HAWAIIAN ROLLER COASTER RIDE 🌺🌴 . pairs :: te-hina paopao in which :: basketball meets surfer
TE-HINA PAOPAO X FEM!READER — ⋆.𐙚 ̊— Hawaiian Roller Coaster Ride” (featuring: Nahala Tuki’nnala, Mahla, the Hawaiian sun, and a very random encounter)
The sun was just beginning to mellow out, dipping low enough that the waves caught the light like liquid diamonds. You were still damp from the ocean, salt clinging to your skin, hair knotted from the surf and wind. Mahla was giggling a few feet away, aggressively patting the side of a lopsided sand turtle, while you were focused on perfecting a drip-castle with your palms.
That’s when a shadow fell over you. Someone was standing there.
“Hey… uh, do you like piña coladas?”
You blinked up, squinting past the rays of light. Standing above you was this tall girl—brown skin glowing, dark curls tied back in a frizzy bun, ocean-blue Nike shorts and a white tank top. She held out a sweating paper cup, umbrella and all.
“My dad got two, but he didn’t want his,” she added quickly, as if that explained everything. “And you—uh, you look like someone who drinks piña coladas.”
You stared at her. “I look like…?”
“Like you’d like it. The fruitiness. I don’t know. You’re… building sand castles.”
Mahla was already crawling toward you on her knees, whisper-shouting like a rabid sports reporter.
“NAHALA. That’s Te-Hina Paopao. Are you serious right now?”
You blinked again. “Who’s…?”
Mahla gawked at you. “She starts for South Carolina. She used to be at Oregon. She’s like a legend. Hele aku . Ask her to surf with us.”
You glanced at the girl—Te-Hina, apparently—and then back at your sister. “She looks like she doesn’t know how to surf.”
“Excuse me??” Te-Hina asked, mock-offended, lips twitching like she was trying not to laugh.
“I just mean—” you gestured vaguely. “You’ve got…basketball muscles. That doesn’t really scream wave balance.”
Te-Hina grinned wide now, setting the piña colada beside your castle and dropping into a crouch. “Okay, I might not scream it, but I’ll have you know, I don’t wipe out. Not that often, anyway.”
Mahla was practically vibrating. “Can you please just ask her to surf?”
You sighed dramatically and turned to Te-Hina, who was now helping herself to a seashell to add to your castle.
“Wanna surf?”
She smirked. “Only if I get to name this sand turtle first.”
You paused. “…Go on.”
Later:
She did come surfing. She was…not great. But she didn’t wipe out either. You begrudgingly gave her that.
And when the sun fully set, when your boards were upright in the sand and Mahla had run off to tell your mom she saw a literal college athlete up close, Te-Hina sat beside you with a second piña colada.
“I was right,” she said, handing it to you. “You do seem like a piña colada girl.”
You sipped it. It was too sweet. Too coconutty. But you didn’t tell her that.
“You seem like you should stick to basketball.”
Te-Hina bumped your shoulder. “You seem like someone I’m gonna want to see again.”
You raised your eyebrows. “Because I like piña coladas?”
“No,” she said. “Because you make fun of me and still let me drink your soda.”
“It’s not soda.”
“Whatever.”
She smiled. You smiled back.
And somewhere nearby, Mahla was watching with her hands clasped like a romantic sitcom just broke out live on the beach.
