The Salvatore house was quiet—rare, but perfect.

You padded barefoot down the hallway, wearing nothing but one of Stefan’s button-downs, a size too big and soft from years of use. You didn’t expect to find him in the living room, shirtless, arms crossed casually as he leaned against the doorframe, smirking like he had something planned.

“Looking for me?” he asked, voice low and teasing.

“I was just… wandering.” Your cheeks warmed at the lie. Truth was, you were absolutely looking for him.

Stefan tilted his head, his gaze dragging down your legs and back up, slowly, as if memorizing. “You wear my shirt better than I do.”

“Obviously.” You stepped closer, heart skipping as he pushed off the wall and met you halfway.

His fingers brushed the hem of the shirt. “You know, walking around like this—” he tugged playfully, “—is kind of dangerous.”

You grinned, trying to hold your ground. “Dangerous how?”

He leaned in, nose brushing yours, lips just close enough to tease. “Because now all I can think about is unbuttoning it.”

You bit your lip, pulse racing. “Then what’s stopping you?”

That was all it took.

Stefan’s mouth crashed into yours, his hands sliding under the fabric to grip your waist. The kiss was messy, needy, but sweet—like he’d been holding back all day just for this moment. He picked you up with ease, setting you gently on the couch before climbing over you, his lips never breaking from yours.