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The Virgin Smut Club

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[Aug. 26th, 2004|03:10 pm]
The Virgin Smut Club

virginsmut

[madannekidd]
[music |Away From The Sun - Three Doors Down]

First post. This is the fourth chapter of my now completed fic, 10th Muse. It is advisable to read that before you read this. The story is rated R and can be found in my memories section under the story's title. But since this is a smut community.... I present you with chapter 4




Title: 10th Muse

Author: Calex

Rating: NC-17

Disclaimer: I don’t own any of this, the character belongs to JK Rowling, who thought of them. I own merely the plot

Characters: Lucius, Ginny, Draco, mentioning of Blaise Zabini

Summary:  “. Malfoy’s share. We share all our glories and our downfalls. Mostly, we share our spoils and somehow, on that bright Autumn late afternoon, much brighter than usual for England, I realised that she was not a prize. That she was real.”

 

 

Chapter 4: Guilty Release

 

I bade Higgs to ask the young Miss Weasley if she would like to spend her evening having supper with me. I was… pleased that she had answered in the affirmative and set out tonight as a… peace offering of sorts. The usual care had been taken care of, along with some… extras. Instead of sitting in the dining room as usual, I had ordered a table to be arranged in the rose gardens, under the moonlight. Candles and will o’ the wisps lit the garden with a faint, otherworldly glow. Now, to explain the setting of the scene, I suppose I should strive to describe how the garden stood.

 

The garden is not a large one, the smallest, in fact, of the 7 gardens of the manor, not including the inner courtyard inside the manor itself. There are four main patches of rose bushes: one marking the north, one marking the south, the west, the east. Each group had it’s own brand of colour, the north was the pale pink rose, the south, the red. White to the east and black to the west. There were pathways around each patch, but the middle of the garden was bare, except for a circlet of trees, old trees that cried of age and things seen in lives before mine. The branches grew out so that it formed a thin dome made of green leaves, and it was under this very dome that the table was laid, a stiff, white linen tablecloth on top of it, heavy with silver cutlery, crystal wine glasses and the finest china plates in the manor. The table in itself was wrought metal with a glass top, but the wrought metal was dark with flickers of green paint, like moulded rust, I’ve always thought. Narcissa likes the effect, though, and I’ve never judged her tastes. The chairs matched the table, only Narcissa had bought cushions of dark green with silver embroidery of a snake for the seat of the chairs. I always thought they amused her, somewhat.

 

Anyway, the plates were bare, and it was left that way. I’d had it charmed so that any food she so desired would appear. Less messy and also makes a big impact, I do try to be as clean as possible. I’d dressed up, this time not in my traditional tailored wizarding robes, but in immaculate muggle clothes. I wore a dark blue shirt and black slacks along with black leather loafers and my hair had grown just enough that it brushed against my collar, just gently. I waited for her, at the chair that faced the way where she would appear from, a glass of wine already in my hand. I had been sitting, sipping, when I first saw her and I was glad that I had taken my swallow, for it would most certainly have logged in my throat and choked me. She was a vision, a vision in her black dress. It had a low, V neckline and cinched tight over her waist and skimmed her breasts and hips gently, the hem just brushing at the ground as she walked. Black silk covered shoes peeped out occasionally as she walked, and pearls adored her ears, neck and wrists. Her hair cascaded in bloody curls down her back and she walked towards me, a vision of darkness, like death disguised as an angel, with her face completely and utterly blank and careful. I stood, as soon as I saw her and I could not help the heat that had infused itself into my gaze as I hungrily looked upon her figure. I did not know if I could go through this night with my sanity, with my control intact.

 

“Ginny,” I purred. “How glad I am to see that you’ve decided to accept my offer.”

 

“I was getting hungry.”

 

“Come now,” I said, mouth just twisted slightly in a charming smile. I could not help myself, it was as if my charm poured out of me, anything that would get my goddess of darkness to be placated. “No need for that. I have a mind to think of this as a…peace offering of sorts.”

 

“I’d wondered why supper was served out here instead of inside,” she said, neutrally. Ah, she was resisting. This was going to be… fun. I smiled charmingly once more.

 

“I thought you would appreciate the view and the flowers. I’m told you like white roses…?” I made it a question, and smiled as she nodded silently. “Ah. Well, this gift should be in your favour, then.”

 

“A gift, Lucius?” her mouth twisted in a smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes. “You’re certainly trying hard to charm me tonight, sir.”

 

“Come, come,” I laughed. “None of that. Please, it’s merely a gift, is it now. You’ll accept it, I’m sure. It’s not overtly extravagant.”

 

“As I’m sure you’d made sure of,” she murmured, then inclined her head as she accepted my offer of a bouquet of white roses. “They are beautiful, although I am sure that you were aware of that fact beforehand.”

 

I tsked as I pulled out a chair for her to sit upon, then pulled out another chair for myself. “So cynical at such a young age, Ginevra…” I purred and smiled at her, one that I knew she had never seen before, that would hopefully whet her curiosity enough that she would stay the whole meal. I’d perfected many facial expressions, one had to, being the Malfoy heir and also a Slytherin. There’s an appropriate expression for every circumstance and for this I chose a smile I did not usually use. A strange, half smile, just the twist of my lips and a hint of amusement in my eyes. It must have worked, for she tipped her head to the side with a small frown now marring her face. Then she shrugged.

 

“Did I ever have any choice in the matter of cynicism, Lucius? You helped me in that in my first year at Hogwarts,” she said quietly and I saw the haunted look in her eyes. It was strange… I almost found myself to be flinching. But Malfoys do not flinch, so neither will I. However, I so very nearly did, and did want to. Her tone had been neutral, unaccusatory, and that was what, perhaps, had made it work so very well.

 

“I was obeying orders,” I said stiffly, leaning against the back of my chair and thus taking me further away from her. I could not help it, but I sensed that my expression had become closed off, that I was struggling to maintain an aloof presence. She merely shrugged and elegantly picked up her wine glass, taking a delicate sip of the ruby red liquid.

 

“I know. Tom can be very… persuasive.”

 

There was that haunted look on her face and I, for one, noticed something infinitely strange in there. It was not the kind of haunted look one gets if one has seen eternal carnage and regrets it. No, it was the kind of look that a lover wears when he or she is remembering a lost one. Now, that was a curious turn of affairs.

 

“Tom?” I asked, quietly. Tried to make her talk more of this fascinating development. She nodded absentmindedly as she stared into her wine, fingers gently playing with the slim glass stem.

 

“Riddle. He wasn’t Voldemort, not yet. He was still Tom.” She shook her head, then glanced up wryly. “You are not a stupid man, Mr. Malfoy.”

 

“No, I’m not,” I agreed quietly and she met my eyes. She did not try to glance away, just met my gaze and let me see through them, into them. I swore silently under my breath, my eyes widening. “Great Salazar.

 

“Tell the world,” she said, laughing humourlessly. “The Minister of Magic’s daughter used to be in love with the spirit of the young Dark Lord.” She laughed again. “Oh, the wizarding press will have a field day, not to mention that it would ruin my father’s career once and for all.” She looked up and her eyes had gone blank, hard. “Although that wouldn’t necessarily be a bad thing for you, will it, Lucius?”

 

“I am not completely heartless,” I said, harshly. Perhaps because she had offended my sensibilities… although it was most likely a ploy to regain my composure. I took a deep breath, then frowned. “When, why?”

 

“He wasn’t always like what he was, Lucius,” she said, quietly. “He used to be… beautiful. He had great plans, but was just slightly foolish in their execution. He was like the muggle Hitler, I supposed.” She laughed, again. And I was starting to be afraid of that laugh, for it held in it hints of madness and sorrow. The madness I feared, the sorrow I feared even more, for the sorrow was directed towards Voldemort. “He used to bring me into his little world of spirits, into his room at Hogwarts. We would sit in front of the fire and we would speak of… many things. He used to flatter me, dreadfully,” and this time when she laughed, it was genuine but tinged again with sadness. “He made me love him. He had a wonderful voice and he was ever so intense, ever so compelling. And he was ever so good looking. I was 11, Lucius,” she whispered and her gaze met mine, again. “I was 11 and he made me fall in love with him. His attention turned my head; I was starved of it for so long. I have… had 6 brothers. Despite being the youngest, and also the only girl, I was still only one of 7. Then, the brother I was closest too in both age and relationship, went to Hogwarts and… and it seemed as though I was completely forgotten. He had others, this time. Friends. And since one of them was the great Harry Potter, of course I was forgotten once again. I had nothing to them, nothing to Harry’s fame and Hermione’s brains. Nothing. I was left alone, told to leave, to butt out of their conversations and I was ever so alone. He used my weakness against me and I didn’t even hate him for it, because he was the only one I had. I knew what he was doing, knew what was happening yet I was powerless to stop it, didn’t want to stop it.” Here she closed her eyes; here she turned her face away.

 

“What happened?” I asked, quietly. There was more. Although most would assume it was the end, I knew that she was holding something back. I wanted to know, needed to know. Needed to know how my angel was tainted so very darkly. She seemed reluctant to speak, but finally she did and when she did… when she did her voice was low, ashamed.

 

“Towards the end, in the Chamber of Secrets… I lay on the cold stone floor and I was almost dead. Almost dead and yet I still loved him. Still loved him even though he nearly killed me. And when Harry destroyed him…” she closed her eyes again, breathing harshly. “When Harry killed him, I had to turn away because if I didn’t, I was afraid Harry could see my anger, my pain. Could see that it was not directed towards Tom, but towards him. I wanted to kill him for destroying the man I loved, I wanted to pick up that sword of Gryffindor of his and run him through with it. No one knew because no one paid any attention… but that was truly when I stopped caring at all for the Boy-Who-Lived-And-Killed-The-Dark-Lord.”

 

“When Voldemort was killed in the Final Battle?” I had to ask. She smiled, sadly.

 

“That wasn’t Tom, that was Voldemort. Age had distorted him, made him an evil thing. That boy with all his idealism was gone. I always… I couldn’t help but wonder what Tom would have thought of himself as Voldemort.”

 

“He built himself as that… thing,” I said, my voice laden with disgust. She smiled at me sadly, shook her head.

 

“People change, Lucius. You should know that. Think of yourself when you were 17. Did you see your life as it turned out to be?”

 

“I was naïve,” I said, harshly. Ginny nodded, surprising me.

 

“Time changed that,” she said, quietly. “Like it changes everything. Tom was naïve, as was Voldemort, only at a more disruptive way,” she smiled, wryly. “Tom wasn’t Voldemort, as Voldemort was Tom. Tom hadn’t become him, yet. I loved the boy, not the man he became. I’m not saying that it was easy to see him fall, just… easier.” She looked up and that haunted look was back. “Let me tell you a little secret.”

 

“What is it?” I asked, eager to know more, but striving not to sound thus. I did not want to put her off, I was discovering more about this woman sitting opposite me than I thought was possible, more, perhaps, than most knew. That thought, while niggled at my subconscious as seeming strange, excited me.

 

“Harry wasn’t the one to have killed him.”

 

Of all the things I had expected her to say, this was not it. I have to admit to having gaped at the revelation, gaped. Me, a Malfoy. My eyes widened and I do have to admit to a lowering of my jaw as well.

 

“Close your mouth, Lucius,” she drawled. “It’s inviting flies in.”

 

I snapped my mouth closed, but my eyes still had to look of abject shock on it. Of all the things… really. No, not this. Never this. I could not even grasp the concept of what she was saying, of what she had said. Potter, not have killed Voldemort? But how, what, why… or rather, who?

 

“No one saw the final battle between the boy-who-lived and he-who-must-not-be-named,” her lips twisted. “No one, that is, but the victim. The last victim taken as a goad to the boy wonder. That is to say, me.”

 

“Potter lied?” I asked, my voice awed with what this meant, what this entailed. She nodded, a smile playing on her lips. “But why? Why did Saint Potter lie?”

 

“Oh, he didn’t want to. It took a great deal of convincing on my part to make him lie,” she said, cynically. “In the end, he agreed. You see, the war would’ve gone quite a different path had something not happened.”

 

“And that something being…?” I asked, voice quiet. She shrugged.

 

“I’ve said before that while Tom was never Voldemort, Voldemort was Tom. His only mistake was his arrogance, his belief that he was better than an 18 year old boy. Oh he was; he just underestimated a 17 year old girl who used to love him.”

 

“You?” my voice had gone husky, hoarse with disbelief. Of all the things… really. I could not picture it, could not see it. This vision who was sipping on her wine ever so delicately. I could not picture her as being the lodestone, the Achilles heel of the Dark Lord.

 

Me. You see, to my gratification, Tom seemed to have loved me as I loved him,” she laughed, humourlessly. “Figure that. The one thing that would have made me so happy. He promised me the world, did Voldemort. He had Harry on his knees, bleeding and beaten. He said some things that no one knew, that no one should have known. He flaunted our…affaire in front of Harry and you should have seen his face when he discovered that that 11 year old girl he had saved in the Chamber of Secrets didn’t do it because she was possessed, but because she was in love. And also that that very 11 year old girl had given herself, not only her soul but her body, to the 18 year old image of the Dark Lord.”

 

Her words rang in my head like the clearest bell in an eternity of empty space. I heard the words, but I was not sure if my brain processed any of the information that it received. I know for a fact that I felt as though… as though I was hit. Dear Circe, the girl… had not been an innocent when she was 11 years old… and it was my fault. My fault that she had fallen under the hands of Tom Riddle, my fault that she grew to fall in love with him and my fault, ironically, that the Dark Lord had fallen. Irony indeed.

 

“He didn’t think I’d refuse him when he was offering me the world,” she said, and I realised that she was still speaking, that in my moment of lost reception I had missed her words. “I have to admit that it was… tempting, to say the least. I would have had anything, everything. He offered it to me and I was to be by his side. I almost agreed, I almost weakened. Then I looked up.” Her eyes grew shiny, like she had unshed tears. “How easy to listen to the voice and think it was Tom. They sound so alike… I think it took me to look up and see him to realise that it was not my Tom, that it was Voldemort. Voldemort might have been Tom, but Tom was never Voldemort and it was Tom that I had loved. Tom. It was that thought that had allowed me to smile sweetly at him, agree, and then kill him with a softly uttered Avada Kedavra when he had turned his back to me to utter the same to Harry.”

 

“Ginny…” I said and I was at a loss for words. What could I say, after all, to that confession? It was an unexpected turn of events that I had not foreseen. I felt helpless, lost. I looked upon her face and I saw that hint of darkness in her. She was no angel, this girl. Or else if she was, she had fallen, fallen and broken those wings of hers. She was as tainted and as ugly as the rest of us, perhaps even more. Maybe more. There was still something about her that I still sought to figure out. Despite her tale of her darkness, I could not help but notice her seeming… purity. If she was not white, then she was still cream. Pale. Not like us, like Draco and myself.

 

“I’m not pure, Lucius,” she said, hoarsely. “Not as pure as you or Draco thought or want to believe. I am tainted and I’m ugly and I am faulted. Look at me and see me, not the person you want to see me as. I am so tired. Tired of pretending, tired of trying to be who I am not.”

 

“Then stop pretending,” I said, standing up, walking towards her. “Stop pretending.” She looked up at me as I stopped, my thighs touching the cool metal of the chair.

 

“I don’t think I can,” she said. And I leant down, I leant down and I pushed the table away so I could step in front of her, placing a hand on either side of her arm rest. I leant down until I could look at her in the eye.

 

“Don’t hide,” I said, harshly. “Look at me and don’t hide anymore. I am not my son, Ginevra. I can handle who you are.”

 

“Can you?” she asked, softly. “Can you really?”

 

My only answer to that was to lean down further, to crowd in further until our mouths were a breath away from each other. It took me all my strength, but I stopped myself from closing that distance. “Stop me, Ginevra. Stop me before we both do something we regret.”

 

“I…” she closed her eyes, but I could still see the struggle she was going through. “I don’t think I can.”

 

“Then may the gods save us,” I said hoarsely as I closed the distance and our lips finally met. There was that fire that there was the first time. I felt as though I was going to be consumed by it, I felt as though rightly, my body should be turned to ash from the heat. Oh, such heat. It was only our mouths, only our mouths that meshed together wetly, urgently, hungrily. My hands gripped the metal armrest until my knuckles were nearly translucent and I held my body still, away from hers. It was the hardest thing I ever had to do, because all I wanted in that moment was to press myself into her softness, to meld myself into her, because I needed to get as close to her as I possibly could, despite the fact that I doubted anything would be close enough. I needed the feel of her flesh against mine, in mine, around mine, but I held back, held away and that effort felt as though it nearly killed me. My eyes were still open, wide open, staring into her face and ardently tracing her features with my eyes, as though I could memorise it, despite it having been memorised long before in my mind.

 

When we broke apart, I saw her eyes slowly flutter open and saw that the heat infused within mine was mirrored in hers. I stepped away from the chair and held out my hand. I was afraid that she would ignore me, that she would run like she had run before, but although she hesitated briefly, she grasped my hand and allowed me to help her up. We walked towards the manor, our hands still grasped together and our eyes locked. I took her to my room and locked the door with a simple charm. I walked over to her and only realised, when she was right in front of me, how very small she seemed next to me. I pulled her against my body and she tipped her head back, lips swollen and lightly parted and it was the only invitation that I needed before I let my mouth fall back onto hers.

 

The kiss, when it came, was slow, but it quickly got hungrier for we were expressing weeks of repression. Soon enough, she had unbuttoned my shirt and I helped her slip it off. She gently bit the hollow between my collarbones and I sucked in a breath. Her dainty hands traced the wide expense of my chest and then lowered to brush against the blond trail on my stomach that disappeared into my trousers. She looked up at me, biting her lip, and lust in her eyes and there was nothing that she would have asked for that I wouldn’t give at that moment other than if she asked for us to stop. For it was far too late for that; far, far too late. Her mouth fastened over one of my sensitised nipples and she gently bit, making me hiss in pleasure. She laved at the slight indentation that she left and then moved to do the same to my other nipple. I stopped her, pulled at her hair harshly and she let out a little cry of pain, but her head tipped back and her neck was bared to me in a long, smooth line. I attacked at her neck, suckling and biting and she let out little helpless noises that drove me nearly to distraction. Her hands gripped at my shoulders, her nails digging into my skin that I knew that I would be marked with crescent moons.

 

I moved down from her neck, my tongue laving at her collar bones and then the swell of her breasts over the neckline of her dress. My tongue slipped between her breasts and I could taste something bitter on my tongue and knew that she had dabbed perfume oil between her breasts. I gently bit at one of the mounds and she gasped with a mix of pain and pleasure. I softened the sting of my teeth with my tongue, soothing the reddened mark. I released her hair and my hands moved restlessly over her body, tracing the swell of her hips and the indentation of her small waist. With practiced ease, I undid the hooks of her dress and let go of her and let the dress fall to the fall in a hiss of silk until she stood before me naked, a goddess of milky skin and blood red hair. Her breasts were full and tipped with dusky pink nipples that stood hardened. Her legs were slim and distracting in their length, her skin silky and smooth. She was perfection, everything I’d ever dreamt of a woman, everything I ever wanted was personified in her and I let my gaze roam over her hungrily. What made me harden almost painfully, though, was the realisation that she was wearing absolutely nothing under the dress.

 

“I though you didn’t want anything to happen,” I said, hoarsely. She shook her head.

 

“I didn’t… but it was inevitable.”

 

I didn’t let her finish the sentence before my mouth was locked on hers once again. Our tongues duelled feverishly and she moaned low in her throat as my fingers plucked at her nipples. I trailed kisses from her mouth to her throat once more as my hands travelled down the smooth and flat expense of her stomach to finally rest between her legs, at the red curls between the apex of her thighs. She moaned as my fingers found that little bundle and played with it, my fingers rubbing gently over the nub, then pulling away to trace the line of her slit before pushing slightly in. I pulled back again, rubbing her wetness between my fingers. I brought my hand up and placed them in my mouth, running her taste on my tongue, my palate. If her mouth tasted like ambrosia, she was heaven. I licked my fingers clean of her, then proceeded to touch my mouth to hers, so that she herself could taste herself on my tongue. She moaned, growled deep within her throat and pressed herself harder against me. I replied by slipping my hand between our bodies and to her warmth once again, slipping one finger inside of her heat, teasing her by sliding in and out, testing her. She was tight, scalding, but so wet.

 

I was going mindless with my desire, but I help myself back. I did not know if I would ever have the chance again, I wanted this to be about her, not about getting to that release. I slid another finger into her easily, stretching her, her wetness providing a natural lubrication. My thumb encircled her nub and she cried out, arching her hips towards my touch. Her skin had turned flushed and she tensed. I could sense she was so desperate for that release. I leaned her against the wall so that I could more easily manoeuvre over her. My mouth fastened on her nipple and suckled hard, trying to help her achieve that release. My thumb rubbed her nub insistently, hard while my fingers continued to thrust into her warmth. The combination of my mouth on her sensitised nipple and my fingers in her must have been too much, because she tensed and I bit on her nipple and she let out a harsh, wild cry and tumbled, her sheath grabbing, pulsing at my fingers and drenching them with her juices. She let out a little sob, slumping bonelessly against the wall and it was only my hands that kept her up.

 

I brought her her first release of the night, but I still needed mine. I was still hard, painfully hard and while I had been noble to that point, I was still a man. I needed her, needed to be in her, to slide into that warmth and tightness that my fingers had felt before. I swung her in my arms and carried her to my bed. I lay her on the green silk sheets and she turned her head, watching me as I unzipped my trousers and let them drop to the floor. I noted how her eyes widened slightly at the sight of me completely nude.

 

“Confident, weren’t you, Lucius,” she drawled huskily. I merely laughed and shook my head.

 

“I had only hoped, never dared to presume. I am in this state all of the time, my dear.” With those words, I saw heat flash in her eyes once again as she sat up in my bed, her hair falling down in a curtain of curls to lightly veil her creamy breasts. Her legs swung from the side of my bed and she pulled me in front of her. She looked up at me and what I saw in her eyes made my throat clench. She slid out of bed and on my knees in front of her. She took me in her hands and I almost hissed, then did when I felt the first stroke of her tongue upon my head. She slid me into her mouth and began her ministrations. She used her mouth, her tongue and her teeth (lightly) to bring me to a point of mindlessness. I didn’t want this to end in her mouth, however, so I stilled her movements. She looked up at me, confused, and I drew out of her mouth. She arranged herself on my bed, her legs spread and her knees bent and I slid between them, positioned myself at her entrance, my hands on her hips. I locked eyes with her and slid myself into her heat. It was only when I was completely sheathed into her that I closed my eyes, savouring the feel of her wrapped around me. Then I began to move.

 

Like our first kiss in the room, it began slow, teasing, almost. Then gradually, it became faster, harder, wilder. I pulled her closer to me and she wrapped her legs around my waist so that I would find greater access. She had her head tipped back, crying out and breathing raggedly. Her nails scoured my back and I felt the sting of it on more than one occasion. I felt warm, thick liquid slide down the expanse of my back and I bit down at her shoulder, hard. She let out a cry of pain/pleasure and I licked at the blood that welled up from the wound, as I had on the others. So close. So very close. I felt myself approaching my release and brought my hand between our bodies and pinched her nub, hard, while thrusting into her. She let out a scream and I felt her throbbing, pulsing around me, and the feel of her release brought me to my own as I let out my own cry.

 

We found ourselves breathing raggedly, foreheads pressed together, bodies slick with sweat and blood. We were still joined, though I was limp inside of her. Soon, when I had caught some of my breath, I rolled away from her, letting her breathe easier. We lay on the bed on our backs, the only sounds in the silent room was our ragged breathing and then suddenly she laughed and although it should not have been a laughing situation, I laughed with her. The two of us laughed and laughed and laughed until suddenly we weren’t laughing anymore but crying. Crying for lost innocence, crying for lost time, crying for pain, for loss, for discovery… and for my son. We clung to each other on that bed, after sharing our bodies in what had been an earth shattering experience for me, and we cried for the pain that we were going to cause to the person that we both loved… Draco. He was never going to forgive us, either of us.

 

                                                *

 

 

 





Feedback would be lovely, on this and the rest of the story if you would so wish to read it.
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Comments:
[User Picture]From: nickiblitz
2004-08-30 05:59 am (UTC)
Darling. Beautiful. It's wonderful! Youa re a fantastic writer, we all should be like you. Congratulations on yet another wonderful fic! *muakz*
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[User Picture]From: madannekidd
2004-08-30 09:13 am (UTC)
I love having such supportive friends as you. *grin*

Go to my memories, the fic is now complete.

Damn, girl. You're like my own cheerleader. It's good. I adore you.
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