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Taylor finds it by accident.
Well… accident is generous. She’s digging through Steven’s drawers because he’s hidden her lip gloss and she refuses to let him “win.” But when she pulls open the bottom drawer, looking for contraband, she finds that notebook.
The one with the green cover.
The one she recognizes instantly.
“Steven. P. Conklin,” she reads aloud, grinning as she flips it open. “Original… Dramione… fanfiction.”
Steven freezes in the doorway, holding a plate of Oreos like a peace offering. “I can explain.”
“Oh my God, you wrote it in script format?” Taylor squeals, flipping pages. “You wrote stage directions. ‘Hermione glares at Draco with a fury too powerful to name.’ Steven, this is fanfic theater.”
“It was for English class!” He protests. “We had to imitate a literary style!”
“Steven,” she says sweetly, “none of this is literary. Hermione calls Draco a ‘sexy ferret’ in chapter four.”
He wants to die. Actually, no, he wants to spontaneously combust and take the notebook with him.
“Give it back.”
Taylor darts away, leaping onto his bed. “Nope. Not until you read this scene out loud.”
“I am not—”
She lies down on her stomach, kicks her legs up, and smiles like a cat that learned how to operate a blender.
“Fine,” she says. “If you won’t read it… then we’ll reenact it.”
Steven drops the Oreos.
“…What?”
Taylor flips to a dog-eared page, clears her throat dramatically, and reads:
> Scene: The potions classroom. Tension crackles like electric starlight.
Draco approaches Hermione and murmurs…
‘You hate me because you want me.’
She looks up at Steven.
“Well? Get over here, Malfoy.”
He sinks onto the bed beside her, scrubbing a hand over his face. “You’re ridiculous.”
“And you’re stalling.”
Taylor pushes him back by the chest, harder than necessary, until he’s lying against the pillows. She swings a leg over him and straddles his hips, leaning down just enough that he can feel her breath on his neck.
Steven’s hands hover like he’s afraid to touch her. “Taylor…”
“Mhm? Say the line.”
He swallows.
“You… you hate me because you want me.”
Taylor cups his jaw with one hand. “Steven, that’s actually kind of hot. You wasted your calling. You could’ve been a Wattpad menace.”
“Please don’t ever say Wattpad menace in reference to me.”
“Say the next part.”
“I’m not saying the next part.”
She grabs the notebook, flips it, finds the highlighted line.
“‘Hermione presses him against the dungeon wall, overwhelmed by forbidden desire.’”
Taylor grins down at him. “Dungeon wall, bed… same thing.”
Steven finally grabs her hips. “Taylor, you’re insane.”
“Mm-hm,” she sings, rolling her hips against him, just once, slow and deliberate. “But look who’s hard.”
His breath catches. She feels it, feels him, and her smirk softens into something hungrier.
“Keep going,” she murmurs, brushing her lips along his jaw without kissing him. “Read what Draco does next.”
Steven’s voice is low, barely steady as he finds the line again.
“He… pins her wrist. And tells her she talks too much.”
Taylor shivers.
“Then do it,” she whispers.
He doesn’t hesitate this time.
Steven takes her wrist, pins it gently above her head, flips them so she’s beneath him. Her breath stutters, pupils blown wide.
“Still think it’s funny?” he asks, mouth hovering an inch above hers.
“Yeah,” she says breathlessly, arching against him, “hilarious, I’m dying—”
He kisses her before she can finish the sentence...deep, hungry, years of bickering snapping into something molten. She gasps into his mouth and pulls him closer by the back of his neck.
His free hand slides under her shirt, fingertips tracing the warm skin just beneath her bra. Taylor moans—quiet but not shy—and hooks her leg around his waist, dragging him down against her.
“Steven,” she whines softly, “god, do that again.”
He does. Grinding into her, kissing her like he’s wanted it forever and finally stopped pretending otherwise.
Taylor tugs his hair, biting at his lower lip. “You know the part where Hermione tells Draco she wants him to ruin her?”
Steven freezes.
“You’re not reading that part,” he says.
“Why not?”
“Because I don’t trust you not to turn it into ammunition later.”
She kisses the corner of his mouth, slow, warm, surprisingly gentle.
“What if I don’t want to tease you right now?” she whispers.
His whole body tenses.
“And what do you want?”
Taylor meets his eyes, thumb tracing his cheek.
“You. To keep going.”
He kisses her again, deeper, sliding his hand under her shorts, fingers finding heat and wetness he wasn’t prepared for.
“Jesus, Taylor…”
“Yeah,” she gasps, hips rocking, “that’s… that’s what the fanfic was missing.”
Steven groans, low and helpless.
“Pretty sure you’re rewriting it right now,” he mutters against her neck.
“Good,” she pants, guiding his hand with hers, “because your version was way too PG-13.”
He laughs before kissing down her throat, sucking just below her ear until she moans and arches for him.
They tumble into each other, all heat and hands and messy, frantic wanting, and by the time she’s gasping his name and he’s whispering hers like a secret, the notebook slides off the bed and hits the floor with a soft thump.
Later, when they’re tangled together and her head is on his chest, Taylor nudges him.
“So… chapter two?”
He groans. “Please don’t have chapters.”
“Oh, it does,” she says, wicked grin returning. “And chapter two is a two-page kiss scene. We’ve got work to do.”
He pulls her closer.
“Then stop talking,” he says quietly, “and let me catch up.”
Taylor kisses him again...slow this time, certain.
“Okay, Draco.”