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It’s not the first time Freja has witnessed what Emre has become. Funny how she’s almost used to it by now. As soon as he took flight, she dove behind a shipping container. Even through the thick steel she can feel the heat of the hellish rays bursting from his fist. Horrific screams of unlucky operatives ring out, the scent of melted flesh hanging in the air. Funny how she’s almost used to this, too.
She’s not leaving without Emre. When his boots hit the ground, she leaps to him, her cape flapping behind her as she rides the gust. Acrid smoke billows around his hunched over form. “Emre!”
He doesn’t turn around. The Override Protocol must still be active, the cybernetic components of his armor surging red.
Footsteps pound from beside Freja, one last agent emerging from the carnage, clutching a rifle trained on Emre.
Freja fires her bola to bind them, but all that shoots from her wrist is hissing air. There isn’t time to reload her crossbow either. For hevelde.
Diving, she plucks the weapon from the nearest corpse. Her pulse thunders in her ears, her veins on fire as she pulls the trigger, over and over, emptying what is left of the clip into the enemy’s chest. Only the hollow clicking of the autopistol dry firing snaps her back to reality, and Freja sees what she has done.
The agent gropes futilely at the multiple bullet wounds weeping blood, then crumbles into a pathetic heap. Her feet carry her to his side. The man’s eyes are rolled back in his skull, a sanguine rivulet streaming from his lips. His skin seems made of wax. The room spins around Freja, her chest tight, her mouth parched.
Maybe she’s not used to this part, yet.
But this isn’t a Search and Rescue mission. Nor a bounty that requires capturing the target alive. There’s a reason Marzia sent Emre.
“Frej?” he calls through the haze. So, he’s back to himself, then. Somehow the air feels lighter the moment Freja sees Emre’s brows knit with concern, hears his voice. His gaze flicks to the body. “What happened?!”
“They were targeting you—I—”
The building rumbles beneath them. Reinforcements? An explosion?
“We have to get out of here!” Freja grabs Emre’s wrist, pulling him towards the exit and their transport on the roof.
She barely has a chance to strap into the jumpseat before the dropship lifts off. Freja’s thoughts are jumbled, she breathes methodically to regroup.
She almost lost Emre. Again. She killed today. Again.
Whatever the cost, it was worth it. To have him safe and next to her, his shoulder brushing hers, a gloved hand on her knee.
The chopping of the dropship’s blades is deafening, but she can still make out Emre’s words as she watches his lips. “I’m sorry.”
Freja pretends she didn’t. For the duration of the journey she stays silent, her eyes tracing the wispy outlines of pink-dyed clouds, the sun beginning its descent below the horizon. They land atop an apartment building in Havana, where they are to spend the night in one of Talon’s safehouses awaiting further instructions.
The apartment is set up to look innocuous. A staged wedding photo in a frame atop the media console. Closets stuffed with fine, but not too fine, clothing. A bedroom, a living room. The groceries in the refrigeration unit are fresh.
First things first. Activating her holotablet, Freja checks for bugs: cameras, wiretaps, recording devices. Max and Marzia guaranteed they would leave the place clean, but she’s not green enough to take them at their word. Thankfully, in this instance, they kept it, the scan results come back negative. Freja shrugs off her cape and collapses onto the plush sofa in the living room.
Orange light strikes in through the autodoor leading to a balcony overlooking the Straits of Florida. Palm trees rustle in the breeze, the twinkling water dyed sunset. It could be peaceful, picturesque, romantic… had she and Emre ended up here under different cirumstances. This is decidedly not the optimal time to mention that she remembers what Havana means to him.
Instead, Freja fills the suffocating silence with her own voice. “It seems the bot is able to show some restraint in decorating, after all.”
Emre doesn’t so much as give a hollow chuckle in response before he settles in next to her on the couch. He has removed his scarf, his gloves. “Frej…”
“I’m fine,” she answers automatically.
“I’m sorry.” He sounds weak. She needs to be strong.
“Don’t be.” Freja’s gaze meets his, ruby flickering. “I did what I had to do to keep us both safe, and to complete the objective.” And she would do it again.
Emre’s fist wraps around her wrist, sliding up to cradle her hand. It looks so small in his, the polish adorning her curled fingers chipped. Freja stiffens a fraction, but brushes it off as he pulls it towards him. “You’re bleeding.”
“Ah, no, it’s not mine.” The nervous laugh she punctuates with fails to lighten the mood.
“You don’t have to keep doing this, you know.”
“I know,” she lies. In another life, Freja could walk away, go back to being Gefn. Maybe even assume a new identity. But in this one, she needs him like she always has. “But I am choosing to because I want to help you, Emre.” His hand clenches tighter, calloused skin warm upon calloused skin.
And, Emre needs her, too. If she left him on his own, there would be no one to bring him back to himself. The bodies would stack and stack. Perhaps even some of Freja’s own. Her hands are dirty now; assassination can pay heftier sums than bounty hunting. She’d be amazing at that, too. “You don’t have to always protect me like you used to. Let me return the favor.”
Emre kisses her blood-stained knuckles, every fall of his lips sparking electric. He mouths the phrase into her skin: “I don’t deserve you.”
With her other hand, Freja tilts his chin up so he has to look at her. “You do.”
“I’m sorr—” Emre cuts himself with a sigh. Deflecting, as usual. “We should probably clean up.”
He is objectively right. Emre is covered in sweat, soot. Blood is even splattered onto the screen of the eye embedded in his chest, on his cheek.
But just because he is right doesn’t mean it’s what’s right for them. It’s a lesson they’ve both learned time and time again. He left Overwatch in pursuit of doing the ‘right’ thing, but where has that led them?
Freja easily slips her hand out from his to cup the other side of his jaw, his beard scratching at her palms. The blood smears when she swipes her thumb over his cheek. “No. Not yet.”
“Frej—”
She captures Emre’s lips with hers. His eyes widen at first, but they shut. Emre returns the kiss, pulling her into his arms. The two of them fall into the pattern they’ve fallen into so many times before. The dam breaking, acceptance and yearning and their sins flooding out, but where will he call it off today? There’s only one way to be sure. Freja slides her tongue into his mouth.
He gasps when she does, his grip around her tightening. Freja straddles him, pushing him back against the sofa. Emre’s hands caress her hips, her shirt riding up. Through the cutout in the fabric, her breasts spill against the rigid eye in his chest and engineered components of his armor. “Fuck.” She claws at the stupid frontplate. “Take this off.”
“You started this,” he teases. Freja genuinely laughs, somehow he still has the ability to make her after all this time.
A smirk tugs at her lips. “That is true.” Even though they haven’t fucked yet, she’s helped him out of the contraptions enough to be able to at least get the process started. Freja’s fingers fly to the ports, the metal prongs clicking as she unplugs the cables attached to his arm.
“Wait, Frej,” he breathes. “Are you sure?”
She rolls her eyes. “No, I’m not—yes, for hevelde, Emre, yes.” Freja reaches for the hem of her top, pulling it over her head. “No more excuses.” With practiced ease, she unhooks her bra, tossing it to the floor. Then, she looses the ribbon securing her bun, her hair cascading past her shoulders.
Emre swallows as he takes in the sight of her breasts. His hands are surprisingly quick to touch her: one hot, the skin of his palm rough, one completely prosthetic, chill against her supple flesh, her pierced nipple hardening. He flicks at the barbell, a shudder wracking up Freja’s spine. “When did you get these?”
“Years ago,” she states. “You’re not the only one with modifications.”
He laughs bitterly. “That’s one way to put it.” Emre still smiles. “I’ll admit yours are superior.”
Freja chuckles, but she’s thrumming within. She should have done this sooner. Why did she let him off so easily all of those other times? Of course, she wants Emre to be comfortable, but… Now that she’s confronting him, pinning him down, it seems he’s finally going to acknowledge how much they both want this, have wanted this.
Emre starts slow, pressing kisses into the hollow of her throat, along her collarbone, then lower. One, two, three—Freja quickly loses count of him mapping out her freckles, rounding the swell of her breast. His pink tongue darts out to lap at her, gently again. The barest swipe sends lightning through her before he takes her nipple in his mouth. The barbell clicks against his teeth as he toys with her, his stubble scraping, rubbing rough and raw.
Heat pools within Freja, her cunt clutching at nothing, soft whimpers escaping her throat. Craving more, craving friction, she grinds against his bulge growing beneath her. The material of his pants is tight, but too thick, to fully feel him. She tugs at his armor again. “I told you to take this off.”
He doesn’t respond immediately, too consumed with her breasts. His tongue swirling, a hand fondling the other. Freja gasps when he releases her, his lips smacking, a string of saliva dangling between them, then breaking. Her nipple is rosy, peaking, shiny with his spit. “Alright… but I’m going to need to get up for the rest.”
“Fine.”
Freja stands with Emre, her bloody hands making quick work of the last few connections mounting the armor to his cyberskeletal spine, then the cables around his muscular thighs. She can’t resist swiping her hand up, cupping his length through the armor. He tenses, his hips rocking towards her palm. “Fuck, Frej—I thought you wanted them off.”
“Oh, I do,” she croons.
Normally, Emre finishes this process away from her, absconding to another room, hiding the truth of his body, only slinking back to join her once he’s covered the evidence in civilian wear. Every time they’ve even gotten close to this, he’s found an excuse not to let it continue. Left Freja to retire to an empty bed, her only company her hand and the outdated fantasies she’s developed over the past decade.
To make it more maddening, she swears she’s heard the slick sounds of him pumping his cock, hushed low groans from the tiny chamber aboard her jet he insists on sleeping in afterwards.
But that ends tonight. Tonight she’ll finally be with Emre. Not the Emre of young Freja’s delusions, but Emre as he is now. Regardless of what’s happened, she wants all of him: his warmth, his guilt, his desire, his pain. She’ll become part of him, too.
The armor is agonizingly complex, but Freja is captivated as she watches him. Each layer he peels off is a symbol of the trust between them, bringing them closer to doing what they’ve both wanted to for what may as well have been eons.
The eye still flickers between his pecs when he drops the chestpiece to the floor. One of his arms is fully constructed of black carbon fiber. A similar shoulder prosthetic mirrors it on the other side, studded with interfaces for attaching his armor’s pauldron. She knows his calves and feet, too, are artificial, allowing the devastating liftoff that signals his transformation into that machine of death.
But most of Emre is still human. His right arm, other than the inflamed, integrated ports and the weapon embedded in his fist. His ass. His thighs. His torso. The path of hair leading down his stomach, thickening as it descends past his waistband to where the hard line of his cock is straining in those tight, tight leggings.
Very human.
“Like what you see?” Emre jokes once he has stripped down to his briefs.
“And if I do?”
“Frej…”
At the sound of his name for her, she closes the space between them. She can smell the humanity too, the sweat, the iron of the blood. She gets the balls of her feet, so near his face that his beard scratches at her chin. So near that she can trace the seam joining his ocular implants to the brackets on his temple, harsh boundaries where the pores dotting his flushed cheeks stop. Emre’s breath tickles her skin, his crimson eyes searching hers like the one on his chest.
Freja trails her hand down, tapping at the OLED screen, then lower. “Is it—”
“Shh.” Compared to the chill display, his abdomen is searing, heat flaring beneath her fingertips as she follows the line of hair at the center. His cock stirs from just a few featherlight touches, pressing into her. Threading his hand into her messy side braid, Emre pulls her into another kiss.
There is no hesitation once their lips meet once more. It’s bruising, claiming, leaves Freja breathless. If only this were the way he’d lose himself always. Thick dark lashes rest on Emre’s cheeks, he opens his mouth. An invitation rather than a demand. Freja gladly accepts, shoving her tongue inside, matching—no, exceeding his fervor. She sucks and bites at his lip until he entwines his tongue with hers.
If only she could lose herself here, too. For now, she does. Freja surrenders to the consuming sensation. Of the kiss, of the storm of emotions roaring within her, of the promise in her heart. I’ll never let you go. No matter what it takes, no matter how it changes me, too. I searched for you. I’ll rescue you again and again.
The rubbery cyberskeletal implant ridges slow her fingers raking up his back before she settles her hands on his shoulder blades, pressing her whole body to his. Her breasts compressed, his length prodding at her bare stomach, at her cunt through her shorts.
Emre’s hands venture lower, ghosting over the exposed flesh of her thighs, then palming at her ass.
“Emre,” Freja rasps when she has to pull back to breathe, saliva dribbling down her chin.
“I want you, Frej.”
That is evident by how hard he is, the tip of his cock threatening to peek out of his briefs, and rest against the dark hair at the bottom of his stomach.
“Can you afford me?”
“I’m not sure about that.” He doesn’t miss a beat returning the joke. “But I may be able to offer an alternate form of payment.”
She huffs a giggle at the trite line. Sometimes it’s shocking how natural it is to fall back into banter with him like this. Like they never left their old posts. “Hm. You know… I have a theory.”
“Which is?”
“Your mouth is the most dangerous thing about you.”
“Interesting, Frej.” Emre raises an eyebrow. “Would you care to test it out?”
“It wouldn’t hurt to confirm that I’m right.” Freja smirks. “Should we make a bet?”
“I’d rather take a bet that I will win.” He playfully pushes her back down onto the sofa. Then, he kneels to the floor, pulling off Freja’s boots. “I’m on your side for this one. As always.” Freja flushes at both the sincerity and in anticipation of finally feeling his mouth on her.
Hooking his fingers into her thigh high stockings, Emre begins to gingerly roll down each one, his gaze reverent and worshipful as he reveals her milky, freckled skin.
Freja’s heart thuds against her chest. Letting Emre tend to her so delicately almost makes her feel like her past self. That ingenue of an operative who wanted to change the world for the better, who idolized him, building up the concept of ‘Emre Sarioglu’ for so long in her mind. He may not be what either of them imagined, but the real Emre means so much more.
“You don’t have to go so slow,” Freja says. “You’re not going to break me.”
“That’s not why,” he says. “Ever since you showed up wearing these…” He snaps the stocking against her, blood rushing to Freja’s cheeks. “I’ve wanted to do this.”
“Have you?”
“How could I not have?” He swipes his hand along her thigh, arcing just below her shorts, the slice of smooth skin that usually peeks out between her stockings and the hem dimpling beneath his calloused fingertips. “You’re telling me you don’t expose this on purpose?”
She laughs, the corner of her mouth curling. “That’s a trade secret.”
“It’s certainly distracting. I’d get caught in your bola, too,” he says. “Hell, I’d throw myself in its path.”
She shakes her head. “Maybe that’s why you were so easy to hunt down.”
“It could be related.”
“You did look good tied up in it,” she admits, her mind wandering to an image that has resurfaced and resurfaced ever since they reunited. Without his clothes, it would be better. “Should I go get it?”
“Maybe next time, if I lose the bet.” Well, that’s guaranteed, then. She’s looking forward to it already.
“What if you win?”
“I get to use it on you.”
Freja scoffs. “Deal.”
Once he’s pulled off both of her stockings, Emre starts on her shorts. His hands are sure as he unbuttons them, the zipper hissing, Freja bends her legs to assist him. He breathes her in before he removes her underwear, the simple cotton soaked with her desire.
“Frej,” he says it like a prayer. Emre stares up at her from between her legs and the valley of her breasts. His pupils are so dilated, the crimson only the barest ring around each inky pool of black, his gaze as dark as the one she remembers. “You’re so beautiful.”
Those eyes reflect who she once was, who they both were. It’s everything she’s wanted to help bring him back to, and yet, witnessing this, why does she feel guilty? Tangling a hand in his thick hair, Freja shoves Emre onto her.
“Vay be,” is all he manages before he’s smothered, drowning in her cunt. He doesn’t protest, though. Emre has always been dutiful, and now is no exception. Draping her legs over his shoulders, he takes to the task at hand, licking Freja hungrily, his tongue laving up her slit. Not too hard, not too soft, just tortuous enough to make her desperate. Her hips buck on their own, chasing Emre’s mouth, her clit grinding into his nose as he licks her open. Slippery arousal leaks and leaks from her, gentling the catch of his stubble against her sensitive skin.
“Fuck—” It feels divine, but Freja needs more. With a sharp tug, she guides Emre higher, her other hand sliding over her stomach to part herself, exposing her clit. “Suck,” she orders. And she trembles when he obeys, pursing his lips around her, the wet heat of his mouth setting all of the nerves in her body alight. “More,” she demands. “I told you, you’re not going to break me.” Emre plunges two fingers into her sopping cunt, smooth, slick, easy. “More,” she repeats. “Sgu, come on, Emre.”
For a moment, he breaks his suction on her clit, leaving Freja throbbing in the air. “Alright, alright.” Emre is careful to wedge another inside, but he doesn’t have to be when Freja is drenched like this.
She’s stuffed now, three of Emre’s fingers crooking, pressing and curling to hit that spot that makes her keen. Freja pinches one of her nipples, the metal barbell rubbing just right. Fuck, she’s getting close already, even closer when she lets herself enjoy the view.
Emre: beneath her, kneeling for her alone, completely focused on her pleasure. He has been watching her face this whole time, she realizes. Studying her reactions to the tiniest of his ministrations, adjusting his tempo, his pressure to coax her to the edge. Oh, he’s ever so eager to please. And, god, he’s so fucking handsome. No wonder she’s been so enamored with him for years.
“Emre,” Freja murmurs, her thighs quivering, her eyes squeezing shut. She bites her lip, trying to endure the onslaught of rapture threatening to tear her apart.
That was the signal he needed, he can tell she is nearing the precipice. Emre picks up the pace, his mouth alternating between licking and sucking her, every motion seemingly calibrated to wrench Freja’s orgasm from her. To leave nothing in its wake, nothing but the way she feels about him, and the knowledge that it is he who does this to her.
And, he does.
Pathetic whimpers and his name spill from Freja’s lips as she comes, her heels digging into his back, her thighs clamping around his head. Slick rushes out of her, rolling down his chin, into his beard. Emre doesn’t stop until she’s melted into the sofa, her chest heaving, begging him to by pulling his hair. “Oh fuck, Emre—fuck, fuck.” When he finally releases her, his lips are glistening with her fluids, the corner of his mouth curled up in self, and, Freja’s satisfaction. “How did you get so good at that?”
“I just—I wanted to do it for you," he answers much too sincerely.
“Did you study for this?” Freja teases.
“It never hurts to be prepared.” There’s the proof that he’s still Emre.
Pushing up from the floor, he kisses her. Freja can taste just how much she’s wanted him for years and years. She sucks it all off of his tongue. Hands trailing over the planes of his body, she reaches for his waistband. “Fuck me.”
“God, Frej…” He exhales sharply. “You don’t have to—we can stop here.”
“No.”
“You’re sure…? Even with me like this?” His eyes peer towards the one on his chest.
“Yes. How many times do I have to tell you?” Freja turns his face towards her again. “We’ll fix it one day, but for now, it’s part of you. And I want you, Emre. All of you.”
The distance between them may as well be infinite as he seems to contemplate it. This is farther than they’ve ever gotten before, but he could always slink away again. Maybe she should have brought her bola. But then Emre is hooking an arm under her knees, one around her waist, lifting her to carry her to the bedroom as if she weighs nothing. He gently tosses her onto the mattress, standing over her to finally, finally remove his briefs.
The tight material catches on his cock as he lowers them, kicking them off somewhere else in the room. Freja nearly salivates when she sees it, flushed and thick, jutting out from the thatch of dark hair, a pearl of precum beading at the tip.
So human.
Freja settles back on the bed, letting Emre climb on top of her, his arms caging her in. He groans at her nudging against the silky head of his cock, her cunt soaked with arousal and his saliva.
“Do we need to use pro—”
“No.”
“But what if—”
“You’re not the only one who prepared for this.”
“Frej.” The timbre of his voice is gravelly, rumbling with desire when he realizes what she is implying.
Determination returns to his face and he splays his hands out on her thighs, aligning himself with her entrance. He takes his time, again. Slicking himself up with her wetness, his hot skin sliding, teasing her clit. This is maddening, too. Freja spreads herself open, her walls yielding to the shape of his tip.
“Fuck me, Emre.” Freja’s demand drips desperation. He can’t resist after that. Definitely can’t resist once she begins pushing onto him. Emre breathes heavily, his eyes squinting at the sensation of Freja’s cunt stretching around, then swallowing his full length.
Now, she’s flush with his base, his dark curls nestled up against her, his hips on her thighs. It feels like she’s never been this close to anyone. She’s never been this close to anyone. She’s never felt this full or fulfilled.
“I can’t believe this is finally happening,” he murmurs. “All those years…”
“Why did you make me wait so long?” Freja has to know.
“I…” Emre scans towards the wall of the front of a bedroom briefly before he stares into her eyes. “I wanted it to be perfect.”
Freja rests her hands on his shoulder blades again, letting herself have a moment of vulnerability neither of them expected. “It is,” she whispers. “Because it’s you.”
But that is all. That’s enough. She’s said so much today. Done so much today. Freja starts rolling her hips, fucking herself on his cock, relishing in Emre’s thick length splitting her open.
“You're perfect,” he grits out. "You feel so good."
Emre forces a hand between them, his fingers seeking her clit. He’s just as generous a lover as she always imagined he’d be. And that makes Freja ache even more for him. For how they could have been doing this the whole time. A part of her mourns, but she shakes it off; there is something much more important to focus on. She shivers at the contact of the carbon fiber of his prosthetic hand, but it’s far from unpleasant, the cooler temperature spearing through the consuming heat.
And, his fingers seem to be vibrating more efficiently, more deliciously than any hand she’s ever felt has been capable of. Perfectly punctuated pulses pounding at her sensitive clit. Freja whines at the intense stimulation, her eyes half-lidded, her mouth hanging open, slack.
Of course, Emre asks, “Are you alright?”
“Yeah–fuck, don’t stop,” she manages. “Don’t you fucking dare stop.”
Emre follows her lead, fingers maintaining the merciless pressure he was worried was too much. Her wanton moaning spurs him on to thrust and chase his own end. Every time he hilts himself, his tip kisses deep, drooling at her womb. Freja can barely speak now, garbled Danish curses and needy whines escaping her as his cock fills and fills her.
“You like this?” Somehow his fingers are even faster now, molten pleasure surges through her, flooding her from her fingertips to her curling toes. So consumed by Emre, it takes a moment for her to notice his hand is glowing red where they are joined.
Is he in control?
Does it even matter? Not right now. All that matters those long, indulgent pulls slamming home, his cock hitting the deepest part of her with every slick slide out. His fingers circling her clit, tantalizingly and teasingly drawing moan after moan from her lips. All that matters is that they are together. But in her heart, Freja knows. This is Emre. Only he would do this to her, for her.
Freja palms at his muscular ass, giving it a squeeze before her nails rake up his back to hold on for dear life as she fractures. She locks her ankles around his waist, the angle has her cunt clutching him like a vice. Lewd wet noises and skin snapping skin echo, ricocheting off of the walls.
She doesn’t have to announce that she is close. Maybe Emre learned from before. He increases the pressure, jerking her clit in time with his thrusts. He sucks on her neck harsh enough to leave a mark. His breath fans over her ear when he speaks, “I want to feel you come, Frej.”
It’s those words that undo her. The sound of Emre’s voice. The need to share her ecstasy with him. Sweat beads at Freja’s hairline, frosts over her skin, sticky, shimmering, her walls pulsating around him as another orgasm crashes into her. Her nails dig into his shoulder blades, piercing, clawing. The heat of him suffusing through her. Nothing matters but this.
Freja is near limp when the dots stop swimming in her vision, euphoria still lapping at her through the haze.
“You get so tight.” Emre’s eyes are wild with lust as he stares down at her: sated, pliant, his. He must be close. His teeth are clenching, sweat sliding between them when he presses his chest to hers. The dusting of hair around the eye chafes her nipples, the entity chill against her sternum.
The contrasts within Emre, on him, are everything Freja has has ever needed. His hot cock twitching inside her, stiff as steel itself. The cool grooves and ridges beneath her fingertips as her hands rove over his skin, Freja wants to memorize every part of his body. Human and not. She will. “You’re so beautiful, Frej.” He pants against her mouth. “My goddess of the hunt.”
God, he can be a sap. But that is part of Emre, too. Freja pulls him closer, messily kissing him, their tongues tangling together. She clamps down around him, her walls still fluttering with aftershocks. He was determined to milk another orgasm from her and she’s determined to milk every last drop from his cock. To reduce him not to the monster, not to the machine, nor the man. Only to Emre. Her Emre.
“Fuck—” His rutting veers erratic, the brutal pace stuttering to a halt. Emre comes with a groan, his hot release gushing deep as he empties inside her. Even though he’s fraying at the seams, his hand resumes its relentless motion on her clit, the divine rhythm reaching a crescendo yet again. Freja’s cunt convulses around him, squeezing the cum out around his oversensitive cock. The sticky musky rush coats him, a wet mess streaming down her thighs.
Emre collapses on top of Freja, his heart hammering against hers. One day, she will be able to feel it more directly. Or maybe not. But no matter what happens, she’ll never let him go. She’ll be with him until the bitter end. “Frej.” He rolls to her side, those altered eyes boring through her. Only his Freja.
Freja laces her fingers into Emre’s prosthetic ones, shining with her. “I think I lost the bet.”
“Hm?”
“Your hand is more dangerous than your mouth.”
“That, we both already knew.”
At least, they can laugh about it together. At least, they are together.
Freja nuzzles up to Emre, pressing her lips to his.