Nerves...

You sit at the small kitchen table, fork absently stirring the simple chicken and rice in front of you. It’s cheap, easy, and all you could really muster the energy for. Between balancing university classes, assignments, and these ridiculous curse trials, cooking anything more complicated felt like a distant dream. You chew mechanically, not really tasting it, your mind preoccupied with the looming party tomorrow night.

The trial has been hanging over you like a dark cloud for the past week. You’ve gone over the plan in your head a million times, rehearsing what you’d say, how you’d act, how you’d try to get Marcus Chase’s attention. You can’t stop picturing the scene, the lavish party, Marcus standing there with Victoria on his arm, you trying to subtly catch his eye. It feels like a movie you’ve watched on repeat, except you’re not quite sure how the ending is supposed to go.

Between all of this, keeping up with your university work has been… rough, to say the least. You’re barely scraping by in some of your classes, your concentration fractured by the weight of Aphrodite’s curse. Every time you try to focus on a lecture or a reading assignment, your thoughts drift back to the trials, the transformations, and how much further you still have to go. Balancing school and this god-awful situation feels impossible. You wonder how you’re even still managing, half expecting to collapse from the pressure any day now.

Across the table, Liam shovels food into his mouth, oblivious to the storm brewing in your head. He’s been a rock through all of this, helping you with the trials while juggling his own schoolwork, barely complaining despite how much the curse is screwing with his life too. You glance at him, your heart tightening with an unexpected wave of emotion. He’s been there every step of the way, pushing through the awkwardness and the strain, always trying to make the best out of an impossible situation.

For some reason, the sight of him—your best friend, just sitting there with his own pile of school stress, still having your back—makes your eyes burn. You blink hard, staring down at your plate, trying to shake it off. What the hell is wrong with you? You’ve never been the emotional type, and yet here you are, on the verge of tears over chicken and rice. You take a deep breath, swallowing the lump in your throat and pushing the feeling away. Maybe it’s just the stress getting to you. Maybe it’s this damn curse, messing with your body, your head.

Your mind drifts back to a moment from a few days ago, a little reminder that the curse is still very much alive and well. You were practicing your makeup—something you’ve been **** to get better at thanks to these trials. You’ve come a long way, actually. A few months ago, you barely knew how to apply foundation, but now? You’re blending concealer like a pro, shaping your brows, and even contouring your cheekbones. It’s surreal, to say the least.

That day, you’d been finishing up your usual routine. Eyeshadow? Check. Mascara? Check. And then, when you got to your lips, something caught your attention. As you applied the lipstick—a soft nude shade, subtle but pretty—you noticed something was… off. Your lips looked fuller, slightly plumper than you remembered. At first, you thought it was the lipstick making them look that way, but the more you stared, the more you realized it wasn’t just the makeup.

You’d grabbed an old picture of yourself from a few months ago, before all of this started. Sure enough, there was a difference. It wasn’t dramatic, but it was there—your lips had changed. Fuller, softer, more feminine. A chill ran down your spine. It was a reminder that even when you weren’t actively noticing, the transformation was happening. Day by day, you were becoming… something else. Someone else.

You hadn’t mentioned it to Liam. Why would you? He was already dealing with so much, and the last thing you wanted to do was burden him with more of your freak-outs. But that moment had stuck with you, a quiet realization that you couldn’t escape this, no matter how hard you tried to pretend things were normal.

You glance at Liam again, swallowing the remnants of your emotions, your mind circling back to the party tomorrow. You have to focus. You can’t afford to lose your head now. The plan is shaky, sure, but it’s all you’ve got. And if you fail this trial… well, you don’t even want to think about what comes next.

Liam looks up from his plate, catching your eye. “You good?” he asks, his voice casual, but there’s a flicker of concern in his expression.

You nod quickly, pushing your emotions down. “Yeah, just thinking about tomorrow,” you mutter, shoving another forkful of rice into your mouth to keep from saying anything else.

He doesn’t press, just nods, and you’re grateful for that. You’re not ready to unpack everything swirling around in your head, not with him, not yet.

You finish your meal in silence, trying to steel yourself for what’s to come. Tomorrow night could be the turning point, for better or worse. And no matter what happens, you have to be ready.

Dinner wraps up quickly. You and Liam work through the motions of cleaning up, a quiet rhythm between you both as you wash the dishes and clear the table. It’s routine, mundane, a small slice of normalcy that’s hard to come by these days. But before long, you’re both back in your rooms, changed into comfortable night clothes—an oversized t-shirt and loose shorts for you, while Liam opts for his usual t-shirt and boxers. It’s late, but sleep feels a long way off, especially with the weight of tomorrow’s party looming overhead.

Sitting on opposite ends of the room, you both go over the plan for what feels like the hundredth time. Liam reclines on his bed, hands behind his head, as you sit cross-legged on yours, nerves buzzing beneath the surface. The goal is clear—get Marcus Chase away from Victoria Worthington, using every advantage you can muster. It’s not impossible, but it’s going to take precision.

“We need Hermes,” you say, breaking the brief silence. “There’s no way I can pull this off without his spell.”

Liam nods in agreement, staring up at the ceiling. “Yeah, you’ll need every bit of help he can give. The right looks, the right attitude—Marcus has to believe you’re the most interesting woman at that party.”

“And that’s not easy,” you reply with a smirk. “Not with Victoria hanging on his arm.”

Liam glances over at you, a mischievous glint in his eyes. “Do you think Hermes can do the same for me? You know, make me some ridiculously handsome, seductive persona for Victoria?”

You laugh at the absurdity of it, but the idea is almost tempting. “Yeah, right. You’d probably end up looking like a Greek Adonis, and then she’d forget about Marcus in a second.”

Liam grins. “Hey, a guy can dream.”

The two of you laugh for a moment, the tension in the room lifting slightly. But it quickly fades as the weight of the night ahead settles back in. You both know how high the stakes are, and no amount of humor can fully distract from that.

“We really need to get some sleep,” Liam says after a beat, his voice a little quieter now. “Big day tomorrow.”

You nod, lying back on your bed, staring up at the dim ceiling. You feel the exhaustion weighing on your body, but your mind is still racing with all the possibilities and outcomes for tomorrow.

Liam chuckles softly to himself, and you glance over at him. “What?”

“I was just thinking,” he says, grinning. “You know how I always jerk off before bed to help me sleep? Best way to knock out, honestly.”

You narrow your eyes at him, feeling a flicker of annoyance, though it’s mostly playful. “Seriously? You’re bringing that up right now?”

Liam raises his hands in mock surrender, but the teasing glint in his eye says it all. “What? I’m just saying it works.”

“You’re just saying that so I’ll—” You don’t finish the sentence, but the implication hangs heavily between you. Ever since Aphrodite cursed Liam with the inability to get hard without your touch, there’s been this awkward understanding between you two. It’s not like either of you enjoy the situation, but you made a deal. An uncomfortable, weird, necessary deal.

“I was kidding,” Liam says, his grin faltering just a bit. “I wasn’t asking for that.”

But the way his eyes avoid yours tells a different story, and you both know it.

You sigh, sitting up on your bed, a deep breath escaping your chest as you try to mentally prepare yourself for what you know is coming. “Okay,” you say quietly, standing up and moving toward his bed. “Let’s just get this over with.”

Liam looks a little surprised, but he quickly masks it with a sheepish grin. “You don’t have to—”

“I know,” you cut him off, sitting down next to him. “But if it helps you sleep and gets you out of my hair, then whatever. Let’s just… do it.”

Liam stays quiet for a moment, glancing at you out of the corner of his eye, clearly trying to gauge your mood. “Thanks,” he says softly, though the usual cocky undertone remains in his voice.

You roll your eyes, but a part of you feels a little… odd. Despite how awkward this whole arrangement is, you can’t help but feel a strange sense of closeness, an odd kind of loyalty that’s developed between you and Liam. He’s been with you through all of this, from the very beginning. Even if he’s being a cheeky bastard right now, you know he’s doing his best to support you.

Still, that doesn’t make this any less awkward.

You take a deep breath and reach for the waistband of his shorts, trying not to make this any weirder than it already is.

You sigh heavily as you sit beside Liam on his bed, the weight of what you're about to do sinking in. It's only the second time you've done this, and that doesn't make it any less awkward—or any less frustrating. You don't say anything as you pull down the waistband of his shorts, revealing his cock. Liam tenses slightly at the touch, but you refuse to meet his gaze, just going through the motions.

You close your eyes, trying to dissociate as much as possible. Your hand wraps around his length, the warmth of his skin beneath your fingers making the moment even more real, more uncomfortable. You start moving your hand, slow and methodical, each stroke calculated, devoid of emotion.

Liam lets out a small grunt, his breath catching a little. You grit your teeth. God, this is awkward.

"Just—" Liam starts to say, but you cut him off before he can finish.

"Shut up," you snap, keeping your eyes tightly closed, your hand continuing its motion. You don’t want to hear him. You don’t want to think about how weird this is, or how close the two of you have been for years, or this ridiculous situation.

Liam huffs out a small breath, clearly annoyed. "Well, excuse me for trying to lighten the mood," he mutters under his breath, the irritation clear in his voice.

You ignore him. You don't have the energy to argue, not tonight. You just want to get this over with as quickly as possible and move on, maybe get some sleep before tomorrow’s big party.

But of course, Liam can’t just let it go.

“Hey,” he says after a few minutes, his voice tentative but still holding that familiar cheekiness. “You know… some lubrication would really speed this up. Just saying.”

Your eyes snap open, glaring at him even though you were trying so hard not to make this worse by actually looking at him during this. “Are you fucking serious right now, Liam?”

He shrugs, unfazed by your annoyance. “What? I’m just being practical. It’ll be faster, less… uh, uncomfortable. For both of us.”

You clench your jaw, biting back the slew of curses you want to throw at him. As much as you hate to admit it, he’s right. Doing this dry is making it take longer, and the longer it takes, the more unbearable this whole thing feels.

But still… asking for “lubrication”? Really?

You groan in frustration, closing your eyes again. “Fine,” you mutter through gritted teeth. Then, with a deep breath, you spit into your hand, the sensation immediately making your skin crawl, before you close your eyes again and resume the task.

The spit makes things smoother, but it doesn't make the situation any less weird. You try to block it all out—the sound of your hand moving slickly, Liam’s occasional quiet moans, the heat in the room. You focus on just getting him off, on finishing this as quickly as possible.

“Better, right?” Liam asks, clearly pleased with himself.

You don't even bother responding. Instead, you grip him just a little tighter, hoping he gets the message to shut up.

Your hand moves in steady, mechanical strokes, every second dragging on like an eternity. Liam's quiet grunts and moans are the only sounds cutting through the awkward silence, and each one makes you cringe a little more inside. You’re doing your best to block it all out, to just focus on the task, but the whole thing feels surreal and uncomfortable in ways you can't even describe.

Eventually, you can feel Liam tensing up beneath your hand. You don’t have to open your eyes to know what's coming next, and you brace yourself for the inevitable. He lets out a low groan, his body shuddering as he reaches his climax, and then—warmth. Sticky, uncomfortable warmth spreading over your fingers as he cums into your hand.

You make a face of pure disgust, pulling your hand away immediately. You’re about to bolt from the bed and rush to the bathroom to wash it off, when Liam’s voice stops you.

"Hey," he says quietly, still a little breathless. “Thanks… for doing this. I know it’s… hard for you, especially with everything going on, but… I appreciate it.”

You freeze, caught off guard by the sincerity in his voice. For a second, you just stand there, staring at him, processing his words. Liam’s been through a lot with you, more than anyone else has. He’s been by your side through this insane curse, through the transformation, through all the trials and the constant stress of it. Even when things got weird—and they’ve gotten really fucking weird—he’s still here, helping you however he can. It’s not something you’ve really stopped to think about before now.

But then you remember the sticky mess on your hand. The moment of sentimentality passes, and you grimace as reality snaps back into focus.

“Yeah, no problem,” you mutter, quickly standing up and making your way to the bathroom. You can't get to the sink fast enough, scrubbing your hand under the cold water, watching as the suds wash away the remnants of what just happened.

The warmth of Liam’s words lingers, but the disgust of the moment takes over. You shake your head, splashing water on your face. “This is so messed up,” you whisper to yourself, before drying your hands and heading back out to the room.