#pinkhaired!oc

summary: nova didn’t mean to flirt with the scary, silent guy in her psych class. but then he asked “why the fuck do you have pink hair?”, and she replied with “why the fuck are you bald, bitch?” and now he won’t stop looking at her. (yes, in her head that’s flirting)

she likes that he watched her and he kind of hates it.

warnings: mentions of addiction, rehab and recovery, toxic family dynamics (cameron-level), lots of swearing, drinking, smoking, drugs, party culture; smut, sexual tension, possessiven, the usual college drama; emotional repression olympics, everything else will be tagged separately!! 18+ MDNI

chapters nova hart<- ->rafe cameron

one -> two -> three -> four -> five -> six -> seven -> eight -> nine -> ten -> eleven -> twelve -> thirteen-> fourteen….

->taglist open

updates whenever “pinkie” wants to ruin his life.

first interaction dropping soon🩷

sarah didn’t even blind. “it’s monday morning.”

“exactly,” nova said. “i’m mentally ill.”

“you’re a psychology major.”

“and I’m telling you, as a professional, that my brain is starving for someone to rail me into next week.”

sarah snorted, blowing her nails. “you could try texting that girl from friday.”

“she had weird shoes. gave me toephobia.”

“that’s not a real thing.”

“it is now.”

nova sat up slowly, dizzy and wild eyed, pink hair messy from rolling around in her sheets all night. she’d been up journaling about chaos theory and watching tik toks of girls with snake tattoos.

sarah tossed her the nail polish. “you have class today?”

“psych 203. hot professor. mid syllabus. i’m praying for a partner project so i can trauma bond with someone hot.”

“manifest it,” sarah said, like it was religion. “just not my brother”

nova fake gagged. “absolutely the fuck not. you told me he’s a drugged out menace.”

“he’s been clear for a year.”

“doesn’t erase the vibes.”

“you’ve never even met him.”

nova looked at her best friend with dead seriousness “any man named rafe has main character issues and unresolved anger toward a little league coach. i’m not risking it.”

sarah laughed so hard she smudged her nail.

outside the window, the sky was turning that perfect early fall color, somewhere between heartbreak and blue jeans. nova rolled off the bed, grabbed her film camera, and pointed it at sarah.

“say slut,” she said sweetly.

“slut,” sarah grinned. the shutter clicked.

nova tossed the camera onto her bed and made a pained noise, clutching her hair like the world was ending. “oh fuck me,” she groaned, suddenly scrambling for the tiny cracked mirror on her desk. “i forgot to do my hair. why the hell didn’t you remind me?”

sarah barely looked up from her phone. “babe. your hair is pink. you already stand out like you’re in a damn skittles ad.”

“okay but i still need to look effortlessly unbothered. like i woke up hot but also emotionally complex.”

she yanked a claw clip from the nightstand and twisted her cotton candy hair into something vaguely messy-chic, muttering under her breath the whole time. “i swear if i meet someone hot today and my hair is greasy, i will die. i will combust. there will be a nova-shaped scorch mark on this campus.”

“dramatic as fuck,” sarah said.

“realistic,” nova shot back, grabbing her mascara with one hand and lip gloss with the other like she was doing drag for class.

“what even is psych 203?” sarah asked, watching her best friend line her lips like a girl going into battle.

“some theory bullshit. attachment styles. the usual ‘why am i like this’ curriculum,” nova said, smacking her lips together. “i just wanna make eye contact with someone unstable and ruin their week.”

sarah grinned. “so same as every monday.”

nova shrugged “i am who i am.” a pause.

then sarah stood up, stretching, crop top riding up over her stomach like she didn’t have a care in the world. “well, you can emotionally damage someone later.” she said, grabbing her tote bag. “I’m getting dicked down by john b after lit class anyway.”

nova clutched her heart like she’d been shot. “you absolute bitch”

“i know.”

“You’re my hero.”

“I know.”

they exchanged matching evil little smirks. “manifest good dick and extra credit,” sarah called out as she headed to the door.

nova flipped her off affectionately and yelled back, “manifest this pussy!”

the door shut behind sarah with a lazy click, and nova was alone again.

the silence settled fast—warm, familiar, a little too quiet without her best friend humming lana or complaining about professors with god complexes.

nova stood in the middle of the room for a second, staring at her reflection in the mirror. her pink hair was behaving for once, half-up in a clip, soft tendrils falling around her face. her eyeliner was sharp. her lip gloss looked like trouble.

she looked like a girl who could ruin someone’s week in under ten minutes.

sighing, she grabbed her phone off the bed and flopped back onto her comforter, legs dangling off the edge, thumb mindlessly unlocking the screen.

3 new messages.

one was from a number saved as 💋✨mystery girl.

nova had no memory of saving it, but the icon was a blurry photo of a glitter-covered shoulder and a tongue ring.

friday girl 💋✨:

u left your lighter in my bra

also ur really good w ur mouth?? lol

when can i see u again 😘

nova blinked, let the words sit there for a second.

then “god i’m such a whore,” she whispered fondly to herself, grinning as she tossed the phone to the side. she’d text her back later. or not. depending on her mood.

the next message came from a name she actually did remember.

topper.

sarah’s ex. rafe’s best friend. blonde. annoying. vaguely hot in a way that made nova want to throw things.

topper:

wake up you whore

we have a party later

wear something illegal

nova rolled her eyes so hard she saw god.

she typed back quickly.

nova:

only if u promise not to cry in the corner again when someone plays the 1975

i’m not babysitting ur sad boy era

three dots. typing. then nothing.

she smirked, satisfied.

nova stretched out across her bed like a cat in the sun, letting the ceiling fan hum softly above her. her first class wasn’t for another twenty minutes. she’d show up late. maybe on purpose. maybe make a scene. maybe meet someone new to ruin.

she checked her lip gloss in the camera reflection and said to no one “god i hope he’s hot.”

nova rolled over and grabbed her laptop, pulling it onto her stomach as she typed in the passcode: crybaby69.

her desktop was an absolute graveyard—open tabs, folders titled things like evidence, girlies i would die for, and rafe cameron is NOT real (don’t open).

(it was empty. she hadn’t met him yet. but she had a feeling.)

she opened the folder marked “sep 29 (chaos),” and let the thumbnails load.

friday night flickered to life on the screen.

first, a blurry, too-bright pic of john b and sarah licking each other’s tongues like feral teenagers in love.

nova snorted. she remembered yelling “siblings, actually!” at them and getting flipped off by both of them at once.

then there was topper, arm around her shoulders, both of them mid-shot, mouths open, faces flushed. her eyeliner was smudged. topper had the dazed expression of a golden retriever after eating weed brownies. someone had drawn a penis on his neck in sharpie.

“good times,” nova muttered.

she clicked to the next one: mystery girl in a mesh top, grinding on some guy, lipstick smeared, eyes on nova behind the lens. there was a later photo where her hand was on nova’s thigh, ringed fingers disappearing under her skirt. nova paused. stared at it. saved it to her favorites.

then—jesus christ.

a photo of nova herself, laughing in the kitchen with some random dude she couldn’t name. his tongue was out. her shirt was pulled down. his lips were on her boob like it was a religious experience.

“oh, babe,” she whispered to herself, “you need therapy.”

she didn’t delete it.

instead, she leaned her head back against her pillow and stared at the ceiling, grinning like someone who knew she was the slut in five different stories.

her lip gloss was still sticky. her boots were by the door. class was in five minutes.

maybe she’d show up.

maybe she’d walk in late, all pink hair and fake innocence.

maybe she’d sit next to someone who looked like he’d bite. maybe today would be interesting.

nova was late.

not fashionably, not dramatically—just late-late.

like everyone already has a seat, professor’s mid-sentence, everyone turns to look at you when you open the door kind of late.

exactly the way she liked it.

she chewed gum as she walked in, sunglasses still on, iced coffee half-melted in one hand. her pink hair was twisted up but falling loose in curls, lips glossy, shirt very much not dress code. she looked like the prelude to a breakdown and a party at the same time.

the only seat left was near the back. right beside some guy with a buzzcut and a jawline sharp enough to gut a man.

nova slid into the desk with a little sigh, like she was doing them a favor by showing up.

the guy glanced over. and then he stared.

she felt it before she saw it—his gaze, heavy and hot, burning into the side of her face like he was trying to figure out what planet she came from. nova turned her head slowly, met his eyes over the rim of her sunglasses.

he blinked, eyes narrowing.

then he said, completely serious: “why the fuck do you have pink hair?”

nova didn’t flinch. just popped her gum and smiled. “why the fuck are you bald, bitch?”

someone near them choked on their drink.

his mouth twitched. not a smile. just something close. crooked.

“shiiit,” he muttered under his breath, still staring at her like she was a weird dream. “you’re sarah and topper’s best friend.”

nova rolled her eyes. “topper is my bitch, not my best friend.”

she tilted her head, sizing him up.

buzzcut. rings on his fingers. bruised knuckles. expensive hoodie. broken nose that healed wrong.

trouble. rage. probably good in bed.

probably terrible for her.

her eyes flicked lower, then back up. “and who are you?”

he didn’t answer. just kept looking at her like he already knew her. like he’d seen her before.

and then nova’s smile dropped, eyes widening just a little.

“no shit,” she said under her breath, laugh sharp and low.

“you’re rafe—the druggie aggressive bitch with a god complex.”

he grinned, teeth sharp. “guilty.”

rafe looked like he’d just gotten away with something.

his buzzcut caught the light in a way that made him look even more like a problem, all edges and shadows and faint bruising near his jaw. nova stared at him like she was trying to figure out how many felonies he had—and if she could make it one more.

she leaned her cheek into her palm, elbow on the desk, and gave him a long once-over.

“why the fuck are you in this class?” she asked, voice light but laced with poison. “shouldn’t you be the patient?”

his grin didn’t fade. if anything, it deepened—like she’d just flirted with him instead of insulted him.

“maybe i’m doing research,” rafe murmured. “for court-mandated reasons.”

nova raised a brow. “so it is rehab hours.”

“nah,” he said lazily. “i’m a business major. just like psych girls.”

“we’re unstable.”

“exactly.”

nova smirked, pretending to look back at the professor. she didn’t take notes. just twirled her pen between chipped black nails.

rafe didn’t stop watching her.

after a moment, he leaned a little closer—voice low, amused, teeth catching on his bottom lip like he was holding something in.

“you look like you’ve got, like… ten different psychological diagnoses,” he said, eyes flicking to her rings, her chipped polish, her tiny tattoos, her lips. “minimum.”

nova’s smile was slow and dangerous.

like a match being lit.

“that’s so crazy,” she whispered. “i was just about to say the same thing about you.”

he snorted.

the professor droned on about freud and behavioral conditioning. nova and rafe didn’t look away from each other.

she still thought he was a menace.

he already wanted to know how she’d taste saying his name.

just when nova was about to fully dissociate and draw boobs in the margins of her notebook, the professor clapped his hands once—too loud, too sharp.

“alright, everyone. partner assignments for the semester project start today.”

a wave of groans swept through the room. nova blinked out of her daydream. beside her, rafe shifted in his seat like he suddenly gave a shit.

“you’ll be working with the person sitting next to you,” the professor continued, completely unfazed. “it’s called proximity and social exposure. write about your dynamic, your observations, how your psych theories apply. twenty pages. due end of semester.”

nova’s hand flew up immediately.

without waiting to be called on, she blurted, “bestie—respectfully—i can’t do that.”

the entire room turned. rafe turned slower. like he was already used to her being out of pocket.

the professor sighed with the weight of a man who had absolutely dealt with her before.

“miss nora.”

“nova.”

“nova.” he pinched the bridge of his nose. “how many times do i have to say this? if you want your degree, stop acting like the patient.”

the class lost it.

rafe let out a low whistle beside her.

“shit,” he muttered, turning his head, fully entertained now. “you’re insane.”

nova gave him a sugar-sweet smile like she was about to commit a felony. “takes one to know one, roommate.”

he looked like he wanted to laugh.

or bite. maybe both. probably both.

“so what’s the deal?” he asked casually. “you gonna write twenty pages about me being a psychotic freak?”

nova sighed dramatically, flopping back in her seat. “guess i have to. maybe i’ll get bonus points for surviving.”

rafe leaned closer, voice low. “you think you’re gonna survive me?”

nova didn’t even blink. “not planning on it.”

introduction next>> taglist

tags: 🏷️ @rafesbabygirlx @k4yr14 @iconiccolo @devoutedlover @viqtoria @sc05 @qversazex @t0x1cfaerie

topper stomped in like he paid rent. “you fucked helena—my friend, nova! and ghosted her.”

nova blinked slowly. “okay? and?”

“she’s been asking about you,” he snapped, pointing an accusing finger like they were in some afterschool special. “told me how you hit and vanished. you’re a fucking bitch.”

nova just smiled.

rafe finally looked up, brows raised. “wait—you like women?”

nova turned to him, lazy smirk forming as she took a drag from her joint.

“boaf, baby girl,” she said, exhaling smoke. “i like everything.”

topper scoffed, arms crossed. “yeah. everything with a pulse.”

nova’s grin turned razor-sharp. “oh yeah? sure, mister ‘let’s do a threesome’.”

she tilted her head, eyes glittering. “forget when you asked me that? begged for it, actually. said you wanted to watch me fuck your girlfriend while you jerked off in the corner.”

rafe choked. topper’s face flushed deep red, mouth opening and closing like he forgot how words worked.

nova dragged on her joint, completely unbothered. “funny how men love to slut-shame women they once wanted to get off to.”

the bathroom door creaked open.

sarah stepped out, clothes on, wrapped in a towel, hair dripping down her back.

she took one look at the scene—topper red-faced, nova smirking like the devil, rafe looking somewhere between impressed and alarmed, and scoffed.

“you two are arguing again?” she asked flatly, walking past them like this was tuesday’s normal.

rafe looked over, still processing. “uh… is this, like… normal?”

sarah grabbed her comb off the desk. “get used to it,” she said casually. “this is how these two are.”

“i’m not arguing,” nova said, crossing her arms, “i’m just reminding pony boy of the time he begged to be my sidekick while i wrecked his girlfriend.”

topper threw his hands up. “i was fucking drunk, nova!”

nova didn’t even blink. “you were specific, babe. sober thoughts, drunken truths.”

“you said no! why are you bringing it up?”

“because i like to keep my receipts,” she said sweetly.

sarah was curled on her bed now, legs crossed, while she shoved a forkful of nova’s mac and cheese into her mouth.

“fuck, nova,” she mumbled, laughing at something on her phone, “this slaps. you could literally ruin lives and still make comfort food.”

“i do both,” nova said, leaning against her desk with her vape in hand. “balance.”

rafe sat stiff on the edge of her bed, still reeling.

“wait,” he finally muttered, staring between nova and topper. “you seriously wanted to have a threesome with her?”

topper groaned and dropped into the armchair like this whole conversation was personally attacking him. “dude—don’t make it a thing.”

nova grinned wickedly and looked over at rafe, eyes trailing slow. “you jealous, baby?”

rafe blinked. nova tilted her head, mocking.

“don’t tell me you wanna fuck her too?” topper cut in, glaring. “her ego’s already through the roof.”

sarah snorted through a laugh. “i second that.”

nova winked. “and yet, here you all are.”

topper groaned and waved the whole conversation off like swatting a fly.

“whatever. rafe, you in for the party tonight or what?”

rafe leaned back against the desk, arms folded. “hell yeah. who’s throwing it?”

nova grinned. “pony boy and me, baby girl.”

sarah paused mid-bite, fork halfway to her mouth. “he lets you call him baby girl?”

“lets me?” nova said with a dramatic gasp. “he doesn’t even deserve it.”

“i don’t let her,” rafe muttered, eyes narrowed, “she just fucking does.”

“you love it,” nova shot back, twirling her hair. “don’t lie in front of the kids.”

“what kids—sarah?” topper asked, squinting.

“emotionally? absolutely,” nova said. “sarah eats glitter glue when i’m not looking.”

“fuck off,” sarah said around a mouthful of mac and cheese.

“also,” nova added, looking at topper, “you can’t act mad at me and still invite me to co-host your party. it’s giving obsessed.”

“i didn’t invite you,” topper said flatly.

“sure, jan.”

“she invited herself,” rafe muttered under his breath, grabbing a piece of sarah’s mac and cheese off her plate.

“i heard that,” nova snapped, “and guess what? i’m still showing up. and i’m bringing glitter. and possibly a priest.”

topper groaned. “jesus christ, rafe—this is your problem now.”

rafe raised his brows. “oh, she’s a problem?”

nova leaned in, deadly sweet. “only if you can’t handle me, baby girl.”

sarah dropped her fork. “i hate it here.”

nova squinted at topper, lips pursed in mock confusion.

“uhhh—you texted me earlier about the party, you bitch.”

topper looked caught, then defeated, then weirdly sheepish. “well… yeah. sorry.”

nova smirked like she just won the lottery. “you’re forgiven, baby,” she purred, reaching out to pat his cheek. “you’re lucky you’re kinda hot when you’re stupid.”

topper just groaned and sank deeper into the chair like he regretted every life decision that led him here.

sarah stood up, stretching dramatically, damp hair dripping onto her shoulders.

“okay,” she announced loudly, clapping once. “everyone but nova, fucking out. we need to get ready.”

rafe raised a brow. “i’ve seen worse. i can stay.”

“no,” sarah deadpanned, already shoving him toward the door. “you can’t.”

“you didn’t even let me—”

“out.”

topper stood up too fast. “okay, okay, relax. jesus.”

“she’s bossy, isn’t she?” rafe muttered to nova on his way to the door.

nova leaned against the wall, smug as hell. “yeah, she is. now go be a good boy and pick your outfit, baby girl.”

“stop calling me that.”

“then stop answering to it.”

door shuts. chaos, cleared—for now.

nova’s side of the dorm looked like a hot pink tornado hit a thrift store.

clothes were everywhere—heels flung on the bed, a corset hanging off a lamp, and nova? standing in front of the mirror in nothing but black shorts and a lacy bra, pouting like the reflection personally offended her.

“this skirt says ‘i’m easy,’” nova muttered, holding it up.

sarah, sitting on the floor surrounded by hair tools, didn’t even look up. “you are easy.”

“thank you.”

“not a compliment.”

nova flung the skirt across the room. “what the fuck are we even wearing?”

“something slutty but like, not pathetic,” sarah replied, curling a section of her hair. “nova, not the mesh again.”

“you don’t understand the power it holds.”

sarah finally glanced over—and paused. her eyes squinted.

“wait. what the fuck?” she said, pointing. “do you have a new tattoo?”

nova turned slightly, smug. “under my boob, yes. got it last week when you were in the obx.”

sarah stood up and came closer, peering at the fine black ink curving under nova’s left breast. she read it out loud, unimpressed: “‘xo’… really, nova?”

nova just smiled. “whattt? i relate to the songs.”

sarah rolled her eyes. “you’re still hooked on the weeknd. you’re a slut.”

nova batted her lashes. “indeed i am.”

sarah stepped back from the mirror, inspecting her freshly curled hair.

“anyway,” she said casually, like she wasn’t about to stir shit, “what’s your opinion on my brother?”

nova, still topless and deciding between two different shades of slutty black eyeliner, didn’t even blink. “pony boy number two.”

sarah snorted. “you’re fucked.”

nova grinned, biting her lip as she leaned closer to the mirror. “nah, he’s fucked. i’m just here for the parties and the compliments.”

“you’re gonna ruin him.”

nova winked. “he wishes.”

sarah pulled her hoodie over her head and flopped down on the bed, legs crossed. her tone dropped a little, quieter now.

“i really hope you don’t get with him.”

nova paused mid-winged liner stroke. “uh oh. that sounds like a warning, baby.”

sarah sighed. “i probably shouldn’t tell you this but… whatever. he’s a hoe now, yes. but he wasn’t always like that.”

nova turned slightly, brow raised.

“he got his heart broken when he was like… twenty? three years ago. they were together for four years. high school sweethearts. the whole thing.”

nova blinked.

sarah nodded. “she cheated on him. multiple times. and he just—snapped. went off the rails. rehab came after.”

nova didn’t say anything for a second. just blinked again and turned back to the mirror, mouth pressing into a small line.

“damn,” she finally said. “that’s a whole-ass netflix original.”

sarah rolled her eyes. “nova.”

“what! i’m just saying. poor pony boy.”

deep down, though—she felt it. a strange twist behind her ribs. something quiet and real.

nova exhaled, soft but dramatic. “guess that means i can’t call him ‘emotionally stunted bald man’ anymore, huh?”

“you shouldn’t have been calling him that in the first place.”

nova smirked. “too late, bestie. i already made it his contact name.”

sarah’s eyes narrowed.

“wait. why do you have his number already?”

nova casually applied her lip gloss, unbothered. “he gave it to me while we were smoking weed. for the project.”

“the project, uh huh.”

nova glanced over her shoulder, deadpan. “yes, professor sarah. the semester-long, mind-numbing psych project.”

sarah scoffed. “right. because you two definitely weren’t flirting under the influence in our shared dorm room.”

nova spun dramatically, throwing herself onto the bed beside sarah. “baby, if i flirted with everyone i smoked with, i’d be pregnant by now.”

sarah gagged. “ew. don’t say that.”

“it’s the truth.”

sarah side-eyed her. “you’re so unserious.”

nova grinned. “and yet—i’m the funniest woman alive.”

nova flopped back onto her bed, scrolling through her phone with a smirk.

“whatever, you got dicked down yet?” she asked, raising an eyebrow at sarah.

sarah stretched luxuriously and grinned. “oh yeeesss. honestly, i think i’m gonna be pregnant after what we did last night.”

nova made a face, scrunching her nose. “ew, don’t make me change the way i see johnny boy. i need my innocent little baby brother image intact.”

sarah laughed, tossing a pillow at her. “innocent? he’s been dodging your ‘innocent’ for years.”

nova caught the pillow, winking. “well, somebody’s gotta keep him on his toes.”

sarah blinked, genuinely curious. “wait. why the fuck do you see john b as your brother anyway?”

nova shrugged, a rare softness flickering in her eyes. “well… the first time i met him? before i even met you.” she paused, biting her lip. “he was lost on campus, totally confused. looked like he didn’t belong.”

nova smirked, but there was something warm underneath. “so i told him i’d protect him. called him ‘baby brother.’”

sarah smiled softly, nudging her. “aw, that’s kinda cute.”

nova rolled her eyes but kept the grin. “don’t get used to it. it’s a very specific kind of protect, okay?”

music was booming. lights low, bass high, and bodies already crowding the main room like it was 1 a.m. even though it wasn’t even midnight yet.

nova leaned against the kitchen counter with a red cup in hand, her other arm draped lazily over topper’s shoulder as they both surveyed the chaos they’d somehow created.

“we did good,” topper said, clearly proud.

nova sipped her drink, eyes scanning the sweaty crowd of dancing bodies and half-drunk hookups already forming in corners. “i did a great job, yes.”

topper rolled his eyes. “you only brought the alcohol, the drugs, and the cigarettes for the bar.”

nova gasped dramatically, hand to chest. “excuse me? i also decorated—and invited the hockey team.”

“you only invited the hockey team because you’ve slept with half of them.”

nova smiled sweetly. “so what? they still showed up, didn’t they?”

the door creaked open behind them and nova didn’t even need to look—she felt the shift in energy. the way people turned their heads, the slight hush before the music swallowed the moment again.

topper cursed under his breath. “fuck my life.”

nova raised a brow and followed his gaze. and there he was—rafe—walking in like a slow-motion movie scene, buzzcut catching the low lights, a smug smirk on his face… with a blonde girl latched to his side like a fucking accessory.

topper sighed. “he’s with layla again.”

nova tilted her head. “he likes blonde girls with big racks?”

topper snorted into his drink. “big boobs… nova, yours are huge. i wouldn’t get scared of layla just yet.”

she blinked at him, slowly. “ew. i don’t want bald-headed rafe.”

“you sure?” topper smirked. “you were real protective of your vape the other day.”

nova sipped her drink and rolled her eyes. “please. i’d rather eat my own denim jacket.”

“oh fuck,” topper muttered under his breath the second he saw rafe and layla heading straight for them. he shifted awkwardly, cup halfway to his mouth like it might save him from the disaster he already saw coming.

rafe’s hand was casually resting on layla’s lower back as they stopped in front of nova and topper. his buzzcut somehow looked even sharper up close. “nova,” he said, a little too relaxed. “this is—”

“we already know each other, rafey,” layla cut in with a sugary voice, reaching to rest her hand on his chest.

nova didn’t move. she just turned her head, slow, like a horror movie about to unfold. her gaze landed on layla like it could set her on fire. topper visibly flinched.

“yeah,” nova said, voice calm, venom smooth. “we do. you fucked my ex-boyfriend while i was still with him, then told me i would’ve still had him if i ‘wasn’t such a freak.’”

layla blinked, the fake smile faltering for a half second before trying to recover. rafe stood frozen, eyes flicking between them like he was watching two wolves circle.

topper just sipped his drink like it was holy water.

layla’s smile twitched back into place, glossy and sharp. “okay, well maybe if you weren’t so busy acting like a desperate little—”

nova held up a hand, silencing her mid-sentence with the kind of casualness that made it ten times more disrespectful.

“but it’s okay, layla,” she said, tilting her head sweetly. “i fucked your sister jackie. remember? she cried when i ghosted her.”

rafe choked.

topper spat his drink out and wheezed. “oh my god.”

layla’s entire face went blank—lipstick smile gone, pupils trembling.

“jackie?” rafe echoed, stunned.

nova nodded, like she was talking about the weather. “jackie. hot little thing. way nicer than her bitch of a sister.”

layla blinked twice, visibly spiraling. nova didn’t even blink.

“but you know,” nova added, sipping her drink, “that whole family trauma thing you’ve got going on? makes sense now.”

before layla could form a comeback (if she even had one left), a familiar arm slung over nova’s shoulder, perfume and vodka hitting her senses at the same time.

“helloooo, my little hot bitch,” sarah sang, leaning all her weight on nova like they hadn’t just seen each other an hour ago. “how are y’all?”

nova laughed, steadying sarah with a hand on her waist. “you’re wasted.”

“and thriving,” sarah grinned proudly, then blinked—eyes catching on layla, expression immediately soured. “what the fuck are you doing here?”

layla stiffened. “i’m with your brother.”

nova raised her brow and looked directly at rafe. the poor boy opened his mouth to say something “we’re not—” rafe started.

“anyway,” nova cut him off, tone light and sharp like a blade dipped in glitter, “i’m going to find one of those hockey boys. marcus would be good.”

she turned on her heel without looking back, hips swaying, drink in hand, entire aura saying: unbothered, moisturized, in my lane, thriving.

topper just muttered under his breath, “she’s gonna ruin that boy.”

rafe stayed quiet, jaw tight, eyes locked on the pink blur disappearing into the crowd.

nova found him near the back patio, where the bass was thumping and some freshman was throwing up into a planter. cute. marcus was leaned against the railing, cup in one hand, hockey jersey half unbuttoned like he knew he was hot shit.

“hey, baby,” nova purred as she slid up to him, hand immediately resting on his chest. “miss me?”

marcus looked down at her with a slow smile. “hey, baby. how could i not?”

“mm,” she hummed, running her nails lightly down his arm. “you gonna be good to me tonight, or do i have to go find someone else with thicker thighs?”

he laughed, deep and lazy. “you’re so bad.”

nova pouted, leaning into his space, pressing her body against his like it was second nature. her hand slid into the front pocket of his jeans like she was reaching for chapstick. “no, baby. i’m the worst.”

marcus put his arm around her waist, pulling her flush against him. “how’s your night been?”

“full of idiots, testosterone, and my best friend’s brother trying to flirt with me.”

“and now?”

nova tilted her head, lips nearly grazing his jaw. “and now i’m thinking about ruining you a little.”

marcus groaned low, already hooked. “fuck. let’s go upstairs.”

nova giggled but didn’t move yet—eyes scanning the crowd, completely aware that someone was watching her.

and god, she loved the feeling.

nova’s fingers had just grazed the waistband of marcus’s jeans, tugging him toward the stairs with a wicked grin and a whisper that sounded suspiciously like “let’s see if you still moan pretty”

when a hand closed tight around her wrist.

“no way, lil nova,” topper said, pulling her back with the most older-brother-who-isn’t-actually-her-brother energy imaginable. “not on my watch.”

nova spun on him, dramatic as hell. “topper. what the actual fuck.”

“you’re not fucking the hockey team upstairs at your own party,” he said, dead serious. “this isn’t a brothel.”

“i mean,” nova muttered, “kinda feels like one. we have booze, drugs, and dumb men with daddy issues.”

marcus raised both brows, already half backing away, like he knew when he’d lost. “uh…”

nova looked over her shoulder at him, pouting dramatically. “sorry, baby. next time, yeah?”

he gave her a lazy salute and disappeared into the crowd, probably to find a less chaotic option. or maybe cry in the bathroom. who’s to say.

nova turned back to topper, eyes narrowed. “you’re lucky i love you.”

topper rolled his eyes. “nah. you love my face. and my weed.”

“and your bank account, don’t forget that.”

from the corner of the room, rafe watched all of it — arms crossed, jaw tight, tongue poking into his cheek.

because no, he wasn’t jealous. not even a little bit.

from across the room, rafe stood with his back against the wall, arms crossed and beer forgotten in his hand. next to him, layla sipped her drink like it was wine and not whatever jungle juice nova had thrown together in the bathtub.

“god,” layla sneered, watching nova laugh as topper scolded her like a cat caught climbing curtains. “she’s still such a slut.”

before rafe could even react, sarah snapped around from where she’d been texting someone, eyes narrowed and fierce.

“say that again, layla,” sarah said, voice syrupy and dangerous. “i fucking dare you.”

layla blinked, like she couldn’t believe sarah would come for her. “i mean—she’s throwing herself at—”

“she’s doing whatever the fuck she wants,” sarah cut in. “and you’re just mad she doesn’t want you anymore.”

rafe let out a low breath, smirking. “facts.”

layla shot him a look. “you’re not seriously—”

but sarah was already stepping forward, hand on her hip, soaking wet hair starting to curl as it dried. “honestly? i think your little boyfriend here likes nova, layla. so why don’t you do us all a favor and get the fuck out, hm?”

layla’s jaw dropped. “he’s not my—”

“you keep saying that,” nova said loudly across the room, catching the tail end of the convo. “but you’re still here, babe.”

topper laughed. rafe smiled. layla stormed off.

and sarah? sarah high-fived herself.

sarah leaned in close to her brother, still smug as hell after layla stormed off like the villain in a teen soap.

she nudged his side. “go talk to her.”

rafe didn’t move. his eyes were glued to nova, now behind the bar, laughing with some tall guy in a letterman jacket while pretending to pour shots. pretending—because the bottle was still capped.

“don’t be a pussy, rafe,” sarah said, bumping her shoulder into his. “i know you want to.”

rafe tilted his head, exhaled through his nose. “you don’t know shit.”

“i know you haven’t stopped looking at her since she walked in,” sarah said, smug as hell. “go. talk. to. her.”

rafe stayed still for a second, then finally stepped forward—slowly weaving through the crowd, heading toward the bar.

nova looked up, clocked him instantly, and raised a brow with a smirk like she knew he’d come over eventually.

and then—“NOVA HART!”

the front door slammed open.

again.

everyone turned. nova froze.

rafe stopped in his tracks. and the room went quiet.

previous next taglist more work from me

tags: 🏷️ @rafesbabygirlx @k4yr14 @viqtoria @qversazex @nymphetartie @iconiccolo @devoutedlover @sc05 @t0x1cfaerie @ijustwanttoreadlols @certifiedlovergirl112 @faithlyn444 @purplerose291

now, half an hour later, nova sat cross-legged on top of a lunch table outside, iced matcha in hand, thighs on full display. her boots were on the bench, sunglasses on her head, and her film camera lay on the table beside a crumpled bag of hot cheetos.

across from her was luca—22, film major, chain-smoking poet vibes, sharp jaw, slutty hands. they used to hook up last year and never stopped being unhealthily close. he wore rings and always looked like he’d just gotten out of someone’s bed.

next to him was ivory, redhead, bio major with a minor in being ethereal. petite, pouty, pink-cheeked, and currently drinking an oat milk latte like it was spiked. she and nova had history too—soft hands, tangled sheets, giggly confessions under fairy lights.

they were the holy trinity of terrible decisions.

“so,” luca said, flicking ash off his cigarette, “who were you sitting next to in class?”

nova rolled her eyes. “rafe cameron.”

both of them choked.

“the rafe?” ivory blinked. “sarah’s brother? rehab rafe?”

“buzzcut god complex?” luca added, raising a brow.

“mmhm.” nova popped a cheeto in her mouth. “asked me why i had pink hair. so i asked him why the fuck he’s bald.”

ivory gasped. “you didn’t.”

“baby, please,” nova said, licking orange powder off her finger. “i’m me.”

luca let out a low whistle. “that man has rage issues and weirdly hot hands. you gonna let him destroy your life?”

“maybe,” nova said, voice light. “i love a man who could accidentally kill me and cry about it after.”

ivory giggled. “you love anyone with a pulse and a tragic backstory.”

“not true,” nova said sweetly. “i also love you.”

ivory blushed and stuck out her tongue. luca rolled his eyes.

“i swear to god, i’ve seen both of you naked and it still gets weirder every time.”

“jealous?” nova asked.

“always.”

they clinked drinks. the sun was warm. the campus buzzed in the background.

nova stretched, yawned, and said:

“i need to either eat someone out or get railed tonight. or both. balance.”

“i’m free at nine,” luca offered casually.

“i know,” nova said without looking at him.

ivory just sipped her latte like it was tea.

same lunch table. same sins. zero shame.

luca leaned back on the bench, cigarette between his teeth, watching nova and ivory like he was witnessing a slow-motion porno that only he remembered filming.

“okay but real question,” he said, voice lazy, cocky. “when are we having a threesome again?”

ivory choked on her latte.

nova didn’t even blink. she just stretched her arms above her head, tits pressing against her shirt like she knew what she was doing. (she did. always.)

“whenever, baby,” she said, licking cheeto dust off her thumb. “you know i love you both.”

ivory hid her face behind her cup, ears turning red. “you’re insufferable.”

“you’re obsessed with me,” nova replied, leaning across the table to steal a sip of ivory’s drink. “and you moan so cute.”

“jesus,” luca muttered, trying not to look impressed. “i forgot how feral you get in public.”

“you like it when i get feral,” nova smirked.

luca shot her a look that was 70% lust, 30% resignation. “unfortunately.”

“i still have that video of us from last halloween,” she added casually, scrolling through her phone. “the one where ivory’s in a bunny costume and i—”

“delete it,” ivory said quickly, face burning.

“never,” nova grinned.

they were all laughing now. too loud. too hot. too much.

someone walking by slowed down, stared, then sped up like they’d seen something illegal.

luca grinned, teeth sharp. “we are so going to hell.”

nova shrugged. “i’ll bring snacks.”

nova glanced at her phone—3:42 PM.

sarah would be out of her last class soon, probably texting her something like “can u make pasta? i’m dying.”

nova stretched her arms again, this time with purpose, gathering her bag, camera, and pride. her iced matcha was long gone. the cheeto bag was empty. and the sinful tension at this table was getting dangerous even for her.

“i gots to go, babes,” she said, sliding off the table and adjusting her tiny thrifted skirt. “sarah’s gonna come back to our room soon and i wanna make us some food.”

ivory blinked up at her. “look at you being all wifed up.”

nova smirked. “someone’s gotta take care of her.”

luca snorted, blowing smoke off to the side.

“how sweet,” he drawled, flicking ash into a crushed soda can. “the bitch has feelings.”

nova gasped, one hand to her chest. “not feelings,” she said mockingly. “don’t ruin my image like that.”

ivory giggled behind her latte again, already pulling out her phone.

luca raised a brow. “next thing we know you’ll be baking cookies and falling in love.”

nova leaned down, lips by his ear. “i only fall in love during threesomes.”

then she winked and turned on her heel, pink hair bouncing as she strutted away like a problem in platforms.

“jesus—” she muttered, stumbling back.

she blinked, looked up—up—UP—and nearly groaned out loud.

buzzcut. bruised knuckles. expensive hoodie. smirk already forming.

“hey, pinkie,” rafe said, like they were old friends or lovers or something worse.

nova pulled out one earbud, unimpressed.

“hello baby girl,” she said flatly. “i didn’t miss you.”

his grin spread slowly. he pulled something from his hoodie pocket and held it out toward her—two fingers pinching the slim, glittery pink vape she thought she’d lost forever.

“you forgot this on the desk,” he said. “hope you don’t mind… i took a few puffs on the way here.”

nova stared at it like it was radioactive.

“ew. you put that in your mouth?” she said, horrified. “no way i’m using it again. god knows how many diseases you have.”

rafe tilted his head, still holding it out.

“c’mon,” he said, low and smug. “we basically kissed now.”

nova narrowed her eyes, lips curling.

“if i wanted to kiss a man with untreated trauma and an authority complex, i’d just go back to dating art boys.”

“ouch.”

she snatched the vape from his hand—fingertips brushing for half a second longer than necessary—and tucked it into her bra with zero hesitation.

rafe didn’t look away.

nova didn’t give him the satisfaction of reacting.

rafe’s eyes followed the movement—nova casually slipping the vape into her bra like it belonged there.

he let out a low breath, cocking his head slightly, mouth twitching at the corner.

“you always put your stuff in your bra?” he asked, voice dipped in amusement.

nova didn’t miss a beat.

“yes,” she said, adjusting her top like she was just so comfy with being that girl. “i put everything between my boobs.”

she leaned in just a touch, lashes fluttering with zero innocence. “especially men’s heads… both heads.”

rafe choked. like, visibly tried not to laugh or blush or combust on the spot.

he looked at her, jaw flexing, eyes lingering too long. “jesus.”

nova just smiled sweetly. “mm-mm,” she said. “wrong name, baby.”

he stared at her for a second too long.

then looked away like looking at her was somehow too much.

which, honestly, it kinda was.

nova turned on her heel, hips swaying, smug as hell.

her platform boots clicked dramatically against the tile, pink hair bouncing like a warning sign.

two steps down the hall, she paused.

looked back over her shoulder with maximum menace.

“you coming with me,” she purred, eyes sharp and lips glossy, “or just gonna stand there and get hard over my hallway performance?”

rafe blinked.

literally just stood there, caught between a laugh and a groan, dragging a hand down his face like she was short-circuiting his entire nervous system.

“jesus christ,” he muttered under his breath—but yeah, of course he followed.

nova heard his footsteps behind her and smirked to herself, unlocking the dorm door like this was just another Monday.

which, for her, it was.

the door shut behind them with a soft click, and rafe paused just inside the room, eyes scanning over the explosion of personality that was nova’s half of the dorm.

pink sheer curtains barely covered the windows. polaroids were taped to the walls in messy rows—half-naked girls, blurry parties, middle fingers. a soft haze of vanilla, weed, and citrus perfume clung to the air like it had roots there.

“this room is so you,” rafe said, almost like he didn’t mean to say it out loud. “and smells like you.”

nova dropped her bag on sarah’s bed and turned to look at him, one brow lifted.

“you like?” she asked, head tilting, voice all mock innocence.

he glanced around again, taking in the film camera on the desk, a shelf of psych books with sticky notes poking out like veins, a pink vibrator peeking out from under a hoodie.

rafe scoffed under his breath.

“this is barely sarah’s dorm,” he said, stepping closer. “it looks like you did everything in here.”

nova smirked. “i did.”

she kicked off her boots, barefoot now, still taller than she should be, and padded into the kitchenette like it was her stage. she grabbed a pot, box of mac & cheese, hot sauce, and a leftover joint from last night—completely unbothered.

rafe leaned on sarah’s dresser, arms crossed, watching her like she was the most entertaining thing he’d seen in months.

nova lit the joint with practiced ease, flame dancing just under the tip before it glowed red.

she took a slow drag, eyes half-lidded, lips parted just enough.

then, without looking, she held it out to rafe.

he hesitated—just for a second—then pushed off the dresser and took it from her fingers, their hands brushing again.

“didn’t think i’d be smoking in my little sister’s dorm,” he said, raising the joint to his mouth, “with the girl who wants to bite me.”

nova turned, leaned back against the counter, arms crossed under her chest, smirk deadly.

“who says i don’t still want to?”

rafe exhaled slow, smoke curling around his buzzcut like a halo made of poor decisions.

he looked at her, that same unreadable expression she was starting to find addictive.

“you’re insane,” he muttered.

nova grinned. “but hot.”

“unfortunately.”

she giggled—actually giggled—and turned back to stir the violently orange mac & cheese.

“don’t worry, baby girl,” she said. “i don’t bite unless you beg.”

nova stirred the pot slowly, one hip popped out, pink hair tied up in a lazy claw clip that somehow made her look even hotter. the joint rested between her lips again, smoke curling around her cheekbone like eyeliner.

rafe sat half on sarah’s desk, watching her with a level of interest that should be illegal.

“so,” he said eventually, voice low. “are you always like this?”

nova blinked at him, joint between two fingers now. “like what?”

he gestured vaguely. “hot. terrifying. kind of mean.”

she smirked. “you missed delusional and borderline feral.”

rafe laughed—actually laughed—and she felt it in her spine.

“noted,” he said.

she shrugged, grabbing two chipped bowls and pouring the mac & cheese without asking if he even wanted any.

“i’m charming,” she said innocently. “in a mentally unstable, bite-your-neck, talk-shit-about-your-mother kind of way.”

rafe looked at the bowl she slid toward him.

“you’re something, alright.”

“that’s what your brotherhood probably says in group therapy.”

he choked on his own breath, and nova snorted.

then—click.

the dorm door swung open.

“nova, i swear if you made mac again—” sarah froze. blinked. blinked harder.

“why the fuck is my brother here?”

nova, without missing a beat: “don’t freak out, i’m just feeding him.”

rafe, one hand holding the joint like it’s a cigarette in a 90s movie: “and corrupting me, apparently.”

sarah squinted. “…too late for that.”

nova grinned and turned back to the stove. “you’re welcome.”

rafe tried—really tried—not to look at nova’s legs.

but she was sitting on the windowsill now, knees up, bare thighs on full display, one foot tucked under the other like she didn’t know what she was doing.

she absolutely knew what she was doing.

rafe shifted on the bed, pretending to be more interested in the mac & cheese than the dangerously hot girl rolling another joint in dolphin-print pajama shorts.

nova glanced up at him, eyes hazy but sharp.

“i know you’ve been clean for like… what, a year?” she said casually, licking the edge of the paper. “good for you, baby girl.”

rafe blinked. “uh. yeah.”

she finished sealing it and grinned. “but like, weed doesn’t count. not real drugs. it’s basically self-care.”

he raised a brow. “that what you tell yourself?”

“no,” she said, lighting it. “that’s what my therapist tells me. or at least, that’s what i imagine she’d say if i went.”

sarah dropped her bag by her desk, unimpressed.

“just so we’re clear,” she said, tugging off her hoodie and glaring between them. “as long as you two don’t fuck with me in this apartment, you’re good.”

nova exhaled a cloud of smoke dramatically.

“so like… sex is off the table?”

sarah looked her dead in the eye. “on my desk, under my bed, or in my presence? yes.”

rafe, nearly choking on mac & cheese: “jesus.”

nova grinned, “wrong name again, cameron.”

sarah shrugged, hands on her hips, eyes sharp.

“understood,” she said flatly. “just don’t fuck in my presence.”

nova grinned like she’d just won a game.

“so,” she said, voice dripping with mock sweetness, “you’re saying i can fuck your brother… but just not in your presence.”

rafe looked between them, eyebrows raised.

“what,” he teased, voice low, “you wanna fuck me now?”

nova gave him a slow once-over, lips quirking with a crooked smile.

“nah,” she said, flicking ash into an old candle, “i wanna sacrifice your soul to the gods of the night.”

she leaned in, voice dropping to a whisper. “that’s what i usually do with men like you.”

rafe smirked, not quite sure if he was scared or turned on. “guess i’m in trouble then.”

sarah rolled her eyes, grabbed her towel, and headed toward the bathroom.

“i’m gonna shower before this gets weirder,” she said over her shoulder.

nova watched her go, then turned back to rafe, eyes gleaming with mischief.

“so,” she purred, stepping closer, “what, you want me to fuck with you, baby?”

rafe’s grin was slow, sly, and full of challenge.

“nah,” he said, voice low, leaning in just enough to make her heart skip. “i wanna fuck you.”

nova laughed—a full, unapologetic sound—then blew smoke in his direction like a queen claiming her throne.

“bold,” she said. “i like it.”

“anyway,” she said, voice lighter, “project starts next week. library, not our dorms. don’t get any ideas.”

rafe raised an eyebrow, amused.

“why? scared something’s gonna happen?”

nova’s grin faded just a touch, eyes sharpening.

“nah,” she said bluntly. “just scared of hiv.”

rafe blinked. “well, that’s… practical.”

nova shrugged, lighting another joint. “realest fear i’ve got.”

rafe blinked, eyes narrowing just a bit. “wait,” he said, voice low and teasing, “are you fucking saying that i have hiv?”

nova shrugged, the ghost of a wicked smile playing on her lips.

“i don’t know, man,” she said coolly, “for all i know, you probably do…”

rafe laughed—dark, amused, and maybe a little impressed. “damn, you really came to play, huh?”

nova leaned back on the windowsill, flicking ash like a queen settling in. “always.”

the room felt smaller all of a sudden, the air thick like smoke, heat, and unspoken words curling between them.

rafe’s eyes locked on nova’s, something fierce flickering just beneath his calm exterior

nova’s fingers twitched, as if daring him to make the next move, lips parted in that cocky half-smile.

neither said a word, the silence louder than anything else.

then— slam.

the door burst open, shaking the walls.

a rough voice cut through the tension like a knife.

“fucking nova hart.”

the room froze. and just like that, everything changed.

taglist psych 203 masterlist more works

tags: 🏷️ @rafesbabygirlx @iconiccolo @k4yr14 @sc05 @t0x1cfaerie @ijustwanttoreadlols @certifiedlovergirl112 @viqtoria @devoutedlover @qversazex

sarah tossed a water bottle at her. “you have psych. with rafe. in like five hours.”

“where is he?” nova snapped.

“gone. left around three,” sarah said, climbing onto her bed. “i got back with john b and he was still here. sitting on your floor. just… watching you sleep.”

nova stared, mouth parted. “watching me?!”

“not in a serial killer way,” sarah rolled her eyes. “it was actually kinda cute. he kept tucking you in like every five minutes. you’d kick the blanket off and he’d tuck it back.”

nova’s jaw dropped. “no.”

“yes,” sarah smirked.

“nooooo.”

“yes. and he was talking to you.”

“talking to me?!” nova clutched her head. “what the actual fuck?”

sarah mimicked him in a low dramatic tone, grinning: “oh pinkie… who hurt you this bad, hm?”

nova gasped. loud. offended. hand over chest like she was about to faint. “he was sweet talking me in my sleep?!”

“yup.”

“that’s so— that’s so illegal. i need to die now.”

sarah just laughed. “i told you. he has a crush on you.”

“no the fuck he doesn’t,” nova snapped. “we don’t even know each other.”

“yet,” sarah sing-songed.

“what the hell does that mean?”

“you still have class with him later.”

nova collapsed backward, face-down into her pillow. “fuck. my. life.”

sarah reached for nova’s hairbrush, casually untangling the pink mess as nova grumbled into her pillow.

“oh c’mon,” sarah said, “y’all would be cute together.”

nova shot up from the bed, offended. “fuck no.”

“what?” sarah blinked. “he stayed with you all night. tucked you in. called you pinkie.”

“he was with layla last night,” nova snapped. “fucking layla, sarah. she’s blonde. blonde.” she gestured violently at her own head. “my hair is pink, sarah. pink. you think a guy who kisses blonde girls named layla wants a chaotic slut with commitment issues and a film camera?”

sarah raised an eyebrow. “you’re romanticizing your trauma again.”

“he told me i look like i’m diagnosed!” nova shrieked. “his exact words were, ‘you look like you got ten psychological diagnoses.’”

“well,” sarah bit back a smile, “was he wrong?”

nova glared.

“i’m just saying,” sarah said, standing up and dodging a pillow nova chucked her way. “he might like pink after all.”

nova groaned, grabbing her vape off the nightstand. “i need therapy.”

“you need to go to class.”

sarah laughed as she dodged another pillow nova flung at her. “get your ass up, we have class in like thirty.”

nova dramatically flopped back onto the bed, half-buried in a blanket. “i don’t need class,” she groaned.

“what do you need then, smartass?” sarah crossed her arms.

nova peeked out from under the covers, deadpan.

“a shot.”

sarah blinked.

“of alcohol, back shots, or a shot in my frontal lobe. i’m not picky.”

sarah let out a loud snort. “you’re not okay.”

nova sat up, hair sticking in seventeen different directions. “never claimed i was, bestie.”

“you need to flirt less and sleep more.”

nova lit her vape. “you need to mind your business, but here we are.”

sarah grabbed nova’s jacket and tossed it at her face. “psych 203 is waiting for you and your ten psychological diagnoses, let’s go.”

“fine,” nova muttered, dragging herself out of bed like a feral goblin. “but if rafe baldwin says one more thing about my hair i’m committing a felony.”

sarah just grinned. “i’ll bring bail money.”

nova stood in the hallway outside the lecture hall, back against the wall, one boot propped up as she scrolled through her instagram. her vape dangled lazily between her fingers, smoke curling around her face. her feed was a chaotic blend of party pics, memes, and thirst traps she’d forgotten she even posted.

she was in the middle of stalking a girl’s page—some hot psych major who dressed like she hated men—when she bumped hard into someone.

“shit,” she muttered, steadying herself. she looked up and met marcus’s smug face.

“hey baby,” marcus said, that same cocky grin plastered across his face. “what happened last night? you literally disappeared after topper dragged you away.”

nova smirked, tucking her vape into her bra. “you sound disappointed, marcus.”

“i am,” he said. “i thought we were about to have a real good night.”

nova leaned in just enough for her perfume to hit. “we were. blame pony boy.”

marcus laughed under his breath. “topper cockblocked me?”

nova winked. “hard.”

he shook his head, looking her up and down. “you still owe me, hart.”

she blew a slow puff of vapor past his cheek. “stand in line, baby.”

from the end of the hallway, a familiar buzzcut head appeared—rafe, locking eyes with her as he approached the classroom.

nova looked away first, heart thumping like a warning bell.

marcus didn’t notice. “text me later?”

“maybe,” nova said, flipping her hair over her shoulder. “if i don’t forget your name again.”

she walked toward the class with a smirk, hips swaying like she meant to be followed. and rafe, oh he definitely was watching.

they reached the classroom door at the same time, shoulders brushing like fate was playing a long, annoying game with them. rafe reached for the handle, but nova didn’t slow down either.

“marcus, huh?” rafe said, not looking at her as he pulled the door open. “we box together.”

nova stepped in first, flashing him a saccharine smile over her shoulder. “layla, huh?” she said sweetly. “we had the same dick in us.”

rafe paused in the doorway, lips twitching into the smallest grin like he wanted to laugh but knew better. “jesus.”

“mm,” nova hummed, sliding into the seat beside his. “he’s not involved.”

rafe sat next to her slowly. “you always this charming before noon?”

“only when men talk to me first,” she said, pulling out her pink highlighter and clicking it like a weapon.

rafe leaned back in his chair, arms crossed, watching her with that unreadable expression. “you’re insane.”

“diagnosed,” nova said without missing a beat, eyes on her notebook. “by you, apparently.”

he huffed out a quiet laugh. “yeah, well. you do look like a walking red flag.”

nova turned her head slowly, grin stretching across her face. “good thing you’ve got a history of ignoring those.”

“morning, psychos,” the professor said casually, tossing a folder on the desk. “hope you’re all ready to ruin each other’s gpas.”

he clicked his remote and the projector blinked to life behind him.

“about the semester project,” he continued, “partners were locked based on seat placements. there will be no switching. no seat-hopping. and no partner trades for the rest of the year. if your partner drops the class, you fail solo. i don’t make the rules.”

“you literally do,” nova muttered, dropping her head to her desk. “fuck my life.”

rafe leaned in, voice low and way too amused. “what, baby? can’t handle me for a year?”

nova didn’t even lift her head. “i hope you get expelled.”

“by your daddy?” rafe teased, letting the words drag. “no way. he got me into the football team.”

nova slowly turned her head and glared at him with the most deadpan expression she could muster. “you’re such a bitch.”

“a lovable one,” rafe whispered, giving her that crooked smile that was going to be a real problem for her sanity.

nova scoffed under her breath, still half-sunk in her chair.

“yeah, well,” she muttered, turning to rafe, “my dad loves anything that has nothing to do with me, so don’t feel flattered.”

rafe blinked.

the smirk faded just slightly from his face as he studied her. she wasn’t joking this time. it was a quiet stab—wrapped in sarcasm, but sharp as hell.

he didn’t say anything for a second.

then “noted, pinkie,” he said softer this time, voice lower.

nova leaned back in her seat, popped her gum, and stared at the projector like she hadn’t just laid that emotional landmine right in front of him.

rafe just looked at her.

rafe leaned a little closer, elbow on the shared desk, eyes flicking over to her with that half-cocky, half-serious look he always wore when he was testing the water.

“coffee tomorrow?” he asked casually, like it was nothing. like he wasn’t lowkey sweating under his hoodie.

nova didn’t even glance at him. “i’m not going on a date with you, bald head.”

he huffed a laugh. “not a date, pinkie. it’s for the project.”

she finally turned to him with a slow smile, eyes glittering with mischief. “mm. you sure you can focus on psychology and not my boobs?”

“i’ll try,” he said. “no promises.”

nova smirked, shooting back, “hey, you got pretty nice boobs yourself, don’t act like you don’t notice.”

rafe shot back, smirking, “at least i don’t need a damn neon sign on my scalp.”

they kept trading barbs, voices rising little by little, until the professor’s sharp voice cut through the chatter.

“miss nova, we’ve already had this conversation. keep your voice down.”

nova’s grin only widened. “sorry, professor, i’m just trying to help everyone stay awake.”

that got a few dirty stares from around the room—mostly from serious students and a few amused looks from others, but the professor was not having it. “this is a classroom, not a comedy club.”

rafe chuckled, shaking his head. “nice one, pinkie. no one can stand you.”

nova’s smile faltered for a second, her eyes darkening just a bit. inside, a familiar sting hit her, she’d always felt weird as fuck, like she didn’t quite fit. since she was a kid, she’d talked too much, laughed too loud, been too much for people, and every time, they made her feel bad for it. for a long time, she just stopped trying. went quiet. shrank herself to fit the mold.

now, sitting there, hearing rafe say it so casually, it cut deeper than she wanted to admit. she just went silent, staring down at her desk.

rafe noticed the sudden shift. his smile faded, and he glanced at her, concern flickering in his eyes. “hey, you okay?”

nova snapped her gaze back up, eyes icy. “why do you care, bald head? don’t pretend like you give a shit.”

her voice was sharp, cutting through any trace of concern. she folded her arms, leaning back, daring him to say more.

nova’s pen scratched frantically across the page, but her mind wasn’t on the lecture. the professor’s voice droned in the background, words about deadlines and projects fading into white noise. instead, flashes of something dark and heavy flickered in her head—like a bad premonition she couldn’t shake.

her handwriting grew messy, almost frantic, as she scribbled down random words, symbols, little doodles that made no sense but captured the chaos inside her: fall

break

shattered

don’t trust

it’s coming

she swallowed hard, heart racing, eyes flicking up nervously at the professor, then back down, trying to force herself to focus—but the feeling clawed at her, suffocating and urgent.

rafe’s voice cut through her spiraling thoughts, gentle but firm. “hey pinkie, i didn’t mean to make you mad with that comment about your father.”

nova scoffed, rolling her eyes like she was used to this kind of shit. “i don’t give a fuck about that comment, rafe. you’re free to say whatever,i mean, you know better what daddy issues feel like.”

her words hung in the air, sharp but soaked in a kind of bitter honesty.

nova was heading toward her dorm, hoodie thrown over her tank top, vape in one hand, notebook shoved under her arm. her brain was still fried, half in a fog from the shit that had just gone down in class.

“nova!”

she heard topper before she saw him. he jogged to catch up, sweatshirt half-off his shoulder, a little too concerned for this early in the day.

“hey,” he said, catching her by the arm lightly. “what the hell did you say to rafe?”

nova rolled her eyes. “good morning to you too, ponyboy.”

“don’t ‘ponyboy’ me right now.” his voice wasn’t playful. “seriously. he walked out of class like someone drop-kicked his soul. i asked what happened, and he just said, ‘fuck it, that girl’s something else.’”

she blinked at him, then shrugged. “nothing. just a little family bonding moment. daddy issues, you know how it is.”

topper froze. “what?”

“i said,” she repeated dryly, “daddy. issues. he brought up my dad. i returned the favor. it’s called equality, topper.”

he dragged a hand through his hair, frustrated. “why the fuck would you do that, nova?”

“because he said something first!” she snapped, stopping in her tracks. “he told me no one can stand me. and sure, whatever, that’s probably true. but it’s not like i pulled that shit out of nowhere.”

topper exhaled slowly. “you really don’t know how to deescalate, do you?”

nova tilted her head, eyes narrowing. “what, you want me to roll over and apologize because the golden boy got his feelings hurt? he was making fun of me. i’ve dealt with people treating me like a fucking freak my whole life. i’m tired, topper.”

“rafe’s not like that,” topper muttered, looking away. “not completely. and you hit a nerve. his thing with his dad? it’s not small shit. you know that.”

“and mine is?” she asked, quieter now.

topper didn’t have an answer.

nova huffed out a breath and turned to walk again. “whatever. he can think whatever he wants about me. everyone already does.”

“nova—”

“don’t,” she said without turning around. “i already feel like shit. i don’t need a fucking lecture.”

and with that, she kept walking, fingers tightening around her notebook, heart pounding harder than she wanted to admit.

topper didn’t let her get far. he jogged again, falling back into step beside her with a frustrated sigh.

“hey!c’mon. nova. you know i didn’t mean it like that.”

she stopped walking, again, this time turning so fast her notebook almost slipped from her grip.

“like what, topper?” her voice cracked slightly. “what exactly didn’t you mean ‘like that’? when somebody else has a problem, it’s all oh poor them, protect their peace, be kind. but when it’s me, suddenly it’s what the fuck is wrong with nova? why would you say that, nova?”

topper opened his mouth to respond, but she kept going, her words spilling out fast and jagged.

“i mean, seriously. was it nice for him to say that no one can stand me?” she demanded, eyes sharp, wide, almost glassy. “was it sweet? did it make him feel better about himself? because it sure made me feel like i was thirteen again, getting told by my science teacher that i talked too much and needed to learn how to shut up if i ever wanted friends.”

topper blinked, caught off guard by that.

nova laughed bitterly. “and now i’ve got fucking rafe cameron, mister ‘i’m emotionally damaged but hot about it,’ sitting next to me in class and telling me i’m unbearable. and everyone’s like, poor rafe. he’s been through shit. so have i, topper.”

“i know you have,” he said, softer now.

“do you?” she asked, voice low. “or do you just know the parts i let slip when i’m wasted?”

he hesitated. “nova…”

“don’t,” she said, wiping at her eye with the sleeve of her hoodie like it was just something in her eye. “i’m not doing the whole heart-to-heart on the quad. i just want to get to my room and pretend i’m not one wrong word away from spiraling today.”

topper looked at her like he wanted to fix it, like he wished he hadn’t followed her at all.

but nova was already walking again, hoodie pulled up, leaving him behind with nothing but her words echoing back at him.

nova walked with her hoodie pulled up, eyes hidden behind her oversized sunglasses, camera slung across her chest. she snapped pictures as she moved—leaves, shadows on brick walls, people laughing. a peace sign here, a blurry tongue-out selfie there. documenting everything and nothing, trying to fill the silence inside her chest.

her phone buzzed. she ignored it.

she was halfway through campus, heading toward the art building, when she saw it.

froze.

there he was. him.

that ex.

the one who said she was too much, too loud, too intense, too queer, too pink.

the one who cheated on her. with layla.

and there she was, hanging on his arm like some stupid accessory, giggling with her perfectly blown-out blonde hair and manicured claws that nova knew were fake because she remembered layla biting them down to the quick when they used to be fake friends.

layla.

the girl who didn’t just take her boyfriend—no, she took everything.

her spot in the art elective? gone.

layla had whispered to the professor that nova’s projects were “a little derivative.”

her place on the cheerleading team? stolen.

layla had laughed with her glossy lips and said, “i mean, come on… pink hair? that’s just so cringe, right?”

nova stood across the lawn, camera gripped tightly in her hands, too tight. the strap dug into her neck.

she felt it boil up—rage, sadness, all the names layla had called her. slut. freak. try-hard.

you would’ve kept him if you weren’t such a freak.

you scare people off.

no one actually wants to date the manic pixie dream girl. they just want to fuck her.

nova lifted her camera, hands trembling slightly, and snapped a picture

not of them. of a nearby tree. of some shadow. of anything but the sight in front of her.

“fuck this shit,” she muttered, yanking her hoodie back down tighter around her face.

then, with her jaw set and her teeth clenched, she turned and walked in the opposite direction.

layla might’ve taken pieces of her—but she would never take the whole fucking nova hart.

nova’s boots hit the pavement in a fast, angry rhythm. each step echoing louder than the one before it. she wasn’t sure where she was going, just away.

away from the sight of him and her.

away from the ghost of her old self still standing in that cheer uniform, pink hair pulled back in a high ponytail and hope blooming stupidly in her chest.

but suddenly, as she turned a corner and slowed near a bench, her thoughts drifted. not to layla. not to him.

to sarah. sarah fucking cameron.

from day one—literally day one—she’d been there.

sat beside her in psych 101 when everyone else left an empty chair next to nova because her hair was pink and her nails were chipped and she smelled like cigarettes and vanilla.

laughed at nova’s dumb jokes. held her hand when she got her first tattoo.

never once told her to tone it down or be less weird or more palatable.

sarah always got her. always saw her.

sweet, beautiful, golden-hearted sarah.

she never flinched when nova spiraled, never made her feel like she was too much.

she was the calm when nova’s head felt like static.

and she was everything nova needed, even when nova didn’t know she needed anything.

nova felt her throat tighten as she sat down heavily on the bench, the camera thudding against her chest. she dragged her knees up, wrapping her arms around them.

and then it hit her.

rafe.

rafe fucking cameron.

her dumbass bickering partner, her project partner, the boy who stayed with her while she was passed out drunk and said “oh pinkie, who hurt you this bad, hm?”

the one she clowned and called bald-headed and stupid and mean, but who had also looked at her like he was trying to understand her.

she’d said that shit about his dad. daddy issues.

like it was a joke. like it didn’t matter.

but it did matter.

she remembered sarah’s voice, soft one night on the floor of nova’s dorm, whispering about how ward used to scream at rafe.

how he once didn’t talk to rafe for months.

how everything rafe did, every sport he played, every A he got, every rehab stint he survived—never made that man proud.

nova’s stomach twisted.

“fuck,” she muttered, dragging a hand over her face.

for once, she didn’t feel loud or weird or wild.

she just felt… wrong. and heavy. and guilty.

because maybe, just maybe, she wasn’t the only one walking around feeling like a disappointment.

nova was curled up on luca’s bed, her bare feet brushing against ivory’s legs as she flipped through the film camera in her lap. ivory was sitting criss-cross on the floor, lip-gloss in one hand and her phone in the other, deep into a hate spiral of layla’s instagram.

“bitch still posts edits of herself in high school cheer uniform,” ivory muttered, screen glaring against her freshly painted nails. “like babe, give it up. you’re pushing twenty-two and clinging to a pyramid stunt from 2021.”

luca snorted from where he was sprawled in his desk chair. “she only made cheer ‘cause she told coach nova’s hair was ‘too alt girl cringe’ and not family-friendly enough.”

“and the coach believed her!” ivory gasped. “i still can’t believe she got you kicked off the team. who even uses ‘pink’ as an insult?”

“layla does,” nova muttered, eyes not leaving the camera screen as she scrolled through blurry images from last night. marcus grinning, sarah dancing on a table, topper pretending to DJ, and in one frame—rafe, blurry but smiling. she didn’t remember taking that one. her stomach twisted.

“and now she’s just recycling boyfriends,” ivory huffed. “like really—eli and then rafe? is there a layla pipeline no one told us about?”

nova didn’t speak. she stayed silent, shoulders stiff, still pretending to be focused on her camera. but her jaw ticked slightly at the mention of eli. her ex. the first boy she ever trusted, who cheated on her with layla during junior year. who left nova for the girl that called her a freak.

“remember when eli posted that paragraph about how nova was ‘too emotionally intense’ for him?” luca said, tone mocking as he flopped back dramatically. “he literally quoted a therapy blog. meanwhile layla was in his comments like ‘healing is hot <3.’”

“healing is hot,” ivory mimicked in a high-pitched voice, then gagged. “babe you’re not healing, you’re just in your villain arc with a boob job.”

luca laughed, and nova tried to match it. she forced a smile, eyes still on the photos. she couldn’t admit that the second layla started dating eli, she also took her spot in art class. that she went to the professor saying nova was distracting with her constant fidgeting and “oversharing.” that layla—perfect, blonde, rule-following layla—slowly stripped nova of everything she loved. even her name on a campus mural had been painted over.

“and did you see rafe last night?” luca said suddenly, sitting up again. “he was literally following layla around like her puppy. it was giving… sad golden retriever energy.”

ivory snorted. “he probably wants her. didn’t they used to fuck?”

nova didn’t say a word. she stayed still, too still.

because in her head, she was replaying last night. not just the flash of layla and eli. but the way rafe had looked at her, carried her, tucked her in like she was breakable. how he called her pinkie like it wasn’t an insult, but something soft instead.

and all her friends could do was talk about how he was following layla like a lost dog.

nova swallowed the lump in her throat and stayed silent.

nova finally broke her silence, flicking her thumb over the lens cap of her film camera before muttering,

“he isn’t that bad.”

luca’s head snapped up. “what?”

nova didn’t look at them. “i was too drunk to walk and—he carried me to my dorm. that’s it.”

luca immediately choked on his coke, the can slipping slightly in his grip as he hacked out a cough.

“he did what now?!?”

ivory’s head whipped around so fast it made nova flinch. “he carried you?” she repeated, slowly, her lip gloss forgotten in her lap. “baby… do you even know him like that?”

nova finally glanced at them, expression unreadable. “i didn’t exactly ask for it. he just, did it.”

ivory stood up, crossing the room like a storm cloud. “did he try something? swear to god, nova, if he did anything—”

“he didn’t.” nova cut her off, sharper than she meant to. “i would’ve kicked his ass if he did.”

ivory stopped mid-step, still visibly tense but trying to breathe through it. luca was staring at nova like she’d just grown horns.

“okay but like… rafe cameron?” he said, voice full of disbelief. “he’s literally the walking red flag. tall, angry, quiet, and he boxes for fun.”

nova shrugged, eyes back on her camera. “yeah. well. he also says weird shit when you’re asleep. calls you pinkie and whispers like he’s a sad boy in a lana del rey song.”

ivory blinked. “wait, what?”

nova didn’t answer. not really. but the flush on her cheeks said enough.

nova’s phone buzzed violently on the floor beside the beanbag she was half-melted into, vibrating against the hardwood like it had something life-changing to say.

she ignored it at first—half-lost in thought, still chewing on the ghost of rafe’s voice saying pinkie in the dark,but ivory’s dramatic gasp pulled her attention.

“your phone,” ivory deadpanned, one perfectly manicured finger pointing at the screen, “is about to combust.”

nova groaned and picked it up lazily, thumb swiping over the lock screen. her eyes narrowed at the incoming message.

sarah 🍼💖:

please come to our dorm my baby little slut. URGENT.

nova blinked. then blinked again. her heart did a weird somersault. “I, uhh, I have to go. It’s urgent.”

previous taglist ->next more work from me

tags: 🏷️ @rafesbabygirlx @k4yr14 @viqtoria @devoutedlover @qversazex @sc05 @nymphetartie @iconiccolo @t0x1cfaerie @ijustwanttoreadlols @certifiedlovergirl112 @faithlyn444 @purplerose291 @chillgal135 @silkylovey @cherryhoneybabe @mrspuffdriving

sarah looked at her, wide-eyed, and said four words that could end lives “i think i’m pregnant.”

nova blinked. blinked again.

“oh you’re so fucked.” she finally said, lips twitching upward into a grin. “don’t worry. i’ll raise it. it’s okay. it can call me auntie mommy or mommy auntie. i’m fine with either.”

sarah let out a breath that was half-laugh, half-sob. “nova, shut up. i don’t know what to do. i’m scared to even buy a test.”

nova dropped her bag. walked over. took her hands. looked her in the eye.

“i’ll go. wouldn’t be the first time for me.”

sarah blinked. “wait what—”

“i said what i said.” nova shrugged. “anyway. what the fuck did john b do to you? raw dogged your soul?”

sarah groaned, sinking to the bed. “we… didn’t really use protection. for a while now. i know, i know—”

nova’s face was judging but loving. “baby. no wonder you’re acting like a broken sim.”

“do not turn this into a meme.”

nova pulled out her phone. “too late.”

fifteen minutes later, she was at the pharmacy down the street, hood up, sunglasses on like she was buying something illegal.

got the test. got a monster energy for herself. got strawberry milk for sarah because trauma needed sugar.

and as soon as she turned the corner back to campus—rafe fucking cameron. leaning against the bench like some villain-turned-heartthrob.

great.

she really didn’t need his bone structure right now.

“yo,” he said lazily. eyes dropping to the bag in her hand. then up. eyes narrowing.

“what’s that?”

“not your business, baby girl.” nova shot back without hesitation, brushing past him.

but rafe turned, walking backward beside her. “is it drugs?”

nova deadpanned. “do i look like i’d pay for drugs when i can flirt my way into getting them for free?”

“wow.” he grinned. “impressive.”

“thank you.”

pause.

rafe’s voice dipped lower. curious. maybe a little too perceptive.

“you good, pinkie? you look… tense.”

nova rolled her eyes. “you make me tense.”

rafe raised his hands in surrender. “hey, i’ve been nothing but sweet lately. even walked your drunk ass home.”

nova gave him a look. “you called me unlikable in front of a full classroom.”

“that was a joke,” he muttered, looking away.

“yea well,” nova snapped. “i’m still not laughing.”

rafe looked like he wanted to say something else, but her phone buzzed, and it was sarah again.

nova turned on her heel. “gotta go. girl emergency. go be bald somewhere else.”

“so hostile,” he called after her.

she didn’t turn back—but he swore he saw the corners of her mouth twitch.

back at the dorm, sarah was curled on the bed, legs bouncing.

nova threw her the bag. “test. also strawberry milk. and a lollipop. ‘cause trauma.”

sarah’s eyes filled with tears. “i love you.”

“i know.” nova sat beside her. “now go pee on the stick and find out if you’re having a baby pogue.”

sarah groaned and grabbed the test. “this is the worst day of my life.”

nova leaned back, blowing a strand of pink hair from her face.

“nah,” she muttered. “that’ll be when it starts calling you mommy.”

“okay, i’m peeing now,” sarah announced, sitting on the toilet like she was about to give a TED talk instead of possibly find out she was knocked up by her dumbass boyfriend.

“i’m holding your hand,” nova replied, firmly gripping her fingers like they were crossing into a war zone together.

“this is the most intimate moment of my life,” sarah muttered, staring at the little plastic stick between her thighs.

nova snorted. “girl, you’ve literally been railed by john b on the top bunk while i was asleep under you. intimacy is out the fucking window.”

sarah choked on a laugh and squeezed nova’s hand tighter. “okay, well… this still feels different.”

“i got you,” nova said softly, tone shifting. “you’re not doing this alone.”

they both stared at the test stick like it was a cursed artifact.

“how long do we wait?” sarah asked, eyes wide.

“like, three minutes,” nova said, checking her phone. “which means we have two minutes and fifty-five seconds to panic.”

sarah dropped her head onto nova’s shoulder, half-laughing, half-crying. “i love you, you know that?”

nova kissed the top of her head. “yea, yea, i’m your emotional support whore.”

they sat there, squished together in the cramped dorm bathroom, nova’s pink hair half in sarah’s face, the pregnancy test sitting on the sink like a tiny bomb.

and for the first time that day, nova wasn’t thinking about rafe. or layla.

or being too much.

just this moment.

two girls. one maybe-baby. one very real friendship. and a stick that could change everything.

sarah hadn’t looked up from the test.

her bottom lip was between her teeth, eyes wide, body tense, like if she stared long enough it’d give her the answer she wanted. nova didn’t say anything at first. just let the silence be there. held her hand like it was the only thing tethering them both to the floor.

finally, nova whispered, “hey.”

sarah blinked, tearing her eyes away from the stick and looking at her best friend.

nova’s pink hair was all messy from how she’d woken up and immediately ran to her, hoodie slipping off one shoulder, no makeup, just real. soft. there.

“whatever you do,” nova said seriously, her voice low, “i support you. abortion or not. baby or not. hormones, tears, cravings, breakdowns, dragging john b by his stupid hair down the hallway—you’ve got me.”

sarah’s eyes glassed over.

“and if you do have it,” nova added, trying to lift the mood, “it better call me auntie nona.”

sarah furrowed her brows, confused. “nona?”

nova smirked. “yea. ‘cause i’m nova. nona. auntie nona, bitch. get with it.”

sarah burst out laughing through the tears and nearly knocked the test off the sink.

“god, you’re so fucking annoying,” she wheezed, pulling nova into a shaky hug.

nova hugged back tightly, whispering into her hair, “annoying and loyal. unbeatable combo.”

the silence was thick.

both nova and sarah stared down at the little stick sitting on the bathroom sink like it was a damn nuke.

then—one line.

just one.

“negative,” sarah breathed, her voice small.

nova blinked. once. twice. and then—“OH MY FUCKING GOD—”

she jumped, practically launched herself into the air, spinning in a circle like it was the fourth of july.

“i’m so happy, holy shit,” nova shouted, arms flailing. “because jesus, sarah, you’re a fucking alcoholic. that baby would’ve come out with like… three teeth and a nicotine addiction.”

“nova!” sarah groaned, but she was laughing, relief pouring out of her in shaky giggles.

“i’m serious,” nova kept going, eyes wide, dramatic as hell. “like one arm and a craving for tequila out the womb. you’re not built for motherhood yet, baby girl.”

sarah threw a towel at her.

nova caught it mid-air and spun it like a victory flag. “auntie nona lives to party another day!”

sarah slumped onto the closed toilet lid, head falling back, her hand pressed to her chest like she just avoided death itself. “oh thank fuck,” she breathed out, wide-eyed and still a little pale.

nova leaned against the sink, crossing her arms with a smug little tilt to her lips. “well, now at least you’ve learned your lesson, baby.”

sarah raised an eyebrow. “and that would be?”

nova pointed at her like a disappointed guidance counselor. “wrap it before you tap it.”

sarah groaned. “shut up.”

“no, no. seriously.” nova held up her hands. “condom. plan b. prayer. i don’t care what you do, just don’t raw dog your way into motherhood again.”

sarah mumbled, “you’re insufferable.”

nova smirked. “and yet, you’d let me raise your accidental child.”

“i wouldn’t trust you with a cactus.”

“rude. i’d name it something cute at least. like… tequila sunrise.”

“that’s literally the drink that almost got me pregnant.”

“full circle, baby.”

an hour later, nova was sprawled across the empty bleachers of the college football field, one leg kicked up, the other dangling, a cigarette lit between her fingers and a nearly-warm red bull resting by her thigh.

her film camera sat in her lap, a few new polaroids already shoved into the back pocket of her shorts—some of clouds, some of her shoes, one blurry selfie. she scribbled messily in her notebook beside her, lyrics or thoughts or insults she might use later. it was unclear.

the sky was that kind of overcast blue-grey that looked like it wanted to storm but couldn’t commit.

perfect mood.

she took a drag from her cigarette just as a flash of movement caught her eye.

on the field, there he was.

black sleeveless shirt clinging to his torso, damp with sweat, muscles flexing as he jogged down the turf, football in hand, brows furrowed like he was mad at the air itself.

nova narrowed her eyes, tilted her head.

“he runs angry,” she muttered under her breath, amused.

then, without thinking—without caring—

she cupped her hand around her mouth and yelled “yo, pinkie pie!”

rafe slowed to a stop, chest rising and falling, and looked up toward the bleachers.

spotted her. cigarette. notebook. camera. thighs out.

his face said no fucking way.

her grin said oh, yes fucking way.

he stood there on the field for a second, helmet tucked under one arm, sweat slicking his neck, eyes squinting up at her like she was a problem he didn’t wanna solve.

then—annoyingly slow—he jogged over, every step deliberate, every flex of his arms reminding her he clearly didn’t skip gym days.

he stopped at the base of the bleachers, tilted his head, and said in that low, so-you-wanna-start kind of tone “what.”

nova grinned, took another drag, then leaned forward on her elbows lazily.

“you still mad about that comment about your daddy?”

she said it too casually, voice light like she wasn’t poking at the one wound she knew might still be bleeding.

his jaw clenched. subtle. barely.

but she saw it. and that made her smile widen.

he scoffed, stepped back like her words were smoke he didn’t want to inhale. “nah, i don’t care about your opinion, pinkie.”

dry. cold. like he was trying real hard not to care.

nova raised a brow, lips twitching at the corner.

“bullshit. it hurt you, didn’t it?”

that did it.

his eyes snapped up to hers, and whatever patience he had cracked like glass.

“you couldn’t hurt me even if you really tried to. you’re not that important, baby.”

the words landed harder than she expected.

they sat between them for a moment—sharp, cutting, cruel.

nova blinked once. then again. and finally, she stood up, flicking her cigarette to the ground like she was done playing nice.

“funny.”

her voice was lower now, steady, almost too calm.

“neither was she, right? the one who fucked you up. but she still got to you.”

she turned to leave, tossing a sharp look over her shoulder.

“maybe i’m not important, rafe. but you sure as fuck act like i could be.”

and just like that, nova walked away, head high, heart pounding like hell.

her words hadn’t even faded into the air when rafe snapped.

“sarah fucking told you, didn’t she?”

his voice was rising now, teeth clenched.”that fucking bitch—”

nova spun back around so fast it made him blink.

“don’t call her a fucking bitch, rafe.” her voice was venom. calm, but dangerous.

“because i will stick my burning cigarette in your fucking throat if you do.”

she didn’t flinch.didn’t even blink.

just stood there in her thrifted denim skirt, film camera hanging off her hip, pink hair pulled half-up, a lit cig between two fingers and fury in her eyes.

rafe didn’t say anything. he just stared.

and for a second, neither of them moved.

the tension between them? thick enough to drown in.

charged enough to set the whole damn football field on fire.

he ran a hand over his face, jaw tight.

“i guess i regret calling you that,” rafe muttered, low.

nova let out a dry laugh, no humor in it.

“oh, do you now?” she took a drag from her cigarette, eyes narrowing on him. “thought you didn’t care, cameron. thought no one could stand me, remember?”

his lips pressed into a hard line.

“because i do. i remember.”

she tapped ash onto the field grass, tone sharp.“funny how that shit sticks when it comes from someone who doesn’t care, huh?”

and then she turned away. just enough to break the stare.

but not enough to hide the way her jaw clenched.

“c’mon now,” rafe said, arms crossed. his voice was quieter, but still laced with attitude. “we don’t even know each other. why would you get mad at a little comment?”

nova froze. and then something cracked.

“you think it’s just a little comment?” she turned around so fast, the cigarette almost fell from her fingers. “you think i care what people i don’t know say to me?”

he didn’t answer. just blinked.

her voice rose—sharp and breaking. “i’ve been seen as annoying my whole fucking life, rafe!”

her chest rose and fell with rage.

“i didn’t even have friends until senior year! i used to eat lunch in the fucking bathroom because everyone said i was too much. too loud. too weird. too colorful. too everything.”

rafe looked stunned—caught.

“so yeah,” she spit, “when someone like you, who doesn’t even fucking know me, says shit like no one can stand me?” she pointed a shaking finger at her chest.”it hurts, cameron. it fucking hurts.”

silence fell between them.

“i didn’t mean it,” rafe said after a beat, his voice softer, quieter—almost sincere. “i stand you, y’know.”

“yea right,” nova scoffed, crossing her arms.

“yes, i do,” rafe shot back, stepping closer. “why the fuck would i stay with you until three am because you were drunk?”

“because you did a nice, normal thing. anyone would’ve done that,” nova said, trying to keep her voice steady.

“i don’t fucking do nice,” he said, voice low and rough. “ask anyone. ask topper, your friend. he knows it. i never did nice.”

“why’d you do it then?” nova asked, narrowing her eyes.

“i don’t know,” rafe shrugged, scratching the back of his neck. “felt right.”

nova smirked. “i know you talked to me while i was sleeping, y’know. sarah told me.”

rafes cheeks flushed, clearly embarrassed he got caught.

nova teased, “it’s kinda cute seeing you embarrassed, you know.”

“oh, shut up, pinkie,” rafe muttered, trying to hide his smile.

nova shot back, “i’d have said ‘make me,’ but honestly, i wouldn’t give you the pleasure of thinking i’d fuck you.”

“you sooo would,” he teased, smirking.

“i wouldn’t. i’d want you to fuck me. well, unless you wanna be pegged, baby,” she said with a wicked grin.

“fuck no,” he said, laughing.

“so you’d fuck me?” nova teased, raising an eyebrow.

rafe smirked, “maybe—if you’d stop calling me baby girl or that awful nickname.”

nova grinned wide, “pinkie pie? i called you that because, y’know, i’m pinkie and you’d creampie me.”

he raised an eyebrow, “why are you so damn sure i would?”

nova shrugged with a sly grin, “oh c’mon, everyone wants a piece of this pink-haired bitch. i’d have fucked you, baby. but i heard you fucked layla, and honestly—i don’t wanna step on anyone’s toes.”

rafe rolled his eyes, crossing his arms like he was trying to look unimpressed but failing miserably. “i’m not with her. we’re not even close.”

nova gave him a slow, deliberate once-over, a mischievous smile tugging at the corner of her lips. “doesn’t matter,” she said, voice low and teasing, “doesn’t really seem like your vibe anyway, does it? blondes with big fake boobs? nah, you’re into something a little… louder. pinker. way more trouble.”

he scoffed, trying to hide the small smile threatening to break free. “yeah, right. what would i want with someone like you?”

nova tilted her head, playing innocent but with those sharp, sparkling eyes that always said otherwise. “someone who’s not afraid to say whatever the hell’s on their mind. who can drink you under the table and still have you wrapped around their finger.”

rafe chuckled, shaking his head. “you talk a big game for someone who’s always a step away from falling apart.”

she smirked, stepping a little closer, but keeping just enough space to keep him guessing. “maybe i like that. keeps things interesting.”

“interesting, huh?” he echoed, his voice dropping a notch, a little rougher now. “you’re one hell of a wildcard.”

nova’s grin widened. “wildcards get the best hands, baby.”

he narrowed his eyes, pretending to consider her words seriously. “and what hand am i holding right now?”

she shrugged, flicking her hair over her shoulder, playful but with a hint of something softer beneath. “depends. do you wanna fold or play?”

rafe laughed, the tension breaking, but the heat between them still crackling. “you’ve got some nerve, pinkie.”

“you love it,” she teased, winking. “you’ve been watching me. maybe a little too much.”

he shook his head, smiling now without pretense. “maybe i have. and maybe you’re not just some loud, pink-haired mess i’m supposed to ignore.”

nova’s eyes flickered with something unreadable, and for a second, the world felt quieter—like the noise around them softened just enough for what was really there to peek through.

“so,” she said, voice softer now but still laced with that teasing edge, “what’s it gonna be, rafe? gonna keep playing it safe, or finally take a chance on the pink-haired chaos?”

he stepped a bit closer, just enough that she could feel the heat radiating off him, and said, “i don’t do safe.”

nova smiled, just a little breathless, her heart skipping in a way she didn’t want to admit. “good. because neither do i.”

nova rolled her eyes, shaking her head with a smirk. “oh c’mon, stop playing. i gotta go, baby. sarah needs me.”

rafe didn’t move. his voice dropped low, slow, and just a little dangerous. “and what if i need you?”

the air between them thickened in an instant. nova’s eyes locked on his, dark and wide, feeling the heat simmer beneath her skin like static electricity.

she licked her lips, voice just above a whisper but dripping with challenge. “well… maybe you shouldn’t keep me waiting too long then.”

rafe’s jaw tightened, caught off guard by how much he actually liked the way she said that.

nova stepped back with a coy smile, one hand brushing her hair behind her ear. “but seriously, i really do need to go. oh, by the way… i’m coming to your dorm later for the project.”

rafe’s lips twitched, barely hiding his grin. “psych 203.”

“psych 203,” nova echoed, matching him perfectly.

they held each other’s gaze a moment longer full of things neither dared say out loud yet.

nova stood outside rafe’s dorm, heart pounding from the day and the walk over. she raised her hand, hesitating for a second before knocking. the door swung open—and there she was. layla. almost naked, hair tousled like she just rolled out of bed, a lazy, smug smile stretched across her face.

“oh fuck no,” nova muttered under her breath, stepping back sharply.

she folded her arms tightly, trying to shove down the sudden surge of jealousy, anger, and that familiar sting of betrayal. her voice was low but cutting as she called through the door, “tell rafe i came by. and that i’m telling the professor i’d rather be failing than working with him.”

layla arched a perfectly manicured brow, eyes flicking over nova like she was some annoying fly buzzing around her territory. “wow, pink hair, still showing up to ruin my night, huh?”

nova’s jaw clenched, fists twitching at her sides. “this isn’t about you. it’s about the project. and it’s about the fact that he’s with you—”

“oh please,” layla interrupted, stepping out into the hallway with a careless sway. “he’s not ‘with me,’ sweetheart. don’t flatter yourself.”

nova’s voice cracked just slightly, the words spilling out faster than she could stop them. “you took everything from me. my place in art class, the team, even him—”

“get over yourself,” layla snapped, stepping closer, lowering her voice into a venomous hiss. “he’s my project now. maybe you should find a new hobby.”

nova stared her down, biting back the scream threatening to tear through her throat. every word felt like a knife twisting inside. “you think this is a game? you think I’m just gonna back off because you’re prettier or more ‘normal’? fuck you. rafe and I are in the same class, we have school work.”

layla smirked, eyes gleaming cruelly. “sweetheart, you’re the one who showed up here, looking for trouble.”

nova’s fists finally unclenched, fingers trembling as she tried to steady herself. “i’m not the one who’s comfortable playing house while pretending like all the shit you did didn’t happen.”

there was a heavy pause, the silence between them sharp as shattered glass. nova could hear her own heartbeat pounding loud in her ears.

then the door creaked behind layla, and nova’s head snapped toward it.

rafe stood there, jaw tight, eyes burning with something she couldn’t read . hurt, anger, guilt?

“nova,” he said, voice low. “what the hell are you doing here right now?”

nova swallowed hard, voice shaking. “i came to work on the project. but maybe i’d rather fail than work with someone who’s clearly already chosen.”

rafe’s eyes flicked to layla, then back to nova. “it’s not like that.”

“isn’t it?” nova whispered bitterly. “because last earlier you said that—” she stopped herself, swallowing the lump in her throat.

“nova,” rafe said again, stepping forward, but she shook her head, backing away.

“no,” she said, voice raw, “you don’t get to explain. not now.”

topper’s dorm smelled like weed and cherry vape juice. nova was curled on his couch, one leg tucked under her, hoodie too big and attitude even bigger.

“so,” she said, puffing smoke out the corner of her mouth. “i’m not mad he has a girlfriend.”

“sure,” topper muttered, tossing a soda can from hand to hand like he didn’t care but definitely did. “you’re just mad it’s layla.”

nova rolled her eyes, lips tugging down. “yeah. i hate that bitch.”

topper smirked. “are you jealous?”

she snapped her head toward him. “no. i just don’t want her anywhere near me or the people i hang out with. that girl has ruined enough of my shit.”

topper let it hang in the air for a second, nodded slow. “yeah, i get it. she’s like—annoying. in a ‘steals your ex and your cheerleading spot and your art seat and somehow your will to live’ kinda way.”

nova cracked the smallest smile. “exactly.”

“listen,” he said, sitting up straighter. “i’ll talk to rafe, okay? he’s stupid, but he’s not heartless. i’ll let him know what’s up.”

“don’t make it a thing,” nova muttered, biting the nail on her thumb.

topper grinned. “oh it’s already a thing.”

“you’re so annoying.”

“and you’re so dramatic.”

“whatever.”

he stood, tossed a blanket at her. “stay here if you want. guest bed’s yours. or the couch. or my bed—unless you start snoring like a demon again.”

“i do not snore.”

“okay, nova. whatever you say.”

she let the silence fall again before whispering, “thanks, top.”

he looked back, softened just a little. “anytime, pink hair.”

previous taglist ->next more work from me

tags: 🏷️ @rafesbabygirlx @qversazex @iconiccolo @devoutedlover @viqtoria @sc05 @k4yr14 @t0x1cfaerie @ijustwanttoreadlols @certifiedlovergirl112 @purplerose291 @faithlyn444 @mrspuffdriving @feverg1rl @eviev097 @cherryhoneybabe @silkylovey @chillgal135

20. psychology major, film major. from asheville, nc. thrifted skirts, pink hair in messy claw clips, chunky headphones always around her neck. calls herself a “whore”, small tattoos everywhere (moth on hand, smiley face on her hip, ‘bite me’ on her thigh, etc);

always carries a film camera. always biting her lip. intimidating and flirty as fuck. has kissed more girls than boys and brags about it. calls herself professors ‘bestie’ and rafe ‘baby girl’ just to watch his jaw twitch.

she gives rafe a fake number. shows up at his boxing gym.

psych 203 rafe