The glow of Nick Feltner’s desk lamp cast jagged shadows across his cluttered bedroom, a suburban cave of chaos tucked away in the sleepy heart of nowhere. Empty soda cans littered the desk, alongside crumpled homework sheets and a half-eaten bag of chips. The late-night hum of crickets seeped through the cracked window as Nick, a chubby high school senior with a mop of unkempt brown hair, hunched over a peculiar find: an old, leather-bound journal he’d unearthed from the attic earlier that day. Its pages were yellowed, smelling of dust and secrets, and scrawled on the first page in elegant cursive was a single, cryptic instruction: *Write, and it shall be.*
Nick snorted, rubbing his tired eyes. “Yeah, right. Probably some old geezer’s diary of boring farm chores.” But boredom—and a lingering bitterness that gnawed at his gut—made him curious. His life was a snooze fest: overlooked at school, ignored by his crush, and still stinging from the fallout with Kiki, his ex-best friend who’d ditched him for the popular crowd. And then there was Adain Lopez, Kiki’s ex-boyfriend, the smug, bulky junior who’d always looked at Nick like he was a smudge on the wall. Nick’s fingers tightened around the pen. If this journal was magic, even for a laugh, he’d rewrite Adain’s perfect little life into something… unexpected.
He flipped to a blank page, the pen hovering. A wicked grin crept across his face. “Let’s see how you like being the freak for once, pretty boy.” His handwriting was messy, fueled by spite and a giddy rush as he scribbled: *Adain Lopez is no longer a high school junior. He’s a 38-year-old dominant bear of a man who never graduated, living at the local gay bar, ‘The Rusty Anchor.’ He wears fishnet shirts, has pierced nipples, and is obsessed with being my personal sugar daddy and relentless lover. Reality adjusts accordingly.*
Nick leaned back, chuckling at his own audacity. “Yeah, right. Like that’s gonna—” He froze. The page shimmered, the ink glowing faintly before settling into a dull black. A chill raced down his spine, but he shook it off. “Nah, just tired. Too much caffeine.” Still, curiosity—or maybe a perverse thrill—gnawed at him. The Rusty Anchor was just a mile away, a dive bar he’d never dared step into. But if this was real… he had to see.
Grabbing his hoodie, Nick sneaked out of his window, the cool night air biting at his skin as he pedaled his rusty bike through the quiet streets. His heart thumped with a mix of dread and excitement. “This is stupid,” he muttered to himself, parking outside the neon-lit bar. The thrum of bass leaked through the walls, and a burly bouncer eyed him suspiciously. Nick flashed a fake ID he’d made for kicks last summer, praying it’d work. The bouncer grunted, waving him in.
Inside, the air was thick with sweat, cheap cologne, and the tang of beer. Nick’s eyes darted around, half-expecting to see nothing, to laugh at his own idiocy. Then he saw him.
Adain—or what used to be Adain—stood behind the bar, pouring a shot with a meaty hand. He was massive, a hulking bear of a man with a thick beard, his chest straining against a black fishnet shirt that left little to the imagination. Silver rings glinted through his pierced nipples, catching the dim light. His dark eyes, still recognizable despite the years piled on, scanned the room with a predatory edge. Nick’s jaw dropped. “Holy shit. It worked.”
Adain’s gaze landed on him, and a slow, hungry smirk curled his lips. He set down the bottle, wiping his hands on a rag, and sauntered over with a swagger that made Nick’s stomach flip. “Well, damn, sugar,” Adain drawled, his voice a low rumble, thick with a rough edge that hadn’t been there before. “Ain’t seen a sweet thing like you in here before. You lost, or you lookin’ for trouble?”
Nick blinked, his brain short-circuiting. This wasn’t just Adain grown up—this was a whole new beast, dripping with raw, commanding energy. He stammered, “Uh, I—I’m just… checking the place out.”
Adain leaned closer, his massive frame towering over Nick, the scent of leather and musk overwhelming. “Checkin’ out, huh? Looks to me like you’re starin’ right at what you want.” He chuckled, deep and dirty, reaching out to tilt Nick’s chin up with a calloused finger. “Name’s Adain. And you, cutie, are gonna tell me yours before I decide to keep ya for myself.”
Nick’s face burned, but he couldn’t look away. There was something intoxicating about this version of Adain—dangerous, unapologetic, and laser-focused on him. “I’m… Nick,” he managed, his voice cracking. “Just Nick.”
“Just Nick, huh?” Adain’s grin widened, showing a glint of teeth. “Boy, you’re tremblin’ like a leaf. Don’t worry, I don’t bite… unless you ask real nice.” He winked, stepping back to gesture at a stool. “Sit. First drink’s on me. Gotta spoil my new favorite, don’t I?”
Nick slid onto the stool, his mind racing. This was insane. He’d turned a high school jock into… this. A dominant, flirtatious giant who was already calling him pet names. And the worst part? He kinda liked it. The power, the attention—it was a rush he’d never felt before. “You always this… friendly?” he asked, trying to play it cool as Adain slid a glass of soda across the bar. No alcohol, but the gesture felt loaded.
“Only to the ones worth my time, sugar,” Adain shot back, resting his elbows on the counter, his fishnet shirt stretching taut over his broad chest. “And you? You’ve got ‘worth it’ written all over that pretty face. Tell me, what’s a kid like you doin’ in a dump like this? Lookin’ for a daddy to take care o’ ya?”
Nick choked on his soda, coughing as Adain laughed, a booming sound that turned heads. “I—uh—no, I mean, I’m just… curious,” Nick sputtered, but the glint in Adain’s eyes told him the man wasn’t buying it.
“Curious, huh?” Adain’s voice dropped, husky and teasing. “I got plenty to show a curious boy like you. Stick around, Nick. I’ll make sure you ain’t curious for long.” He straightened, giving Nick a once-over that felt like a physical touch. “I’m off in an hour. Don’t you dare sneak out before I can… get to know ya better.”
Nick swallowed hard, his pulse hammering. This wasn’t just a game anymore. The journal’s power was real, and he’d just unleashed a force he wasn’t sure he could control. But as Adain turned away, throwing him a smoldering look over one shoulder, Nick felt a dark thrill curl in his chest. If reality was his to rewrite, why stop here? Why not play a little longer?
He sipped his soda, a smirk tugging at his lips. Let the chaos begin.
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