For the fans, p.1
For The Fans, page 1
Copyright © 2023 Nyla K
All rights reserved.
Cover Design by Ashes & Vellichor
Interior formatting by Champagne Book Design
Proofreading services by Nice Girl Naughty Edits
For The Fans is the intellectual property of Nyla K.
Except permitted under the U.S. Copyright Act of 1976, no part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, or stored in a database or retrieval system without prior written permission of the author.
This book is a work of fiction. Any references to historical events, popular culture, corporations, real people, or real places are used fictitiously. Other names, characters, places, and events are products of the author’s imagination, and any resemblance to actual events or places or persons living or dead is entirely coincidental.
This book is dedicated to online supporters, in all your unbridled enthusiasm.
To the likers, the commenters, the sharers…
The subscribers, Insta-stalkers and re-tweeters.
This is for you… the fans.
TABLE OF CONTENTS
Title Page
About This Book
Foreword
Kyran & Avi’s Playlist… for the FANS
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
Chapter Twenty-Four
Chapter Twenty-Five
Chapter Twenty-Six
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Chapter Thirty
Chapter Thirty-One
Chapter Thirty-Two
Kyran’s Epilogue
Avi’s Epilogue
A note from the author…
Acknowledgments
Thank you for reading
About The Author
Kyran Harbor is everything I’m not.
Rich. Popular. A superstar football player who’s awfully broody for someone who has it all.
Basically, he’s a preppy jock who hates me. Oh, and he’s also my stepbrother.
That’s right. We’re stuck together, sharing a school, a house… A bathroom.
Honestly, I wouldn’t care… If he wasn’t such an uptight control-freak who messes with me just because we’re different.
I had every intention of avoiding him when we got to college… Until abrupt misfortune forces us both into a compromising position.
Now the grouchy jerk I was hoping to evade might be the only person who can help me out of it.
Avi Vega is everything I despise.
A dreamer. A flake. An artist who smokes too much weed and thinks aliens exist. And by some sick cosmic joke, he’s now my stepbrother, following me on what should’ve been my escape plan.
It was already a disaster. Add a sudden financial disruption to the mix, and let’s just say my options are heavily limited.
If I want to stay an all-star quarterback on the way to the NFL, I’ll need to do something drastic. Unfortunately for me, and my desperate desire for control, the perpetually smiling stoner has a plan.
Maybe we can stop hating each other just enough to pull this off. As long as we remember we’re only doing it… for the fans.
I’ll be honest here… Preparing you for what to expect from this story is extremely difficult. You’re about to embark upon a long, complex journey with these characters.
If you’re a Nyla K reader, you don’t need to be told this. But if this is your first time reading my work, I’ll just ask that you go into this book with an open mind. Don’t expect it to be like anything else. I can’t hand you a list of triggers and tropes, because honestly, we’d be here all day. That said, there are some things I have to warn you about, if you feel that warnings are something you’d like to have.
Before I get to the nitty gritty, so to speak, I want to stress that this book contains references to real people, places, and events, woven within a fictional story. Please note that everything has been dramatized for the sake of creating art and entertainment. So any mention of real things you recognize are placed within fictional context.
Next, and most importantly, I have a responsibility to let you know that there are some highly sensitive matters discussed in this book. But in the interest of not spoiling the story, I have listed them on the content warning page of my website.
Make no mistake, I want you, the reader, to feel the organic, raw emotions of these characters. But I don’t want it to negatively affect your emotional state. If you have certain triggers, I want you to be prepared before reading.
So here we go. If you have no triggers in fiction, I highly recommend that you do not view the content warning page. Go into the book relatively blind, just knowing it’s a queer stepbrother romance that involves filming sex acts for money, and have fun with that. This is an emotional story of trauma and healing that can be very intense at times. That’s your blanket warning, and if you’re good with that, then feel free to skip the rest and go meet the boys.
However, if you want to know fully what to expect, so as not to unwittingly happen upon something that could trigger you, click here.
If any of what you’ve read on my website runs the risk of upsetting you, please be careful proceeding further. Use your best judgement. You know your own limits better than anyone else.
But just know that this is a work of fiction, and ultimately, it’s a love story with a happily ever after. The characters go through a lot over the course of the book, but to quote Harvey Dent, the night is always darkest before the dawn. As tough as it gets, I promise it works out for Kyran and Avi in the end.
All of that said, this story is tense, super sexy, and a lot of fun. I’ve shed buckets of tears for these characters, but none more than for the pure love they share.
I hope you fall for them the same way I have.
Log on, and charge up those vibes, friends. Kyran and Avi are stepping on screen…
;)
Listen & Like on Spotify!
Say It Ain’t So—Weezer
She—Green Day
Time to Pretend—MGMT
Loser Baby—La Bouquet, Oliver the Kid
Youth—Glass Animals
…fuck—Johnny Rain
Sweetness—Jimmy Eat World
drunk face—Machine Gun Kelly
Sexy MF—Labrinth
Paranoid—Point North
I Want It—Two Feet
Side To Side—Ariana Grande, Nicki Minaj
Acquainted—The Weekend
4AM—KID BRUNSWICK
Tell Me Your Secret—Prelow
Alive—Empire of the Sun
Slow Down—Chase Atlantic
Tropic Scorpio—Third Eye Blind
Porn Star—August Alsina
See Through—The Band CAMINO
Cry Baby—The Neighbourhood
Pursuit Of Happiness—Kid Cudi, MGMT
Love On The Brain—Rihanna
Gasoline—Point North
Life Was Easier When I Only Cared About Me—Bad Suns
CALL ME BACK—Chase Atlantic
We Will Rock You—Queen
WE MADE PLANS & GOD LAUGHED—Beauty School Dropout
Swoon—Beach Weather
Black Butterflies and Déjà Vu—The Maine
ALL OUT OF LUCK—Jet Black Alley Cat
First Date—Blink 182
Daphne Blue—The Band CAMINO
Right Here—Chase Atlantic
Kiss It Better—Rihanna
Until I Found You—Stephen Sanchez
Heavenly—Broadside
I’m a Mess—Avril Lavigne, YUNGBLUD
Stay—Ari Abdul
Haze—Sunsleep
I Love U—The Chainsmokers
I’ll Be—Edwin McCain
AlexandertheBait: My dick died…mind if I bury it in dat ass??
Have you ever wondered…
There’s this recurring dream I’ve been having for the last few years. I don’t have it that often, but every time I do, it’s exactly the same.
I’m at the top of a very high building in the city. I’m not sure which one… But from how high it seems in my mind, I’d say maybe the Empire State Building.
My muscles are tight and bunched, my teeth chattering. It’s so realistic, I can practically feel the cold breeze rushing through my hair…
There are no guardrails. I’m at the very edge… My toes are hanging over.
And the thing is, I know I should back up. I know I should do everything in my power to launch myself backward, away from sudden death.
But it doesn’t happen that way.
Every time, like some sort of suicidal Freudian slip… my foot slips.
And I fall.
I’m falling and falling, but not fast. It’s slow. Suspended in the air, I float past each of the building’s windows. Birds fly by as I spot people inside, going about their business. Sometimes I recognize them.
Mom is usually in there. She looks up and sees me levitating outside her window. And she smiles, which always twists my stomach into knots. She looks happy, and I think it’s because she doesn’t know the truth.
She’s blissfully unaware that her son is about to die.
But the thing is, that while I’m in my weightless nosedive, I’m not afraid. The thrill of descent takes over, hypnotic reverie bringing me not to death… but to life.
I always wake up before I hit the ethereal ground, shooting upright in bed with that eerie sensation that you’ve literally been hovering in the air, and when your consciousness snaps back into place, you actually crash back down onto the mattress.
I used to think it was aliens abducting me in my sleep. Or the programming of my simulation. Could be true.
But maybe it’s more like a bridge, or a gateway. A door left open by the mind’s eye.
And no matter how scary it can be at first, I just can’t help but wonder…
How it truly feels to fall from up high.
None of this is literal, of course. I’m not morose, and I don’t actually want to jump off a building. But my subconscious seems fascinated by the idea of floating willingly into something else. Being happy about the fall into the unknown… Laughing and waving to the people in the windows as I plummet.
I know what you’re thinking… This dude sounds high as fuck.
It’s a fair assessment, because usually that’s the case. But not right now. In fact, I’m currently itching to get home so I can smokey smoke and erase the memories of yet another stressful day in high school. It’s been three months and I’m still getting used to this place. But to be fair, high school in Brooklyn wasn’t exactly my favorite either.
Three months ago, my lovely mother and I relocated from the city we called home, to a cozy part of the historical northeast you may have heard of—Boston. Leaving New York was difficult for me, because I truly loved it there, despite the one very bad memory that prompted us to pack up for a fresh start.
Brooklyn had been Mom’s and my home for my entire life, and more than half of hers. New York City raised me just as much as my parents did.
Three months isn’t enough to forget everything I loved about the city. I miss the loudness, the dirt and grime that everyone pretends isn’t there. The people who don’t give a good God damn what they look like or how others perceive them. New York is a cluttered hub for all of the realest people I’ve ever encountered.
Not that Boston is bad. It has its qualities, though we’re not even living in Boston, per se. We moved to a small city on the outskirts called Malden.
Starting at a new school, in a new city, is exactly like I imagined it would be; a constant pull on my nerves. Between getting used to Boston and all of its little quirks that make it vastly different from New York, settling into the groove of sophomore year while attempting to make friends and keep up on schoolwork that doesn’t interest me in the slightest… it’s been a hectic few months.
But I think I’m managing. Mainly because I met a kid named Kyle who sells me weed.
All in all, it’s been fine, but for someone like me, who’s already pretty antisocial as it is, I’m having a bit of trouble making friends and fitting in… A skill I’ve never really excelled at.
I’m kind of a weirdo, and I don’t want to have to change myself just to make friends. I’m a strong believer in it’ll happen if and when it happens. If there are people out there who also love art and emo music from before their time, who fan over cryptids and true crime and Tarantino, then we’ll eventually find each other and become friends. Why force it?
Ah, the introvert’s paradox. Waiting for other nerds to come to you.
So sure, I haven’t made any real friends yet—except for Kyle—I’m not doing well in school, and I’m constantly aware of how Boston is so not Brooklyn. But still, I won’t be deterred. After all, we’re here to Subway start fresh, and I wouldn’t say it’s gone as stale as that nasty bread just yet. So I’m optimistic.
My phone buzzes in my pocket while I’m stepping off the bus. I pull it out once I’m across the street, opening Instagram to check a new notification. Walking up the block to our apartment with only peripheral vision on the sidewalk, my eyes are mostly fixed on the direct message.
HollyLang333: Your drawings are so sick *heart eyes emoji*
A tiny smile graces my lips. Until I trip and almost drop my phone because I’m not paying attention to where I’m walking.
Holly is a girl from school. She’s in my art class. I thought I was hallucinating when I saw her peeking at one of my sketches earlier… But I guess I wasn’t. Because now she’s creeping my Instagram profile and messaging me.
Oh snap! Loser Avi hooks one!
I’m excited, because like I said, this never usually happens. Holly is definitely cute, and she actually smiled during the few times we’ve exchanged real words, which I have to assume is a good sign. But more than anything, I like that she’s complimenting my art. This whole thing is an ego boost I could definitely use right now. It feels good.
Maybe not floating in my dreams good, but I’ll take what I can get.
Speaking of being up high, that joint, though. Mom’s at work for another hour, so I’ll have time to blaze before she comes home and yells at me about it.
She knows I like to smoke for my anxiety, and she’s not crazy about it, only because Hannah Vega has never done a drug in her entire life—she barely even drinks. I’ve tried explaining to her a million times that weed is legal now, but she just keeps on with that under eighteen nonsense.
What difference does that make??
I’m almost eighteen… In two years and one week, but who’s counting?
I really don’t think those two years will make a huge difference in the grand scheme, but I guess parents see it differently.
Mom looks the other way when I come home smelling like weed on weekends. She still gets on me about it, but for some reason, it’s not as much of a capital crime in her eyes to smoke a little gange on Saturday as it is on a school night.
I don’t get it. But apparently, it’s one of those things that only makes sense to moms.
Typing back a causal thanks with a smiley face emoji to Holly, I stuff my phone away as I approach the front door to our building, waving at our landlady, Rosemary, who lives across the street. She’s always out there, watering her flowers and mowing her eight-foot patch of grass, wearing this weird straw hat that makes her look like a poorly dressed extra on Little House on the Prairie.
Strange lady. I like her. Plus, I’m still not over the accent.
Paahhk the caahhh. Wicked good chowdaahh.
Hilarious.
Taking out my keys, I unlock the door with one hand, using the other to fish a joint and lighter out of my backpack, juggling everything while walking up all the stairs to our third-floor apartment. The second I’m inside, I’ve got the joint between my lips and I’m flicking my lighter over and over, trying to get it to light. I think maybe it’s time for a new one…
I finally get it lit as I’m stalking through the living room, toward the door to the back deck. Unfortunately, I come to a fast halt when I find my mother sitting on the couch, staring up at me with her brow raised.
My eyes widen and I quickly pluck the joint from between my lips. “Oh shit… how’d that get there??”
My mom rolls her eyes while I stub the joint out on my tongue. “Avi…”
“What are you doing home so early, mother?” Flashing her my most innocent smile, I bat my eyelashes, really laying on the look how sweet and adorable your son is act.
I’m anticipating the admonishing, so I dump my backpack on the floor and just wait for it to come. But when it doesn’t, I pay a little more attention to her face. She’s smiling, but she looks kind of tense as she pats the couch cushion next to her.
“Come sit, son of mine,” she says, calmly. “We need to talk about something…”
Gulp. Okay…
I already don’t like this.
My mom is my best friend. That probably makes me sound like a huge loser, but I think we’ve already established that I am, so if the worn Converse sneaker fits…
It’s been just the two of us for a while now. We’re all each other has.
As it stands, we communicate openly, so there’s never really much need for serious talks. But the impression I’m getting from her rigid shoulders and the way she’s wide-eyed staring at me is one of an impending conversation… One that gives me Dejá vu like a Vietnam flashback.
