𝒜𝑀 𝐼 𝐵𝒜𝐵𝒴?

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.”

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                 -Thank You For Reading!🩵🩶

                             -prettygirl-gabi🎀✨️

Doesn’t…. Doesn’t most of the fandom fantasize over ‘teenagers’? (Particularly Chase?)

Does most of the fandom try to unmix their DNA to make their weird fucking ships work...okay then

I hope you saw your grandparents die.

I wasn't born then but okay LMAO

You accused me of liking serial killers with NO EVIDENCE what so ever, I haven't deleted a thing on my blog. Quit being delusional and get a life☝🏾

Ps. You're too old to have these weak ass comebacks, ask your bitchy 18yr for some🤭🤷🏾‍♀️

oh she wants me so bad

Moaned ngl, I love a good shot

beautiful

Quick question Bre, why Kazzy pull up on my Instagram?

Tell her to send that message🫶🏾

the things I would let juju, rayah, paige, nika, azzi, kk, ice, dominique, emily, diana, jana, kiki, ayanna, jada, aubrey, kennedy, avery, kayleigh, aaliyah, maila do to me are so crazy

my legs have been spread open

If it's not purple...

Misss girl what are we doing with paint…..