Lady Luck

The dorm hummed with a quiet stillness, broken only by the faint click of Liam’s keyboard as he finished up whatever assignment he had been working on. You were seated on your bed, legs stretched out and arms crossed as you scrolled absentmindedly through your phone.

It was that time again. Neither of you needed to say it.

Liam glanced up, meeting your gaze for the briefest moment before his eyes darted back to the screen. He wasn’t teasing, wasn’t smug—he hadn’t been for a while now. You had done this enough times for the initial awkwardness to dull into a strange, **** routine.

“You ready?” you asked, setting your phone down with a sigh.

“Yeah,” Liam replied simply, already shutting his laptop and placing it to the side. He stood, stretching his arms over his head as he made his way to the couch, where he flopped down in a familiar, almost casual sprawl.

You walked over, your steps steady, resigned, and sat beside him. There wasn’t any fumbling or hesitation anymore, not like the first few times. You both knew the drill.

Liam shifted slightly, sliding his sweatpants and boxers down enough to free himself. You tried not to look directly, keeping your eyes focused on the cushion beside him as you reached out.

Your hand wrapped around him, the warmth and firmness under your fingers still a little unsettling, but not shocking like it used to be. This was just something you did now—a means to an end, another part of this insane curse you were trying to break.

Liam let out a small sigh as your hand began to move, slow and methodical. He didn’t say anything, didn’t make any comments or jokes. He just closed his eyes and leaned his head back, his breathing deepening as you continued.

The silence wasn’t uncomfortable anymore, just a quiet understanding between the two of you. The sound of your hand sliding against him was soft, rhythmic, and you focused on keeping your movements steady.

This is fine. Just keep going.

Liam’s breaths grew heavier, his chest rising and falling in a steady rhythm. His hands rested on his thighs, fingers twitching occasionally as you worked.

You couldn’t help but glance at his face, seeing the slight flush in his cheeks, the way his lips parted as he let out a quiet groan. It was strange, seeing him like this—****, almost. But you didn’t dwell on it.

“Feels good,” Liam murmured, his voice low, almost absentminded.

You didn’t respond, your focus entirely on the task at hand.

Your thumb brushed over the head briefly, and Liam twitched under your touch, a soft gasp escaping him. His hips shifted slightly, but he didn’t move too much, letting you set the pace.

It was almost mechanical now, the way your hand moved. Up, down, a slight twist here and there—patterns you’d learned to speed things along.

Your hand kept its steady rhythm, and the room felt quieter than it had any right to be. Liam’s breathing filled the space, low and uneven as you worked, focusing on the rise and fall of his chest instead of… well, anything else.

But for the first time during this routine, something else itched at the edges of your thoughts. A now familiar but restless need that had been lingering for days. It buzzed now, a stubborn, gnawing sensation at the back of your head as if trying to root itself in your very being.

You adjusted your grip slightly, your thumb grazing over him in a way you knew he liked. Liam let out a soft gasp, his hips twitching under your hand.

And then, there it was. That thought.

It hit like a flash, unbidden and unwelcome: the urge to lean down. To feel it in your mouth. To suck on it.

Your hand faltered for the briefest second before you shook the thought away. What the hell was that?

You clenched your jaw, stifling the ridiculous notion as your pace resumed, determined and a bit more mechanical now. But the thought didn’t leave—it hovered there, persistent. The phantom sensation teased at your mind, and you tried to focus on literally anything else: the fabric of the bed beneath you, the faint hum of a distant car outside, the way Liam’s breathing hitched.

He groaned softly, his head tilting back. The sound sent a strange, prickling sensation down your spine—not desire, not attraction, just… something.

You swallowed hard, your grip tightening slightly as you sped up, **** to drown out the itch in your mind. I’m not doing that. No way. Not in a million years.

The buzzing in your thoughts didn’t care. It whispered, insistent. What would it feel like? Would he—

You shut your eyes tight, the internal battle raging as you clung stubbornly to the remnants of your straight, masculine self. “Masculine.” The word felt hollow tonight, like it didn’t quite fit as neatly as it should have.

Liam’s breathing turned ragged, his body tensing under your hand. “Close,” he muttered, the word breaking through your haze.

You focused on that. On the finish line. On getting this over with.

Your movements grew more deliberate, your grip firm yet fluid as you worked him closer to release. Liam let out a sharp gasp, his hips jerking slightly.

And then, with a muffled groan, his whole body went rigid, warmth spilling over your hand.

You froze for a moment, letting him ride it out before carefully pulling your hand away. The strange buzz in your mind lingered, quieter now but still there, stubborn as ever.

“Thanks,” he said softly, his voice casual but genuine.

“Yeah,” you muttered, but the restless buzz still lingered in the back of your mind, the thought returning for just a moment. Why did it even cross my mind?

The sticky warmth on your hand was still fresh when a shimmer of light filled the room, interrupting the awkward, quiet aftermath. You and Liam both froze, heads snapping toward the sudden presence of… her.

She stood casually in the middle of your dorm room, arms crossed and a raised eyebrow that screamed unimpressed. Her outfit was effortlessly chic: a pair of high-waisted, distressed jeans hugged her hips, and an off-the-shoulder black crop top revealed just enough to be teasing without crossing into over-the-top. Her skin had a sun-kissed glow, and her honey-blonde hair tumbled in loose waves over one shoulder, framing a face that could sell magazines. A single gold necklace rested at her collarbone, drawing the eye without trying too hard.

“Oh, wow,” she said, voice dripping with sarcasm as her sharp, emerald-green eyes darted between you and Liam. “This is how you guys deal with the curse?” She averted her gaze quickly, grimacing. “Gross.”

Your mind reeled, and your body moved on instinct, snatching a tissue and wiping your hand furiously. “What the hell?” you barked, your voice cracking in equal parts shock and humiliation.

Liam was red-faced, scrambling to adjust his pants as he stammered, “Who… who are you? And how did you—how did you get in here?”

“Tyche,” the woman said simply, her tone exasperated as she kept her focus on literally anything else in the room. She waved a hand as though this whole scene was inconveniencing her. “You know, goddess of luck? Fortune? Ring any bells?”

The name hit you like a bucket of cold water. Tyche. Of course. Another goddess. Because why not? You shot a look at Liam, who seemed as baffled as you were.

“Okay, but why are you here?” you asked, wiping at your hand for the third time, just for good measure.

Tyche’s lips twitched into a sly smirk as she finally looked at you, her gaze sharp but playful. “Oh, I don’t know. Maybe because I’ve been keeping you two from completely screwing up your little trials?” She gestured vaguely, her manicured nails glinting in the dim light.

Liam blinked. “You’ve… been helping us?”

“Obviously,” she scoffed, tossing her hair over her shoulder. “Do you think Aphrodite’s little games are fair? Please. You needed a little boost, and I, being the generous goddess that I am, made sure you got it.”

Your brows furrowed as you tried to piece it together. “What kind of boost?”

Tyche rolled her eyes. “Let’s see… Liam’s oh-so-timely intervention with Victoria? That little fiasco could’ve gone south real fast, but no, I nudged things in just the right direction. And then there’s Marcus. Do you honestly think your second trial would’ve gone so smoothly without a bit of divine intervention?”

Your stomach dropped as the memories came rushing back—the convenient timing of Victoria’s meltdown, Marcus’ sudden vulnerability, the ease with which you’d pulled off what should have been an impossible feat. “That was you?”

“Bingo.” She clapped her hands together, her grin widening. “And now, I’m here to collect.”

Liam frowned. “Collect? Collect what?”

Tyche’s smirk turned devilish. “A favor. Don’t look so shocked; it’s not like luck comes free. You owe me, and I’ve decided it’s time to cash in.”

“What kind of favor?” you asked, your voice wary.

“Relax,” she said, waving you off. “I’m not asking for your soul or anything dramatic like that. Just… a small task. Something easy. Fun, even.”

You exchanged a look with Liam, who seemed just as skeptical as you felt. “Define ‘easy,’” he said.

Tyche leaned in slightly, her gaze twinkling with mischief. “Just know that I’m not asking—this is me telling.”