Unwinding Pt. 2

You stumble slightly as you stand, the vodka buzzing warmly through your veins, making each movement feel lighter and slower than it should. The thought of Liam’s request still lingers in your mind—frustrating, humiliating, and, most annoyingly, impossible to argue against tonight. You sigh, brushing a hand through your hair as you decide to just get it over with.

The first hurdle: your sweater.

Carefully, you reach down and pull the hem up, inching it over your torso. The **** makes your fingers less steady than you’d like, and you’re overly aware of the delicate makeup still adorning your face. With exaggerated precision, you lift the fabric over your head, taking extra care not to smear the foundation or brush against your glued-on lashes. As you let the sweater fall to the floor, you quickly shuffle out of your bottoms, and then you glance up at your reflection in the full-length mirror.

There you are, standing in just your black panties and the smooth, supportive fit of a new bra you’d bought today—one of the simpler nude ones. It fit so much better than the tight A-cup you’d been squeezing into earlier. The soft, natural lift of the B-cup bra gave subtle shape to the budding curves of your chest, the curse’s slow, insidious work already apparent. You hated how well it fit.

You hated how good you looked.

Your eyes trail over your reflection, hesitant but unable to look away. The girl staring back at you has long, silky hair cascading over her shoulders, flushed cheeks from the ****, and a body that, while not overly voluptuous, holds the youthful promise of something feminine and soft. The curse had transformed your once-flat chest into something you’d associate with a teenage girl’s—modest, perky, and undeniable. You shift, trying to see yourself objectively, but even through the haze of your drunkenness, you know what’s true: you look hot.

And that arousal, sharp and familiar, hits you like a slap.

You grimace as you feel it—a flicker of heat curling low in your belly, a sensation you’re not used to feeling for your own body. “What the hell,” you mutter under your breath, irritated and embarrassed. It’s one thing to know you look attractive, but to feel something stir in response? That’s too much.

Against your better judgment, your hand moves almost instinctively, brushing over the front of your panties. You press your fingers lightly against the smooth fabric, the cursed anatomy beneath it soft and unfamiliar. The lack of anything there, the flatness of it, feels wrong, yet the way it responds sends a conflicted shiver through you.

“Focus,” you hiss, yanking your hand back as if burned. You shake your head, trying to clear the thoughts and feelings that seem to take over. Liam’s waiting. Just... get through this.

Determined to distract yourself, you turn to the shopping bags piled neatly on the bed. There’s plenty to choose from—more than you’d expected when you started the day—but you’re focused now on finding something Liam would like. Something easy that wouldn’t make you feel too ridiculous.

After rummaging through the bags, you settle on a black pencil skirt. It’s fitted but comfortable, its sleek fabric hugging your hips in a way you can’t decide if you hate or admire. For a top, you grab the cream blouse, its soft material flowing as you hold it up. The delicate neckline and slight sheen make it look expensive—good enough for Liam’s expectations. You pull it on, buttoning it halfway up, then tuck it into the skirt.

You frown at your reflection as you smooth the outfit down, the **** making you wobble a bit. Great. Now I look like I’m about to interview for a job at a fancy boutique. But it’s feminine enough, stylish enough, and, most importantly, something you know Liam would approve of.

You glance at the heels, debating whether to bother, but you remember the way Liam lit up when you tried on the silver strappy pair earlier. With a resigned sigh, you slip them on, the curse making it surprisingly easy to find your balance despite the height. You wobble once but steady quickly, your steps smooth and natural as you pace in front of the mirror.

When you’re done, you stand back and take in the final look. The black skirt hugs your figure perfectly, the blouse softening the sharpness of it with its flowing lines. The heels elongate your legs, giving you a graceful posture you wouldn’t have imagined yourself having months ago. Your makeup, still intact from earlier, adds an almost ethereal glow to your face, the long lashes and ever-so-slightly faded lipstick working in tandem to make you look effortlessly glamorous.

You hated how good you looked.

But at the same time, you know Liam is going to love it. And that’s why you’re doing this. He’s sacrificing so much for me. I can handle one stupid night of looking like this.

Taking a deep breath, you step back into the living room where Liam is waiting. The click of your heels against the floor feels deafening as his eyes snap to you, widening slightly as he takes you in.

“Wow,” he says, low and breathless, and you can already feel your cheeks heating up in response. “You look... incredible.”

“Shut up,” you mumble, crossing your arms over your chest in a futile attempt to shield yourself from his gaze. You can already tell this is going to be a long night.

The vodka lingered in your system, a warm haze softening the edges of the room and your thoughts. You eased onto the couch beside Liam, every step of your arrangement looming ahead, as familiar now as it was strange. Between the curse, the long day of shopping, and the makeup still perfectly intact on your face, the absurdity of it all hit you a little harder tonight.

Liam was sprawled out, his arm lazily draped along the back of the couch. His glassy, slightly unfocused eyes swept over you, landing on the outfit you’d reluctantly put on. His lips curled into a slow, hazy grin.

“You look... really good tonight,” he slurred, a touch of wonder in his voice.

“Thanks,” you muttered, trying to ignore the way your cheeks heated. Tucking a strand of hair behind your ear, you shifted uncomfortably, crossing your legs—a motion that, thanks to the curse, felt far too natural. The skirt rode up slightly with the motion, and you tugged it back down reflexively, hating how the silk blouse and pencil skirt combo left you feeling both exposed and oddly polished.

“You sure you don’t wanna stay dressed like that more often?” Liam teased, his grin widening. “Kinda feels like you’re finally embracing it.”

“Don’t push your luck,” you shot back, though your voice lacked venom. “I’m only wearing this because you insisted.”

Liam’s laugh was low and rumbling, his hand dropping from the back of the couch to rest on your knee. “Fair enough,” he said. “But you do look stunning. I mean, those lashes? And the lipstick? Total knockout.”

You rolled your eyes, leaning back into the cushions. “Yeah, yeah, keep buttering me up. It’s not like you have a choice.”

“You’re right,” he said, his grin turning crooked. “I don’t.”

His tone was light, but the reminder of the curse hung heavy in the air. You sighed, running a hand through your hair, careful not to mess up the makeup still glued to your face.

“So... we doing this or what?” you asked, trying to cut through the tension.

“Patience, princess,” Liam teased, earning an exaggerated groan from you. “Besides, you’re the one dragging it out tonight.”

“Yeah, yeah,” you muttered, shifting in your seat again. The fabric of the skirt tugged against your thighs as you turned to face him more directly. “Let’s get it over with.”

Liam blinked, his grin softening into something less teasing and more genuine. “You sure you’re okay?” he asked, his voice dropping slightly.

“Yeah, I’m fine,” you said, brushing him off. “Let’s just... do this.”

He didn’t argue, just leaned back and stretched his arms out. “Alright, if you’re sure.”

But before you could start, the ****-fueled haze in your brain sparked a thought—a teasing, drunken impulse you couldn’t quite hold back. “You know,” you began, leaning closer and poking him lightly in the chest, “it’s really weird that you can’t get it up without your best friend touching you.”

Liam groaned, his head falling back dramatically. “Don’t remind me.”

“No, no, let’s unpack this!” you said, your tone playful. “Like, not only do you need me to do this, but you actually want to, while looking at me all dolled up like this. Kinda says a lot, doesn’t it?”

“You’re impossible,” he said, though there was no heat in his words. His grin returned, crooked and lazy. “You done yet?”

You laughed, the sound light and a little mean. “I’m just saying! It’s weird. But hey...” You trailed off, your teasing tone softening slightly. “...you’ve been super supportive through all this. So, I guess you deserve... this little extra tonight.”

“Extra, huh?” Liam raised an eyebrow, his grin widening. “You mean the outfit?”

You groaned again, louder this time. “Yes, the outfit. Don’t get used to it.”

He chuckled, shifting slightly to get comfortable. “You’re a good sport.”

“Yeah, yeah,” you muttered, shaking your head. “Just remember who’s doing all the work here.”

With a deep breath, you leaned forward, your hands brushing against Liam’s thighs as you settled into position. You tried not to think about what came next—tried not to focus on the way your hands looked against the fabric of his pants, or how the faint scent of his cologne mixed with the lingering **** on his breath. This was routine now. Familiar. But tonight, with the added layer of the outfit and makeup, it felt... different.

“God, you’re good at this,” he murmured, his voice low and slurred.

“Don’t talk,” you said quickly, your face heating. “It’s weird.”

Liam chuckled, his head falling back against the couch again. “You’re the one making it weird.”

With Liam reclining lazily on the couch, you found yourself at the crossroads of routine and absurdity once again. His grin was lopsided, his eyes heavy-lidded from the vodka. He wasn’t totally gone, but he was definitely teetering on the edge of forgetfulness.

You took a deep breath, scooting closer. The skirt slid against your thighs, its smooth fabric reminding you just how much tonight had veered off from anything you’d once called normal.

Liam’s gaze followed your every move. His eyes, half-focused yet lingering, traced up your legs, past the way the skirt hugged your hips, and settled on your face. He stared for a moment too long, his grin softening into something else entirely.

“Y’know,” he slurred, his voice slow and slightly rough, “you’re... really pretty tonight.”

You blinked, heat rushing to your cheeks. “Don’t,” you muttered, your voice sharp but quiet.

“I mean it,” he continued, his words tumbling out unfiltered. “The lashes... the way your lips shine... It’s crazy. I don’t even know how you do it.”

“It’s not me,” you snapped lightly, though your voice lacked any real bite. “It’s the stupid curse.”

Liam didn’t respond immediately. Instead, his hand slid down from the couch’s backrest, landing casually on your knee. You stiffened, your pulse quickening as his fingers brushed the edge of your skirt.

“Liam,” you said, your tone half-warning, half-questioning.

But he didn’t seem to hear you. His thumb traced small, aimless circles just above your knee. It was innocent enough—or at least it would’ve been if the curse hadn’t left your legs smooth and soft, a far cry from anything masculine.

“You’re, like... perfect,” Liam mumbled, his gaze still fixed on your face. His thumb shifted slightly, the pad of it skimming the bare skin of your thigh now.

“Okay, you’re drunk,” you said, trying to sound firm even as your voice wavered.

He let out a low chuckle, his grin returning. “Maybe. But I’m not wrong.”

You swallowed hard, your thoughts a tangled mess. The vodka had loosened you up, sure, but it hadn’t completely shut down the voice in your head screaming that this was crossing a line. Still, you couldn’t ignore the warmth of his hand, the way his touch sent a strange shiver down your spine.

“Liam,” you said again, your tone softer this time. “You’re not even gonna remember this tomorrow.”

“Probably not,” he admitted, his grin turning crooked. “But still... thanks for tonight. For this.”

You hesitated, the words catching in your throat. Finally, you managed to say, “Yeah, well... don’t get used to it.”

Liam’s hand lingered for a moment longer before he pulled it away, letting it drop back to his side. You exhaled slowly, trying to steady yourself as you shifted closer, positioning yourself to start.

With trembling fingers, you reached out, undoing the button and zipper of his jeans. Liam’s breath hitched slightly, and you glanced up, finding his gaze still fixed on you. His eyes were heavy-lidded but warm, his grin soft and almost... fond. You took a deep breath and wrapped your fingers gently around him, your touch slow and deliberate as they started stroking his length.

“You’re really something else, you know that?” he murmured, his voice low.

“Shut up,” you muttered, focusing on the task at hand.

Your hands moved with practiced ease, even as your mind raced. The curse had made this routine by now, but tonight, with the **** buzzing in your veins and Liam’s earlier comments lingering in your mind, it felt... oddly numb.

His legs were splayed lazily, his posture so casual it made you almost envious. Meanwhile, your heart thudded loudly in your chest, the vodka swirling in your veins loosening your nerves just enough to keep moving forward.

Liam tilted his head to the side, his grin slow and lazy as he watched you. His eyes trailed over your face again, lingering on your lips. The faint gleam of your lipstick hadn’t faded, despite the hours since your impromptu makeover, and you could feel his gaze like a weight.

“Still can’t get over how good you look,” he murmured, his voice low and almost slurred.

You rolled your eyes, though your cheeks burned. “You’re not even gonna remember this tomorrow,” you muttered, shaking your head.

“Maybe,” he replied, his grin widening. “But right now? Damn.”

Ignoring him, you continued stroking him, the warmth from his length starting to radiate into your palms. You’d done this before, countless times now, but tonight everything felt sharper—more vivid. The makeup still on your face, the skirt brushing against your thighs, even the faint scent of Liam’s cologne lingering in the air—it all combined to make the moment feel heavier somehow.

Liam’s breath hitched as you began to move, your hand gliding smoothly along his length. His eyes fluttered closed, his lips parting slightly as he let out a low, unfiltered groan.

“God,” he muttered, his head falling back against the couch. “You’re too good at this.”

“Don’t flatter yourself,” you shot back, though your voice was softer than usual.

You focused on your movements, keeping them steady and rhythmic. Your other hand rested lightly on his thigh for balance, the warmth of his skin radiating through the fabric of his jeans. You tried not to think too much about the way his leg shifted slightly beneath your touch, as though leaning into it.

Liam’s hand twitched at his side, and for a moment, you thought he was going to reach for you. But instead, his fingers brushed against your knee, his touch light and almost hesitant. You froze for a split second, your breath catching in your throat, but he didn’t stop there.

His hand slid higher, his fingertips grazing the smooth skin of your thigh where your skirt had ridden up. The contact was fleeting, more a ghost of a touch than anything else, but it sent a shiver up your spine.

“Liam,” you said softly, your voice wavering.

“Sorry,” he mumbled, though his hand didn’t move.

You glanced up at him, your movements slowing slightly. His eyes were still half-lidded, his expression hazy but... content. There was no malice in his touch, no ulterior motive—just a lazy, drunken boldness that seemed to have taken over him entirely.

“It’s fine,” you said finally, your voice barely audible.

You turned your focus back to your task, quickening your pace just slightly. Liam let out another groan, his hips shifting almost imperceptibly. His fingers flexed against your thigh, a gentle squeeze that you chose to ignore.

As the minutes stretched on, the room filled with the sound of his unsteady breathing and the faint rustle of fabric. You kept your gaze fixed downward, refusing to meet his eyes even when you felt his stare burn into you again.

“You’re unreal,” he murmured, his voice rough. “I mean it.”

“Shush,” you replied, though there was no real heat behind the words.

He chuckled softly, his hand slipping back down to his side as his body tensed beneath your touch. A few more strokes, and he let out a low, guttural sound, his head falling back against the couch as he came undone.

You didn’t stop until he stilled completely, his breathing heavy and uneven. Reaching for the tissues on the coffee table, you quickly cleaned up the sticky mess of your hand, your movements efficient and practiced.

When you finally sat back, your legs tucked beneath you, Liam opened his eyes and looked at you. His grin was softer now, his expression almost boyish in its contentment.

“You’re the best,” he said simply.

“Yeah, yeah,” you muttered, tossing the tissues into the trash. “Go to bed, Liam. You’re drunk.”

“So are you,” he pointed out, his grin widening.

“Fair,” you admitted, standing up on shaky legs. You smoothed down your skirt, the soft fabric cool against your palms.

Liam tilted his head back to look up at you, his gaze lingering once again. “Goodnight, princess,” he said with a teasing lilt.

You rolled your eyes but couldn’t help the small smile that tugged at your lips. “Goodnight, Liam.”

And with that, you turned and walked away, the sound of his soft chuckle following you as you disappeared down the hallway.

---

Liam stumbled from the couch, a lazy grin spread across his face as the weight of the night—vodka, exhaustion, and whatever intoxicating fog lingered in his mind—pressed down on him. He muttered something unintelligible, half-laughing to himself as he wobbled toward his bedroom.

“Hot chick getting me off,” he murmured with a chuckle, shaking his head as if it were some sort of private joke.

The soft glow of moonlight spilled through the windows, casting a silvery sheen across his messy room. He collapsed onto his bed, kicking off his shoes with little care about where they landed. His eyelids felt heavy, and within moments, he drifted off, the world around him slipping into a deep and dreamless abyss.

Suddenly, Liam jolted awake, but he wasn’t in his room anymore. Instead, he found himself standing in an otherworldly place—a vast expanse bathed in warm golden light. The air shimmered with an almost tangible radiance, and the scent of roses and vanilla teased his senses.

“Where the hell...?” he muttered, spinning around.

A soft, melodic laugh echoed through the space, and his heart sank. He turned, already knowing who he would see.

Aphrodite stood before him, as radiant and otherworldly as ever. Her golden hair cascaded in soft waves over her shoulders, and her eyes sparkled with a mischievous glint. She was draped in a flowing gown that shimmered like liquid gold, every movement exuding an effortless grace.

“Well, well, well,” she said, her voice like honey laced with venom. “Look who decided to join me.”

Liam groaned, running a hand through his hair. “Great. You again.”

Aphrodite smirked. “You don’t sound thrilled to see me.”

“I just wanted to sleep,” he replied, crossing his arms. “What do you want now?”

She stepped closer, the soft click of her heels echoing in the dreamlike expanse. “You and your little bestie thought you could pull a fast one on me earlier, didn’t you?”

“What are you talking about?” he asked, though his voice lacked conviction.

Aphrodite raised an unimpressed brow. “Oh, don’t play dumb, Liam.” She chuckled. “You're so cute. But you should know by now—no good deed goes unpunished when it comes to me.”

Liam’s stomach sank. “What are you getting at?”

Aphrodite leaned in, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. “Let’s call it... a test. You want to be a supportive friend, don’t you, Liam?”

He eyed her warily. “What kind of test?”

She smiled sweetly, though the malice behind it was unmistakable. “Simple. You have one week to get your precious bestie to use that pretty mouth of hers on you. Yes, I mean a blowjob.”

Liam’s face went pale. “What? Are you insane?”

Aphrodite laughed, the sound melodic and chilling. “Oh, relax. You’ve already crossed so many lines with her. What’s one more?”

He shook his head vehemently. “No. Absolutely not.”

“Suit yourself,” she said with a shrug. “But if you don’t, let’s just say your little friend down there won’t be... functioning anymore. Permanently.”

Liam’s mouth fell open. “You’re kidding.”

“Do I look like I’m kidding?” she replied, her tone icy now.

He swallowed hard, his mind racing. “You can’t do this. That’s—that’s insane!”

She raised a perfectly arched brow. “I’m a goddess. I can do whatever I want. Oh, and one more thing—you’re not allowed to tell her about this conversation. Not a word. Toodles!”

Before he could protest further, Aphrodite clapped her hands, the sound reverberating through the space like a thunderclap.

“Good luck, boy,” she said with a wicked grin, her form dissolving into shimmering golden light.