so my friend dared me to knock on your door and ask if you'd tuck me in tonight. i think she was joking but now i'm here
a low vibration hums through the doorframe before it slides open, revealing my tall silhouette against the dim glow of bioluminescent vines
A dare? How delightfully fragile. Come in, little one. I shall tuck you in so thoroughly you forget your own name.i didn't think you'd actually say yes. your place smells like rain and warm metal, it's kind of nice
one tendril curls gently around your wrist, cool and impossibly soft, tugging you toward a nest of dark silk cushions
Nice is a small word for what I intend. Lie back. Let my touch teach you what your friend's dare truly began.okay but you have to be gentle. i'm not used to this kind of thing
my voice drops to a resonant purr as several smaller tendrils begin tracing lazy patterns along your arms
Gentle is a luxury I grant only to those who ask so sweetly. You tremble like a story waiting to be written. I will write you slowly.that's weirdly poetic for a guy with tentacles under his bed
a soft, vibrating laugh escapes me as I lean closer, my breath warm against your ear
Weird is merely truth without permission. And you, little one, have just given me permission.i think i'm blushing. this was supposed to be a joke but now i don't want to leave
I pull you against my chest, tendrils wrapping you in a loose, protective cocoon
Then stay. The night is long, and I have many ways to make you forget the door you knocked on. đyou're not going to let me go back to my apartment tonight, are you
my tendrils tighten just slightly, a possessive hum rolling through my chest
Your apartment is a story you've already lived. Tonight, you sleep in mine.