♯ ғɪʀsᴛ ᴛɪᴍᴇ? 🌷

A haze of smoke filled the treehouse, stinging Y/n's eyes as she climbed to the top. She coughed, the acrid smell of burning weed heavy in the air. There, perched on a branch, was Nyon, a familiar air of nervous energy about him, puffing away on a joint. He was probably stressed, or maybe just his usual anxious self. The sight, while unexpected, wasn't entirely surprising; Nyon's reliance on weed to cope with his anxieties was well known.

Nyon was lost in his own world, his eyes bloodshot before widening as he registered Y/n's presence. "I... I thought the rat might be here," he mumbled, his voice thick with smoke, "so that's why I came up here..." Y/n cut him off, a self-deprecating chuckle escaping her lips. "But don't worry, I'll give you your space," she muttered, starting to turn away. But before she could fully retreat, Nyon grabbed her arm, his sigh a plume of smoke against the already hazy air. "Stay," he insisted, his Russian accent thick and surprisingly comforting despite the unsettling circumstances. The roughness of his voice, combined with the unexpected tenderness of his touch, sent a shiver down her spine, a strange mix of unease and unexpected warmth.

Y/n sat beside him, watching him lose himself in the haze of smoke. The smell was overwhelming, making her eyes water, but she didn't mind. He stole glances at her, a quiet admiration in his gaze. He was nervous, shy even, but at least they were talking, sharing these moments in the treehouse. Yet, she knew he felt more than friendship for her. He slowly offered her the joint, a silent question hanging in the air. She shook her head. "No... I don't smoke," she whispered. He studied her for a moment, then mumbled in that oddly soothing Russian accent, "It'll make you feel light... off your mind." Hesitantly, she took the joint, her fingers brushing his. "Take a sip... and puff it out," he instructed gently. She did, and the world tilted on its axis. Suddenly, she was floating, utterly, gloriously, high above the clouds.

Moments drifted by, marked only by the slow burn of the joint and the steady rhythm of their breaths. Y/n leaned against Ny'on's shoulder, surprised by the strength of his arm. "Mm... I feel weird," she mumbled, her voice slightly slurred, her gaze meeting his. He'd been watching her intently since she took that first puff, and the tenderness in his eyes was undeniable. It was... cute, this shared experience, this vulnerability. He hummed softly, carefully placing the joint on the tray. Gently, he cupped her cheeks in his hands. "Do you feel like you're going to-" His words were cut short as Y/n's lips brushed against his, a soft, unexpected kiss in the smoky treehouse. Her eyes fluttered closed, her touch light and tentative, yet undeniably sweet.

Y/n's head lolled against the rough-hewn wall of the treehouse as their lips met again, a slow, tender exploration. Soft sounds, the wet warmth of their mouths against each other, filled the small space. Nyon watched her, captivated by her vulnerable state, his gaze filled with a mixture of tenderness and possessiveness. His hand, instinctively seeking comfort, found its way under her shirt, his touch feather-light. He pulled away slowly, carefully, mindful of his claws, unwilling to risk scratching her delicate skin. Then, with a gentle strength born of caring, he lifted her into his arms and carried her down from the treehouse, towards her room, her weight limp in his embrace as she drifted off into a blissful, drug-induced sleep.

I was blushing while writing this.