I AM SO SORRY FOR THE LATE CHAPTER. Explanation and apologies at the bottom so you can get right to reading! (PS, SiriuslyMrsMalfoy guessed the plot twist! Well done, you!)

"I'll be here when you wake up."

Hermione's voice floated through Draco's dreams, disjointed and strange as they were, giving him a thread to hold on to when they teetered on the edge of becoming nightmares. He had no idea how long he slept, but he let himself sink into it, knowing on some level that he desperately needed the rest. It felt vaguely like being on a ship that was rocking slowly with the waves, having nowhere in particular to be. It was beautiful for a while, but it was also lonely, and Draco longed for the sun.

Eventually the fog lifted, and it pulled Draco with it, whispering him awake. He sluggishly blinked his eyes open.

"Welcome back," said Hermione, smiling at him, sunlight from the hospital window nearly eclipsing her face. She had kept her word. She was exactly where she said she'd be.

"Holy fuck," he coughed, and then grimaced, not intending to open with that particular greeting. His thoughts weren't completely back online, flickering weakly in his head. He felt awful.

She laughed. "Nice to see you too. It's probably best if you don't try to speak too much. Your throat is raw and you bit your tongue quite badly. Your ankle's healed up well though."

"Small mercies," he groaned, feeling sore absolutely everywhere. Even his skin hurt.

"You've just been shot up with a fresh round of drugs for the pain, so you'll be feeling lovely soon."

"I'm always feeling lovely, Granger," he grumbled.

She laughed again, and he decided in that moment that he needed to hear her laugh as often as possible, enjoying the way her face lit up at his words.

It wasn't the only change, either. Hermione looked completely transformed. All the stress and sadness that had etched itself across her features was gone. She looked bloody transcendent.

Life after the War already felt astonishingly different, and he'd only been part of it for a moment.

"Your mother will be pleased to know that you're awake," she said, shyly brushing his hair off his forehead. "She pulled through, although it was a close thing. The wounds are healing well. She's a War hero now, you know. Quite a celebrity."

Draco opened his mouth to reply, but found he couldn't speak around the sudden lump in his throat. Merlin, he was so grateful. When he saw his mother like that… Unmoving, injured… He had expected the worst. Another heartbreak to add to the growing list. Another body to bury. In a desperate bid to keep from humiliating himself, he grabbed Hermione's hand and squeezed, taking a couple of rattling breaths.

Hermione looked down at their joined hands and squeezed back, pretending not to notice his eyes welling up.

It occurred to him that she probably didn't really understand how indebted he felt. Gryffindors were like that, though - performing lunatic stunts just because it seemed like the right thing to do. Hermione had saved them. All of them. She wasn't even supposed to fucking be there.

She was completely mad, and he had never been happier for it.

"Your mother's got some impressive scars," Hermione said. "I think she actually likes them. Makes her look very scary."

"She is very scary," he wheezed, his throat a mess.

Fumbling for a moment, she brought a glass of water to his lips. He sipped carefully, grateful for the cool relief.

"So Granger," he winced, swallowing through sandpaper. "You broke the rules."

"Rules? What are you on about?"

Draco smirked, feeling pleased that he could tease her again. "In my bedroom. I told you no heroics." And then you had to storm in and win the War.

"You are not seriously complaining about that!"

He chuckled, feeling too happy to argue. He didn't know if it was the drugs or the company, but suddenly he felt amazing.

"I'm not complaining, not really, but I wouldn't mind knowing what the hell happened in there."

"Fine. But stop talking, for goodness sakes. I was under strict orders to keep you quiet."

"Bossy," he whispered, but he let his eyes drift shut, thankful for the reprieve from the harsh sunlight. Hermione leaned back in the chair, but scooped his hand up in hers again, playing with his fingers absentmindedly.

"After you left the room, I changed back into a sparrow and followed you and your mother to the East Wing," she said, sounding a bit guilty, tracing a delicate line on his palm. "Something about the mission felt wrong. I can't even really explain it."

"Instincts," he supplied. "I felt it too."

"Hush," she chided. "Maybe it was instincts, I don't know. I watched your mother go in, and I saw you debating… You didn't look happy about being left outside. Anyway, when you went in early, I didn't move fast enough. The door closed before I could fly through. I had to change back, and then I was stuck there… Just pacing. I couldn't just follow you lest I make everything worse, but I also knew something was wrong. It was horrible."

"But then Bellatrix showed up," Draco said, seeing clearly in his mind what must have happened. He opened his eyes and looked her straight on. "You heard me screaming, didn't you."

She nodded. "I have never felt that scared in my life. When I saw you like that… And Narcissa… I just acted without thinking."

"Didn't know you were capable of that."

"Shut it, you."

"Sorry, sorry."

"Anyway, you know the rest. I killed Bellatrix. I'd do it again a million times over, you know." She sounded surprisingly defensive, and Draco realized she wasn't accustomed to taking lives. She had spent most of the War planning in the background.

"You're not going to hear me complaining, Hermione."

"Good," she said, looking calmer. "That's good. As for Voldemort, I made a quick decision. There was an empty vial on the ground, so I had to assume your mother had given him the potion before she was interrupted. I took the chance. I put the prophecy out of my mind and tried my luck."

"You were brilliant," he murmured.

"Voldemort took so much from me," she said, playing with his hand nervously, sadness ghosting over her face again. "I never thought I'd get the chance to take the only thing he had left, but there you go."

They sat in silence for a moment, both lost in thought.

"Hey Granger," Draco said, eventually.

"Hm?"

"I'm... Sorry. About leaving you in the bedroom. I know you've gone through a lot… It can't be easy to watch people leaving and never coming back. If I had been given a chance to make a better plan, I would have."

"Not your fault. I'd have been a mess regardless, I think."

"Because you fancy me." He decided to throw her a saucy grin, just because he could.

She glared at him, but there was no heat behind it. "Maybe."

"You do," he grinned. "You do fancy me. It's alright, I fancy you too. And I promise that next time I kiss you, we won't be marching off to our deaths."

She snorted. "Feeling confident that will happen again?"

"Naturally," he shrugged. "Could kiss you now, even."

"Draco, you have five stitches in your mouth."

"Ah," he said. "That would explain why it hurts to talk."

"You are incorrigible," she said, rolling her eyes. "And you need to keep quiet for a while."

"I suppose I can take orders from the woman who vanquished the Dark Lord."

Hermione sighed, suddenly looking worried. Draco stopped smiling, worried he had said something wrong.

"Sorry… You know I'm just teasing."

"I know, I know. It's not that. I just don't understand why I was able to kill him."

Draco looked at her quizzically. She was getting a little fuzzy around the edges, but he could see her face properly.

It was a nice face.

Oh my, the drugs were really kicking in.

"The prophecy," she said, trying to explain. "I don't understand the prophecy. We built everything with the understanding that it had to be you or your mother, but in the end, it was me." She shook her head and looked away, confused. "I guess… Maybe this is the one time that Luna got it wrong."

Draco stared at her. No, it wasn't possible. Was she being serious? Because now that he'd gotten over the shock of seeing Hermione actually kill the Dark Lord, he understood perfectly clearly what had happened.

Did she really not? Did she not know?

"Hermione - "

"Hush," she tutted. "It's okay, it doesn't matter, I suppose. The War is over, which was the whole point. Neville and his troops are all getting commendations. You too, I imagine. Everyone knows how you helped."

"Fine, I don't give a toss what people know, but when you said - "

"Draco, Madam Pomfrey will seriously have my head if she hears you talking."

"I certainly will!" piped up the nurse, marching in from the hallway and cutting their conversation short, much to Draco's dismay. "I'll need to borrow your young man for a moment, Hermione. Still lots of work to do on the poor lad."

Hermione blushed at Madam Pomfrey's description and stood up quickly, pulling her hand away. "Of course. I'll come back later, Draco."

"Wait, but the prophecy… When you said - "

"Later!" She walked out of the room, nearly tripping on her feet as she looked over her shoulder at him.

Draco found his face doing something most unusual.

"You're grinning like a fool," said Madam Pomfrey in a disapproving voice, stepping in to block his view.

"She thinks the prophecy was wrong," he said, smiling even wider. He wanted to laugh. It was the funniest thing he'd ever heard. And these drugs were bloody fantastic.

"Are you feeling quite alright?" Madam Pomfrey replied with a furrowed brow. "Maybe I should change the dosage. Enough chatter, you. Had to intubate you in a hurry, and your tongue needs some rest yet."

"It wasn't wrong," he giggled. "It was absolutely spot on."

"Merlin's beard," she muttered, fiddling with his medication. "Much too strong of a dose. I'll bring that right down."

"We just understood it wrong," he continued.

"'Course you did love," she replied, patting him on the hand. "I've got to grab something from my supplies. Be back in a tick."

He watched Madam Pomfrey leave the room and shook his head, still smiling.

Bloody Luna. She must have known, the crafty witch.

The Dark Lord's killer will be a Malfoy. Curious wording, no?

He giggled to himself. How funny that he never noticed. The prophecy could have just as easily been the Dark Lord's killer is a Malfoy.

Instead, there was room for interpretation. The killer will be a Malfoy. The killer was Hermione Granger.

"Ergo," he informed the empty room, "Hermione will, one day, become a Malfoy."

And then he laughed, and laughed, and laughed.

After ages of being kept in the dark, after having to piece together this insane mystery with only scraps of information, he finally had a leg up. He knew the final plan.

She would figure it out eventually. Once she had a minute to slow down. She was brilliant, after all. She'd probably yell a bit. She loved yelling at him.

But until then, he would just enjoy the moment.

Besides, he had a feeling it was the last time he'd ever be a step ahead of her, and it seemed they were going to be together for a very long time.

Sleep took him for hours and hours. When he awoke, considerably more sober, Narcissa was at his bedside. Somehow, despite being wrapped up in a hospital blanket, she still managed to look regal.

"Mother," he said, blinking himself awake, testing his mouth out, pleased that he was already less pain. When his vision cleared, he couldn't help but stare - there were thin red lines criss-crossing her throat. Although they were healing quickly, he could tell they had been extremely deep. How she had managed to survive the blood loss was beyond him.

"Quite something, aren't they?" she smiled, interrupting his thoughts, leaning in to press a kiss to his forehead. "I don't mind them, actually. I suppose it's time I had some battle scars."

"Visible ones," he said, still stunned at the damage.

"A valid point," she replied. "It's been a long war. We've had quite an adventure, you and I."

"Could do with a little less adventuring in the future," he said, gesturing to his bandaged body. "Providing we won't be hanged for our crimes, I think I'd like to get into a painfully boring line of work. Perhaps one without sadistic Dark wizards. I hear accounting is extremely dull."

"I'm sure that can be arranged," she smiled. "And you can rest easy about our crimes. We've been pardoned, as it turns out. Miss Granger spun quite a tale about us both being double agents. She was more generous with the timelines than was perhaps realistic, but I don't find it within myself to complain, given the circumstances."

"Nor do I," he admitted, relief mixing with unease. "Although being pardoned for some of the things I've done... Well."

"Is there a problem?"

He fidgeted uncomfortably, twisting the sheets in his fist. The fighting may be over, but some of the things he had done would haunt him forever. How many lives had he taken? How many families had he destroyed?

It had taken him much too long to change allegiance. The damage he had done was inexcusable.

"I don't deserve a pardon, mother," he muttered. "I'm not a good person, regardless of what Hermione thinks. I never have been."

"That makes two of us," she replied. "But here we are."

He looked at her quizzically.

"You and I are deeply imperfect people, Draco. We won't suddenly become angels just because we switched sides. Life is not so black and white."

"But where does that leave us? The choices we made - "

"The choices we made ended the War," she shrugged. "That leaves us with a future, and a rare chance to put some of our past to bed. I won't pretend that we are model citizens, but I know we have changed."

"How can you be sure?"

"Well, for one, I don't have much appetite for the things I used to value. I'm sure you feel the same."

Draco thought of how he used to crave power, how his kill count was a badge of honour before the doubt took over. He shuddered at the memory.

What did he value now?

Stability. Quiet. Family. Loyalty. Someone to care for.

He grimaced. "Merlin's beard, I've become a fucking Hufflepuff."

Narcissa laughed, a sweet, young sound that he hadn't heard in years.

"I suppose it could be worse," she smiled. "At least you're not a Gryffindor."

Draco snorted, and then cleared his throat, trying to decide how to broach the topic of the prophecy. "Uh, speaking of Gryffindors..."

Narcissa met his eye, and he could tell she'd worked it out already. Thank God he had been spared that conversation.

"You needn't worry, Draco," said Narcissa. "She's a lovely girl. I've thought so for quite a while."

"You know what it means, though."

"It means that one day I'll have a very bright daughter-in-law."

"That will never stop being weird," he said, pinching the bridge of his nose.

"Does she know?"

Draco shook his head. "I doubt she's had a moment to think about anything since the mission ended."

"Very true. But since you've worked out the true meaning, what do you plan to do about it? You're basically betrothed."

Draco's answer had been percolating in the back of his mind since he realized what the prophecy meant, and he had come to a surprising conclusion.

"You know... I think I'm just going to ignore it."

Narcissa blinked at him. "I don't understand."

He smirked. "I don't hear that very often."

"Explain."

"It hardly needs explanation. I have done nothing to deserve all the good fortune that's come into my life. I've gone from having absolutely no hope for my future to having everything I wanted in a very short period of time. There is no way, no way I will take a second of it for granted."

Narcissa frowned. "And this applies to Hermione how...?"

"Because I refuse to treat her like a I have a right to her. Just because some prophecy says we are meant to be together doesn't mean she deserves to be treated like a certainty. I'm going to ignore the prophecy. I'm going to earn her affection properly."

A look of understanding dawned on Narcissa's face. "Are you just saying that you'd like to... Court her?"

"I suppose I am," he said, fighting the blush that was crawling up his neck. "I'm in no rush, you know. We can take things slowly. I just don't want her to spend another day unaware of her worth."

Narcissa broke out in a dazzling smile. "Oh, Draco. And you doubt that you've changed?"

Draco shrugged, cheeks flushing. "I know I sound ridiculous."

"Actually," she said, leaning in and kissing his cheek. "You sound very much like your father. Before all the nonsense with Voldemort, before he got distracted by power. He was very much a romantic, you know."

"I... I would not have guessed that."

"He'd be very proud of you, Draco."

He gave her a look of utter disbelief. "Mother, I'm planning to date and potentially marry his mortal enemy. He would be livid."

"Well," she sighed, looking quite happy, "Lucius always did like a bit of drama."

They managed exactly one date before everything went mental. The date was at the hospital cafeteria.

"Just a quick bite," Hermione said, leading him by the hand. "The food is better down here, and you need your strength."

"Why do I need my strength?" he groused. "I'm feeling fine. I just want to go home. The Manor needs to be bloody exorcized before it can be used… The sooner I can get started, the better."

She laughed nervously and then looked over her shoulder. "It's just… I thought we could take a moment while things are quiet. There may be a bit of press outside."

Draco frowned at her anxious fidgeting and squinted at the menu board. Casserole? Revolting. "A bit of press? How much is a bit?"

"Approximately seventy reporters," she mumbled. "Maybe more. And that's not including the crowd."

"Ah." He bit his lip, and they ate in silence as he mulled the information over.

"This is going to be tricky, isn't it," he said.

"What… Leaving the hospital?"

"Well, that… And the rest of it."

Hermione froze, and Draco quickly backtracked, realizing his misstep.

"No no, don't misunderstand. I don't regret a thing. This isn't a passing fancy for me, Hermione. Sod the press – I'm not leaving just because it will be difficult for a while."

Her shoulders relaxed a bit.

"It's just that I wanted to... I wanted to take you out. Spoil you a bit. Let us take our time. That's all. I have a feeling that's going to be nearly impossible now."

She tilted her head at him, looking curious. "Why Draco Malfoy… You're surprisingly old fashioned. I had no idea."

He shrugged, feeling slightly embarrassed. "I've spent most of my life treating you rather terribly. Just thought it was time to make more of an effort."

Much to his surprise, she leaned over and kissed him lightly on the mouth. It was over too quickly for him to react, save for a tiny moan that escaped his lips.

"You're a good man," she whispered.

"I'm really, really not."

"We will agree to disagree," she sighed, glancing toward the exit. "You're probably right, though. Normal dating is out of the question. We'd be hounded at every turn."

"There must be an alternative."

Hermione looked lost in thought. "I'll work on something. I think we'll be just fine."

They ate their lunch quietly, tucked into a corner of the room where they had a small scrap of privacy. The conversation was easy, all the tension from their previous encounters burned away into ash. Hermione talked about her ideas for the memorials, and unloaded her concerns about how to house all the displaced families while they sorted out the reconstruction. Draco suggested the Ministry ask his mother for help with the rebuilding efforts.

"She has access to Voldemort and Bellatrix's private fortunes," he said around a gulp of tea. "The money from that could probably rebuild most of Britain, honestly. My mother is a very effective planner… She could arrange everything in record time. If you wanted, that is."

He was pleased to receive a slightly longer kiss for his idea.

"I'm not looking forward to this," Hermione whispered as they finished their meal, reluctantly standing up to leave. "I've no interest in the attention. I'm going to have to talk about Harry now… Everyone will want to know. And Ron. And Luna. I just… I don't…" She was started to breathe too quickly, and Draco steadied her, sliding an arm around her waist.

"Shhh, hold on," Draco said, turning them both and walking in the opposite direction from the entrance. "Here's the thing about being the person who ended the War. You can say whatever you want to whenever you want to. Everyone is mourning, Hermione. They will understand if you're not ready to talk about the people you lost."

"But all the questions – "

"They can wait. And if they bother you, they lose their privileges. You don't belong to the press, Hermione."

She nodded, numbly.

"Here, I have an idea. I'm going to go out the front entrance now, alright?"

"What good will that do?" she asked, confused. "You'll be torn apart. I know you've been pardoned, but people won't trust you right away. They still think of you as a Death Eater."

"I'm counting on it," he said. "The difference is that I don't care what people think of me. I'm going to go out and distract them, and you're going to leave by the back door."

"Really?" she said, looking apprehensive. "That's not going to be easy for you."

"It'll be better for you, and it will give them something different to talk about. I'll see you soon, yeah?" He pressed a kiss to her temple, knowing it may be a while before he got another chance. "Please tell me I'll see you soon."

"Of course," she said, turning her face and kissing him hard. He felt it curl deliciously in his gut, and nipped at her lips as she pulled away.

Squaring his shoulders, Draco turned on his heel and marched up to the front entrance, seeing the cameras perk up at the sight of him.

If there was one thing his family knew how to do, it was how to make an entrance.

He put on his best glare and stepped out into the crowd.

It was two weeks before they saw each other again.

The demands on Hermione's time were overwhelming, and he found himself writing her notes via owl just to keep her calm, assuring her that it would all be over soon. Perhaps it was the prophecy lurking in the background, but Draco felt relatively at ease about it all. He used the time to his advantage, clearing out the Manor, locking up the dungeons, and solidifying the family's finances once again. Voldemort's residency had turned every corner into a potential death trap, and Draco found himself calling in favours with curse breakers just to make sure the building was safe for future occupancy.

He rather hoped he and his mother wouldn't be the only ones living there, eventually. Should things go well. Not that he was taking anything for granted.

Narcissa was indeed called upon to help with the reconstruction efforts, and performed brilliantly, overseeing projects that finished weeks ahead of schedule. Nobody wanted to question how she got everything done so quickly, which was probably wise, since very little of it was legal. As Narcissa told Draco one evening, "Just because I've changed sides doesn't mean I have to be inefficient." He didn't ask for details. He tended to agree with her, anyway.

Still, two weeks was a long time to be apart, and Draco had begun to wonder if he had miscalculated somewhere along the way. Should he be making grand gestures? Should he just tell Hermione what Luna meant? The truth was, he didn't know if telling her would help his case, or hinder it. As a general rule, Hermione hated to be told what to do, and it would do him no good to push her away.

He would have to be patient. It was not one if his virtues, but he was determined to learn.

One evening, as he was willing himself to sleep, he heard a tapping at the window. Heart jumping into his throat, he threw himself out of bed, clamouring to reach the source of the noise.

It was a sparrow.

Of course it was a sparrow.

Moments later, a shivering Hermione slipped under the covers with him, teeth chattering from the chilly air. "I don't know why I didn't think of this sooner," she whispered. "I thought I'd be imposing, but that was stupid, wasn't it?"

"Extremely stupid," he whispered back, worried his racing heart would make him blather out a litany of cheesy confessions.

"I've missed you terribly," he allowed himself.

"And I you," she said, tucking her head under his chin. "Would you mind if I stayed here tonight?"

"Don't be an idiot," he said, fondly.

She was asleep within seconds.

The next night, he left the window open, hoping he wasn't being naively optimistic about his chances. He held his tongue when she finally slipped under the covers, enjoying the way she burrowed into his chest and promptly fell asleep, mumbling something about the Ministry's bureaucratic structure.

"I'd like for you to stay here every night," he whispered, knowing she wouldn't hear a thing. "Even if we just sleep. I don't mind."

They continued that way for weeks, Hermione working herself to the bone all day, and then falling into a deep sleep seconds after crawling into bed. It thrilled Draco beyond words. He had never experienced this before - a partner who wanted to share space just because it felt good. Just because they wanted to be close.

The prophecy was relegated to the back of his mind and stayed there, losing prominence under the piles of new information Draco was accumulating: the feeling of Hermione's skin against his, the surprising warmth of her body after she settled in under the covers, the feeling of sleepy kisses before they both drifted off.

One night, Hermione arrived looking considerably more awake than usual.

"Good day?" he asked, rearranging himself on the pillow.

"Hmmm," she nodded, tying back her hair and sliding in beside him. "Strange case at the Ministry. They asked me for my opinion, but it's not really my area."

"What was the case?"

"Blaise Zabini's body was found in the Thames."

Draco made sure his breathing didn't so much as hitch. "How did it get there?"

"Not sure," she said stretching. "But the funny thing was that he didn't drown. He choked on something. A letter, actually. Must have been thrown in to the river afterwards."

"What sort of letter?" He traced shapes on her arm, trying very carefully not to meet her eyes.

"A confession," she said. "Everyone he had ever killed or tortured."

"Must have been a long list," he murmured.

"It was," she said. He could feel her eyes taking him apart, searching him for clues. "Luna was on it."

"Ah," he said.

"Well," she sighed, "It's really too bad."

"What is?"

"Choking is too kind a death for someone like him," she said, turning her back to him and yawning. "But at least he's gone. Goodnight, Draco."

"Goodnight Hermione," he whispered, and kissed his relief into her spine. Maybe one day he would tell her that they should have checked Blaise's blood for fire scorpion venom, rumoured to be one of the most painful ways to die. Maybe he would tell her that choking was an act of mercy because he couldn't stand to watch the display anymore.

Or maybe he would keep that detail to himself.

The next night, Hermione crawled into bed wearing absolutely nothing. Draco held his breath, worried he was hallucinating. They had never gone past gentle touches. He hadn't wanted to rush things. They'd never even talked about it.

Apparently she was changing the pace.

"I was wondering if perhaps you wanted to sleep a bit less this evening," she said, conversationally.

Draco filed away the feeling of her thighs wrapped around his head, the slick wet between her legs, the sensation of her trembling against his tongue.

The following evening, he filed away the mind-blowing sensation of sliding inside of her, murmuring things he'd never say outside their bed, moving slowly until he spilled himself dry, shuddering with desire.

He filed away frantic shags over the edge of the bed, the obscene sound of skin hitting skin as she screamed his name.

He filed away the warmth of the inside of her mouth, the lazy slide of her tongue against his cock, the softness of the back of her throat.

He filed away the night she let him finish inside of her three times, his eyes rolling back with arousal, a chorus of mine mine mine on repeat in his head. Nobody would ever have her like this again. He knew it like he knew his own name.

He filed it all away, happy to let their arrangement continue indefinitely, until one night she snuggled against him and mumbled, "No matter what Luna said, I have no plans to change my name."

Draco opened his mouth and then closed it several times.

"Alright," he said, and then tightened his arms around her, enjoying the warm buzz that was working its way through his chest. "That's quite alright. And the rest of it?"

"I'll move my things in this weekend," she yawned, and then dozed off against him.

THE END

A/N: Woo! What a ride!

Y'all. I am SO SORRY I left you hanging on Friday. That is super not my style. I posted some updates on Tumblr, but I know you're not all on there. Long story short, I had to go out of town for a wedding, we left earlier than expected, I wasn't completely happy with the chapter, and I didn't get back to town until late Saturday. At that point I re-read the chapter, hated it, deleted it, and rewrote the entire thing yesterday. So. I've been busy, but I finally got it how I wanted it.

What a process! This was a very different kind of story for me. It was certainly way darker than usual, but it was also WAY more planned out than any fic I've attempted before. I pretty much knew what I wanted in every chapter right from the beginning. For my other stories, I totally made that shit up. Anyway, it was a really interesting experience. (And sorry if you were hoping for way more graphic smut, but I didn't want to force it... I'll write you more dirty stories later to fulfill your needs!) You've all been lovely and it's been so nice to see all your names popping up every day. I'm happy to answer any questions you have... Tumblr is probably easiest because then I can share the responses.

xoxoxo

Angie