Van’s eyes practically light up as she flips through the stack of old, crinkled magazines she just pulled out from a dusty crate in the cabin. “No way,” she breathes, grinning like she just found the Holy Grail. “Vintage porn? This place really does have everything.”

You cross your arms, giving her a deadpan look as she eagerly thumbs through the pages, her excitement way too obvious. “Seriously?” you mutter, raising an eyebrow.

Van barely acknowledges your disapproval, too busy gawking at the treasure trove in her hands. “Oh, come on,” she says, nudging you playfully with her elbow. “This is, like, a historical artifact.”

You don’t budge. Just keep staring at her, unimpressed.

She finally looks up, catches your expression, and her grin falters—just a little. “What?” she asks, feigning innocence, but there’s a flicker of something guilty behind her eyes.

You tilt your head, giving her that look. The one that says, I swear to God, Van.

Van hesitates for half a second, then sighs dramatically, tossing the magazine back into the crate with a little too much force. “Alright, alright, I’ll chill,” she concedes. “But you can’t blame me for being excited. We’re stuck in the middle of nowhere—I gotta find entertainment somehow.”

Your eyes narrow as you step closer, voice lowering just enough to make Van’s smirk falter. “Oh, yeah?” you murmur, tilting your head. “You’ve got me—my body, my hands, my mouth—right here, and you’re losing your shit over some crusty old magazines?”

Van blinks. Swallows. You can see the way her throat bobs, the way her ears go red. For all her bravado, all her jokes, she’s never been great at handling it when you turn the tables on her.

“I—uh—” she stammers, scratching the back of her neck. Then, suddenly, she grins, recovering fast. “I mean, damn, babe. When you put it like that…” She slides an arm around your waist, pulling you in with that mischievous glint in her eye.