These People Control Our Country Btw😭

YOUR SOURCES ARE GARBAGE. YOU ARE GARBAGE

LMAO

and if all the black writers left this app, then who would be writing all the good content, tumblr?

oh that’s not-

IN THE SENSE THAT

NEVER EVER BITCH

NEVER WANNA HEAR Y’ALL TALK SHIT IN KAITLYN CHEN EVER AGAIN

Title: You Should’ve Told Me

Pairing: Paige Bueckers x Reader

Fandom: UConn Women’s Basketball

Genre: Angst, Fluff, Slow Burn, Romance

POV: First Person (Reader)

Word Count: ~2.3k

Summary: Freshman year of college, you and Paige Bueckers became fast friends after bonding over having the same major and the same schedule. You told each other everything—well except the fact that you’re a stripper in your junior year.

Fic is based of @yailtsv ‘s mood board: Paige w/stripper!gf

I low-key want yail to do a pt.2 to fic….

🏷️: @nicebellee , @sitawita , @thatonesuschix , @vamptizm , @elalfywhore , @starfulani , @authentic-girl03 , @paige05bby , @paxaz535 , @azziswrld , @jadasogay , @paigeluvvr

Freshman year, I was awkward as hell—tote bag too full, hair always in a rushed bun, and clumsy enough to spill coffee on someone within the first week of classes. That someone just happened to be Paige Bueckers.

“I am so sorry!” I remember fumbling with napkins, heart sinking as the brown stain spread across her hoodie.

She just laughed, blue eyes full of amusement. “It’s fine. I didn’t even like this hoodie anyway.” She glanced down at my binder full of psych notes. “You’re in Psych 103 too?”

And just like that, we became inseparable.

We sat next to each other in every class, studied together, FaceTimed when one of us missed something. Paige introduced me to her teammates, took me to games, and somewhere along the way, we started telling each other everything. Or… almost everything.

I never told her what happened the summer before junior year.

When my parents found out I liked girls, they didn’t scream. They just cut me off. No more tuition. No more health insurance. No more help. Just silence.

So I found a way.

It started small—cocktail waitress. Then VIP hostess. Eventually, I was offered a stage audition at Club Venus. I said yes.

I told myself I’d quit once I had enough. But then rent came due. Then books. Then food. And now, here I was in senior year, dancing on weekends, midterms on Mondays. Still getting straight A’s, still smiling at Paige in class… still lying.

Tonight, I was working a shift but planned to leave early. I had cupcakes waiting at home and a card for Paige’s birthday. I couldn’t wait to surprise her.

But life? Life had other plans.

⸻

“VIP bachelorette party at table three!” my manager called, shoving a tray into my hands.

I groaned. My set was next. “Tell them I’ll be there after stage.”

He rolled his eyes. “Make it quick, baby. They brought the birthday girl.”

As the lights dimmed and the bass rolled in, I stepped out onto the stage, heels clicking, hair bouncing. I plastered on my best smile, the one that made rent and textbooks possible.

But then I saw her.

Front and center, blue eyes wide with disbelief, was Paige.

Her teammates flanked her—Azzi, Nika, Ice—all grinning, waving dollars.

Paige? She looked like the earth had dropped out from beneath her.

She was frozen, staring up at me as if I’d just confessed to murder.

My stomach dropped.

No. No, no, no.

I tried to look anywhere but her as I danced, heart racing, cheeks burning. I wanted to bolt off stage and hide, but I couldn’t. Not mid-set.

When I stepped down and made a beeline for the dressing room, Paige was already moving.

“Hey! Wait—wait up!”

“I’m working,” I hissed, not looking at her.

“Can we talk?”

“No.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?” she said, grabbing my forearm gently.

That’s when the other girls noticed.

“You have to pay to touch!” Amber snapped, stepping between us.

“Back off,” another added. “No touching without permission.”

I opened my mouth to say, “It’s okay,” but then Paige reached into her pocket, pulled out every bill she had—$550—and slipped it into my bra strap with steady hands.

Her eyes locked on mine. “Let’s go to a room, shall we?”

I hated how professional I had to stay as I nodded. Hated how much shame churned in my gut. Hated how I couldn’t even celebrate her birthday right.

Once we got into the private room, the door closed behind us, and she didn’t even sit down.

She paced.

“You’re a stripper? Seriously?”

“Paige—”

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

“Because!” My voice cracked. “Because I didn’t want you to look at me like that. Like I’m something dirty.”

She stopped pacing.

“I don’t—God, that’s not it, I swear.”

“Then what is it?”

“You could’ve told me,” she whispered, softer now. “We tell each other everything.”

“I couldn’t,” I said. And then it just poured out. “I didn’t have a choice, okay? My parents cut me off after I came out. I had no money, no job, no backup plan. I tried everything else. This pays enough. It pays… enough to stay in school.”

Her face crumpled.

“You’re doing this… just to pay tuition?”

I nodded, blinking fast. “It’s not what I want to do. I just—don’t have any other options.”

I didn’t know it then, but that moment shattered something in her.

“I’ll pay it,” she said suddenly.

My eyes widened. “What?”

“My NIL deals cover everything. I barely touch my stipend. Let me help—please.”

“No, Paige—”

“I mean it. You’re killing yourself for a degree. Let me take care of it.”

“I can’t take that from you.”

She looked hurt. “Why not? You’re my best friend.”

That stung more than it should’ve.

“I’ll be fine. I promise.”

⸻

I thought that was the end of it.

But then she started showing up.

Every night I worked, Paige was there, always tucked into a corner booth, hood up, arms crossed like a bouncer. She tipped big. Watched bigger. Anyone who even looked like they were gonna get handsy? She was up like a shot, staring them down until they backed off.

My coworkers started calling her “your bodyguard.”

Eventually, her presence became comforting.

When I danced, I knew she was watching—but not in a creepy way. She watched like she was protecting me from the whole world.

A few weeks later, after another quiet shift, she waited outside the dressing room.

“You’re not gonna believe this,” she said, handing me a grilled cheese and my favorite boba. “But I miss our study dates.”

I smiled. “You could’ve said that instead of bribing me with dairy and tapioca.”

We talked for hours that night. About school. About the future. About everything but this place.

Eventually, one night, she just blurted it out.

“I like you.”

I blinked. “You what?”

She stepped closer. “I like you. Like, more than a friend. More than anything.”

“…Even though I work here?”

“Especially because you do. You do what you need to survive. That’s… kind of badass.”

I melted.

⸻

Dating Paige was like finally breathing again.

She never judged me. Never looked down on me. But she never stopped worrying either.

She’d sit at the bar, watching every lap dance like a hawk. If a guy leaned in too close, she shot daggers. If someone tried to touch me, security would swoop in—probably tipped off by a glare from Paige.

And yes, she paid for lap dances. Smirking every time.

“You gonna scold me again, babe?” she’d tease, slipping twenties into my garter. “Or you gonna dance for your biggest fan?”

I hated taking her money. She knew it. But she insisted.

“Think of it as a girlfriend tax.”

Still, I drew a line—no more private room sessions once we were official. I couldn’t handle the guilt. She supported the decision immediately.

“You don’t have to prove anything to me,” she said one night, brushing hair from my face. “Just keep doing what’s best for you.”

The trouble was… I wasn’t making enough anymore. Less tips. Fewer dances. I picked up more shifts, lost more sleep, skipped more meals.

Until one night, I collapsed in her arms.

We were in my apartment. I’d just gotten off work. She brought me tea. I sat down, and before I could even sip it, I started crying.

“I’m so tired, Paige,” I whispered. “I’m tired of selling pieces of myself to strangers while trying to study for exams. I’m tired of dancing when I can’t even feel my legs. I’m tired of pretending I’m okay when I’m falling apart.”

She pulled me in, arms tight around my waist. “Baby, you’re not alone anymore. You don’t have to do this by yourself.”

“I can’t take your money. I just… I can’t.”

She kissed my temple. “Okay.”

That was all she said.

⸻

A few weeks later, I got a letter from Financial Aid.

Your balance has been paid in full.

I called. They said an anonymous donor paid off my remaining tuition.

I knew.

She didn’t say anything right away. She waited until I was calm. Until I was home. Until we were curled up on the couch and I was smiling again.

“I love you,” she said. “And I’ll always do what’s best for you. Even if you won’t let me say it out loud.”

I cried again, but this time, I didn’t feel ashamed.

Paige was more than my girlfriend. She was my anchor. My protector. My everything.

And if loving her meant letting her be my sugar mama on my off days?

So be it.

“Okay,” I whispered, curling into her side. “Buy me that Lego set.”

She grinned. “You got it, baby.”

■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■

                 -Thank You For Reading!🩵🩶

                             -prettygirl-gabi🎀✨️

i'll peel all your tangerines ★ mark lee.

tags. fluff, drabble. childhood friends to lovers. 390 words.

inspired by when life gives you tangerines. i also imagined this mark while writing...

"oh my god, you follow me everywhere!"

from elementary school, all the way to university — mark lee follows you everywhere. it started with playing in the same sandbox. now you're both adults in university, yet he's still here. always.

"wanted to have lunch with you," he says. you could even hear the pout in his tone.

"you're such a loser."

you sigh, shutting your book and placing it on the grass beside you. you're sitting behind the ncit library building, where maple trees veil over every spot. you lean against the branch, mark mirroring your action. he's still pouting.

still, he unwraps two bento boxes — of course, he brought two. well aware of your skipping-lunch-tendency. mark picks the shrimps off your box only to peel them and place them back into yours. he then peels a tangerine, popping one slice into your mouth.

with your mouth full you utter,

"are you going to follow me until i'm all grey and wrinkly?"

"if you'd let me."

oh. you couldn't stop your eyes that trail towards his lips, gaze lingering. a hue of pink spreads across your cheeks, to which mark takes notice.

"why are you all red?"

you pat your cheeks with your hands, "i'm always this red!"

"no you're not."

he inches towards you, bringing a palm towards your forehead. "are you getting sick? is your dorm room too cold?"

immediately, you shake your head, avoiding eye contact. but mark isn't mark if he doesn't constantly worry about you.

"what's wrong, yn?"

"i..." you mutter. "wanna kiss you..."

ahhhh. mark's blinking, processing your words. shame fills you, as you mentally curse yourself for saying the words out loud. now the poor guy in front of you is short-circuiting.

"you don't have to —"

mark's lips crashes against yours. it's clumsy, nervous, and it tastes like tangerines. but you kiss back anyway, tilting your head to deepen the kiss.

it's perfect. he's perfect.

when you pull away, his eyes are glazed over, affection swimming in his brown hues. he caresses your cheeks with the tenderness only he's ever given you.

"this is so stupid but," he whispers, "i'll peel all your tangerines until we're grey and wrinkly. if you'd let me."

you chuckle,

"and i'll eat them all."

and stalking much? you are the main reason she killed herself along with all the other bitches

Stalking... Someone told me after I posted the first anon that Bre was alive. Stop talking to me common whore🤺

DT AND HER DAUGHTER

driving instructor!nanami who knows as soon as you step into his car, that you’re going to fail.

with your hot pink acrylics that click, clack against the wheel, your mini skirt that just about covers the round of your ass and the see-through mesh top you hone that you wear absolutely no solid material underneath. with driving instructor!nanami knows he shouldn’t look but he can’t help his eyes that glance towards your perked nipples that are clearly begging for attention.

and the thing is, it’s not like driving instructor!nanami wants to fail you, but he does have his doubts when you ask him if you can finish the test early because you have “a more important function to attend to.”

But alas, driving instructor!nanami let’s you take your test. and despite his misconception, you’re not a bad driver. you end the course with no major faults but you just about have one-too-many minors and sadly he has to fail you.

“what?! only one minor over the threshold?!”

your glossed pout is adorable and driving instructor!nanami hates that you look you’re about to cry — especially since he’s the one who’s caused your sadness.

but its when you ask if there’s really nothing you could do then and there to make things right or fix the mishap, that driving instructor!nanami suddenly has a change of heart and mentions how maybe there is something you could do to maybe fix it.

driving instructor!nanami is absolutely mesmerised by how your breast bounce in his face, your pathetic little whines of “i can’t do it, i can’t, i can’t!” as you struggle to ride his heavy cock in the back seat.

he bunches your now pleatless skirt in his hands as he grasps at the fat of your ass, swishing his fingers inside your puckered hole as he chants back “yes you can” with the utmost lack of remorse.

the double penetration is so overstimulating that you squirt a messy spray of wet juice all over driving instructor!nanami’s dick, his tan coloured trousers and back car seat darkening in colour. driving instructor!nanami moans loudly into your ears as he pulls out and cums just over your moist pussy lips. he makes sure to tap the head of his cock over the steady stream of liquid that pours from your sex.

“you think im gonna let you pass after you just spoilt my car?”

you whimper at his sign of possible denial of passing, your mind still hazy from your shocking orgasm. on impulse, your hand comes down to languidly stroke at driving instructor!nanami’s dick. as if it wasn’t wet enough from both of your cums, you swaddle a bout of saliva in your mouth before dribbling it down over his curved and semi hard cock.

as a string of spit still dangles from your chin and lips, you give driving instructor!nanami a teary eyed yet manipulative look.

“please.” you whisper.

it’s safe to say that on that day, you gained your driver’s licence.

I'm shocked that anon isn't here to harass you... did they finally realize their senses on Bre's "death"?

Probably, aprently Bre has a history of doing this type of shit💀

If you don’t believe that Bre is dead then go murder her you dumb bitch.

Hot girls don't murder people🦭