mathhypnostories - Tumblr blog

mathhypnostories · 5 months ago

Text

Candle wishes

Well another one of AI stories with my ideas. To be honest I want to try something a bit different with a mix of transformation but overall with that spicy of corruption. I will do one single post now, but will include two endings here (a win and a lose ending).

Also, this is my final AI story for now. Is not that I have no more ideas, but I reach a limit on how much I can prompt to Grok without breaking its guidelines. Hope you liked this ride as much as I did.

Chapter 1: The Wish That Rewrote Reality

Angela sat on the edge of her bed in her childhood bedroom, her arms crossed tightly, her scowl deepening with every replay of her latest fight with her boyfriend, Nick. The small room in her parents’ house felt like a cage tonight, the pastel walls and faded posters a stark contrast to the storm brewing inside her. She’d moved back home after college to save money, but it meant dealing with her family’s chaos—and Nick’s infuriating behavior. They’d argued again, this time at the diner where she’d tried to have a serious talk about their future. Instead, Nick had spent the whole date talking about his construction crew’s latest prank—something involving a porta-potty and a lot of hot sauce—laughing like it was the funniest thing in the world while Angela sat there, fuming.

“Why are men like this?” she muttered, kicking off her sneakers and pacing the room. “All they think about is sex, or gross stuff, or food. I just… I don’t understand them at all.” She glanced at the photo on her desk—her and Nick at a carnival last summer, his arm around her, both of them smiling. She loved him, but lately, it felt like they were on different planets.

Her eyes landed on the small tin box on her dresser, a thrift store find she’d picked up earlier that day. It was a rusted vintage tin with a faded label: “Wishing Candles – 5 Wishes to Change Your Fate.” Inside were five tiny black candles, each the size of a birthday candle, their wicks untouched. The shopkeeper—a strange, wiry man with a crooked smile—had called them “special,” but Angela had brushed it off as a gimmick. Still, she’d bought them, thinking they’d be a fun distraction. Now, though, with her frustration boiling over, they felt like a lifeline.

She grabbed the tin, popped it open, and pulled out one of the candles, its surface cool and smooth in her hand. A small note inside the box caught her eye: “Light the candle, make your wish, and blow it out. Your fate will shift. WARNING: No undone wishes.” She scoffed. “Sure, whatever. What’s the worst that can happen?”

She set the candle on her desk, struck a match, and lit the wick. The flame flickered, casting a strange golden glow across the room, and a faint scent of cinnamon filled the air. Angela closed her eyes, her anger and longing for understanding swirling together. “I wish I could understand men,” she whispered, her voice trembling with emotion. She blew out the candle.

The room spun. A sharp, electric jolt coursed through her body, and her vision blurred, the golden glow of the candle flame searing into her mind. She gasped, clutching her chest, but the sensation overwhelmed her, and she blacked out, collapsing onto the bed.

When Angela opened her eyes, the room was dark, the candle extinguished, its wax melted into a small puddle on the desk. Her head throbbed, and her body felt… wrong. Heavy. Different. She groaned, sitting up, and froze as her hands brushed against her chest. Flat. Her curves were gone. She looked down, her breath catching—her breasts were gone, replaced by a broad, flat chest with a dusting of dark hair. Her hands flew to her face, feeling a sharp jawline, stubble prickling her fingertips. She stumbled to the mirror on her wall, her heart pounding, and stared at the reflection.

A man stared back. He was lean but toned, with short, dark hair, sharp cheekbones, and deep brown eyes—her eyes, but in a face that wasn’t hers. Or… was it? He touched his reflection, his hands trembling. “What the hell?” His voice was deeper, a masculine timbre that sent a shiver down his spine. He looked down, pulling at the waistband of his pants—now loose around his narrower hips—and confirmed it. He was a man. Fully, undeniably a man.

The tin of candles sat on the desk, the note glaring up at him: No undone wishes. Panic surged through him, and he grabbed his phone, scrolling through his contacts. His name in the settings read “Angel,” not Angela. His social media profiles showed a guy’s face—his new face—posing with friends, at the gym, at family barbecues. Photos of him as Angela were gone, replaced by a lifetime of memories he didn’t have: playing basketball with his brother, drinking with his buddies, moving back into his parents’ house after college. Reality had rewritten itself. Everyone remembered him as Angel, a man.

He needed to talk to Nick. If reality had changed, what did that mean for their relationship? He dialed Nick’s number, his hands shaking, and waited as it rang. Nick picked up on the third ring, his voice casual and warm. “Yo, Angel, what’s up, man? You good?”

Angel’s heart sank. The flirty tone Nick used to have was gone, replaced by a bro-ish friendliness. “Nick… do you… remember us? Like, being together?” Angel asked, his voice trembling.

Nick laughed, confused. “Together? Dude, we’ve been best friends since high school. What’s with you tonight? You sound weird.”

Angel’s stomach twisted. Nick was still straight. In this new reality, they’d never been a couple—just best friends. The wish had made Angel a man to “understand men,” but it had erased their relationship, leaving him as Nick’s straight bro. “Yeah… I’m fine,” Angel lied, hanging up quickly, his chest tight with loss.

Before he could process it further, the bedroom door swung open, and in walked his older brother, Connor. At 28, Connor was a firefighter, his body a testament to years of training—broad shoulders, chiseled abs, and a cocky grin that had always annoyed Angela. Now, though, Angel’s reaction was different. Connor was fresh from a shower, wearing nothing but a pair of tight gray boxer briefs, his muscles flexing as he towel-dried his dark hair, completely unconcerned about his near-naked state. Living at home, Connor had always been casual like this—walking around in his underwear, lounging shirtless on the couch—and as Angela, she’d rolled her eyes and told him to put on a shirt. But now…

“Sup, Angel,” Connor said, his voice a low rumble, tossing the towel onto a chair. “You hitting the gym with me tomorrow? Gotta keep up with your big bro.” He smirked, flexing a bicep, and Angel’s mouth went dry.

As Angela, she’d found Connor attractive in a detached way—hot, sure, but manageable. Now, as Angel, his new male hormones roared to life, a wave of desire crashing over him so intense he nearly stumbled. His eyes locked on Connor’s abs, the way the boxer briefs hugged his hips, the casual confidence in his stride. Angel’s heart raced, his body reacting in ways he wasn’t used to—ways he couldn’t control. He wanted Connor. Badly. His brother. His straight, hot, unattainable brother.

“Uh… yeah, maybe,” Angel stammered, tearing his gaze away, his cheeks burning. He turned to his desk, pretending to fiddle with his phone, but Connor’s presence filled the room, inescapable. “You… you should put some clothes on,” Angel muttered, his voice strained.

Connor laughed, oblivious to Angel’s turmoil. “Nah, man, it’s too hot for that. Besides, we’re brothers—chill.” He clapped Angel on the shoulder, the touch sending a jolt through Angel’s new body, and sauntered out, leaving the door open.

Angel collapsed onto his bed, breathing hard. His new body was a storm of sensations—stronger, hungrier, more primal than he’d ever felt as Angela. And his attractions hadn’t changed. He still loved men, still craved them, but now he was one of them, with all the raw, unfiltered desire that came with it. Connor’s image lingered in his mind—those abs, that smirk, the way he moved—and Angel groaned, running a hand through his hair. “This is a nightmare.”

He grabbed the tin of candles, his hands shaking as he opened it. Four candles remained, their black wax gleaming in the dim light. The note stared back at him: No undone wishes. He couldn’t go back to being Angela. He was Angel now, forever. But the candles… they could still change things. He could wish for Nick to love him again, to be gay, to be his. Or… he glanced at the open door, where Connor’s laughter echoed from the hallway. He could wish for Connor. His own brother. The thought made his stomach churn with guilt, but his body ached with need.

He lit the second candle, the flame flickering gold, and held it in his trembling hands. He had to be careful. He had to think. But as Connor’s voice called out, “Yo, Angel, you want pizza? Mom’s ordering!” Angel’s resolve wavered. He was a man now, with a man’s desires, and the candles were his only way out—or deeper in.

Chapter 2: A Wish That Breaks Bonds

Angel sat on his bed, his heart hammering in his chest, the tin of wishing candles trembling in his hands. The golden flame of the second candle flickered in the dim light of his childhood bedroom, casting eerie shadows across the walls. His new body—male, unfamiliar, and pulsing with raw energy—was a storm he couldn’t tame. The rush of male hormones, the primal desire coursing through him, was unlike anything he’d felt as Angela. And Connor—his older brother, his biological brother—was at the center of that storm.

Connor had always been the golden child: a 28-year-old firefighter, straight as an arrow, with a chiseled body and a cocky grin that made their parents beam with pride. Growing up, Angela had been annoyed by his casual confidence—his habit of walking around the house in his underwear, his teasing jabs about her being “too serious.” But now, as Angel, those same traits were torture. Just minutes ago, Connor had stood in the doorway, fresh from a shower, wearing nothing but tight gray boxer briefs, his broad shoulders and sculpted abs on full display. The image was seared into Angel’s mind, and his new male body reacted with a hunger that made his thoughts spiral. He couldn’t think straight. He didn’t want to think straight.

The candles were his only way out—or deeper in. He stared at the flame, his breath ragged, his mind a chaotic blur of guilt and desire. “I can’t… I shouldn’t…” he whispered, but his body screamed otherwise. Connor was his brother—family, blood, someone he’d grown up with, shared a childhood with. This was wrong, so wrong, even with the candles’ power. But in a moment of reckless impulse, he gripped the candle tighter and spoke, his voice trembling with need. “I wish my brother was okay with having sex with me.” He blew out the candle, the golden flame snuffing out with a faint wisp of smoke.

Regret hit him like a punch to the gut. “What am I doing?” he gasped, dropping the candle onto the desk, his hands shaking. Connor was his brother—his brother. They’d shared bunk beds as kids, fought over the last slice of cake at birthdays, laughed at their dad’s terrible jokes. This was beyond wrong. But the note in the tin glared up at him: No undone wishes. It was too late.

Reality shimmered around him, a subtle shift that made the air feel heavier. The family photos on his wall changed—where there had been pictures of him and Connor as kids with their mom, now there were photos of just him and his dad, with a new woman and a teenage Connor joining them in later shots. The wish had rewritten their family: his mother was no longer his biological mother, but his stepmother, a woman named Linda who’d married his dad years ago. And Connor… Connor was now his stepbrother, not his blood sibling. The wish had found a way to make itself “okay,” but it didn’t stop there.

The bedroom door creaked open, and Connor stepped back in, his presence filling the room like a storm cloud. His dark hair was still damp, his gray boxer briefs clinging to his hips, but something about him was different—darker, more dangerous. The wish hadn’t just changed their relationship; it had corrupted Connor’s very essence. Gone was the straight, heroic firefighter, the perfect son their parents adored. In his place was a spoiled, twisted version of Connor, his eyes glinting with a predatory hunger, his smirk crueler, more entitled. He sauntered closer, his voice low and dripping with intent. “I told Mom to order the pizza,” he said, his hand dropping to fondle himself through his underwear, a clear erection straining against the fabric. “But I think you could eat something else until it arrives.”

Angel’s mouth went dry, his body reacting before his mind could catch up. “Connor, I—” he started, but the words died in his throat as Connor closed the distance between them, his hands gripping Angel’s shoulders with a possessive strength. Their lips crashed together, sloppy and desperate, Connor’s tongue pushing into Angel’s mouth with a hunger that matched the fire in his eyes. Angel melted into it, his new male hormones overriding his guilt, his hands roaming Connor’s bare back, feeling the hard muscle beneath his skin.

They stumbled backward, falling onto the bed, their kisses growing messier, more frantic. Connor’s hands were everywhere—gripping Angel’s hips, sliding under his shirt, fondling him with a shameless confidence. Angel’s mind spun, torn between the wrongness of it all and the overwhelming need coursing through him. Connor broke the kiss, his breath hot against Angel’s ear as he growled, “You’re so fucking hot, Angel.” He pushed Angel down, guiding him to his thighs, his erection now fully visible through the strained fabric of his boxer briefs.

Angel’s heart raced as he slid the underwear down, Connor’s cock springing free, hard and ready. He hesitated for a split second, the last shred of his conscience screaming at him to stop—but then Connor’s hand tangled in his hair, guiding him forward, and Angel gave in. His lips closed around Connor, the taste and heat overwhelming his senses, his new body responding with a primal eagerness he couldn’t control.

The bedroom door swung open, and their stepmother’s voice cut through the haze. “Boys, pizza’s gonna be here in 15 minutes!” Linda froze in the doorway, her eyes wide, a pizza menu still in her hand. Angel’s heart stopped, his mouth still on Connor, panic flooding him. This was it—she’d scream, she’d freak out, she’d—

But her reaction wasn’t what he expected. She blinked, then sighed, a hand on her hip, her expression more annoyed than shocked. “Really, Connor? You couldn’t wait until after dinner? Your dad’s gonna be disappointed he missed out on the fun.” Her tone was cold, dismissive, her gaze flicking to Angel with a hint of disdain. To her, Angel was just her pathetic new husband’s son—a nobody compared to her golden boy, Connor.

Connor pulled back slightly, his cock still in Angel’s hand, and grinned at his mother, completely unashamed. “I’ll do Dad later, Mom. I’m horny now, and Angel’s right here.” He laughed, a cocky edge to his voice, and gave Angel’s hair a playful tug. “Besides, he’s been eyeing me all day—he wants it.”

Linda rolled her eyes, a wry smile tugging at her lips. “You’re such a spoiled brat, Connor. Fine, have your way with him. Just don’t make a mess before the pizza gets here.” She turned to leave, closing the door behind her, her laughter echoing down the hall.

Angel’s mind reeled as Connor pushed him back down, his stepbrother’s hunger undeterred. They continued, Connor’s hands guiding him with a rough tenderness, their bodies moving together in a rhythm that felt both foreign and intoxicating. But as Angel surrendered to the moment, a cold realization settled in his chest. The wish hadn’t just made Connor okay with this—it had shattered their family dynamic in ways he hadn’t anticipated. His mother was now his stepmother, indifferent to him, viewing him as a pathetic extension of her new husband. And Connor… Connor was no longer the straight, heroic firefighter, the perfect son. The wish had twisted him into a spoiled, entitled version of himself, sexually open and unashamed, with a cruel streak that made Angel’s stomach churn. What had he done? What kind of reality had he created, where this was normal?

Connor’s voice pulled him back, low and teasing. “You’re so good at this, Angel. We’re gonna have so much fun.” He smirked, his eyes glinting with a mix of lust and arrogance, and Angel couldn’t help but wonder how deep this rabbit hole went—and how many candles he’d need to fix it.

Chapter 3: A Family Unraveled

Angel’s mind was a haze, his body trembling as Connor’s cock filled him with cum, the heat and intensity overwhelming his senses. He gasped, his new male body shuddering beneath his stepbrother’s weight, the bed creaking beneath them in the dim light of his childhood bedroom. The pizza hadn’t even arrived yet, but Angel was already lost in a storm of desire and guilt, his thoughts a chaotic blur as Connor’s hands gripped his hips with a possessive strength.

But Connor wasn’t done. In a swift, fluid movement, he hooked Angel’s legs over his broad shoulders, his chiseled firefighter’s body glistening with sweat as he positioned himself again. “You’re mine, Angel,” Connor growled, his voice low and dripping with entitlement, his eyes glinting with a cruel hunger. He thrust into Angel again, wildly, relentlessly, each movement a claim, a domination. Angel moaned, his body responding despite the turmoil in his mind, the raw pleasure of his new male form drowning out his ability to think straight.

For a fleeting moment, clarity broke through the haze. Angel’s eyes drifted to the family photo on his wall—one of the few that hadn’t changed completely in this warped reality. It showed him and Connor as kids, back when they were biological brothers, grinning at a park with their parents. Connor had been different then. He’d been a good person, the kind of brother who’d protected Angel from bullies, who’d shared his Halloween candy even when Angel lost his own, who’d helped him with math homework despite being three years older. Their parents—Richard and their mom, before she became Linda the stepmother—had raised them both with love and care, values that had made Connor volunteer as a firefighter, dedicating his life to saving others. He’d been smart, kind, the golden child in the best way, someone Angel had always looked up to.

But this Connor—the one fucking him with a savage intensity—was a stranger. The wish had twisted him beyond recognition, and as Angel’s body rocked beneath him, new memories rose to the surface, memories of a reality the candles had created when they turned Connor and their mother into his stepbrother and stepmother.

It had started when Linda, Connor’s biological mother, married Angel’s dad, Richard, years ago, after the wish rewrote their family history. In this new reality, Linda had brought her teenage son, Connor, into the marriage—a spoiled brat who’d been raised with no boundaries, no discipline. Richard had tried to step in, to raise Connor with the same values he’d instilled in Angel: kindness, responsibility, hard work. But Linda wouldn’t allow it. She doted on Connor, giving him everything he wanted, shielding him from consequences, turning him into a monster of entitlement. Angel remembered the fights—Richard’s voice raised, pleading with Linda to let him discipline Connor, to teach him right from wrong, but Linda always shut him down, her voice cold and final: “He’s my son, not yours.”

Things had escalated quickly. A few weeks after the marriage, Connor—fed up with his new stepdad’s attempts to “control” him—had snapped. Angel’s memories shifted, vivid and horrifying: Connor, at 18, towering over Richard in the living room, his fists clenched, his voice a snarl. The fight had turned physical, and Connor, stronger and more ruthless, had won. But he didn’t stop there. Over the weeks and months that followed, Connor had broken Richard through sheer force, sex, and time. It started with dominance—Connor pinning Richard down, asserting his control, using his physical strength to overpower him. Then came the sex, relentless and degrading, Connor taking Richard whenever he wanted, turning his stepdad into a tool for his pleasure. Over time, the constant assault shattered Richard’s sanity, his mind fracturing under the weight of Connor’s cruelty. Once his sanity broke, Connor reshaped him, molding him into a cock-obsessed whore who lived only to serve his stepson, a man who’d betray his own son if it pleased Connor.

Linda’s reaction had been just as shocking. At first, she’d been furious, threatening to leave Richard when she caught Connor with him, the family dynamic shattered. But Connor, with his charisma and unyielding will, had convinced her to stay. He liked the new setup—liked having a family that revolved around him, that bowed to his every whim. Linda, unable to say no to her golden son, had agreed, her love for Connor outweighing any moral qualms. Now, she was complicit, indifferent to the depravity, viewing Angel as nothing more than her pathetic new husband’s son—a toy for Connor to play with.

The family had become a twisted mockery of what it once was. Connor was the head of the household, his word law, his desires paramount. Richard was a shell of his former self, a submissive puppet who lived to serve Connor, even at the expense of his own son. Linda enabled it all, her loyalty to Connor absolute, her disdain for Angel palpable. And Angel… Angel was no one in this new reality, just a plaything for the golden son, his place in the family erased by the wish’s cruel magic.

Connor’s voice snapped Angel back to the present, his thrusts slowing as he leaned down, his breath hot against Angel’s ear. “You feel so good, Angel,” he purred, his tone cocky and self-assured, his hands gripping Angel’s thighs tighter. “You’re gonna be my favorite toy.” He smirked, pulling out and flipping Angel onto his stomach, ready for another round, his spoiled nature on full display as he took what he wanted without a shred of guilt.

Angel’s mind reeled, his body still trembling from the intensity, his thoughts a chaotic mix of pleasure and horror. He’d done this. The wish hadn’t just made Connor okay with sex—it had shattered their family, rewriting their history, their relationships, their very identities. Connor was no longer the brother he’d loved, the protector he’d admired. He was a spoiled, twisted monster, a stepbrother who ruled the family with an iron fist, his straight identity corrupted into a sexually open, dominant force that bent everyone to his will. Richard was a broken man, Linda an enabler, and Angel… Angel was nothing, just a toy for Connor to use, his place in the family stripped away.

The bedroom door creaked open, and Richard’s voice cut through the haze, high-pitched and whiny, a stark contrast to the deep, steady tone Angel remembered from his childhood. “Connor, my boy, why are you wasting your time with him?” Richard stood in the doorway, his posture slumped, his eyes wide and desperate as he wrung his hands. He was shirtless, wearing only a pair of tight shorts that left little to the imagination, his once-proud demeanor replaced by a pathetic neediness. “I’ve been waiting for you all day, and you’re here with… with Angel? Your pathetic little brother? I thought I was your favorite!”

Angel’s heart sank, the words cutting deeper than he’d expected. His dad—his dad—didn’t care about him anymore. Richard’s love for his son had been erased, replaced by an all-consuming obsession with Connor. To Richard, Connor was his world now, his “favorite son,” while Angel was nothing more than a nuisance, a rival for Connor’s attention.

Connor laughed, a cruel, mocking sound, not even pausing as he thrust into Angel again. “Relax, Dad,” he said, his voice dripping with arrogance. “I’ll get to you later. Angel’s new—I’m breaking him in. You’ll get your turn.” He smirked, giving Angel’s ass a possessive slap, his dominance over the family on full display.

Richard pouted, his eyes welling with tears, but he didn’t argue. “Fine,” he muttered, turning to leave, his shoulders slumped in defeat. “But don’t take too long, Connor. I need you.” The door closed behind him, his whiny voice fading down the hall.

Angel’s chest tightened, a mix of shame and grief washing over him. His dad didn’t love him anymore—didn’t even see him as his son. Connor had reshaped him so completely that Richard’s only concern was pleasing his stepson, even at the expense of his own flesh and blood. The family Angel had known was gone, replaced by this twisted, dysfunctional nightmare.

The tin of candles sat on the desk, three remaining, their black wax gleaming in the dim light. Angel’s eyes darted to them as Connor’s hands roamed his body, his stepbrother’s hunger insatiable. He had to fix this—he had to use another wish to undo the damage, to bring back the family he’d lost. But the note in the tin echoed in his mind: No undone wishes. And deep down, a darker thought whispered: what if he didn’t fix it? What if he used the candles to take control, to make Connor his, to rewrite this twisted reality into something he could live with?

The pizza sat untouched downstairs, Linda’s voice calling out, “Boys, food’s getting cold!” But Connor didn’t stop, his thrusts growing wilder, his laughter dark and triumphant. “We’ll eat later,” he growled, his grip on Angel tightening. “I’m not done with you yet.”

Angel’s heart pounded, his body caught in the storm of Connor’s desire, his mind racing with the weight of what he’d done—and what he might do next.

Chapter 4: A Table Set for Chaos

Angel lay on his bed, his body still trembling from the intensity of his encounter with Connor, his mind a tangled mess of guilt, desire, and horror. The scent of Connor lingered on his skin, a reminder of the stepbrother who’d claimed him with a savage hunger, leaving him feeling both used and electrified. His new male body was a storm of sensations, the raw pleasure of the moment clashing with the sickening realization of what he’d done—what the wish had done to his family.

Connor had finished with him abruptly, pulling out with a cocky smirk and a casual slap to Angel’s ass. “That was fun, little bro,” he’d said, his voice dripping with entitlement, as if Angel were nothing more than a toy he’d grown bored of. Without another word, he’d pulled on his boxer briefs and sauntered out of the room, calling over his shoulder, “Pizza’s waiting—don’t take too long.” The door had closed behind him, leaving Angel alone with his thoughts, his body aching and his heart heavy.

He sat up, running a hand through his hair, his breath still uneven. He needed a moment—a break from the chaos, a chance to process what had just happened. But the sounds of the family downstairs—Linda’s laughter, Connor’s booming voice—pulled him from his thoughts. He couldn’t hide in his room forever. He had to face them, to see the full extent of the damage his wish had caused. With a deep breath, he pulled on a t-shirt and shorts, his legs shaky as he made his way to the dining room.

The scene that greeted him was a twisted mockery of the family dinners he remembered. Connor sat at the head of the table, the spot that had once been Richard’s, a slice of pizza in one hand, his posture relaxed but commanding. His gray boxer briefs were still on, but his bare chest glistened with a sheen of sweat, his chiseled firefighter’s body on full display. He was mid-rant, his voice loud and petulant, a spoiled brat in a man’s body. “Work is so fucking annoying,” he complained, taking a bite of pizza, his tone dripping with disdain. “They want me to help people, like if they’re worth something. I’m out there risking my ass for what? A pat on the back? Fuck that.”

Linda sat to his right, a glass of wine in her hand, her expression a mix of amusement and adoration as she listened to her son. She was dressed in a silk robe, her hair perfectly styled, her demeanor that of a woman who’d long since given up on morality in favor of keeping her golden boy happy. “Then quit, Connor,” she said, her voice smooth and encouraging. “You don’t need to work. We have Richard to pay the bills, don’t we? He’ll take care of everything—you can just enjoy yourself.”

Richard, Angel’s dad, was a sight that made Angel’s stomach churn. He was straddling Connor’s lap, his movements greedy and desperate, riding Connor’s cock with a shameless intensity that made the dining table shake. He was shirtless, wearing only a pair of tight briefs that had been pushed down to his thighs, his body pressed against Connor’s as he kissed and fondled his stepson’s chest, his lips trailing over Connor’s collarbone with a feverish need. Richard’s eyes were glazed, his mind long since broken by Connor’s relentless domination, his once-proud demeanor replaced by a pathetic, cock-obsessed devotion. Without stopping his movements, he spoke, his voice high-pitched and whiny, a stark contrast to the deep, steady tone Angel remembered from his childhood. “I’ll give you all the money you want, Connor,” he panted, his hands roaming Connor’s body, his words punctuated by moans. “As long as you keep fucking me instead of that burden of a son, Angel. You don’t need him—I’m all you need.”

Angel froze in the doorway, his heart sinking, the words cutting deeper than any physical blow. His dad—his dad—had just called him a burden, dismissing him as if he were nothing. Richard’s love for his son had been completely erased, replaced by an all-consuming obsession with Connor. To Richard, Connor was his world now, his “favorite son,” while Angel was an inconvenience, a rival for Connor’s attention. The family Angel had known—the one where Richard had taught him to ride a bike, where they’d laughed over bad puns at the dinner table—was gone, replaced by this twisted, depraved nightmare.

Connor laughed, a cruel, mocking sound, not even glancing at Angel as he took another bite of pizza, his free hand guiding Richard’s hips with a possessive grip. “Hear that, Angel?” he said, his voice dripping with arrogance. “Dad knows his place. You should learn yours.” Linda chuckled, sipping her wine, her eyes flicking to Angel with a cold indifference before returning to her son, her pride in him unshakable.

Angel’s chest tightened, a mix of shame, grief, and anger washing over him. His family was gone—he was sure of that now. Richard didn’t love him anymore, didn’t even see him as his son. Linda had never cared for him, and Connor… Connor had become a monster, a spoiled, twisted stepbrother who ruled the family with an iron fist, his straight identity corrupted into a sexually open, dominant force that bent everyone to his will. Angel was nothing in this new reality, just a toy for Connor to use, his place in the family stripped away by the wish’s cruel magic.

He couldn’t stay here, couldn’t watch this any longer. Turning on his heel, he fled back to his room, his heart pounding, his mind racing with the weight of what he’d done. He slammed the door behind him, leaning against it as tears stung his eyes. He’d lost everything—his family, his identity, his place in the world. But there was one person who might still be on his side, one person he could turn to: Nick.

Nick, his former boyfriend, now his best friend in this warped reality, was the only connection to his old life that hadn’t been completely tainted. If Angel could bring Nick back into his life, make him more than a friend, maybe he’d have someone in his corner, someone to help him navigate this nightmare. He stumbled to his desk, grabbing the tin of wishing candles with trembling hands. Three candles remained, their black wax gleaming in the dim light. The note in the tin stared up at him—No undone wishes—but he couldn’t think about that now. He needed Nick. He needed someone to love him, to stand by him, to remind him of who he used to be.

He lit the third candle, the golden flame flickering to life, casting a warm glow across the room. His breath hitched, his mind racing with the possibilities of what this wish might do, but he couldn’t afford to hesitate. “I wish Nick was more than my friend,” he whispered, his voice trembling with a mix of hope and fear. He blew out the candle, the flame snuffing out with a faint wisp of smoke, and the air around him shimmered, reality shifting once again.

Angel sat back on his bed, his heart pounding, waiting for something—anything—to happen. Would Nick call? Would he show up at the door? What did “more than my friend” even mean in this twisted reality? The candles’ magic was unpredictable, and Angel knew better than to assume this wish would go as planned. But for now, all he could do was wait, the sounds of Connor’s laughter and Richard’s moans echoing from the dining room, a haunting reminder of the family he’d lost—and the dangerous game he was still playing.

Chapter 5: A Wish Misplaced

Angel sat on his bed, his heart pounding, the tin of wishing candles still on his desk where he’d left it after making his desperate wish. The golden flame of the third candle had long since gone out, but the air in his childhood bedroom still felt heavy, charged with the unpredictable magic he’d unleashed. His mind was a storm of emotions—grief over the loss of his family, shame over what he’d done with Connor, and a fragile hope that Nick, his former boyfriend turned best friend in this warped reality, could be his lifeline. He’d wished for Nick to be “more than my friend,” hoping to reclaim the love they’d once shared, to have someone on his side in this nightmare. But as the minutes ticked by, doubt crept in. What if the wish had gone wrong, like the others?

A sharp knock on his window snapped him out of his thoughts, the sound so familiar it made his heart leap. It was Nick’s signature entrance—back when they were dating as Angela and Nick, he’d always climbed through her window late at night, sneaking in to avoid her parents. Angel’s breath hitched as he rushed to the window, his hands trembling as he pushed it open. Nick was here. Maybe the wish had worked. Maybe he’d have Nick back as his boyfriend, someone to love him, to help him navigate this twisted reality.

Nick climbed through the window with the same easy grace Angel remembered, his broad shoulders and construction worker’s build filling the room with a presence that made Angel’s new male body ache with longing. Nick’s dark hair was tousled, his flannel shirt unbuttoned to reveal a tight undershirt that hugged his muscular frame, his jeans clinging to his thighs. He grinned at Angel, but the smile was… off. It was friendly, casual, the same bro-ish grin he’d given Angel on the phone earlier, not the flirty, loving one Angel had hoped for. “Yo, Angel, what’s up, man?” Nick said, brushing off his jeans as he stepped inside. “You look like you’ve been through hell.”

Angel’s heart sank, his hope flickering. Didn’t the wish work? Nick’s tone was still that of a best friend, not a boyfriend. There was no warmth, no affection, just the same casual friendliness that had defined their relationship since the first wish turned Angel into a man. “Nick, I… I just needed to see you,” Angel stammered, his voice trembling, searching Nick’s face for any sign of the love they’d once shared.

Nick barely seemed to hear him, his eyes darting around the room, his expression shifting to one of impatience. “Yeah, cool, but where’s Connor?” he asked, his tone sharp, almost dismissive. “I told him I’d swing by after work.”

Angel’s heart plummeted, a cold dread settling in his chest. Nick was looking for Connor. Not him. Before he could process the implications, the bedroom door swung open, and Connor sauntered in, his presence filling the room like a storm cloud. He was still shirtless, his gray boxer briefs clinging to his hips, a slice of pizza in one hand, his chiseled firefighter’s body on full display. His smirk was cruel, his eyes glinting with a possessive hunger as they landed on Nick.

“There you are, babe,” Connor said, his voice low and affectionate, a stark contrast to the cold indifference he’d shown Angel earlier. He crossed the room in a few strides, pulling Nick into a tight embrace, their bodies pressing together with a familiarity that made Angel’s stomach churn. Nick melted into the hug, his arms wrapping around Connor’s waist, his hands roaming Connor’s bare back with a tenderness that Angel had once known.

“Hey, sorry I’m late,” Nick murmured, his voice soft, intimate, the kind of tone he used to use with Angela. He tilted his head up, and Connor leaned down, their lips meeting in a passionate, hungry kiss that made Angel’s breath catch in his throat. The kiss was deep, desperate, their tongues tangling as they devoured each other, their hands gripping tighter, bodies pressed so close there was no space between them.

Angel stood frozen, his heart shattering as the truth hit him like a tidal wave. The wish had worked—but not the way he’d intended. Nick was more than his friend now, but not to Angel. He was Connor’s boyfriend. The candles’ magic, unpredictable and cruel, had twisted his wish, giving Nick to Connor instead, deepening the stepbrother’s control over the family and leaving Angel more isolated than ever.

“Why’d you come through his window, babe?” Connor asked, pulling back from the kiss but keeping Nick in his arms, his tone a mix of teasing and possessiveness. “I told you to use mine.”

Nick chuckled, his hands still roaming Connor’s body, his eyes locked on his boyfriend with a devotion that made Angel’s chest ache. “Sorry, Connor, I always get confused with your shrimp brother’s room,” he said, his voice dripping with mockery as he glanced at Angel, his expression cold and dismissive.

Connor laughed, a cruel, mocking sound, his grip on Nick tightening as he shot Angel a disdainful look. “Don’t call him that,” he said, his tone sharp, his eyes glinting with malice. “He’s not worthy of being called my brother.” He smirked, pulling Nick closer, their bodies pressed together as they turned their attention back to each other, dismissing Angel entirely.

Their embrace quickly turned sexual, their hands roaming with a shameless hunger, their kisses growing sloppier, more desperate. Nick’s hands slid down to Connor’s ass, squeezing through the boxer briefs, while Connor’s fingers tangled in Nick’s hair, guiding him with a possessive roughness. They moved together with a rhythm that spoke of familiarity, of a relationship that had been rewritten into reality by the candles’ magic, a relationship that excluded Angel entirely.

All the while, they mocked him, their words cutting deeper with every touch, every kiss. “He’s so pathetic, isn’t he?” Nick murmured against Connor’s lips, his voice low but loud enough for Angel to hear. “Always moping around, like he’s worth something.”

“Yeah, just a toy I got bored of,” Connor replied, his laughter dark and triumphant, his hands sliding under Nick’s shirt to pull it off, revealing his toned chest. “You’re so much better, babe. Let’s show him how real men do it.”

Angel’s vision blurred with tears, his heart breaking as he watched the two men he loved most in the world—his stepbrother and his former boyfriend—embrace each other, their love a cruel mockery of everything he’d hoped for. Nick wasn’t his anymore. He was Connor’s, fully and completely, his straight identity rewritten into a gay, devoted boyfriend for the golden son, the head of the family. Angel was nothing to either of them, just a pathetic footnote in their twisted love story.

He couldn’t watch anymore. Turning away, he stumbled to his desk, his hands trembling as he grabbed the tin of wishing candles. Two candles remained, their black wax gleaming in the dim light, the note inside a haunting reminder: No undone wishes. He’d lost his family, his place in the world, and now Nick—the one person he’d thought could save him. But the candles were still his, the only power he had left in this nightmare reality. He could make another wish, try to fix this, try to take Nick back, or… or he could use them to destroy Connor, to take control, to rewrite this twisted world into something he could survive.

The sounds of Nick and Connor’s laughter, their moans, their cruel taunts, echoed behind him as they continued their passionate embrace, oblivious to Angel’s pain. He gripped the tin tighter, his resolve hardening. He didn’t know what his next wish would be, but he knew one thing for sure: he wasn’t done yet.

Chapter 6: A Wish Stolen, A Father Erased

Angel stood by his desk, the tin of wishing candles trembling in his hands, his mind racing as he tried to think his way out of the nightmare his life had become. The sounds of Nick and Connor’s passionate embrace filled the room, their moans and laughter a cruel reminder of the love he’d lost. Nick, his former boyfriend, was now Connor’s devoted partner, their relationship a twisted product of Angel’s own wish gone wrong. The candles’ magic had betrayed him again, and with only two candles left, he had to be careful—had to find a way to fix this, to take Nick back, to reclaim some semblance of the life he’d lost. He lit the fourth candle, the golden flame flickering to life, casting a warm glow across the room as he stared at it, his heart pounding with a mix of fear and determination.

Behind him, Nick and Connor’s embrace grew hotter, their hands roaming with a shameless hunger, their bodies pressed together in a rhythm that spoke of raw desire. Nick’s hands slid down to Connor’s ass, squeezing through the boxer briefs, his voice low and desperate as he broke their kiss. “Fuck, Connor, I want to top that ass so bad,” he growled, his tone thick with need, his hands gripping tighter as he pressed himself closer.

Connor pulled back slightly, his smirk sharp and commanding, his eyes glinting with a possessive edge. “You know you can’t top with me, babe,” he said, his voice firm, a reminder of his dominance in their relationship—and in the family. “I’m the one in charge here.”

Nick whined, his frustration clear as he nuzzled Connor’s neck, his hands still roaming. “Come on, Connor, I want to top today,” he pleaded, his voice a mix of desire and petulance, his body tense with unfulfilled need.

Connor’s smirk widened, a cruel idea sparking in his mind. He turned his head, calling out toward the hallway. “Yo, Richard! Get in here!” His voice was commanding, a tone that brooked no argument, the tone of the head of the household who expected to be obeyed.

Richard shuffled into the room, his posture slumped, his eyes wide and desperate as he wrung his hands. He was still shirtless, wearing only the tight briefs he’d had on at the dining table, his once-proud demeanor replaced by a pathetic neediness. He’d been broken by Connor over the years—through force, sex, and time—his sanity shattered, his identity reshaped into a cock-obsessed whore for his stepson. But even in his degraded state, he had a sliver of pride left, a faint echo of the man he’d once been. “What do you need, Connor?” he asked, his voice high-pitched and whiny, his eyes locked on his stepson with a mix of devotion and fear.

Connor gestured to Nick, his smirk never wavering. “Nick wants to top, and I’m not in the mood to bottom,” he said, his tone casual but laced with malice. “So I’m offering your hole to him. Get over here and let him fuck you.”

Richard’s eyes widened, a flicker of shock breaking through his submissive haze. “W-what?” he stammered, his hands trembling as he took a step back. “Connor, I… I’m your slut, not his. I’m only for you.” Despite his broken state, a shred of his former pride as a man surfaced, a faint resistance to the idea of being passed around like a toy. He’d given everything to Connor—his body, his mind, his identity—but this was a line he wasn’t ready to cross.

Connor’s expression darkened, his patience wearing thin. He stepped away from Nick, closing the distance between himself and Richard in a few strides, his hand shooting out to grab Richard’s arm with a bruising grip. “You’ll do what I say,” he growled, his voice low and dangerous, his eyes glinting with a cruel intensity. “I own you, remember? Now get on the bed and spread your legs for Nick.”

Richard whimpered, his resistance crumbling under Connor’s force, but it wasn’t enough. He shook his head, tears welling in his eyes, his voice trembling. “Please, Connor, I… I can’t…” Nick, still frustrated, let out an exasperated groan, his hands clenching into fists. “Come on, man, I need to fuck something,” he snapped, his tone sharp, his desire turning to anger.

Connor’s eyes narrowed, his frustration boiling over, but then his gaze landed on Angel—and the lit candle in his hands. A mocking laugh escaped his lips, his smirk returning as he released Richard and turned his attention to his stepbrother. “What the fuck are you doing, Angel?” he sneered, his voice dripping with contempt. “Making wishes? You think those stupid candles are gonna save you?” Before Angel could react, Connor crossed the room in two strides, snatching the candle from his hands, the golden flame flickering dangerously as he held it up, his eyes glinting with malice.

Angel’s heart stopped, panic flooding him as he reached for the candle, but Connor held it out of reach, his laughter dark and triumphant. “Let’s see how this works,” Connor said, his tone mocking, his gaze flicking to Richard, who was still trembling by the bed. “God, your dad is so annoying. I wish he forgot ever being anything more than my personal slut.” He blew out the candle, the flame snuffing out with a faint wisp of smoke, and the air around them shimmered, reality shifting once again.

The change was immediate, and devastating. Richard’s eyes glazed over, his expression going blank as the last remnants of his former self were erased. The memories of the straight man he’d once been—the loving father who’d taught Angel to ride a bike, the husband who’d cherished his family, the rightful man who’d tried to raise Connor with values—vanished, as if they’d never existed. He wasn’t Richard, Angel’s father, anymore. He was just a slut, gay and insatiable, his entire identity reduced to a single purpose: serving Connor’s cock. Angel? Who was Angel? He couldn’t recall having a son—couldn’t recall anything beyond the all-consuming need to be fucked, to be used, to be Connor’s personal slut.

A wide, vacant smile spread across his face, his eyes lighting up with a mindless eagerness as he turned to Nick, his hands already reaching for his briefs to pull them down. “You want to fuck me?” he purred, his voice high and eager, his body trembling with anticipation. “I’m all yours. Connor says it’s okay, so it’s okay.” He climbed onto the bed, spreading his legs wide, his movements shameless and desperate, his pride as a man long gone.

Nick’s frustration melted into a grin, his hands already working to unbutton his jeans as he moved toward the bed. “Fuck yeah, that’s more like it,” he said, his voice thick with desire, his eyes locked on Richard’s eager form. Connor laughed, a cruel, triumphant sound, as he tossed the candle back to Angel, the wax still warm from the flame. “See, Angel?” he sneered, his tone dripping with malice. “That’s how you use those things. Now watch how real men fuck.”

Angel caught the candle, his hands trembling, his heart shattering as he watched Nick climb onto the bed, his hands roaming Richard’s body with a possessive hunger, their moans filling the room as they began to fuck. Richard’s eager cries, his complete lack of recognition for Angel, were a knife to the chest. His dad was gone—truly gone—erased by Connor’s wish, his identity reduced to nothing more than a slut for Connor’s pleasure, a hole for Nick to use. The family Angel had known was a distant memory, replaced by this twisted, depraved nightmare where he was nothing, less than nothing, to the people who’d once loved him.

The tin of candles sat on the desk, one remaining, its black wax gleaming in the dim light. Angel’s eyes darted to it, his resolve hardening amidst the despair. Connor had stolen his wish, used it to erase what little was left of Richard, but Angel still had one candle left—one last chance to change things, to take back control, to make this nightmare end. The sounds of Nick and Richard’s moans, Connor’s mocking laughter, echoed around him, a haunting reminder of the hell he’d created—and the dangerous game he was still playing.

Chapter 7: The Final Flame

Angel stood frozen by his desk, the tin of wishing candles clutched in his trembling hands, the sounds of Nick and Richard’s moans echoing behind him, a cruel symphony of the family he’d lost. Connor’s mocking laughter still rang in his ears, his stepbrother’s cruel wish—“I wish he forgot ever being anything more than my personal slut”—having erased Richard’s identity completely. The man who’d once been Angel’s father was gone, his memories of being a straight man, a loving father, a husband, replaced by a mindless, gay cock slut who didn’t even know Angel existed. Nick, Angel’s former boyfriend, was now Connor’s devoted partner, their passionate embrace a constant reminder of the love Angel had lost. Linda, his stepmother, enabled it all, her loyalty to Connor absolute, her disdain for Angel palpable. And Connor… Connor was a monster, a spoiled, sexually dominant stepbrother who ruled the family with an iron fist, his corruption complete after stealing the fourth candle and using it to erase Richard’s past.

The tin held only one candle now, its black wax gleaming in the dim light, the note inside a haunting reminder: No undone wishes. Angel’s heart pounded, his mind racing with the weight of his decision. This was his last chance—his final wish, his only hope to fix the nightmare he’d created, to take back control, to reclaim the family and love he’d lost. But the candles’ magic was unpredictable, cruel, always twisting his desires into something darker. He’d wished to understand men, and he’d become one, losing his identity as Angela. He’d wished for Connor to be okay with sex, and it had turned him into a twisted stepbrother who dominated the family. He’d wished for Nick to be more than a friend, and it had given him to Connor instead. What would this final wish do?

He glanced at Connor, who was watching Nick and Richard with a smirk, his chiseled body still on display, his dominance over the room absolute. Angel’s resolve hardened. Connor was the source of this nightmare—his corruption, his cruelty, his control had destroyed everything. If Angel could take him down, maybe he could save what was left of his family, maybe he could bring Nick back, maybe he could find a way to survive this hell. He lit the final candle, the golden flame flickering to life, casting a warm glow across the room. His breath hitched, his mind racing with the possibilities, but he couldn’t afford to hesitate. “I wish Connor was stripped of all his power and control,” he whispered, his voice trembling with a mix of fear and determination. He blew out the candle, the flame snuffing out with a faint wisp of smoke, and the air around him shimmered, reality shifting one last time.

A cold laugh echoed through the room, a sound that wasn’t Connor’s, wasn’t Nick’s, wasn’t Richard’s. It was otherworldly, sharp and mocking, sending a chill down Angel’s spine. The air grew heavy, the shadows in the room lengthening, and a figure materialized in the corner—a wiry man with a crooked smile, his eyes glinting with a mischievous, malevolent light. It was the shopkeeper from the thrift store, the one who’d sold Angela the candles all those days ago, but he was different now, his form flickering like a mirage, his presence radiating a dark, supernatural energy. “Well, well, well,” the figure said, his voice a low purr, his smile widening. “You’ve used all my candles, little one. I must say, you’ve made quite a mess.”

Angel’s heart stopped, his hands trembling as he clutched the empty tin. “Who… who are you?” he stammered, his voice barely a whisper, his eyes darting to Connor, Nick, and Richard, who seemed frozen, their movements halted as if time itself had paused.

Connor Lose

The figure stepped closer, his form shifting, his body elongating into something less human, more ethereal, his eyes glowing with a golden light that matched the candles’ flame. “I am the Trickster, the spirit bound to those candles,” he said, his tone dripping with amusement. “I grant wishes, yes, but I also feed on the chaos they create. And you, my dear, have given me quite a feast.” He gestured to the room, to Connor’s dominance, Richard’s submission, Nick’s betrayal. “But now you’ve made your final wish, and I must grant it—though not without my own little twist.”

The Trickster snapped his fingers, and reality shuddered, the effects of Angel’s wish taking hold. Connor’s smirk vanished, his body trembling as an invisible force seemed to grip him, stripping away the power and control he’d wielded so effortlessly. His chiseled form shrank slightly, his muscles softening, his commanding presence fading as he stumbled backward, his eyes wide with shock. “What… what’s happening to me?” he gasped, his voice no longer deep and authoritative, but high-pitched and panicked, a shadow of the dominant stepbrother he’d been.

Nick and Richard blinked, their movements resuming, but their expressions shifted, their devotion to Connor faltering. Nick stepped away from Richard, his hands dropping to his sides, his brow furrowing as if waking from a dream. “Connor?” he said, his voice uncertain, his eyes darting between his boyfriend and Angel. Richard slid off the bed, his vacant smile fading, his mindless eagerness replaced by a confused, hollow look, as if the slut he’d become was unraveling without Connor’s control to anchor him.

Angel’s heart leaped, hope flickering in his chest. The wish was working—Connor’s power was gone, his control over the family stripped away. Maybe Nick would come back to him, maybe Richard would remember him, maybe—

The Trickster’s laughter cut through his thoughts, sharp and cruel. “Oh, you thought it would be that simple?” he said, his glowing eyes locking onto Angel, his smile widening. “I said I’d grant your wish, but I never said I’d make it easy. Let’s add a little twist, shall we?”

The Trickster snapped his fingers again, and the air shimmered, the wish’s magic twisting in a way Angel hadn’t anticipated. Connor’s body stopped shrinking, but his expression changed, his panic replaced by a blank, vacant stare, his eyes glazing over as the last remnants of his personality were erased. The Trickster’s voice echoed through the room, a dark proclamation: “If he has no power, he has no control—not even over himself.” Connor’s identity, his memories, his very self, were stripped away, leaving him as a mindless shell, a blank slate with no will, no desires, no dominance. He stood there, staring at nothing, his body still, his mind gone, a hollow husk of the man he’d been.

Nick and Richard’s reactions were immediate, their connection to Connor severed. Nick stumbled backward, his hands trembling, his eyes wide with confusion. “What… what the fuck is happening?” he stammered, his voice shaking, his devotion to Connor replaced by a disorienting emptiness. Richard collapsed to the floor, his body trembling, his vacant expression turning to one of anguish as the slut identity Connor had forced upon him unraveled, leaving him with nothing—no memories, no purpose, just a hollow shell of a man who couldn’t even remember being a father.

Angel’s hope turned to horror, his heart sinking as he realized the cost of his wish. He’d wanted to strip Connor of his power, to take back control, but the Trickster had twisted it, erasing Connor entirely, leaving him as a mindless husk. And with Connor’s control gone, the family dynamic he’d enforced collapsed, leaving Nick and Richard adrift, their rewritten identities unraveling without Connor to anchor them. The family was broken beyond repair, their minds shattered, their connections severed, and Angel was still alone, the last candle gone, the Trickster’s laughter echoing in his ears.

The Trickster stepped closer, his form flickering, his smile cruel and triumphant. “You wanted to understand men, and now you do,” he said, his voice a low purr, his eyes glinting with malice. “You wanted love, power, control, and you got chaos instead. That’s the price of playing with my magic, little one.” He leaned in, his face inches from Angel’s, his breath cold against his skin. “But don’t worry—I’ll be watching. Maybe I’ll find another fool to play with, and we’ll see what chaos they create.” With a final, mocking laugh, the Trickster vanished, the air returning to normal, the golden glow fading, leaving Angel alone with the wreckage of his family.

Angel fell to his knees, tears streaming down his face, the empty tin slipping from his hands. Connor stood motionless, a blank slate with no will, no personality, a far cry from the heroic brother he’d once been or the monster he’d become. Nick sat on the floor, his head in his hands, muttering to himself, his mind a jumble of fragmented memories, unable to reconcile the straight man he’d been with the gay boyfriend he’d become. Richard lay curled on the floor, whimpering, his identity erased, his mind too broken to even recognize the son he’d once loved. Linda, downstairs, would likely be unaffected, her loyalty to Connor meaningless now that he was gone, but Angel didn’t care. His family was gone, his love was gone, and the candles—the source of all this chaos—were gone.

He’d wanted to fix everything, to take back control, but the Trickster had ensured his final wish would be his undoing. Angel was alone, truly alone, in a reality of his own making, a reality where the people he loved were broken beyond repair, their identities erased, their lives destroyed. The candles had given him what he’d asked for, but at a cost he could never have imagined—a lesson in the dangers of unchecked desire, a lesson he’d never forget.

Connor Wins

The Trickster’s gaze shifted to Connor, his smile widening, his eyes glinting with a dark admiration. “You wished to strip this one of his power and control,” he said, his voice a low purr, “but I’ve grown rather fond of him. He’s embraced the chaos, reveled in the corruption, become a true master of this twisted game. I think he deserves a reward, don’t you?”

Angel’s blood ran cold, panic flooding him as he shook his head, his voice trembling. “No… no, that’s not what I meant! I wanted to stop him, to take it all away—”

The Trickster’s laughter cut him off, sharp and cruel. “Oh, but the candles don’t care what you meant, little one,” he said, his tone mocking. “They give you what you ask for, with a twist of my own. And I say… let’s give Connor more power, more control, make him the god he was always meant to be.” He snapped his fingers, and reality shuddered, the effects of Angel’s wish taking a devastating turn.

Connor’s body glowed with a golden light, his chiseled form growing even more imposing, his muscles bulging, his presence radiating an almost supernatural aura. His smirk returned, wider, more triumphant, his eyes glinting with a godlike power as the Trickster’s magic amplified his control, making it absolute, unbreakable. “Yes,” Connor growled, his voice deeper, more commanding, a sound that shook the room, his dominance now a tangible force that pressed down on everyone around him. “This is what I deserve.”

Nick and Richard’s reactions were immediate, their devotion to Connor intensifying, their minds bending further under his enhanced control. Nick dropped to his knees, his hands reaching for Connor, his eyes wide with worshipful adoration. “Connor, my love, my king,” he murmured, his voice trembling with awe, his straight identity long gone, his entire being devoted to his godlike boyfriend. Richard crawled to Connor’s feet, his vacant smile returning, his mindless slut identity reinforced, his body trembling with eagerness to serve. “Please, Connor, use me, fuck me, I’m yours,” he begged, his voice high and desperate, his last shred of pride erased by Connor’s amplified power.

Linda appeared in the doorway, drawn by the shift in reality, her expression one of pure reverence as she gazed at her son. “My golden boy,” she whispered, her voice filled with pride, her loyalty to Connor now a fanatical devotion, her role as his enabler elevated to that of a worshipper. The family was united under Connor’s rule, their minds, bodies, and souls his to command, their identities rewritten to serve him and him alone.

Angel fell to his knees, tears streaming down his face, the empty tin slipping from his hands. The Trickster’s twist had turned his wish into a nightmare—Connor wasn’t stripped of his power; he was elevated to a godlike status, his control over the family absolute, his corruption complete. Nick, Richard, Linda—they were all Connor’s now, their devotion to him unshakeable, their minds bent to his will. And Angel… Angel was nothing, less than nothing, a broken, powerless shell in a reality where Connor reigned supreme.

Connor turned to Angel, his godlike presence towering over him, his smirk cruel and triumphant. “You thought you could take me down, little brother?” he said, his voice a low rumble, his eyes glinting with malice. He stepped closer, his hand reaching out to grip Angel’s chin, forcing him to look up into his glowing eyes. “You’re nothing to me. Just a toy I’ll keep around for fun. But this family, this world—it’s mine now. And you’ll watch me rule it.”

The Trickster’s laughter echoed through the room, his form flickering as he stepped back, his work complete. “A fitting end, don’t you think?” he said, his tone dripping with amusement, his eyes locked on Angel. “You wanted to understand men, and now you do—through the lens of the ultimate man, the ultimate god. Enjoy your new reality, little one. I’ll be watching.” With a final, mocking laugh, the Trickster vanished, the air returning to normal, the golden glow fading, leaving Angel at Connor’s mercy.

Connor released Angel’s chin, turning back to Nick and Richard, his hands gesturing for them to rise. “Come, my pets,” he said, his voice commanding, his presence undeniable. “Let’s celebrate my ascension.” Nick and Richard scrambled to obey, their bodies pressed against Connor’s, their hands roaming with worshipful hunger, their moans filling the room as they began to pleasure their god. Linda watched with a smile, her pride in her son unshakable, her role as his enabler now a sacred duty.

Angel curled into a ball on the floor, his sobs echoing in the room, the weight of his defeat crushing him. Connor had won—everything. His corruption arc had culminated in absolute victory, his power godlike, his control unbreakable, his family and Nick devoted to him completely. Angel was nothing, a broken toy in a reality where Connor reigned supreme, a reality of his own making, a reality he could never escape. The candles had given Connor everything, and Angel had lost it all—a final, devastating lesson in the dangers of unchecked desire.

#caption #straight to gay #ai generated #grok3 #english #magic #corruption

58 notes · View notes