Kulia i ka nu’u🌺

You are sitting on the edge of your hospital bed, dressed in a set of clean, oversized Navy sweats. A medical officer has just finished fitting a brace over your leg and securing your arm in a sling.

"You’re going to need to use these for a few weeks," the nurse says kindly, handing you a pair of crutches. "No putting full weight on that leg until the muscle heals they will check you better when you get back to the base. Understand?"

"Understood," you nod, adjusting the crutches under your arms.

You slowly push yourself up. The pain is there, a dull ache radiating through your side and leg, but it’s nothing compared before. You take a few clumsy steps toward the door of the medical ward.

As the automatic doors slide open, you step out into the wide corridor of the ship.

Waiting for you are Leah,Alexia and Alessia.

"Look at you," Alessia smiles, her eyes bright as she steps forward near your uninjured side, ready to catch you if you stumble. "You’ve got matching accessories now."

"I’m starting a new fashion trend," you joke, shifting your weight on the crutches.

"The ship is docking," Leah says, her voice filled with a mixture of overwhelming excitement and nervous anticipation. "The Admiral is letting us go up to the flight deck as we pull into port. The families are waiting on the tarmac."

"Are you ready?" Alexia asks softly, stepping up beside Leah.

"Yeah," you breathe out, your heart beginning to race. "Take me topside."

The four of you make your way through the corridors of the USS Coronado, joining the rest of the Arsenal and Barcelona squads.

The elevator doors open, and you step out onto the flight deck.

The morning air in Honolulu is warm and sweet. The sky is a beautiful blue.

As the aircraft carrier slowly glides into the naval port, you walk toward the edge of the deck, looking down at the pier.

The port is an absolute madhouse.

Hundreds of Navy personnel are lined up in full dress uniform, saluting the ship. Just beyond the military perimeter, a sea of news vans and reporters are pressed against the barricades.

But it’s the section near the bottom of the ship's ramp that catches everyone’s attention.

A crowd of families is pressed against the rope line.

You see Alexia’s younger sister pointing up at the flight deck. Eli is standing beside her crying openly.

"There’s Jacob," Leah chokes out, pointing to her younger brother and parents near the front of the barricade.

The heavy metal ramp is finally lowered, connecting the ship to the mainland.

"Go," the Admiral orders kindly from behind the group. "Go home."

The players surge forward, a chaotic group of athletes rushing down the ramp. The military tries to maintain order, but the moment the players hit the tarmac, the barricades are practically ignored.

Katie sprints down the ramp into the arms of her older brother, Gary, nearly knocking the large man to the ground.

You navigate the ramp much slower, leaning on the crutches, Alessia staying right by your side to ensure nobody bumps into you.

You reach the bottom, your eyes scanning the crowd.

And then, you see them.

Standing near the edge looking absolutely frantic, are your parents and your younger sister.

"Mum!" you yell, your voice cracking completely.

Your mother's head snaps toward you. She freezes for a second, as if she can't believe her eyes.

"YN!" your mother screams.

She pushes past a Navy officer, sprinting across the tarmac. Your father and sister are right behind her.

You drop the crutches. You don't care about the pain in your leg.

You stumble forward, falling directly into your father’s arms. He catches you, wrapping his arms around you in a desperate hug burying his face in your hair.

Your mother wraps her arms around both of you, kissing your face, your shoulders, crying so hard she can barely breathe. Your sister is clinging to your waist, burying her face in your side.

"I’m here," you cry, burying your face in your dad’s shoulder, the tears flowing freely now. "I’m here. I’m okay."

"We thought we lost you," your mother sobs, her hands frantically checking your face, your arms, taking in the sling and the bandages. "Oh my god, my baby. You’re alive."

A few feet away, Leah is hugging her mother, but she catches your eye over her brother’s shoulder. She offers a tearful smile. Alexia is standing with her mother and sister, her eyes finding yours in the crowd.Giving you a grateful nod.

You made it. You brought each other back.

The reunion is cut short by the reality of the situation.

As the initial shock of the reunion begins to settle, the noise from the press barricade grows louder. Dozens of reporters are shouting over each other.

"Leah! What happened out there?!"

"Alexia! Is it true the plane was shot down?!"

"Who is that?! Is that the Olympic swimmer?!"

The military personnel immediately step in, forming a wall between the survivors, their families, and the press.

"Alright, let's move!" Commander Hayes orders, gesturing toward a fleet of black, tinted SUVs idling near the hangars. "We need to get you all to the secure debriefing facility before the press breaks the line!"

Your father tightens his grip on you, practically carrying your weight as your mother grabs one of your dropped crutches.

"Come on, sweetie," your mom urges gently, her eyes darting nervously toward the screaming reporters. "Let's get out of here."

You hobble toward the nearest SUV, flanked by your family.

As you reach the open door of the vehicle. You find yourself standing shoulder-to-shoulder with Leah and Alexia.

"They are like vultures," Alexia mutters, glaring at the flashing cameras as she shields her younger sister, Alba, from the glare.

"They don't know the half of it," Leah sighs, helping her mother into the back of an SUV.

Before you climb into your own car, you turn to the two. The life or death bond that held you together suddenly feels incredibly fragile in the face of the real world, the press, and the looming investigations.

"Leah. Alexia," you say, your voice tight.

They both stop, turning to look at you. The noise of the tarmac seems to fade into the background.

"We are going to be interrogated for weeks," you say quietly."The military, the aviation authorities... they are going to want to know everything."

Leah glances at the reporters, then back at you.

"We tell them the truth," Leah says firmly. "We tell them about the bunker. We tell them about the men with guns. We let the world know what that island is."

"And if they try to cover it up?" you ask, thinking of the classified dossier and the military presence currently surrounding you.

Alexia steps closer.

"We are famous athletes YN," Alexia says. "If the government tries to bury this... we go to the press ourselves. We do not let them hide what happened to us. Or what happened to the people in the back of that plane."

They aren't going to let the nightmare be swept under the rug.

"Okay," you nod, a wave of relief washing over you. "Okay."

"YN! Come on!" your sister calls from inside the SUV, her voice frantic as a reporter manages to break past a military guard, sprinting toward your car with a microphone extended.

"Are you the other passenger?!" the reporter screams, shoving the microphone toward your face. "How did you survive?!?!"

Before the reporter can get another step closer, Alessia suddenly steps between you and the camera.

She glares at the reporter, crossing her arms protectively. "She has a broken shoulder and she just survived a plane crash, mate. Back the fuck off before I throw you in the ocean."

The reporter startled by the aggressive defense, giving the military guards enough time to tackle him back behind the barricade.

"Get in the car, YN," Alessia says, turning to you with a soft, protective smile.

"Thank you, Less," you whisper, climbing awkwardly into the backseat.

As your father slams the door shut, sealing you inside the safety of the car, you look out the window.

Leah, Alexia, and Alessia are watching your car pull away, standing shoulder-to-shoulder on the tarmac.

You lean your head against your mother’s shoulder as the SUV speeds away from the harbor.

The survival is over. Now, the fallout begins.

The convoy of black SUVs speeds away from the chaotic harbor, bypassing the city entirely and pulling into the gates of Joint Base Pearl Harbor-Hickam.

You are escorted into a medical facility on the base. For the next several hours, you are separated from your family again, subjected to a battery of intense physical examinations, blood tests, and wound care by military doctors.

When the doctors are finally satisfied that you are stable, a stern-faced Navy nurse guides you down a long corridor.

"The intelligence officers are waiting for you in Room 4," the nurse says, her tone professional. "Your family has been provided accommodations on base. You will be reunited with them after the debriefing."

You nod.

Room 4 is a small, windowless conference room. Sitting at a metal table are three people: a high-ranking naval intelligence officer in uniform, and a man and a woman in sharp suits who bear no identification badges.

"Please, have a seat," the woman in the suit says, gesturing to the empty chair across from them.

You carefully maneuver yourself into the chair, resting your crutches against the table.

"I am Special Agent Moore ," the woman begins. "This is Agent Clark, and Commander Hayes, whom you met on the island. We are here to get your official statement regarding the events."

"Okay," you say, taking a deep breath.

"Let's start from the beginning," Agent Moore says, opening a thick file folder. "You were not on the official manifest for the VIP charter. How did you end up on Flight 433?"

You explain the sprint through the airport, the system crash, and the stressed gate agent shoving the ticket into your hand.

Agent Clark nods, taking notes. "A catastrophic ticketing error. That aligns with the airline's internal audit. Now, regarding the crash itself. Williamson and Putellas have both stated that the plane was not brought down by the storm alone. They mentioned an electromagnetic pulse."

"Yes," you confirm, leaning forward slightly. "The commander of the smuggling operation... before he died... he said the island’s grid flared. The atmospheric pressure from the storm caused an EMP. We flew too low, and the grid reacted defensively. It blew the tail section completely off ."

The three officials exchange a brief, unreadable look.

"The smugglers," Commander Hayes says, leaning forward, resting his elbows on the table. "Our teams secured the compound after extracting you. We found the bodies of two men, and we have the female mercenary, 'Dee', in custody. But the crates and the communication logs were entirely gone."

"They evacuated before you arrived," you explain. "They loaded the shipment bio-canisters, drones, weapons onto the helicopter from the north ridge. They abandoned the main compound."

Agent Moore’s eyes narrow sharply. "Bio-canisters? Are you certain?"

"I looked inside the crates myself," you state firmly. "They were stenciled with biohazard warnings. And in a shed near the tree line... I saw glass jars. With things preserved inside them. Things that looked like they belonged in a laboratory, not a jungle."

The tension in the small room spikes noticeably. Agent Clark stops writing, looking directly at Agent Moore.

"You found the Cold War bunker," Agent Moore says quietly, entirely dropping the bureaucratic tone. It isn't a question.

"Yes," you reply, holding her gaze. "Project Tartarus. Dr. Viktor Volkov. We found the bunker, the command center, and the classified dossiers. We know what that island was."

Commander Hayes sighs heavily, rubbing the back of his neck. "And did you find the primary reactor? The generator powering the grid?"

"Alexia and her team found it," you say, a fierce pride edging into your voice. "They descended the elevator shaft and smashed the cooling lines. That’s how we dropped the interference wall so your ships could find us."

"They broke a self-sustaining nuclear-geothermal reactor with sharp rocks and plane debris," Agent Clark murmurs, shaking his head in sheer disbelief. "It’s a miracle they didn't vaporize the entire island."

"They did what they had to do to survive," you defend them instantly, your voice rising. "They kept everyone alive while being hunted by armed mercenaries on a classified black site."

Agent Moore holds up a hand, silencing the room.

"We are not questioning their actions, or yours," Moore says. "What you all accomplished out there is nothing short of extraordinary. However..."

She closes the thick file folder, folding her hands on top of it.

"The information regarding Project Tartarus, Dr. Volkov, and the electromagnetic grid is highly classified," Moore continues, her eyes locking onto yours. "The official narrative is that Flight 433 was brought down by a catastrophic weather event. The smugglers you encountered were a localized pirate operation using an abandoned, generic military outpost."

You stare at her, the implication hitting you.

"You’re covering it up," you whisper. "You’re burying the truth about the island."

"We are protecting global security," Agent Clark corrects sharply. "If the world learns that a fully functional, rogue Cold War bio-weapon facility exists off the grid, it will trigger an international crisis. Every hostile nation and terrorist organization on the planet will be looking for that island."

"The families of the people in the back of the plane deserve to know the truth!" you argue. "They deserve to know they were murdered by a machine that your governments built and abandoned!"

"The families will be told their loved ones died instantly in a tragic accident," Commander Hayes says softly, his voice carrying genuine sympathy, but absolute finality. "It is a kinder truth than telling them they were collateral damage in a classified cover-up."

"And if we talk?" you challenge, remembering Alexia’s promise on the tarmac. "If we go to the press?"

Agent Moore leans forward, her expression cold.

"You are an Olympic Gold medalist," Moore says softly. " Williamson and Putellas are global icons. If you speak out, you will cause a media firestorm. But you have no proof. The bunker is buried. The smugglers took the crates. The mercenary in our custody will never see the light of day. You will sound like traumatized survivors suffering from severe paranoia."

She pauses, letting the stark reality of her words sink in.

"We are not your enemies," Moore finishes. "You survived. You are going home to your family. Let the island stay buried."

They hold all the cards. They control the narrative.

But as you look at the three intelligence officers, you remember the unbreakable bond forged in the mud and the dark. You remember Leah’s speech in the bunker, and Alexia’s unyielding defiance.

You stand up slowly, grabbing your crutches.

"I survived a plane crash," you say coldly, looking down at Agent Moore. "I survived a flash flood. I survived a mercenary trying to cut my throat. Do not threaten me, Agent Moore. I’ll tell the captains what you said. But what we do with the truth... is our decision."

You turn and limp out of the briefing room, leaving the intelligence officers sitting in silence.

The door of the briefing room shut behind you.

You lean against the wall for a moment, letting the adrenaline drain away. The government's threat is clear, but so is your resolve.

You slowly make your way down the quiet hallway toward the designated family staging area. As you turn the corner, you see them.

The Arsenal and Barcelona squads are gathered in a open lounge area. They have all been through their own debriefings. Families are clustered around them tears, tight hugs, and quiet, desperate conversations filling the room.

As you enter the lounge.

Leah gently pulls away from her mother, her eyes locking onto yours. Alexia, standing near the windows with her sister, turns immediately.

"YN," Leah calls out, walking quickly toward you.

"How was it?" Alexia asks, stepping up beside Leah.

You look at the two then around the room at the faces of the women you fought alongside.

"They want to bury it," you say quietly, keeping your voice low so the surrounding families and military guards can't hear. "They’re blaming the crash on the storm, and calling the smugglers a local pirate operation. They told me that if we talk about the grid or the Cold War bunker... we’ll just look traumatized, "They think they can just silence us?"

"They think they control the narrative," you confirm.

Alexia crosses her arms. "They clearly do not understand who they are dealing with."

"No," Kim agrees, stepping into the circle. "They don't. But for now... we play their game. We go home. We heal. We let the world celebrate the 'miracle' rescue."

"And then?" Katie asks.

Leah looks at Katie, then at Alexia, and finally at you.

"And then," Leah says softly, "we organize. We find proof. We make sure the people in the back of that plane get justice."

The silent agreement ripples through the gathered

"Excuse me," a soft, familiar voice interrupts.

You turn.

Your parents and your younger sister are standing a few feet away, looking hesitant to interrupt.

You drop your crutches, hobbling forward into their waiting arms. The reunion is just a tearful as it was on the tarmac. You bury your face in your mother’s shoulder, the overwhelming feeling of being safe finally breaking the last of your defenses.

"We’re going home," your father whispers, kissing the top of your head. "Our flight leaves in two hours."

You pull back, wiping your eyes. Two hours.

You turn back to the players.

The goodbyes are tearful. You hug Mapi.You hug Katie who threatens to fly and drag you to a pub the second your leg heals.

Leah pulls you into a tight embrace.

"You’re one of us now, YN," Leah whispers into your ear. "Don't you ever forget that."

"I won't," you promise, hugging her back just as tightly.

You step back.

Alexia Putellas is standing slightly apart from the main group.She looks at you, before she closes the distance between you.

She doesn't hug you like the others. She reaches out, her hand gently cupping the side of your face.

"The finest meal in Barcelona," Alexia reminds you softly. "I am holding you to it."

"I’ll be there," you whisper, holding her gaze.

After saying goodbye to Alessia.

Your family gently guides you toward the exit of the lounge, you stop at the doors. You look back at the room.

Rivals on the pitch, sisters in survival.

You turn and walk out into the bright Hawaiian sunlight, leaving the survivors of Flight 433 behind. The uncharted pitch is thousands of miles away, but as you look up at the clear blue sky, you know the game isn't over.

The darkness had become a crutch. It was a blanket you pulled over yourself to pretend the last six months hadn't happened.

Before the hospital, before the paramedics and the operating room, your body had been yours.

It was something you inhabited comfortably, without a second thought.

Now it felt foreign.

The jagged raised tissue across your abdomen felt like a map of your worst day, a permanent mark ruining the body you used to be proud of.

You had perfected your nightly routine.

Showering by a faint light. Changing into oversized t-shirts before the bathroom steam could clear. Flinching away from reflective surfaces like they were something dangerous.

But the hardest part wasn't hiding from yourself. It was hiding from Alexia.

She hadn't done anything to deserve the sudden distance you had forced between you.

If anything, she had been patient. She had slept in hospital chairs, held your hand through the painful recovery, and rearranged her entire schedule just to be near you.

Yet, the moment you were physically healed, the psychological fracture only widened.

Every time her hands grazed your waist in the kitchen, you stiffened.

Whenever she pulled you close on the sofa, you would subtly make sure a throw pillow or a blanket stood as a barrier between her touch and your skin.

You knew it was breaking her heart. You could see the confusion on her face when you turned off the bedside lamp the second things started to turn intimate, rushing to bury yourself under the blankets.

You were completely convinced that if she truly saw you, if she really looked at what the surgeons had left behind the desire would turn to pity. Or worse, disgust.

Tonight was no different.

You stood in the bathroom, the door pulled almost shut. You had just dropped your towel to the tiles, reaching blindly for the baggy sleep shirt resting on the counter.

But your fingers fumbled, knocking a bottle of lotion into the sink with a loud clatter.

You froze. The moonlight shining through the blinds caught the edge of the large vanity mirror. For the first time in weeks, you didn't look away fast enough.

The light was unforgiving, highlighting the uneven, puckered scar that carved its way across your stomach.

You felt nauseous.

A wave of self-loathing so strong came over you it made your eyes sting.

You immediately crossed your arms over your torso, wrapping your hands tightly around yourself as if you could hold the broken pieces of your self-esteem together.

You squeezed your eyes shut, bowing your head.

You didn't hear the bedroom door open. You didn't realize you weren't alone.

"Cariño?"

Alexia’s voice sounded sleepy.

You gasped, your head snapping up. She was standing in the doorway. Her hand was resting on the light switch, though she hadn't flipped it yet.

She took in the scene.

The discarded towel. The discarded shirt. Your trembling and the desperate grip your hands had on your own waist, frantically trying to shield your stomach from her view.

You saw the exact moment it hit her.

She finally understood why you had been pulling away.

"Alexia, don't," you choked out, your voice brittle and panicked. "Please, turn around. Don't look at me."

She didn't listen. Of course she didn't.

Instead of leaving Alexia’s hand dropped from the light switch, purposely leaving the lights off.

She simply pushed the door open wider.

"Turn around," you whispered again, the fight already leaving you.

Alexia ignored your plea.

She entered the room further.

You instinctively pressed your back against the edge of the vanity, cornered by your own shame, with nowhere left to retreat.

"Hey," she murmured. She stopped just inches away. "Look at me, *mi amor*."

You squeezed your eyes shut, shaking your head, your fingernails digging marks into your own sides.

You felt her before you saw her. Slowly her hands came to rest over your wrists. She didn't pry your arms apart with force she simply waited patiently.

Defeated and exhausted from carrying the weight of this insecurity for months, you finally gave in.

You let her gently peel your arms away from your torso, leaving your scarred stomach completely bare. You braced yourself for the inevitable flinch, the subtle pulling away, or the pity.

But when you finally gathered the courage to look up you found none of those things.

Alexia wasn't looking at you with disgust.

"You've been carrying this all by yourself," she whispered, realizing the magnitude of the burden you’d shouldered in secret.

"It's ugly," you choked out,tears finally escaping your eyes. "I didn't want you to look at me and feel disgusted. I don't feel like myself anymore, Ale. I feel ruined."

"Ruined." She repeated the word as if couldn't comprehend that you would even say that . She shook her head."Never."

Letting go of your wrists her right hand drifted upward, her fingers tucking your hair behind your ear. Her other hand, however, descended.

You sucked in a sharp breath as the pads of her fingers grazed the very edge of the raised tissue. You instinctively wanted to pull away, but her touch was light tracing the length of the scar with care.

"They had to cut into you to save you," Alexia said, her voice filling with emotion. "You fought your way back to me. Every time I look at this... every time I touch it..." She paused, "...all I see is proof that you are still here. There is nothing in this universe more breathtaking than that."

A sob escaped your lips, and immediately, Alexia's arms were wrapping around your waist, pulling your bare chest against her tight as she could.

You buried your face in her neck, finally letting yourself cry.

She held you pressing soft kisses to your head and shoulder, murmuring quiet reassurances into your hair until the tears subsided.

You finally pulled back, wiping your damp cheeks.The suffocating anxiety while not completely gone had become bearable.

Alexia’s hands hadn't left your waist. Her thumbs slowly swept back and forth across the sensitive skin of your hips.

Her gaze dragged up from your stomach, lingering on the rise and fall of your chest, before finally looking in to your eyes.

Here eyes were filled with desire that had been starved for weeks by the distance you had forced between you.

"No more hiding in the dark," she whispered.

She leaned down, her lips brushing softly against the center of the scar.

The touch sent a shiver through your body. She trailed open-mouthed kisses slowly up your torso, making a path of heat up to your collarbone, before finally capturing your lips.

The kiss started tender but the moment your hands tangled in her hair, pulling her closer, a desperate groan escaped. Her hands tightened on your hips, lifting you effortlessly until you were sitting on the edge of the vanity, parting your knees so she could step between them.

Alexia’s hands glided over the ridges of your scar one last time.

Then she lowered herself to her knees on the tiled floor, settling herself on the ground so her face is level with your aching center.

Her hands return to your body, gripping the soft flesh of your inner thighs just above your knees. She pushes your legs wider, opening you up to her.

You feel exposed, vulnerable in a way that has nothing to do with the scar on your stomach and everything to do with the slick heat gathering between your legs.

Alexia leans in, her hair tickling your skin, and presses a soft kiss to your thigh.

She doesn’t stay there. Her lips begin a torturous journey inward, biting lightly at the sensitive skin of your inner thighs. She alternates between open-mouthed kisses and sharp, stinging nips of her teeth, marking the skin as she goes. Each bite sends a fresh wave of arousal flooding through you,your hips twitching involuntarily against the vanity.

You can feel the dampness of her breath fanning over your pussy, hot and teasing, but she refuses to give you the friction you crave.

She is taking her time worshipping you.

"Alexia, please," you gasp, your voice sounding desperate. Your hands grip her hair to urge her closer.

She hums against your skin but she still doesn't take the final plunge. Instead, she drags her tongue flat up the inside of your thigh, stopping just millimeters from your dripping hole.

The heat of her mouth is tormenting you so close.

She inhales deeply.

Then, with a groan of restraint snapping, she dives in.

She doesn't start slow, there is no gentle build-up.

She flattens her tongue and licks all the way up to your clit, gathering your wetness on her tongue.

Your head falls back, hitting the mirror but you don't care. All you can focus on is the pleasure she is giving you.

Alexia moans into your cunt, the vibration adding another layer of stimulation to the pleasure.

She wraps her arms around your thighs holding you in place, her hands gripping you to pull you harder onto her face.

Her tongue delving deep inside your hole to fuck you in quick shallow thrusts. You can hear the wet, sloppy sounds of her mouth working you over the slurping and sucking echoing and it only turned you on more.

She moved her attention back to your clit, sucking the hard bud between her lips and flicking it relentlessly with the tip of her tongue. Your thighs tremble, the muscles straining against her grip as the tension in your belly coils tighter and tighter. You grind your hips against her face, riding her mouth shamelessly, chasing the high she is building within you.

"Fuck, Alexia, your mouth feels so good," you cry out, your fingers tightening in her hair pulling closer. "Don't stop. Please, don't stop."

She slides two fingers in curling them upward to find that spot inside you while her tongue continues its assault on your clit. The dual stimulation is too much and sends you hurtling toward the edge. You can feel your walls clenching around her fingers, your body drawing her in, desperate for the release only she can give. The shame, the fear, the insecurity of the last six months melts away, leaving only the undeniable reality of her loving you, exactly as you are.

The waves of your climax still ripple through you, leaving your thighs shaking against Alexia’s shoulders.

You can feel the wetness coating your inner thighs, a messy testament to how thoroughly she just unraveled you. Your fingers are still tangled in her hair, though the grip has loosened.

Alexia doesn’t pull away immediately. She presses one last kiss to your swollen, sensitive clit, the contact making you whimper at the overstimulation.

She lets out a satisfied sound before slowly withdrawing her fingers.

The loss of the fullness inside you leaves you feeling achingly empty, your cunt clenching around nothing in the aftermath.

She looks up at you from her knees, her chin wet with your cum.

After standing up her hands, which were gripping your hips, slide down to cup the underside of your thighs. Before you can process the movement, she straightens her legs and lifts you effortlessly from the vanity. Your legs wrap around her waist, your arms hooking around her shoulders, clinging to her as she cradles you against her chest.

The position pulls the skin of your stomach tight, the jagged scar on your lower abdomen stretching with the movement.

You flinch slightly, an old reflex of shame and self-protection making you want to hide.

But Alexia feels the tension in your body immediately. She adjusts her hold, holding you against her.

She begins to walk, carrying you out of the bathroom and into the darker hallway, but she stops in the doorway.

With you in her arms, she ducks her head, her lips finding the raised line of your scar again.

"No hiding," she murmurs against your stomach. "Never again."

You bury your face in her neck as tears prick at the corners of your eyes. The shame that usually tightens your chest when the scar is touched dissolves under her gentle touch.

After giving your scar one last kiss she straightens up,carrying you through the dark hallway.

Entering the bedroom she moves to the bed she kneels onto the edge, but she doesn’t let go immediately.

She holds you there for a moment.

Her hand strokes up and down your back.

Your cunt is still throbbing, a dull, pleasurable ache reminding you of the pleasure she just pulled from you.

Finally, she lowers you. Alexia leans over you, her fingers trailing down the side of your face, over your jawline, down your neck, and stopping right over your heart.

Her eyes roam over you, taking in every inch the heave of your breasts, the flush on your skin, the wetness on your thighs, and the scar that sits prominently on your stomach. There is no judgment in her gaze.

"Alexia," you breathe, your voice wrecked and hoarse.

She leans down, capturing your lips in a kiss that tastes of you and her.

You break the kiss gasping for air, your hands moving over her shoulders. You need more. You need to feel her, all of her, without the barrier of clothing separating your skin from hers.

Your fingers find the top button of her shirt, trembling slightly with the residual aftershocks of your orgasm, and you pop it open. Then the next. Alexia watches you through heavy-lidded eyes, her eyes never leaving your face.She doesn’t rush you, waiting patiently, letting you undress her at your own pace.

When you finally push the shirt down her arms and she tosses it onto the floor. She takes off her bra, freeing her breasts, and you reach up, cupping them in your hands. Her skin was warm and her nipples harden instantly. You pull her down, needing the contact, needing to feel her heartbeat fluttering against your chest. The sensation of her bare stomach sliding against yours, skin against skin, sends a shiver through you.

Alexia moves, sliding her leg between yours, pressing her thigh firmly against your still-throbbing cunt.

You are wet, a mess of slick arousal and lingering release, and the friction of her thigh against your swollen clit makes you gasp, your hips bucking instinctively. "Easy," she murmurs.

She doesn't grind into you, doesn't try to force another orgasm from your exhausted body she just holds herself there letting you rock against her leg if you need to.

You rest your head against her, your hands roam down her back. You feel safe. The shame that used to coil in your gut whenever you thought about the scar is gone, dissolved by the way she looked at you, the way she touched you, the way she kissed it.

Alexia seems to sense the change in you, the way your muscles unclench and your breathing slows.

She presses a kiss to your temple, then another to your cheek.

She moves again, reaching down to undo the button of her bottoms, but you stop her with a hand on her wrist. You don't need her naked right now, you just need her here. You shake your head slightly, pulling her tighter against you, wrapping your legs around her waist to lock her in place.

She understands, settling her weight fully onto you.

"Look at me," she whispers.

You open your eyes, finding hers. She reaches down between your bodies, her fingers finding the scar on your abdomen. She traces the jagged line of it with the tip of her index finger, a feather-light touch. You don't flinch. You don't try to cover yourself with the sheets. You just look at her, letting her see you, all of you.

"Beautiful," she breathes, the word falling from her lips like a prayer. She lowers her head, pressing her lips to the scar again. "Every inch of you. Especially this."

Tears prick at the corners of your eyes. You thread your fingers through her hair, holding her to you, anchoring yourself to her. The emotional release is almost as overwhelming as the physical one was, a dam breaking inside you.

You realize that you aren't just forgiven for whatever perceived flaws you carried you are loved. Truly, deeply loved.

Alexia kisses her way back up your body, over your ribs, between your breasts, up the column of your throat, until she is hovering over your face again. "I've got you," she says. "I'm not going anywhere."

You pull her down for another kiss.

When you pull back, a yawn splits your face.

Alexia smiles letting out a small laugh.

"Sleep," she commands softly, rolling off you but immediately pulling you into her side. She arranges the sheets around you both, tucking you in against her chest. You curl into her, your head resting on her shoulder, your arm draped over her waist.

You lie there for a long moment, listening to her breathe, feeling the rise and fall of her chest.

"Alexia?" you whisper, your voice barely audible in the quiet room.

"Hmm?" Her hand is stroking your back.

"Thank you."

The August heatwave in London was unbearable.Out on the training pitches, the heat was so thick it felt like trying to run through a swamp every time you started a sprint.

By the time Renée ended the session, you were entirely wiped out. Your lungs were burning, your calves hurt and you were sweating so much your training top was practically glued to you. All you wanted was to submerge your lower half in freezing water until you lost feeling in your toes.

You dragged yourself into the recovery room, dropping your towel onto a bench.

You stopped.

There were only three ice baths. Two were already occupied by Katie and Beth, who were currently arguing loudly about whose playlist was blasting through the speakers.

The third tub was occupied by Kim.

You had been at the club for six months, and you still occasionally tripped over your own words when she spoke to you. She wasn't mean she was just focused and you were terrified of looking like an amateur in front of her.

"Alright, YN?" Kim asked,breaking you out of your thoughts. She was leaning back against the edge of the tub, the freezing water just below her waist.

"Yeah, fine," you managed, standing there awkwardly. "Just waiting for a tub to free up."

Kim raised an eyebrow, looking at the empty space at the opposite end of her bath. "There's room in here. I don't bite."

You looked at the icy water before looking back up at kim.

"Are you sure?" you asked hesitantly. "I don't want to crowd you."

"Get in," Kim instructed calmly. It wasn't a request.

You swallowed your apprehension, stepped out of your trainers, and climbed into the tub.

You hissed sharply as you sank down, the freezing temperature contracting your tired muscles. Because the tub wasn't huge you had to tuck your knees up slightly to avoid kicking her.

"Breathe through it," Kim advised, her voice low and steady, a stark contrast to the argument happening in the tubs next to you. "First minute is always the worst."

You nodded, gripping the edge of the tub, your teeth chattering. " How are you not shivering?"

A small smile appeared on Kim’s lips. "I've had a lot of practice. And I prefer this over running shuttles in thirty-degree heat."

For a few minutes, you sat in silence. It wasn't the awkward silence you had anticipated. It was surprisingly peaceful.

The freezing water was doing its job, numbing the ache in your legs, and Kim’s calm presence was comforting.

"You played well today," Kim said suddenly.

You were caught off guard. "I did?"

"Aye," she nodded, resting her arms along the edge of the tub. "You tracked back on that counter-attack in the final drill. Read the pass perfectly. You’ve got good instincts."

Coming from Kim, a compliment like that was worth its weight in gold. A warm flush crept up your neck that had nothing to do with the temperature of the room.

"Thanks," you mumbled, looking down at the water to hide your grin. "Just trying to keep up."

"You're doing more than keeping up," she replied, evaluating you in a way that didn't feel intimidating anymore.

The timer on the wall beeped loudly, signaling the end of the ten-minute recovery window.

Katie and Beth scrambled out of their tubs immediately, complaining loudly about the cold as they rushed for the showers.

You grabbed the edge of the tub, pulling yourself up and out. You stood dripping on the rubber mat, shivering as the warm air hit your freezing skin. You reached for your towel, wrapping it quickly around your shoulders.

Kim stepped out a moment later. She grabbed her own towel, but as she walked past you toward the changing rooms, she paused.

She reached out, giving your shoulder a reassuring squeeze.

"Don't overthink things out there, YN," Kim said quietly, offering you a soft smile. "You belong here."

As she reached the doorway, Kim paused. She turned back, her gaze locking onto yours for a bit longer than necessary.

"I'm usually in here around four after training," Kim added softly. "If you ever want a partner to keep you company... the offer stands."