Girlfriend Maker™ Goth Mode (Goth girl TG)

This is a 2am Story, that means the quality might not be as high as you are used to from me. Full info about 2am Stories here.

[POV  Roy — 7:44 AM]

Roy honestly wasn’t sure why he even bothered coming to school anymore.
If hell had a physical address, it probably looked a lot like Millstone High's crumbling hallways and smelled like its cafeteria mystery meat.

He shuffled down the corridor, eyes glued to his phone, pretending very hard that he didn’t exist. Unfortunately, the universe had other plans, and so did Zack.

Zack, in case Roy had somehow forgotten during the blissful seconds between classes, was a six-foot-something walking advertisement for concussions. Tall, loud, ripped in a "How many protein shakes did you drown in" kind of way, and dumb enough to think “Subtlety” was a kind of sandwich.

"Yo, string bean!" Zack bellowed across the hall, already stomping over like an angry rhino in sneakers. "Whatcha lookin’ at? Let me see."

Before Roy could even think about reacting, Zack snatched the phone clean out of his hands.

Typical.

"Hey, give that back, jerk!" Roy protested, but it was like yelling at a tornado.

Zack was already poking random buttons on the screen like he was trying to unlock the secrets of nuclear physics with a spatula. He squinted, poked harder. The screen brightened, changed, glitched. Roy could feel his soul leaving his body.

And then, of course, the worst possible thing happened, Ms. Harridan, the one teacher in the school who still gave a damn, stormed around the corner.

Zack immediately flipped a switch from "Rampaging Ape" to "Totally Innocent Choirboy," slapped the phone back into Roy's hands, and loudly declared,
"Sorry, I was just trying to help this loser. I mean, look at him. Poor guy."

Ms. Harridan gave them both a squinty look and kept walking, probably saving her energy for a real emergency like arson.

Roy glared after Zack, who grinned like he'd just won an Olympic medal in Being the Worst.

Grumbling, Roy glanced down at his phone... and blinked.

Wait... what the hell?

Where he expected to see either his home screen or a million pop-up ads for questionable vitamins, there was instead a weirdly polished page:

Girlfriend Maker™
"Turn any jock into a hot goth, and any enemy into a lovely girlfriend."

Roy stared at it. Then back at Zack's retreating figure. Then back at the screen.
His brain whirred dangerously fast for a moment.

No way. No actual way.

...But if it worked... If it actually worked...

He smirked slowly. Maybe today wouldn’t be such a disaster after all.

Roy squinted at the website, tapping the screen like it might explain itself if he stared hard enough.

RULES:

• One target.
  
  

• One physical change + one mental change per day.
  
  

• Changes apply at 8:17 AM sharp.
  
  

• Full transformation complete after 5 days.
  
  

• No refunds, no undos, no whining.
  
  

Roy snorted. Real professional setup they had here.
But then again, what did he have to lose? Pride? Dignity? Those had packed their bags and left around seventh grade.

A glance at the cracked clock above the classroom door told him it was 7:50 AM.

Plenty of time.

Grinning like the world's least competent supervillain, Roy typed in:

Target Name: Zack
Physical Change: Is 1.6m tall.
Mental Change: Hates showing his frustration outwardly.

He hit "Submit" with all the ceremony of clicking "I Agree" on a software license nobody reads.

Nothing happened.
No flash of light, no chorus of ominous chanting.
Just his slightly greasy phone screen reflecting his own skeptical face back at him.

"Figures," Roy muttered, stuffing his phone away and settling in to wait. What could possibly go wrong?

[POV  Zack — 8:16 AM]

Zack was having a bad morning, even by his usual "punch first, deal with consequences never" standards.

He cracked his knuckles, glaring across the classroom at Roy, who looked way too smug for someone who should be shaking in his off-brand sneakers. Zack was already imagining all the ways he was going to make Roy’s life miserable before lunch.

The clock ticked.

8:17 AM.

And then Zack's world imploded.

It started with a weird twisting sensation, like his spine had suddenly remembered it hated him. His knees buckled slightly.
The room lurched.

Students around him didn’t seem to notice anything weird, but to Zack, it was like the floor was slowly rising to punch him in the face.

He looked down —
— and his legs were shorter. His arms were shorter.
His shirt hung awkwardly, like he’d borrowed it from a larger, angrier sibling. His jeans sagged at the ankles.

Panic clawed at his throat, but somehow, Zack kept it down. It was like... like a lid had been clamped on his emotions, and freaking out in public suddenly felt wrong. Embarrassing, even.

What the hell was happening to him?!

By the time the minute dragged itself to a close, Zack was standing awkwardly at a solid 1.6 meters — barely chest-high to some of the taller kids — and something else was wrong, too. His face itched, his bones felt off, and even the way his hair fell felt... not exactly the same.
Feminine?
Nah.
No way.

He stumbled through first period somehow, clenching his fists under the desk, teeth grinding, desperate to do something about this freakish nightmare.

And when the bell rang, he saw his chance.

Roy.

Roy was sitting there, doodling something stupid in his notebook, looking smug enough to kick.

Zack stormed over, the rage boiling under his skin. He wanted to grab Roy by the collar, slam him into a locker, something to get that self-satisfied look off his face.

He raised a hand —
— and froze.

Because standing in front of Roy, now looking down at Zack with wide, curious eyes...
The idea of losing his temper, of showing even a flicker of how furious he was, made Zack’s skin crawl with secondhand embarrassment.

He couldn't do it.
It felt wrong.
Weak, stupid.

He glared instead, shoved his hands in his too-long sleeves, and stalked off in a huff, cheeks burning.

Roy watched him go with the kind of triumphant smirk usually reserved for Saturday morning cartoon villains.
He didn’t know how he'd won — but Zack was pretty sure he hated it.

[POV  Roy — 7:34 AM]

Roy could hardly keep the stupid grin off his face as he lounged in his chair, pretending to casually scroll his phone.

Across the classroom, Short King Zack stormed in, scowling like the world personally owed him an apology.

Roy leaned back and watched, barely containing his glee.
Everyone treated Zack like nothing was weird.
The teachers nodded at him like he'd always been the tiniest guy in class.
Some girl even patted him sympathetically on the shoulder like he was some angry little Pomeranian.

It was glorious.

Sure, Zack still shot Roy the occasional I hate you and hope you trip into traffic look.
But that was practically a compliment compared to the usual I'm-going-to-shove-you-into-a-locker vibe.

Progress.
Small, petty, delicious progress.

Then Roy's phone buzzed with a new message, and he almost dropped it in excitement.

It was from Zack.

Grin like that again and I’ll beat you up after class.

Roy rolled his eyes so hard he almost saw into another dimension.
"Sure you will, Shortstack," he muttered under his breath.

Still, he knew he couldn't have Zack trying to pick fights — not when the goal was to transform him into something much, much better.

With a few quick taps, Roy opened the magic website again and entered:

Physical Change: Dainty body, very pale, almost no muscle.
Mental Change: Uncomfortable with physical aggression; prefers verbal sparring.

He hit "Submit," tucked the phone away, and leaned back with a smug little sigh.
Now, all he had to do was wait for the sacred moment.

[POV Zack — 8:16 AM]

Zack hated today already.
Everyone was looking at him funny — not because he was short, apparently, but because he was grumpy about it.
Like it was his fault he woke up in the body of someone who needed a stool to reach the top shelf.

He was fuming silently when the clock ticked closer to 8:17 AM.
His skin prickled weirdly, like a thousand invisible ants had started breakdancing on him.

Then it hit.

8:17.

And holy mother of protein shakes, it was happening again.

Zack gasped as he felt himself shrinking more, but this time, it wasn’t just height.
It was like his body deflated, losing mass, losing bulk, losing... everything.

His arms thinned out alarmingly. His shoulders narrowed. His once-proud chest flattened into a soft, scrawny thing.
Even his skin lightened, going from healthy tan to the color of a vampire who hadn't seen the sun since the Renaissance.

He could feel his waist tightening, his hips getting just a bit wider, his chest feeling... weirdly softer.
His body wasn’t just smaller — it was delicate.
Like someone had pressed "feminize" once or twice too many on a character creator.

Zack gripped the desk and tried to breathe through it, pretending everything was fine while internally screaming.

By the time it was over, he felt like he couldn’t even open a stubborn pickle jar without crying.
Confidence? Strength?
Gone.
Dead.
Buried under a pile of dainty wrists and narrow shoulders.

He survived the rest of class through sheer stubbornness and several deep, rage-fueled breaths.

But when the bell rang, he had one mission:
Roy.

He stomped over — well, tried to stomp — it came out more like a determined flounce — and jabbed a finger at Roy's chest.

"Behind the school. After lunch," he snapped. "I'm still kicking your—"

Roy tilted his head, smirking.
"Oh? You sure you’re up for it, Mighty Mouse?"

Zack's nostrils flared. "Bite me."

Roy grinned wider. "Careful. You’re the size of a Happy Meal toy now. I might actually trip over you."

Zack opened his mouth to unleash his usual flood of threats —
But instead... something else came out.

"At least I don’t have to live life looking like a failed science experiment crossed with a wet sock," Zack snapped, the words sharp and vicious.

Roy blinked, impressed.
"Nice."

For a moment, Zack blinked too, thrown off balance.
Wait...
Was that... fun?
Had he actually enjoyed slapping Roy back with words instead of fists?

His stomach twisted, but not entirely in a bad way.

"Whatever," Zack muttered, turning on his heel — or, well, trying to, and nearly toppling over from how much lighter his body felt.

He left behind a very smug Roy, who was already planning tomorrow's next improvement.

[POV Roy — 7:34 AM]

Roy sipped from his dented water bottle like it was a fine wine, watching the classroom door like a hawk watching a mouse.

Sure enough, in came Zack — or what was left of Zack.

The once-mighty jock now looked like he had to fight gravity just to exist.
Tiny, pale, and built like a delicate Victorian ghost, he skulked to his seat, shooting Roy a disgusted glare so half-hearted it almost felt polite.

Everyone else treated him like nothing was weird, like Zack had always been the human equivalent of a fragile teacup.
No one even blinked.
Reality had just... rewritten itself overnight.

Roy grinned into his water bottle.
This was better than TV.

But there was still work to do.
The goal wasn’t just "tiny Zack."
The goal was "unstoppable goth queen Zack."

And so, fingers dancing eagerly over his phone, Roy entered today's changes:

Physical Change: Mighty butt and thick thighs.
Mental Change: Master of savage verbal comebacks.

He hit "Submit," feeling a little giddy.
If the past two days were anything to go by, 8:17 was about to become the highlight of his entire life.

[POV Zack — 8:16 AM]

Zack drummed his delicate fingers on the desk, glaring at nothing in particular.
Everything felt wrong.
He was short.
He was weak.
And people were starting to pat his head when they passed by, like he was a particularly bitter housecat.

The clock ticked.

8:16:59 AM.

A now-familiar jolt shot through Zack’s body.

8:17 AM.

And then it happened.

First, he felt his thighs expand.

Not just a little, either, more like someone was inflating two balloons under his skin. His pants strained audibly, seams fighting for their lives. His butt followed, rounding out with alarming speed, until sitting normally became a logistical problem.

Zack gasped, squirming in his seat as his center of gravity shifted dramatically.

He didn’t even want to think about what his silhouette looked like now.
(Though, if the mirror in the hallway was anything to go by, it was alarmingly shapely.)

And it wasn’t just his body, his brain sparked.

Suddenly, words bubbled to the surface of his mind: fast, sharp, cruel, elegant.
Comebacks he'd never even thought of before lined up, itching to be unleashed.

It was like someone had swapped out his fists for verbal daggers overnight.

Zack barely survived the rest of the period, legs crossed awkwardly, the room somehow feeling smaller and hotter and more annoying.

When the bell rang, he made a beeline for Roy, ready for their usual ritual of thinly veiled threats and insults.

But something was... different.

Roy greeted him with a lazy smile and a mock bow. "Nice to see you, Shortstack Supreme."

Zack smirked, the words flowing out before he could stop them.

"Thanks. You're really brave, walking around looking like that. Must take incredible courage to leave the house."

Roy blinked. Then laughed.

And, weirdly... Zack felt a flicker of pride.

It felt... good.
Better than throwing punches.
Weird.

They traded jabs back and forth, rapid-fire, each trying to out-sass the other, and for the first time in what felt like forever, Zack was actually having fun.

That was, until Megan Turner — Queen of Fake Smiles and Weaponized Hair Flips — decided to stick her nose in.

"Aw, look," she cooed loudly. "Roy found himself a pocket-sized pet."

Several students snickered.

Zack felt the burn of old instincts, the urge to lash out physically.

But instead, the words came naturally, sliding from his tongue like silk-coated knives.

"Aww, Megan," Zack drawled sweetly, tilting his head.
"You must be exhausted — carrying that much insecurity around all day can't be easy."

The laughter that followed wasn’t aimed at Roy.
It was squarely aimed at Megan, who turned bright red and stormed off, hair flipping so hard it nearly knocked over a freshman.

Zack froze.

Wait.
Wait.
What the hell had just come out of his mouth?!

He hadn’t even meant to — it had just happened.

And worse — he'd enjoyed it.

Face burning hotter than the sun, Zack turned away from Roy and didn't speak to him for the rest of the day.

Not that Roy seemed to mind.
He just looked way, way too satisfied with himself.

[POV Roy — 7:29 AM]

Roy couldn’t lie, this was getting good.

Zack, or whatever chaotic mess of identity Zack was becoming, slid into the classroom early today. No dramatic glares, no tense fist-clenching, no testosterone-soaked posturing.

Instead, he, no, they? Just kinda... wandered over to Roy like it was normal.
Like they wanted to talk.

And they did.

Quick quips flew between them, sarcastic and sharp, but without the old malice. It wasn’t about hurting anymore. It was... weirdly fun.

Roy found himself laughing for real when Zack, hands stuffed in the pockets of his too-tight black jeans, threw out a perfect deadpan joke about the chemistry teacher's hair looking like "a tornado glued to a squirrel."

Zack laughed too, then immediately looked horrified at himself for laughing with Roy.

It was adorable.

And it was obvious that Zack was just barely holding it together now.
The poor guy was practically radiating confused panic, half because of how much he was enjoying the conversation, and half because he was now undeniably teetering on the edge of full-on androgynous, if not outright feminine.

Roy grinned.
Time to push it right over the cliff.

He whipped out his phone, casual as anything, and typed in the next set of changes:

Physical Change: Comically massive boobs, way bigger than any girl in class.
Mental Change: Loves dressing exclusively in girly gothic fashion.

He hit "Submit" with a flourish, like a magician finishing his final trick.

The clock was ticking.

And soon... Zoey would be born.

[POV Zack — 8:16 AM]

Zack felt the telltale static crawl under his skin and braced himself like a man about to get hit by a freight train.

Which was almost accurate.

8:17 AM.

And boom, the magic slammed into him.

First came the weight.

Zack gasped as his chest began to expand.
First a little.
Then a lot.
Then an absolutely horrifying amount.

It wasn’t stopping.

It was like someone had declared war on physics.
Every second, his shirt stretched tighter, his jacket buttons strained, and his center of gravity lurched dangerously forward.

His newly grown thighs flexed to compensate, but it was a losing battle.
The massive milkers, because there was no dignified word for what he had now, dominated his front, pulling his posture into something... weirdly curvy.

And then to add insult to injury, reality rippled around him.

His outfit shimmered, morphed, and stitched itself into something aggressively goth:
Tight black corset top. Flowing black skirt over ripped tights. Chunky platform boots. Lace, ribbons, and ominous little bat motifs everywhere.

Right as the fabric tightened brutally around his new chest — squeeze — a small, unintentional, moan slipped out of his mouth.

It wasn’t loud.

But in the dead-quiet classroom?

It might as well have been broadcast over the intercom.

Everyone turned.

And then, like a tidal wave, giggles rolled through the room.

Zack, no, Zoey, turned away sharply, face burning hotter than the sun, pretending very hard that none of this was happening.

She survived the next hour on pure spite alone.

And then, of course, because God had a sense of humor, Megan Turner had to open her mouth again.

"Wow," Megan said loudly in the hallway after class. "Guess Roy finally found someone who's even more of a freak than he is."

Zoey whipped around without thinking, heels clicking ominously on the tile.

She smiled sweetly, the kind of smile you give right before stabbing someone verbally through the heart.

"Oh, Megan," Zoey purred, voice silky and lethal. "If I wanted to hear from an attention-starved, off-brand Barbie, I'd rattle a can of pennies."

The hallway exploded with laughter.

Megan’s mouth opened.
Closed.
Opened again.
And then she turned on her heel and stormed off without another word, her hair flip unusually frantic.

Zoey smirked in victory.

And then froze.

Wait...
Zoey?

She blinked.
The name Zack barely sparked recognition anymore, like a dream she couldn’t quite remember.

Zoey.

It felt... right.

Horrifying.
But right.

Without another word, she tugged her skirt down self-consciously and stomped off, not even sparing Roy a glance the rest of the day.

Roy, meanwhile, leaned against his locker, arms crossed, smiling like a cat who had just swallowed several canaries.

[POV Roy — 7:31 AM]

Roy was basically vibrating in his seat.

Today was the day.

The final touch, the crowning achievement of his chaotic little project: Turning one very confused ex-bully into the hottest, meanest, most devoted goth girlfriend reality had ever seen.

Across the classroom, Zoey sat stiffly in her seat, fidgeting with the lace hem of her black skirt.

She looked like she was desperately trying to pretend everything was fine — despite having an ass that could cause car accidents, thighs that could crush skulls, and breasts that frankly needed their own zip code.

Roy caught her eye and gave a casual little wave.

Zoey’s face heated up immediately — not with anger, like old Zack would have — but with this adorable, flustered, grumpy little sneer.

Roy could practically see her fighting the instinct to wave back.

Almost there.

Pulling out his phone with a grin, he tapped in the final touches:

Physical Change: Long black hair and a beautifully mean, ultra-girly face.
Mental Change: Sees Roy as her perfect boyfriend and herself as his loyal, teasing goth girlfriend.

He hit Submit and leaned back, arms behind his head, ready for the fireworks.

He didn’t even try to hide how smug he was.

Because in just a few minutes?

Reality was about to gift-wrap him the dream he never even thought he could have.

[POV Zoey — 8:16 AM]

Zoey sat at her desk, arms folded tightly, trying very, very hard to ignore how top-heavy and absurdly soft her body felt now.
Every shift made something bounce or sway, and she hated how aware she was of it.

She glared at the clock, willing it to just get today over with.

8:16:59 AM.

Her stomach dropped.

8:17 AM.

The familiar magic hit her like a velvet hammer.

This time, it started at her scalp.
A tingling warmth, then a heavy pulling sensation.

Her once-short, unruly hair exploded into length, silky black strands tumbling down past her shoulders, her waist, brushing against her hips.

It framed her face, which was also shifting, sharpening, her cheekbones lifting, her lips plumping, her eyes darkening into something wickedly pretty.
Her brows arched just slightly, giving her a look of effortless, cutting superiority.
The kind of face that didn’t just insult you, it judged you into dust.

Her reflection in the window caught her eye, and for a second she didn’t recognize herself.
Who was that beautiful, dangerous-looking girl staring back?

Oh.
Right.

It was her.

Zoey.

As the transformation settled into her bones, another feeling bloomed in her chest — strange, terrifying, but... good.

She turned instinctively toward Roy.

Roy, grinning like he owned the world.

Her Roy.

Zoey’s lips curled into a sly, wicked smirk before she even realized it.

God, he looked so punchable sometimes.
And adorable.
And hers.

She felt her heart squeeze tight with something that wasn’t rage for once.

Possession, affection, amusement.

All tangled up with the overwhelming urge to tease him mercilessly until he blushed.

Zoey tucked a lock of silky black hair behind her ear, tilted her head, and called sweetly across the room:

"Staring much, boyfriend?"

Roy nearly choked on his own spit.

The whole class tittered and turned to look.

Zoey just smirked wider, basking in it, proud, confident, gloriously goth, and absolutely, hopelessly attached to him now.

Reality had shifted, locked in.

Zoey Reeds, the hottest, sassiest, most lethal goth queen Millstone High had ever seen, was officially Roy’s goth girlfriend.

And she wouldn’t have it any other way.

[POV Roy and Zoey — 1:43 PM]

The sun was high, the streets were buzzing, and Roy still couldn't quite believe his life wasn't a fever dream.

He strolled down Main Street, hands stuffed into his jacket pockets, trying to look chill.
Next to him, Zoey practically floated, all long black hair, flowy goth dress, and boots that somehow clicked even on concrete.

She looped her arm through his without asking, leaning her head briefly against his shoulder before straightening up with a smirk.

"You walk like you’re trying not to look like you just won the lottery," Zoey teased, flicking a strand of hair out of her face. "You're not fooling anyone, you know."

Roy shrugged, playing it cool. "Not my fault people get jealous of my incredible luck and devastating good looks."

Zoey snorted so hard it nearly knocked her off balance.

"Right, devastating. Like food poisoning."

Roy grinned wider.
God, she was good at this.
He honestly couldn’t tell when the verbal sparring had turned from aggressive to affectionate, but he wasn’t about to complain.

They wandered aimlessly, the town shops flashing past, bookstores, cafés, cheap jewelry stands.
Zoey squeezed his arm tighter as they passed a rack of studded black chokers.

"So," she said casually, eyes sparkling, "Where are you taking me to stuff my face? I expect food. And not, like, sad food. I want something greasy enough to kill a Victorian child."

"Greasy and possibly fatal," Roy said, mock thoughtful. "Got it. So, Megan's cooking?"

Zoey barked out a laugh, loud and unashamed, earning a few surprised looks from passerby. She didn’t care.
Neither did Roy.

They walked a few more steps before Zoey glanced at him sideways, something mischievous curling at the corners of her mouth.

"You know," she said, tone light, "I figured it out."

Roy blinked. "Figured what out?"

Zoey twirled a lock of her hair around one finger, pretending to examine her nails.
"You," she said sweetly. "The whole... 'girlfriend maker' thing."

Roy tripped over nothing and barely caught himself.

Zoey smirked.

"Yeah. Took me a bit. I mean, you definitely got way too happy every time 8:17 rolled around. And let's be real..."
She gestured to herself — the massive chest, the killer curves, the black lace, "I'm suspiciously optimized for your exact tastes."

Roy flushed hard enough to power a small city.

Zoey leaned in closer, voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper.
"Don't worry. I’m not mad."

Roy risked a glance at her.

Zoey's expression was soft — still playful, still wicked — but underneath it all, genuine.
Like she wasn't just tolerating it.
She was happy.

"Honestly," she said, tugging him to a stop under the shade of a tree, "I don’t even really remember who I was before. Some blurry jerk, probably. Doesn’t matter."

She stepped up close, grinning up at him, eyes dark and warm all at once.

"This?" she said, tapping his chest lightly. "This is real. This is good."

Roy’s heart did something stupid and floppy inside his ribs.

He opened his mouth to say something clever, but Zoey beat him to it —
standing on tiptoe and pressing a quick, teasing kiss to his lips.

She pulled back with a mischievous glint.

"Now," she said, grabbing his hand and tugging him down the street, "You owe me a burger the size of my head, boyfriend."

Roy laughed, breathless and dizzy and happier than he’d ever thought possible.

As they disappeared into the noise and sunlight of the city, hand in hand, it didn’t feel like some magic website anymore.

It just felt like life was finally, finally starting right.

[END.]