In the end, stunning Sasha is your gentle giantess.

A year has passed and you cannot believe how much has changed. You live in a cramped closet sized apartment that costs most of your combined student loans on the corner of Stabbington Lane and Gunwound Way. You both work menial jobs surrounded by millions of other assholes that are just as stressed and close to snapping as you. You are barely passing half your classes and bombing the rest, while Sasha gets straight A's of course. It's cold and rainy all the time, except when it's blistering hot and there is no air conditioning. Every day seems like this impossible ordeal and you can't believe you have survived this long and wouldn't put money down, not that you have any, that you'll make it through another year.

And you are happier than you have ever been in your entire life...

It's strangely fulfilling after a lifetime of hiding from the world to find yourself out in the thick of it. Sure, you are almost constantly coming up short, finding an ever expanding list of ways to fuck up, and making friends with failure over and over, but everyday you find the strength to keep trying, and you have never been prouder of yourself. Plus, you've got a ginormous goddess of a girlfriend that can literally pick you up and give you a piggy back ride any time you are feeling down.

Sasha is your rock. You feel safe with her, and not just because she can step on almost anyone who would try to hurt you. She's literally seen you at your lowest, but somehow, she still looks up to you. She calls you her 'little dragon slayer' and tells you she is in awe of how you manage to stay so optimistic in spite of everything being awful pretty much all the time. You call her 'goddess, princess, your majesty-, and when you've been extra good...she let's you call her 'ma'am.'

You have a complicated relationship to be sure. It has taken Sasha a long time to fully trust you, but then again, it's taken you even longer, and some days you are grateful for her watching over you from way up high so you relax and take a break from watching yourself. That said, it's getting harder and harder to remember the last time you were tempted to backslide. Most days you actually like yourself too much to let yourself down, and the few days you don't, you love Sasha too much to hurt her again.

It doesn't hurt that she makes love to you everytime like she did that first night. You can spend hours just kissing and caressing and still finding new ways to make love to each others beautiful bodies followed by a white hot supernova of fiery, almost frightening fucking that hurts so good you almost always end up crying tears of joy...knowing your goddess would never take it too far...knowing she will kiss your tears away and let you suck them off her lips and tongue as you recreate the Big Bang every night.

Then every morning you wake up next to her and it's like waking up next to an angel. Only, you are pretty sure you aren't allowed to give angels a quick wake up blowie, but if she's not telling her boss upstairs, you won't. And if sometimes your quick suck leads to a slow tongue tour up her towering torso to her ample breast where you bury yourself in until you almost pass out, well that's what sick days are for. Your morning make out sessions often extend to mid afternoons being impaled on her cock as she walks around the apartment doing chores that you would complain is bullying and belittling if you weren't the one that begged her to turn you into her 'Polly Pocket pussy' in the first place.

It's like living with a mythological creature that you also get to make out with. She is so flawless and perfect, if you don't count her snoring, the way she always 'forgets' whose turn it is to do the dishes even though she never does them, her sometimes crippling anxiety, her dips down into self hate that she sometimes tries to invite you along for, and the way she mispronounces the word 'gazpacho' no matter how often she's corrected. I mean, you don't even EAT gazpacho! Still, if she wasn't flawed, she'd be too perfect. She's perfectly flawed and a little fucked up, but that just makes her a perfect match for you. You both are works in progress, and she's a masterpiece. And when you are extra good and do the dishes wearing nothing but the tiny pink apron she always says is silly, but she always ends up eating your ass while you scrub, and you feel like you are going to turn into bubbles and wash yourself away...then she let's you call her your 'Mistresspiece'.

It's a good thing she's so kind and loving, because you are such a pushover you might have ended up a pet instead of a partner. Not that you haven't spent a wild weekend or two...or twenty two...dressed up as a cat girl and curled in her lap. Most of the time, however, you make your decisions together, she builds you up and makes you feel tall on the inside, and you even get to pick what show you will snuggle up to...every other time...and you always end up picking something she probably would have picked anyway because you are just that in sync. It's frankly disgusting how sweet the two of you are together, but it almost feels like an act of defiance to be so open and earnest and mushy and madly in love in a world that is so hard and cold and seemingly ceaselessly celebrating its cruelty.

You aren't willing to go so far as to say that makes you a hero...but Sasha says it for you, and you say it for her, and you both believe in each other so much that you almost believe in yourselves. You look forward to every day in a miserable city...in a callous state...in a heartbreakingly hostile country because every day ends up in her arms...and occasionally riding around on her shoulders. That is, until you start making Master Blaster jokes, and she tosses you on the nearest furniture and gently fucks the sass out of you.

It's a hard life. You might not make it after all. You are days from dropping out if of school and always a week away from eviction. You still have no clue what to do with the rest of your life or what your back up career will be if you never pick a first choice career. You can't help but worry what will happen if you have to move back home like all the other small town suckers who couldn't hack it. You don't see the light at the end of the tunnel, and if you ever do, it will probably mean a train is barrelling towards you.

And as you watch your goddess sleep, just waiting to give her a little more time before you wake her with a kiss...and then another for her cock...you think to yourself...I've survived worse than the train and whatever horrors it's hauling. You look at your perfectly imperfect for really real dream woman and you think to yourself for the first time...'I deserve this happy ending. I'm going to keep doing everything I can to deserve it. I'm going to keep fighting with all my heart to hold on to our happiness and God Herself better get the fuck out of my if She has different plans for us...'

And you do...in your own flawed...fucked up...freakish way.

You are the imperfect pair.

Now...

And for...