tell me, boy
are you afraid of the dark?
[if you’re related to me, maybe skip this one so you don’t feel the need to wash your eyes out with soap; everyone else, come on in. i made us spicy margs with a side of ruin.]
Tell me, boy—are you afraid of the dark?
You say no. You like a challenge. You think she’s sexy, clad in that low-slung little black dress you like with slits up the sides, all legs and fuck-me-if-you-dare kohl-lined eyes, assessing you from the shadows.
You love the allure of her. The intrigue, the chase, the thrill. She slinks into your mind and sinks in her claws, enough to drive you mad. Gets you hot and hard and fisting yourself in the shower at the thought of those deep eyes staring up at you, piercing into you from between your legs with that wicked mouth wrapped around you and her mane of black hair cascading down, blanketing you in obscurity, swallowing you up until you collapse and see stars.
The night prostrate at your feet, just for you. The night draped over you, whispering filthy things in your ear as she rides you. The night pinned beneath you, wrists caught above her head, grinning wider the harder you fuck her.
It’s easy to love the dark when she’s here to play, all sultry and seductive and the kind of hot/crazy that keeps things riiiiight on the edge where it’s fun. Mysterious enough that you don’t get bored. Spicy enough for the kinda eyes-rolled-back-in-your-head sex that leaves you panting, with bite marks on your neck, ass prints all over your counter, and a broken headboard. The kind you replay over and over and over—on the motorway, in the produce aisle, at Sunday brunch with your parents—that tugs at your stomach and at your cock whilst you’re trying to make small talk with your boss because all you can think about is going for another round tangled up in those shadows.
Cos it feels damn good to conquer the night, right?
But what about when the dark isn’t black silk and spread legs but a fucking abyss? When she’s not there to turn you on but to turn you inside out? When you stand at her precipice, a tempest raging all around, and see something ancient and feral lurking there with blood in her mouth, full of teeth and smoke and rage; when her wails crack open the sky and her grief spills out like black tar; when she descends, shaking and silent, into the kind of void that eats worlds whole—tell me, boy—what then?
Do you you still like a challenge? Do you stand like a great oak and weather the storm-filled night? Or do you run away?
Are you afraid of the dark? The real dark, starless and infinite. The messy dark. The cataclysmic dark of destruction. The sacred dark of the soul that brings you to your knees, past the point of breaking, and demands that you meet yourself there.
Do you swim in shallow waters, or do you fucking dive? How deep are you willing to go?
When the bewitching, wild thing you thought you could tame reveals herself to be not a fantasy but a goddamned reckoning, when the dark seems impenetrable and there’s no controlling it—will you balk? Bite back? Find something easier to handle? Or will you stay?
Will you step into the abyss and say: Hi, baby. I’m here. I’ve got you. And mean it?
Can you hold fast—spine straight, heart steady—as endless shadows crash over you like waves?
Can you love her there, unflinching, in the depths of the maelstrom, until she settles and the darkness softens… slowly giving way to light?
Because that’s the thing about the dark. It’s a portal.
And what lies on the other side of that threshold, for those unafraid to walk through it, is far more potent, far more electric, far more life-altering than some hot shag you still brag about to your buddies over beers on a Friday.
Trust me.
It’s deep. It’s sacred. It’s fucking sexy.
It is cataclysmic.
Only a man who truly embraces the dark is worthy of fucking her in her light.
Dang Leila 🔥
Wow, that was an intense read for first thing in the morning 🥰🥵