shop that sells them just up the road with a plastic flamingo out front. can’t miss it. pomegranate, pineapple, and coconut milk is my go–to.”
paige hums. “pomegranate, pineapple, and coconut? sounds weird. guess i’ll have to try it.”
“you can thank me later,” you smile, smug.
she pushes off the counter, standing upright. “we’ll see about that. have a good one, y/n.”
for some reason, you don’t want her to go yet.
“you, too.”
the morning’s already heating up by the time you clock in for work, but there’s a breeze today— light and salty, lifting a few strands of your hair out of place ever so often. you got to the shack early, opened up before the sun really crested, and on the way in, you plucked a bright pink hibiscus bloom from a bush near the parking lot and tucked it behind your ear, just because. it matches your pale pink bikini top, tied behind your neck in a quick, practiced knot.
you’ve got a bit of pep in your step today, despite the heat. there’s a rhythm to the way you move throughout the shack, humming along to the song playing from your makeshift phone–cup–speaker thing.
you’re restocking wax behind the counter when the thud of something hitting the countertop makes your head turn.
it’s a clear plastic cup, its contents a familiar shade of reddish–purple, already sweating condensation. on the other side of the counter, paige is grinning, her own half–drunk cup in hand.
“pineapple, pomegranate, coconut,” she says, proudly. “the lady at the smoothie place says hi, by the way.”
“you brought me a smoothie?” you say, both surprised and flattered.
“figured it’s only fair, since you put me on,” paige replies, leaning on the counter. “and you looked like you were about to die of heatstroke out here yesterday.”
a smile creeps onto your face. you stop what you’re doing and turn fully to the counter, taking a sip— cold, tangy, sweet. perfect.
“okay,” you say. “you win. that’s actually really sweet of you. thank you.”
paige shrugs. “no problem.”
you hum around your straw, looking up at her— really looking, now. she’s not wearing the cap today, her hair tied into a low–effort bun at the back of her head, and you immediately decide you like this look on her much better. you can see the sharp lines of her cheekbones and jawline more clearly, pink lips fixed in that stupid smirk. skin sun–kissed and eyes so blue, they rival the turquoise waters behind her.
you can’t help it anymore. you have to ask. “are you sure i don’t know you from somewhere?”
paige hesitates— only for a moment, but still, you notice.
“i don’t think so,” she laughs, almost convincing. “i’ve only ever been to miami a few times. this is my first time up the coast.”
you playfully narrow your eyes at her, but you decide to let it go. for now. “mm. you must have one of those faces, then.”
“trust. i’d remember you.” she adds, letting her voice drop lower and, for once, you’re grateful for the heat; you can blame it for the way you flush a shade of deep pink.
“i think you’re just buttering me up for a free board,” you say, setting your smoothie down. “you’re lucky you’re cute, paige from minnesota.”
paige smiles, dopey, and takes a sip from her smoothie. her eyes flick casually from your face to the flower tucked behind your ear. “i like the fit.”
“hm?” you glance up at her.
“the flower, and all the pink,” she says, motioning toward you. “it’s giving… mermaid barbie princess. but the hot, evil kind.” she decides, after her eyes sweep over you.
you snort. “evil? you mean like sirens?”
“yeah, that,” paige smirks. “something tells me you could successfully lure a person into the water.”
you laugh at how forward she is. “in your dreams,” you reply, turning back to the box of surf wax.
paige isn’t in any rush to get out to the water today. she doesn’t ask for a board or hand you any cash. just stands there, drinking her smoothie, making conversation about the music playing from your phone like she has nowhere better to be.
you think you really should remind her to get her board, at least for business purposes, but you look back at her as you work— her eyes trained on you, sun casting her in a dreamy glow— and decide not to say anything just yet.
let her stay a little longer.
the shack closes early on wednesday, as it has every week for the past thirty years.
you’ve spent the past hour sweeping up sand to the best of your ability and straightening the board racks, glancing back at the beach every so often, hoping for a familiar head of blonde hair to appear.
paige doesn’t show.
it’s fine, of course. you just thought maybe she’d stop by, maybe pick up the conversation from yesterday where you’d left off. she’d ended up on an extra stool behind the counter with you, dogging on your music taste and playing the new drake album for you, “so you’d have something to listen to other than that hippie music.”
oh well, you think, as you lock up the shack. tote bag slung on your shoulder and flip flops in hand, you make your way to the wooden stairs the lead from the beach to the parking lot, warm sand sticking to the soles of your feet. you’re only halfway up when you hear someone call out, “hey! y/n!”
you look back to see paige at the bottom of the steps, following after you. “wait up!” she shouts, and you stop in your tracks, feet on different steps.
“i was just about to stop by,” paige says, slightly breathless, leaving three steps between you when she stops. “i didn’t know y’all closed early.”
your stomach does a little somersault, unexpectedly. “yeah. wednesdays are always slow.”
she nods like she’s making mental notes, then gestures over her shoulder, at the beach. “i was planning on renting again.”
you smile. “you and that longboard are becoming a thing.”
“what can i say? i’m loyal.” she grins back. “hey, you surf, right?” she asks, suddenly.
“do i surf?” you blink, then chuckle a little. “yeah, i’m alright.”
“would you be down to surf with me?”
she almost sounds tentative as she asks the question— so un–paigelike that you’re almost taken aback.
you look past her, scanning the beach. it’s not too crowded today, but it’s siesta key in the middle of the summer, so of course there’s still a lot of people. kids running and playing in the sand, a group of teens playing volleyball, couples sprawled out on their towels. the current’s not bad at all, from what you can see— the waves aren’t huge or anything, but you could still catch a pretty good surf.
“yeah, sure,” you reply, shrugging, though a smile plays at your lips.
paige smiles, wide and triumphant. “cool. let’s grab some boards?”
you hesitate. “shit, mine’s at my apartment across town.”
“well, lucky for you, i know the girl that works here.” paige says, starting back toward the shack.
you laugh, falling into step beside her, hyperaware of how close she’s walking next to you as her sandals slap against the steps. you unlock the shack from the back door, switching on the lights, paige following you inside.
you grab one of the better–waxed boards, a tri fin shortboard with a hard top, leaning it against the counter as paige gets the one she’s been renting all week.
without thinking about it, you strip out of your oversized t–shirt and linen shorts, revealing the lavender bikini you were wearing beneath your clothes— the triangle–cut top and cheeky bottoms aren’t ideal for surfing, but your rash guard and surf shorts are also at your apartment, so this will have to do. you reach into your tote that’s lying on the counter, grabbing a bottle of sunscreen, knowing well that it needs to be re–applied every few hours.
you don’t realize that paige has been intently watching you until you struggle to get full coverage of your back, and she steps forward, “here— i got you,” reaching out for the bottle.
you nod, handing her the bottle and turning around, heart thudding as you move your hair over your shoulder.
her hands are firm as she spreads the sunscreen across your shoulder blades, smoothing it along the curve of your upper back, fingers dragging along the base of your neck. you shudder despite the heat as her hands move slow and deliberate down your back, before lingering up at your waist.
“all good,” she clears her throat, letting go finally, but your skin tingles where she touched.
“thanks,” you breathe. “do you need any?”
paige shakes her head. “nah, i’m good. put some on right before i pulled up.”
then, swiftly, she grabs both boards with ease, one under each arm, and flashes you a grin. “let’s go.”
you paddle out together, arms slicing through the water, boards bobbing gently beneath you. paige is strong, powerful shoulders making quick work of the surf, like it’s nothing. still, she’s a beat behind you, watching as you glide ahead.
reading the water is easy, like a cherished book you’ve returned to over and over again. you pop up and catch your first wave with clean, practiced form, and paige lets out an impressed whistle, before she even gets the chance to paddle for one of her own. that familiar sense of fearlessness swells within you, coursing through your veins, exhilarating.
you see the opportunity for an air, so you take it, confident. you crouch low, building speed as you approach the lip of the wave. just as it starts to pitch, you shift your weight and launch off the top, board and body lifting into the air. for a moment, you’re floating— then, you guide the nose back down, landing on the face of the wave and riding it out.
the landing isn’t as perfect and clean as you’d like, but still, you feel fucking cool as the spray of whitewater disperses below you.
you look back mainly to make sure that she hasn’t tombstoned while you were distracted, and paige is watching you, jaw ajar. she makes her way to you, floating just past the break. “show–off,” she accuses, breathless and smiling. “‘alright’, my ass.”
you smirk, shrugging casually. “i’d say that was pretty alright.”
“you just tony hawk’d that shit. stop playing.”
you laugh, pushing a piece of wet hair out of your face. “wanna learn? i can’t teach you how to do that in a day, but i can show you some other pretty cool stuff.”
“uh, fuck yeah?” paige replies, eager.
what ensues for the next forty minutes is you teaching paige how to cutback— which, really, is just you trying to be constructive and not laugh every time she topples off of her board and into the water. but eventually, she gets it, executing the move like a stiff chicken on a longboard, but executing it nonetheless.
she’s very proud of herself, going on about how she wishes she could’ve gotten it on camera as she drifts lazily beside you. you’re both taking a break, sitting upright on your boards, knees brushing beneath the water. there’s a salty breeze, and the sun feels less punishing out here.
she turns to you and asks, “so, how’d you learn?”
“my dad taught me,” you start, motioning back toward the shore. “marty. he owns the shack. his dad— my grandpa, the og marty— opened it in the seventies and my dad took it over before i was born. expanded it through florida, plus myrtle beach and tybee island. i’ve worked at this one every summer since i was fifteen.”
paige smiles like she’s connecting the dots in her head. “ah, marty’s surf & sand. makes sense now.”
“yep. family business.” you nod, legs swaying in the water. “what about you? i’m sure they don’t just provide surfing lessons in minnesota.”
“got into it while i was on vacation in fiji last year. they were doing lessons on the beach and i decided to try it, just ‘cause, but it was cool as hell. i mean, this is nice, but the ocean over there? it’s gorgeous, man.” paige explains, gesturing over the water with her arms stretched wide. her boards bobs unsteadily beneath her and she yelps, grabbing onto it again. you laugh and she shoots you a glare.
“fiji, huh? i’ve never been, but i spent the last couple of years of school studying abroad in trinidad, and then in italy. it was unreal. any time i wasn’t working, i was out in the water.”
paige listens diligently, nodding along. “what’d you study?”
“marine bio at good ole’ umiami. i just graduated back in may.”
“oh, shit? okay, einstein, i see you,” paige says, genuinely impressed, and you giggle, feeling a little shy.
“yeah, totally slumming it out here in florida, einstein–style.” you joke dryly.
“you call this slumming it?” paige says. “you got it good out here. city’s nice, great food, amazing views.”
she has a point. you just get a little insecure about the fact that you didn’t have some shiny lab job lined up directly after college, like most other people in your program. everyone moves at their own pace, you’re aware, and comparison is the thief of joy— it’s just something you get in your own head about sometimes.
when you think about it from paige’s perspective, though, you realize you do have it pretty nice. and you’re having more fun out here, floating on the ocean next to a pretty girl, than you probably would being in a sterile lab all summer long.
“croatia and thailand are nice, too,” paige notes. “i went before i learned, but the surf would be perfect.”
“you travel a lot?” you ask.
paige nods. “for work, mostly.” she slips.
“what do you do?” you question, genuinely curious.
“uh— i work in athletics.”
“like, coaching? or management?” you press.
“yes, coaching. i coach. kids, on a team— high school kids.”
you suppose that makes sense. just looking at her, it’s obvious that she works out a lot, practically all defined muscle and hard lines. your eyes zero in on her abs, tanned, beads of saltwater rolling down them. you lick your lips subconsciously, mouth suddenly dry.
“hey, my eyes are up here,” she teases, having noticed your eyes roaming.
“i know that.” you reply, trying to play it off, failing miserably.
“you sure?” she raises an eyebrow, voice low. tempting you.
you flick a little water at her, and she gasps like you’ve betrayed her gravely. “oh, okay. it’s like that?”
“what’re you gonna do, minnesota?” you taunt, grinning.
she answers swiftly: splashes you with both hands, sending water right into your face.
you shriek, laugh, and retaliate, and then suddenly you’re both in it— one moment splashing and tossing water at each other like little kids, screaming and grinning and soaking each other entirely, and then underwater the next, both your boards tipping with the force of your movements and lack of balance.
water rushes up around you both, sinking down, eyes wide. you open your eyes, salt stinging a little, and the sight of paige has laughter literally bubbling out of you.
you kick up first, breaking the surface with a gasp, laughing and sputtering as you push hair out of your face. paige follows soon after, shaking the water out of her hair, flinging it in your direction.
she’s got a look on her face, and you’re half–expecting her to splash you again, but she swims to you instead. your heart races as one of her arms loops around your waist in the water, pulling you close, legs tangling together as you keep yourselves afloat. your faces are only inches apart now.
her eyes drop to your lips. smirks.
then, she leans in and kisses you, finally. you sigh contently, arms wrapping around her neck, letting yourself just melt into her. she tastes like mint and seasalt, lips soft and moving insistently against yours.
and even though you’re surrounded by miles and miles of cold, perfect blue, something glows inside your chest, warm and pink.
“you know what i just realized?”
“hm?”
“you tricked me into a date today.”
paige quirks an eyebrow, chewing thoughtfully. “did i?” she asks, feigning innocence.
you nod, licking mango crema sauce from your thumb. “impromptu surf session, tacos, beer. sounds pretty romantic, if you ask me.”
a lazy grin spreads across her face. “so, what i’m hearing is… you had a good time.”
you smile. “maybe.”
and then she kisses you again, cradling your chin in her hand to guide your mouth to hers. you’re seated directly next to each other on a bench table outside the old salty dog, your favorite place for lobster tacos and homestyle tortilla chips. you insisted paige try them when she offered to take you out for food, after you’d toweled off and hung up your boards for the day. your legs are stretched over her lap, the side of your body braced against the tabletop.
you nearly didn’t make it out of the shack earlier— paige had lifted you up onto the countertop, positioning herself between your legs as she licked into your mouth and her hands roamed your body, and if not for the knowledge that your father is the only person allowed access to the security camera system, you just might’ve let her have you right then and there.
this kiss, now, it much calmer. paige’s lips are warm and sure, like she’s been waiting all week to do this and finally can. you feel all woozy when you break away, pupils dilated.
paige hums, “i’mma ask you out properly next time. sound good?”
you nod, still dazed, and she pecks your lips again. fondness unfurls in your chest, tinges your cheeks. it’s insane how much you like her, and you don’t even know her full name.
the two of you continue to talk and finish your food, sipping the last of your beer when it dawns on you that you’ve been out all day, most of which was spent with paige. it’s pretty late now, the sky a deep indigo and the temperature’s dropped significantly. you shiver as a cool breeze blows, shaking the remaining deli paper on your trays.
paige notices, caressing the goosebumps your arm gently. “you ‘bout ready to call it a night? i can take you home.”
you hesitate. the idea of saying goodbye— of this day ending— sits weird in your chest. but it is dark and the restaurant won’t be open for much longer. “okay,” you agree.
you walk hand–in–hand to paige’s rental car, a black jeep suv still parked in the beach parking lot. when you reach it, paige opens the trunk, digging around for something. “here,” she passes you a soft grey hoodie.
“uconn?” you wonder aloud, reading the bold navy–blue lettering plastered on the front of the hoodie, along with the logo of a dog, before pulling it over your head. it’s plush on the inside and smells just like her. you slide your long–dead phone into the front pocket.
“as in university of connecticut,” paige replies, closing the trunk. “graduated from there a year ago.”
“damn. that’s almost worse than minnesota.”
paige chuckles, shaking her head. “girl, get in the car.”
you walk over to the passenger side while paige climbs in behind the wheel. she starts the car after you enter your address into the gps, one hand on the steering wheel and the other settled on your thigh, palm warm. her thumb rubs slow circles into your skin.
the sensation sends you right back to the moment in shack earlier, feeling a familiar pressure appear between your legs.
she’d had to wrench herself off of you after you brought up the unfortunate camera situation, but not before huskily promising to, in her words, “fuck you stupid later.” you were grateful for the extremely cold beach shower water as you rinsed off, maybe a little more than salt and sand, afterwards.
now, in the comfortable silence of this car ride, it’s all you can think about, her voice echoing inside your head. you watch her drive, side profile glowing in the passing streetlights. she gives your thigh a firm squeeze, mouth pulled into that half–smile that tells you she’s thinking the exact same thing you are.
you decide, right then, that— at least for now— you don’t care who she is, as long as she keeps touching you.
you can care later.
it’s a short drive. “this it?” paige asks, pulling into your apartment complex parking lot.
“mm–hm,” you nod, as she pulls into a spot. you hesitate for a second, toying with the hem of her hoodie. then you look at her, expression neutral but voice soft. “you’re coming up, right?”
paige raises an eyebrow, clearly enjoying this. “so eager,” she murmurs, reaching over to brush her thumb along your jaw. “can’t even wait ‘til a second date?”
you scoff, turning your face slightly to hide the heat crawling up on your neck, unbuckling your seatbelt. “shut up and come on.”
paige smirks as she kills the engine and follows you out. “after you, baby.”
you’re barely even in the door before paige is on you again, lips catching yours in a feverish kiss.
you allow yourself to be pushed up against the wall in your foyer, moaning into her mouth unabashedly. you slide your palms up under paige’s shirt, feeling her muscles, skin warm against skin. one of hers cup your jaw, angling your mouth so that she can kiss you as deeply as possible, the other running down your side before settling on your ass. when you part her eyes are all dark, blue almost completely swallowed by black.
“bedroom?” she asks, glancing around your living room and dining area.
“down the hall, on the right,” you answer, breathless. you let out a little squeak as she lifts you into her arms, legs hooking around her waist. she kisses you the whole way to your room, your hand cupping her face.
you bounce a little when she drops you onto the mattress, barely having time to catch your breath before paige is climbing onto the bed, crawling over you. your legs part so that she can crawl between them, forearms framing your head.
she hovers over you, a small smile playing at her lips. “hi,” she whispers.
“hi,” you whisper back.
her hair’s falling into her face, all beachy, and her lips are kiss–swollen. in the moonlight coming from your window, you think she might be the most beautiful person you’ve ever seen. “you’re so pretty,” you blurt.
“thank you,” paige chuckles. “you’re still okay with this?”
you blink up at her, heart still hammering. “yes,” you say. “duh.”
“good,” she mutters before leaning in and kissing you again.
she sits back on her heels, pulling her shirt and bra over her head and dropping them to the floor carelessly, and you do the same, sitting up to pull off her hoodie, both of you panting. her eyes are trained on your torso as reach up your back to untie your bikini top, letting it slip down your arms before flinging it across the room, and breathes, “fuck,”
she’s back on you in an instant, kissing and sucking at your neck, eliciting a shuddering gasp from you as her teeth graze the skin. then, she’s trailing kisses down over your collarbones, to your chest. her hands come up to knead your breasts just as she sucks one of your sensitive nipples into her mouth.
you moan softly, the heat swirling in the pit of your stomach spurred on by the feeling and sight of her suckling your tits. your hips roll upwards, seeking any kind of contact, arousal pooling between your legs.
paige comes off your nipple with a soft pop. one of her hand moves down to your shorts and you raise your hips, letting her push them down your legs, along with your bikini bottoms. she stares at your face, watching for your reaction as her fingers dip between your folds, collecting your wetness on the tips of her fingers.
she’s satisfied with how desperate the noise you make is and the way your jaw goes slack. “so wet, shit,” she breathes, circling your clit lightly. “all for me?”
“yes,” you breathe, pussy clenching around nothing, practically begging to be filled. “want you so bad, paige.”
“what do you want? tell me, baby, and it’s yours.” she croons, fingers moving frustratingly slow.
“a–anything. please.”
“oh, yeah? gonna let me do anything want?” she smirks. “just take it?”
you bite down on your lip and nod, and she finally sinks her fingers into you, fingers angled just right, moving at the perfect space. you moan in satisfaction, eyes fluttering shut. “so good,” you babble, grabbing onto the arm she has braced on your mattress, nails digging into her bicep. “mmh, yes— right there. oh, my god.”
it’s ridiculous how good at this she is, how quickly she finds that gummy spot inside you, fingers curling slightly. your mind wanders— wondering how often she does this, how many girls does she take out and drive home and then fuck in their beds— but is reeled back in when paige adds her thumb to the mix, rubbing your clit hard, sending sparks through you. you cry out, feeling that pressure between your legs begin to mount.
“you close, baby?” she asks, feeling you tighten around her digits. she grins, lowers her voice. “come on, cum for me. just let go.”
your brain short circuits. “i— i’m cu—”
before you can finish the sentence, you’re cumming. you throw your head back and moan out her name as it washes over you, whole body shaking. paige works you through it, thumb rubbing diligently at your clit.
“fuck,” you pant, coming to your senses. “holy shit.”
paige is staring at your pussy. “made a mess, baby.” she says lowly, and your face burns with embarrassment. you can feel it dripping out of you still.
she moves down your body so that her head is positioned between your legs now, kisses your trembling thighs before licking a stripe up your cunt, cleaning you up. you wince, sensitive. “paige…” her name is broken by the mewl you let out, body instinctively attempting to move away from her mouth. “shit, that hurts.”
she just groans against you and tightens her hold on your thighs, forcing them to stay open, knowingly sending vibrations throughout your core. “tastes so good.” she licks up all your cum before moving up to your clit, sucking it into her mouth.
you cry out, tears springing to your eyes as your back arches above the mattress, hands twisting into your bedsheets. “said i can do whatever i want and you’d take it. i wanna make you cum again,” paige declares, voice gruff. “you tappin’ out?”
you whimper in protest. “n–no, i—” you can’t think. it hurts and it’s deliriating and you can’t take it and you don’t want her to stop. “fuck!”
she sucks at your clit and slides her fingers back into you, thrusting with abandon. it’s not long before the discomfort subsides and your whines turn into moans again, pain melting into molten pleasure. your hips rock onto her fingers, desperate for your release.
“look at that,” she murmurs, slurping loudly. “pussy so fuckin’ good. such a good girl. wanna cum again for me? know you can do it, come on, give it to me.”
you orgasm hits you hard, eyes rolling back as your cunt pulses around paige’s fingers, thighs tremoring. paige eases her fingers out of you and laps it all up, drunk off your taste, babbling about how good you are in between licks. little gasps escape you in the aftermath. when you open your eyes, paige is looking up you, amused and adoring.
“you’re evil,” you chide, voice hoarse, and she kisses your inner thigh, breath hitting your skin as she laughs a little.
“had to get you good, sorry. been waiting too long to do that,” she replies, crawling back over to you.
you snort. “three days?”
“felt more like three years,” she grins stupidly.
you lean over to connect your lips, climbing on top of her so that you’re straddling her waist. you sit upright, paige biting her lip as her eyes follow you, and hook your fingers under the waistband of her shorts, fully intending to show hard that the wait was worth it.
the night is far from over.
you nuzzle into paige under the comforter afterwards, cheek smooshed against her bare chest, your head tucked under her chin.
paige stares up into the darkness at the ceiling, mind swimming. she can’t shake the feeling of a weight pressing down on her— not just due to you being on top of her. it’s her heart, aching with both fondness and guilt.
she wants to tell you— who she is, what she does, why she’s hiding. she looks down, fingers ghosting up and down your spine, mouth poised to finally explain herself.
you’re asleep.
paige exhales a quiet laugh and continues stroking your back. okay, later then. she’ll tell you later.
for now, she allows herself to doze off, giving away to the feeling of your soft skin bare against hers.
you’re still reeling from the night before when you clock in the next morning, the sky streaked orange and blue, waves crashing gently.
it’s a nice, cool morning, but you know it’s just going to heat up later. in the meantime, you’re wearing paige’s hoodie, relishing the way her scent lingers— sandalwood, iris, and cardamom. under it, you have on a cropped rash guard and surf shorts, as you and paige agreed to meet to surf together again right after your shift. you’re going to drive to venice this time, a nearby beach with better, bigger waves.
“so, a bunch of us are headed to new smyrna tonight. waves are supposed to be sick,” skip tells you. “you in?”
“can’t. i already have plans.” you say casually, tone even, though a smile plays at your lips at the mere thought of hanging out with paige again.
skip snorts. “what, got yourself a hot date, or something?” he asks, mostly joking, until he catches the look on your face. “with who?”
“nunya.” you reply.
he shrugs, “your loss, then.”
skip browses around while chatting with you about the most recent developments in pro surfer news, before grabbing a couple containers of wax, a pack of earplugs, and the latest issue of surfer magazine, and placing them in front of you on the counter.
“nice jacket,” skip says, eyes skimming the text on your— well, paige’s— hoodie. “hey, you hear that basketball chick is in town?”
you haven’t heard. you don’t really know anything about basketball, except that the miami heat currently sucks, according to everyone in your town. “which one?”
“paige bueckers. apparently, someone saw her at salty dog last night. i’m trying to get a picture.”
you freeze mid–scan, blinking rapidly as your brain tries to grasp what you’ve just heard. “wait, paige who?”
“you’re kidding. paige bueckers! got uconn their first ring in years? plays for dallas now?” skip digs into the pocket of his shorts, fishing out his phone and typing into a search engine. he turns the screen to you, showing you the google results, and surely enough, it’s paige. your paige, except she’s mid–jumpshot in a basketball jersey. your jaw drops. “usually i don’t even watch the women’s stuff, but she’s tough.”
dallas. basketball. uconn.
it’s all starting to make sense, now— every half–truth, every moment she steered the conversation away from herself. how you recognized her, but just couldn’t figure out where from.
“kinda hot, too, right?” skip asks, clicking on another picture— paige posed on the cover some magazine, mainspreading in a suit. you nearly choke on your own spit.
“um— yeah. she’s alright, for a basketball player.” you reply, trying to play it cool. you can’t get mad at someone for calling the girl you’re into hot, one, they don’t even know you’re into her and, two, she’s been lying to you about who she is for the past week.
“yo, if you see bueckers around, text me. i gotta get that picture.” skip says, taking the bag from your hand after you finish his transaction.
“i’ll try,” you won’t, but still— hospitality. “see you, skip!”
he leaves with a wave, and that’s when you can finally stop and process.
you wonder how many times you’d skipped past her face while flipping through a copy of sports illustrated, trying to get to the surfing section, or caught the last few moments of one of her games while waiting for a surf competition to start on espn. your classmates had made a huge deal about getting tickets to the women’s basketball championship game in tampa just a few months ago, but you’d stayed back on campus in miami— you had no interest in basketball.
you should be mad, but you can’t help but laugh at the absurdity of the situation.
paige doesn’t come by until about two hours later, which gives you enough time to do a full internet deepdive.
a seemingly endless list of both professional and collegiate records and awards. highlight reels and tons of tiktok edits. an army of adoring fans begging her to come back online, wondering where she’s been all week.
it’s ironic, because she walks in just as you’re scrolling down her instagram page. you look up at her, back to the selfie displayed on your phone screen, then back up at her just to confirm that, yes— the girl you just might have fallen for is also a famous and formidable basketball player, and for some reason she kept that from you.
you turn your phone screen off, placing it face–down on the counter, and stand up straighter, trying to seem normal. it’s gotten hot, so you’ve taken off her hoodie, leaving you in your surf garments.
paige approaches the counter, two smoothies in hand, a gummy smile on her face. “hey, beautiful.” she slides your smoothie to you.
“hey,” you eye her suspiciously. “how are you?”
her eyebrows furrow a little. “good? great, actually. i had a really good night,” she smirks, looking you up and down. “how ‘bout you?”
“i’m good,” you reply.
paige falters, sensing that something’s off, just by your tone and the fact that you don’t immediately go for the smoothie. still, she leans against the counter casually. “so, what if i wanted to buy a board off y’all? how would that work?”
“well, you’d fill out the form, pay for it, and then i’d give it to you,” you explain. “just a heads up, the one you like is gonna be around six hundred.”
paige nods, sipping on her smoothie. “no best–head–ever discount?” she asks playfully.
“nope, unfortunately,” you say, opening a drawer and grabbing the the purchase forms. “there’s an atm nearby but we do take card, you know.” you give her the opportunity to choose to explain herself.
paige forces an awkward half–laugh. “ha, yeah,” she brushes the idea off. “i’ll just do cash.”
you huff, grabbing the form. you’re about to give it to her, but then you stop, reaching for the pen yourself.
you write the name down on the form. then, you slide it to her.
paige bueckers.
her jaw drops. she looks up at you with wide, guilty eyes. “how’d you…?”
“a guy came into the shack earlier, saw your hoodie, and asked if i’d heard some hot–shot basketball player was in town. said her name was paige bueckers,” you cross your arms, raising an eyebrow at her. “so, naturally, i looked her up, and— what do you know! she was literally just in my bed.”
“y/n, i can explain—”
“that you’ve just been lying to me all week long?”
“okay, technically, i never lied to you. everything i told you about myself was true. i just left out some… major details.” paige reasons.
you narrow your eyes at her. “you’re not a coach.”
“i coached a team for an overtime event twice,” she says, holding up a finger. “won both times, mind you.”
“you could’ve just told me, paige.” your voice is softer now.
“i know. i know. i swear i was going to, it’s just—” she sighs, coming around the counter. you begrudgingly allow her to take both your hands into hers, intertwining your fingers. “i booked this trip to get away from all that. i was trying to lay low, y’know? just chill and surf. and then i met you— and it was nice, for once, for someone to like me for who i am, not what i do. i guess i just wanted to hold on to that feeling. onto you.”
that is… sweet. you soften immediately at the admission. “i’m sorry. are you mad at me?” she asks, and by the look in her big, blue puppy dog eyes you can tell she’s sincere.
you shake your head. “no. not mad, just extremely confused. and, like, stunned. you are really good at basketball.”
paige laughs a little at that.
“you’re not just gonna run off on me when your trip’s over?” you ask quietly, not meaning to sound as supplicating and vulnerable as you do. you’d really hate it if she was just like any other tourist, gorgeous and golden and here for a week, only to never be seen again, because this, you realize, has gotten real.
“what? no. absolutely not,” paige squeezes your hands. “i do have to be back in dallas in a few days, but i’m not letting you go. you can come to my games, i’ll come visit, we can surf.”
“good. because i really like you, paige.” you sigh, heart swelling.
“i like you, too, y/n. seriously.” paige smiles.
she leans down then, pulls you into a hug, hands pressingly lightly against your back like she’s memorizing the shape of you. your arms wrap around her waist, breathing her in. she pulls back, just enough to look at you.
you kiss her. soft, at first, but then her hand is sliding up to your cheek, and yours fist gently into her shirt. you can feel it— the time, slipping away— but neither of you pay it any mind. the ocean whispers in the background. sunlight filters through the windows.
outside, summer stretches on, and neither of you wants to let go.
table talk. i have one more masterlist. and then when i start back writing for juju ima make a whole new one . because judea is special and she deserves a whole masterlist for herself . also if i missed any fics that i forgot it’s probably bcus there shitty as hell
tags. so uhm there really weren’t supposed to be tags but like idrc rn so @mrsarnold , @americasfavoritelesbian , @chloenextdoorr , @courtsidewithlani , @mariahthealchemist , @mochelisgf , @somehoeenamedgenesisss
g!p dina who acts so cocky and smug but completely melts the second you touch her
g!p dina who sends the filthiest texts during the day but blushes when you bring them up out loud
g!p dina who always acts like she’s in control but whines in your ear the second you ride her
g!p dina who pretends to be calm when you tease her in public but grips your thigh hard under the table
g!p dina who buys you cute little skirts just so she can slide her hands under them later
g!p dina who groans when you whisper “good girl” in her ear
g!p dina who gets so protective when someone flirts with you, but she’ll just smirk and say “she’s taken” with her arm slung around your waist
g!p dina who gets so flustered when you leave marks on her neck, claiming it’s unfair while tracing the ones she left on your hips
g!p dina who always checks if you’re okay after, holding you so tight, stroking your back, kissing your forehead like she didn’t just rearrange your insides
g!p dina who swears she’s tough, but she’d do anything for you the moment you pout
an. omg !! this is my first ever set of headcannons !! im actually sobbing because i actually needed to sleep bcus it was like 11:09 pm and the curfew at our boarding school is 8:30. you don’t have to sleep but lights have to be out !!
ɴᴏᴡ ᴘʟᴀʏɪɴɢ ★ — the chain by fleetwood mac ( 2004 remaster ) .
You rolled your eyes.
And that’s when everything shifted. The room went quiet. JuJu's jaw clenched. Her gaze darkened like a storm pulling in fast and violent. "You wanna try that again?" she said slowly.
You scoffed from the bed, tossing the remote aside. “I said, maybe if you passed the ball instead of showin’ off every game, y’all wouldn’t be losing.” You were joking. Kinda. But JuJu? JuJu wasn’t laughing.
She stalked over to you in two long strides, grabbed your ankle, and yanked you down the bed until your back hit the sheets with a thud. "You think that mouth’s cute when it’s talkin’ back?" "Maybe I do."
Wrong answer.
Her hand slid around your throat, just tight enough to make you gasp, her body pressing down into yours. "Yeah?” she hissed, face inches from yours. “Then let’s see if it’s still cute when you’re moaning my name.”
You opened your mouth to sass her again, but her fingers were already inside you.
Two. Deep. Fast. No teasing. No build-up. Just punishment. Your hips jerked up off the bed. “F-Fuck—JuJu—”
She didn’t let up. Her other hand gripped your thigh, pinning you down like a warning. Her eyes stayed locked on yours, watching every twitch of your lips, every whimper you tried to hide.
"Talk back again," she growled, curling her fingers right against that spot that made your vision go white. “Say one moresmart thing.”
You whimpered, breath shaking. “I— I didn’t mean it—” She pulled her fingers out. Slap. Her palm smacked your pussy, making you yelp.
“Don’t lie,” she said. “You love pushin’ me.”
You nodded, tears springing in your eyes, mouth open like you couldn’t form a full sentence anymore.
“Yeah,” JuJu whispered, bringing her fingers back in, slow now, curling perfectly. “That’s what I thought. All that attitude… just beggin’ for me to fuck it outta you.” And she did.
Harder. Rougher. Until your moans weren’t even words anymore — just breath and broken little cries. Her name, again and again, caught on your tongue like it was the only thing keeping you alive.
When you came, your whole body arched. You grabbed her arm, thighs trembling, and she didn’t stop until she felt it — that deep, full-body kind of orgasm that left you twitching and babbling her name like a prayer. After, she kissed your forehead. Gently. Her voice soft.
“Still got somethin’ to say?” You blinked up at her, flushed and ruined. “...Thank you.” She smirked.
“That’s what I thought.”
an. first ever juju smut fic !! im actually rlly proud of myself
tags. tysm @courtsidewithlani . i reposted your juju fic , it’s actually soooo good . your like the best 🤗
🌺 x Juju Watkins- "You're so sexy when you're all hot and bothered."
# LEMME GET YOU RIGHT, IT'S HOW I APOLOGIZE
pairing: juju watkins x teammate!reader
word count: 1184
warnings: smut (MDNI), head + fingering (r!receiving)
song: make it to the morning by partynextdoor
prompt: "you're so sexy when you're all hot and bothered."
⭑ from lani - my first juju fic EVER lfg 😝
celly masterlist !
main masterlist !
THE BUZZER BLARED in your ears. the sound of defeat. it echoed in your head as you wiped the sweat off of your forehead. you sped through the handshake line, knowing that if you spent another second on that court, you would lose your shit on someone.
you trudged into the locker room, sighing as you threw yourself onto your chair. your teammates slowly piled in after you. everyone was tense, silent, frustrated.
it was a mix of bad calls, miscommunication, and lack of effort. tonight, notre dame just happened to be the better team. but what you hated was that they came into your house and played like they owned it. you hated how you let them.
the coach came in and gave the standard talk that came with losing to a big competitor: mistakes were made, shots were missed, plays were poorly called, all that bullshit.
you didn't wanna hear any of it.
so you kept your head down and tried to calm down. but there was a voice in the back of your head that was telling you the loss was on you.
when your teammates left one by one, you were the last person in the locker room, head still hanging low, shoulders tense as you slumped in your chair.
well, you were the second to last one.
"you ready to head out?" you hear your girlfriend ask.
her backpack was slung over one shoulder as she walked into the room, curls pulled into a ponytail following her post-game shower.
"you go ahead," you mutter, gaze locked onto the phone in your lap that played the entire game mistake by mistake.
"i'm your ride, bruh, how're you gonna get back to the dorms?" she asks.
"i'll walk," you shrug, "i need the fresh air anyway."
"nah, you're not walking by yourself in the middle of the night."
"ju, it's literally only eight o'clock."
"i don't care, i'm dropping you off, let's go," she insists, pulling you from your seat.
you stand, but look her dead in the eyes, "no, you're not. i'm walking."
"man, what's your problem?" she snaps suddenly, "is it the loss?"
"no shit," you deadpan.
"we all got our asses kicked, y/n," she says, voice sharp, "this ain't on you."
"isn't it?" you push, "i was fucking up all game, couldn't get out of my head, told coach to keep me on the floor even though i knew i shouldn't have been."
"so? we all make mistakes, that's why we're here," juju's voice is softer now despite your charged words.
"not me," you say, "i'm here to win."
"the season just started, y/n, you gotta chill and trust the process."
"whatever," you scoff, turning away from her, "you can go now. i'll see you at practice tomorrow."
"fuck that, i'm still giving you a ride back," juju laughs humorlessly.
"just leave me alone, damn!" you snap suddenly.
juju stares at your back, surprised by your outburst. but she can't disguise her sudden attraction. she shouldn't find your anger hot, but she can't help it.
"nah," she shakes her head, dropping her bag and walking over to you.
"ju, drop it," you insist, still not turning to look her in the eye.
"i could," she starts, coming up behind you and placing her hands on your waist, "but you're so sexy when you're all pissed off like this."
you freeze when you feel her lips ghost your neck with her words.
"seriously, juju?"
"dead serious."
"i'm not in the mood right now-"
"c'mon, baby, lemme get you right," she whispers in your ear as she unzips your red trojan jacket, exposing your black sports bra, "you needa relax."
"no, i need to watch film-"
"save that for tomorrow," she cuts you off, kissing the spot just below your ear, "i'm sorry for how the team played tonight, i know how much you wanted to get that win. you gonna lemme apologize to you?"
all it takes is one wordless nod from you for her to stop holding back.
"sit down, mama," she says, pushing you onto your chair.
she kisses you deeply, towering over you as you feel all your anger fall away like it was never there. your lips move against hers eagerly, chasing the taste of her.
the brunette smirks into the kiss before looking into your eyes, silently asking if you were okay.
"please," you whisper.
"i gotchu, ma," she mutters as she sinks to her knees.
slowly, she pulls down your sweatpants and underwear, groaning at the sight of your arousal. you whimper softly at the cold air.
"i know, i know," she says, kissing your thighs softly before finally placing her mouth on you.
"oh fuck," you sigh at the feeling of her tongue lapping you up.
"damn, you taste so good," she mumbles, pushing herself further into your cunt, "i always gotta get you mad to get you this wet or what?"
"ju, please- shit!" you gasp as she suddenly inserts one of her fingers, pushing it deep inside you as you squirm in the chair.
"tight as fuck for me, huh?" she says, tongue still licking through your folds as her finger moves quickly in and out of your hole.
"fuck, baby, you're gonna make me cum," you whine, moans falling from your lips nonstop as you grind against her.
"yeah? you gonna give it to me?" she eggs you on, adding a second finger, "i'ma get you there, trust."
you groan as her fingers brush against the sensitive walls of your cunt, pounding against that special spot. you yelp, immediately covering your mouth to mask the sound.
"loud as hell," juju mutters under her breath, "gonna get us caught. that what you want?"
"no- oh my god-" your protest is cut off by another moan as you feel the knot in your stomach tighten, "baby, i'm cumming- fuck-"
"there you go," juju coaxes, fingers still buried in your pussy as she lifts her head, watching you come undone. your head is thrown back, hair falling behind you in messy waves. your chest heaves, nipples hard beneath your thin sports bra. the brunette would be lying if she said she wasn't soaked just from getting you off.
she eases her fingers out but lowers her head once again, drinking you up and making you whimper at the overstimulation.
"fuck, juju," you breathe out, moving your arm to cover your face in embarrassment.
"what?" the girl laughs as she stands up, "you were tense as fuck and i wasn't about to let you walk back all pissed off and shit."
"you're freaked out," you shake your head, standing up from your seat to shrug your jacket back on.
"c'mon, ma, you know i don't play about you," she nudges you playfully as you swing your backpack over your shoulder.
"are you just saying that because you want me to get you back at your dorm?" you glare at her as you both walk out of the locker room.
"nah," she shakes her head, "but if you're down..."
⭑. .ᐟ ꜱʏᴘɴᴏꜱɪꜱ ꪆৎ maddie ziegler x fem!reader . in which : you forgot to say good morning to mads . OR in which : mads thinks your being bratty so she fucks you like a brat also .
i. ᴡᴀʀɴɪɴɢꜱ ꪆৎ : uhm let’s just say nsfw. spanking. brat taming
♪ ɴᴏᴡ ᴘʟᴀʏɪɴɢ ꪆৎ : born to die
you woke up in a mood.
her music was already blasting. some alt-pop shit you used to mock her for,
and she was in the kitchen in one of her stupid little tank tops again,
shirt barely hanging on her shoulder, hair tied up like she didn’t spend hours making it look like she didn’t try.
you walked past her.
no eye contact.
no “good morning.”
just the sound of your feet hitting the hardwood. and maddie turned slowly.
like something out of a horror movie—only way hotter.
"you not gonna say good morning to me?"
voice sweet. too sweet. like poison laced in honey. you shrugged.
"didn’t think i needed to." her laugh was soft, but deadly. and next thing you knew she was behind you. grabbing your wrist. "baby, if you wanna act like a brat, then i’m gonna treat you like one." you didn’t even have time to fire back— because she was pushing you against the counter, yanking your shorts down with one hand, the other already landing a sharp slap to your ass.
you gasped.
tried to twist away.
but she gripped your hip tighter. "count."
her voice in your ear. low. lethal. "fuck you."
you regretted that immediately.
you whimpered."count, baby." "one." another. harder.
your thighs trembled. "two." by five, you were whimpering.
by eight, you were dripping down your thigh. "aw, now you remember how to use your voice?"
you whined. you cried. you begged.
"good morning, maddie, pleasepleaseplease—" and she smirked.
kissed the back of your shoulder.
and fucked you over the counter until your legs gave out.
.ᐟ SYPNOSIS ಇ. willow smith x fem!reader . in which : nea was only used to having 3 consistent friends till she met this ethreal girl , she remembered her younger self , watching the “whip my hair” music video and then realized it was willow fucking smith . OR in which : willow smith followed neapolitan on all socials out of the blue .
notes : this will be irl and on social media , chat idk how ima make it to where it’s gonna work like ig , but we gon figure ts out tg 😔🥀.
now playing : transparent soul 🌝 .
BIRDS EYE VIEW ⋆˚꩜｡
NEAPOLITAN LAYNOVA “HIT OR MISS”
WILLOW SMITH “GO HARD OR GO HOME”
Willow Camille Reign Smith was never just “famous.” From the moment she was born into Hollywood legacy, the world tried to script her life — daughter of icons, product of a dynasty. But Willow? She rewrote everything.
She was nine when she dropped “Whip My Hair,” and the world labeled her . She was nine when she dropped “Whip My Hair,” and the world labeled her a prodigy. But while everyone else saw a hit, Willow saw a cage. Fame had teeth. The lights were bright, but they burned. She shaved her head on tour, mid-set, in a quiet rebellion no one understood — a young girl demanding control of her own narrative. prodigy. But while everyone else saw a hit, Willow saw a cage. Fame had teeth. The lights were bright, but they burned. She shaved her head on tour, mid-set, in a quiet rebellion no one understood — a young girl demanding control of her own narrative.
BACKSTORYS !!
Neapolitan Soleil Laynova was named after the ice cream—three flavors in one. Her mom called it "a name with layers,"and Nea spent most of her life trying to figure out which one she really was. The strawberry softness, the chocolate depth, or the vanilla quiet no one ever noticed until it was gone.
She grew up in a small, overcast town with more bookstores than streetlights and spent most days in her head. Her best friends — Blaire, Kali, and Claire — were constants. Safety nets. But they never really saw her, not all of her. Not the girl who spent late nights writing poetry on napkins, who ripped her jeans on purpose for the aesthetic, who cried to obscure indie songs and never explained why.
an. should i have kept this in the drafts until after i finish the zendaya fic ?? yes. am i ?? probably not. ( enjoy ₊˚⊹ᰔ ) .
.ᐟ SYPNOSIS ಇ. willow smith x fem!reader . NEAPOLITAN POV . willow smith follows you on ig . chapter 1 .
contains : a lot.
now playing : transparent soul 🌝 .
BIRDS EYE VIEW ⋆˚꩜｡
I was eating cereal at 2:43 in the afternoon. Not because I was lazy, but because mornings had stopped existing for me three summers ago. My kitchen window was cracked open, letting in just enough wind to make my sticky note wall flutter like it was trying to tell me something. I had “Your Best American Girl” playing in the background. Mitski on low. Always on low. I didn’t believe in blasting pain anymore. I checked my phone to pause it and that’s when I saw it.
[willowsmith followed you]
I blinked. Closed the app. Reopened it. Nope. Still there. A blue check. A profile photo I had probably stared at too long in my life already.
Willow. Fucking. Smith.
I dropped the spoon into my bowl too fast, milk splashing onto my sketchbook. I didn’t even care. My brain couldn’t form a full sentence. Just static and:
This is a prank.
This is a glitch.
This is God telling me to wake up.
I checked twice. No shared followers that could’ve made this happen. I hadn’t tagged her in anything. I hadn’t posted anything cool enough since 2022. My last Instagram story was a blurry sidewalk with the caption: “i don’t think the moon likes me back.” And yet there it was
Followed by willowsmith
I opened her profile.
There were maybe four new posts from this week. One was a mirror pic. One was a blurry photo of a mushroom. One was her journal page, where she’d written “chaos as comfort.”
My heart did a thing it wasn’t supposed to do.
I stared too long.
And then came the real knife:
She liked my recent.
The one of me sitting cross-legged on my bed, eyes closed, holding my own hand. Caption: “i think i want to bloom slowly.” What the hell was happening.
I hadn’t even brushed my hair yet today.
I FaceTimed Kali, but she didn’t answer. Blaire was in class. Claire was God knows where, probably organizing her crystal shelf again. I was alone in my apartment, Willow Smith was now in my digital orbit, and my heart felt like an open field.
I clicked on her story.
Black screen.
One word: neapolitan.
White font. All lowercase. No tag. Just my name. Like a whisper. I whispered back:
“Oh, fuck.”
pairing :: rayah marshall x fem!reader headcannons
warnings :: none rly , just reader being short asf and rayah loves that
post it note :: oh how i love rayray !!
🎀 - 𝐆𝐄𝐍𝐄𝐑𝐀𝐋 / 𝐂𝐔𝐓𝐄 𝐇𝐂𝐒 !!
rayah has to bend all the way down just to kiss you and you have to stand on your tippy toes and grip the bottom of her hoodie like “okay come here ”
constantly making short jokes — “how’s the weather down there?” “you sure you not still in middle school?”
you: glares
rayah: “awwwww is my little gremlin mad again?”
she lives to tease you. if she’s mad at you? she’s putting everything on the top shelf. phone charger? hidden behind the cereal box. your hoodie? top of the closet.
she picks you up. for no reason.
you’ll be in the kitchen washing dishes and next thing you know: your feet are off the ground and rayah’s walking away with you over her shoulder like “my girl now 🙄”
your legs? always across her lap. always. she uses you like a lil space heater 😭
she deadass will tuck you in like a burrito when y’all nap — “you ain’t goin nowhere.”
always calling you “little bit,” “fun-sized,” or “short stack” just to make you groan
your friends: “how does she even find you in crowds?”
rayah, wrapping an arm around your shoulder: “baby’s like a homing beacon. she’s too fine to miss 🫶🏽”
🎀 - 𝐏𝐃𝐀 𝐇𝐂𝐒 !!
rayah has no issue bending all the way down to kiss your forehead in public.
and if someone looks too long? she will stand at full height, look down at them, and say “yeah. she’s mine. look somewhere else.”
whenever she’s behind you, she rests her chin on top of your head like it’s her throne.
gets jealous way too easily if someone says “you’re so cute and tiny!!” because… yeah, they’re not wrong, but shegets to say that
when you’re walking together, her arm is always slung around your shoulders while your arm wraps around her waist — the height diff makes y’all look like a power couple
if someone tries to flirt with you?
rayah: “uh uh. she can’t even reach the top shelf, what makes you think she’s reaching you?”
🎀 - 𝐋𝐈𝐓𝐓𝐋𝐄 𝐌𝐎𝐌𝐄𝐍𝐓𝐒 / 𝐃𝐀𝐓𝐄𝐒 !!
she will absolutely sit you on the counter just to talk to you while she cooks
every time you walk under something that looks remotely tall, she instinctively puts a hand over your head like a seatbelt bar 😭
she lets you steal her clothes but you swim in them — like you walk out in one of her hoodies and she just clutches her chest like “you tryna kill me rn”
y’all have a morning routine where she reaches everything for you and you hand her her coffee — perfect teamwork
her instagram story always has pics of you like
“found her in the grocery store aisle again 🤍”
(📸: you standing on the bottom shelf trying to reach a bag of chips)
🎀 - 𝐀𝐍𝐃 𝐎𝐅 𝐂𝐎𝐔𝐑𝐒𝐄 …
“you’re so little.”
“and you’re so annoying.”
“you mad at me or did you just forget how to reach your attitude?”
she adores you. like when you’re mad, flustered, stomping around like “ugh i hate being this short,” she just picks you up and hugs you and whispers “i love it. it means i get to take care of you forever.”
.ᐟ SYPNOSIS ಇ.
this will be a zendaya x fem!oc fic . i’ve never written full fics before so don’t judge , actually i don’t care bcus this is the intro . there are literally no black!celebrities x fem!reader i don’t think but atm idk , so like enjoy the intro or whatever .
contains. nothing really , just mild language , and denying of sexuality
RYAN DESTINY AS
ALONDRA ZEALAND
ZENDAYA AS
HERSELF
INTRO ಇ.
Alondra Zealand had never meant to get caught up in this kind of story. She was just tagging along—another warm body in the passenger seat, another girl at the afterparty who knew when to laugh and when to disappear to the bathroom just to breathe. Her best friend, Evie Brewer, had dragged her to London for a week under the guise of “family bonding,” but Alondra had known something deeper was at play. Evie never visited family without a reason. And this time, the reason’s name was Tom Holland.
Tom was the cousin—the famous one, the golden boy, the actor with charm like a matchbox spark. Evie had grown up beside him in summers when the Brewer family crossed oceans for reunions. Alondra had only heard stories, seen the photos on Evie’s phone. But nothing in those stories prepared her for her.
Zendaya. She was Tom’s girlfriend, and she was everything Alondra didn’t want to admit she noticed. The way she moved—quiet but unmistakably present. The way she dressed, like she could wear time. The way she looked at Alondra the first time they met: curious. Just a flicker of something. Barely there. But it was enough.
Zendaya wasn’t supposed to be there, not really. Tom had said something about a schedule conflict, but she showed up anyway—early, in sneakers and sunglasses, hair pulled back like she had nothing to prove. Alondra wasn’t supposed to notice. But she did.
And Zendaya noticed her noticing.
It was subtle at first. Shared spaces. Eye contact that held half a second too long. Alondra laughed too quickly. Zendaya leaned in too often. And somewhere between city walks and late-night kitchen run-ins, Zendaya started seeing herself differently. Not as Tom’s girlfriend. Not as the cool, untouchable icon. But as a girl who couldn’t look away from someone else's.
Alondra knew she was falling, slow like a song that sneaks up on you. She wasn’t proud of it. It wasn’t romantic, not in the way movies wanted it to be. It was wrong and real and burning low behind her ribs. Because you don’t fall for your best friend’s cousin’s girlfriend.
But she did.
And Zendaya, for the first time in a long time, didn’t want to run.
an. help guys i don’t know what font to use for this fic , cus it’s gonna take a long time to indent it , bcus there gonna be really long chapters , oh well
loni’s spamskii @allthingsalondraaa - Tumblr Blog | Tumgag
