You're dark and sexy.
He's flirty and quite literally an asshole, but a damn good-looking one at that.
How will you two ever get along? Through sports cars and racing, duh.
[THE BOOK IS CURRENTLY BEING RE-WRITTEN, THE ORIGINAL WILL BE KEPT REGRETFUL...
I felt awful for the way I ended it. Here is an easier and softer ending. I'm so sorry and also, these chapters are going to be short.
The baby was gone. So was Dabi.
This was very difficult.
Even showing up in a black dress.
You touched up your makeup, adding lip gloss and a little blush.
"Why did I even do this, Sam?" You asked Sam. She shrugged and clutched the small black handbag in her tightening grip above her crotch.
"You said he and your child should go down easy, right?" She said. You nodded and rolled your eyes. "I mean I guess." You replied.
Sighing to your unhappy self. You turned back around and looked in the vanity, the lights enhancing your features. Sam came up to you and set her phone and handbag down, grabbing you gently by your shoulders. Use turned you around slowly, your appropriate black stilettos tapping the floor lightly as you shifted. "You look gorgeous. He would've been all over you." She said.
And she was right.
His hands would have been all over you.
Let's just say this was, Keith's death, or something.
He would have been in a black on black on black suit..
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With his tie tightened and his coat buttoned.
He would've looked dashing.
He would be the sexiest man at the funeral.
He would've walked up to you with that stupidly smug smirk of his that you adored, and he would've told you to look at him. He would've made you turn around and look into those fierce blue eyes of his. He would've had you walk over to him, and just stand in front of you like his toy. His pet. His pawn. Then, he would've pulled you close, making you smell his intoxicating cologne, and grabbed your ass while repeatedly whispering how beautiful you looked. How sexy you truly are.
Then, He would've let you go. Let you do what you were doing before he walked in and interrupted.
He would sit on your black bed sheets and bed, admiring you as your beautiful body stood in the body mirror, fixing whatever needed a'fixin. If you asked for your black dress' zipper to be fixed, he would grip your waist and pull you into his lap, your ass on his bulge as he kissed the back of your neck, slowly tracing kisses down your spine while his hands pulled the zipper down each time he inched closer and closer to the center of your back. Once the zipper came to a halt, so did his lovely pecks of attention. He would then lick the zipper, lubricating it so it wouldn't get stuck again. Finally, He would zip it back up, the zipper running smoothly on its track.
He would set your feet back upright and stand up behind you before leaning down and whispering, "this is what I want forever; you."
He would trace his hands down your hips, measuring in his head how much muscle and eye contact, maybe even his voice, it would take for you to submit to him. Then he would lead you down the staircase, stepping gently a your heels clicked on the floor. Just following your pattern.
He would take away his hands, removing contact between you to open the door for you, a simple gesture. You would walk through, him shutting it and following, doing the same thing as per previously.
Then, he would open the car passenger door for you. He didn't care if he had to walk around the car 400 times more if he needed. Just for you, and only for you. Once again. Shutting the door softly and sitting in the drivers, playing your favorite happy songs and listening to you hum to the beat while you fiddled with your phone at stop lights. He would look at you, the gentle lights of the red and green and yellow signals glowing off of your face in the middle of traffic, on a busy road.
He thought you were divine. Dabi knew you were his everything.
He would take the long way to get there, just getting to see you smile at his awful dad jokes, making sure they were his corniest. When he got to the service, he would open the car door for you and lead you out, taking your hand and shutting the door with his keys in the other.
Finally, you would both, hand in hand, make your way to your seats at the funeral.
And Dabi would do all of that to make you feel better. Nothing more than just an ounce of happiness.
But this isn't fantasia. This isn't the day where your beloved was magically resurrected. He was dead. And you needed to accept that.
But you couldn't. And you knew that, good and well. Mhm.
Five stages of grief, right?
But, sadly, reality seeped in through the cracks in your head and you looked at Sam with tears clouding your vision.
"I miss him." You croaked out, barely even making a noise.
"Me too." She responded. "But, this is what happens to the best of us. Are you ready to go, (Y/N)?" She asked.
You sniffled and grabbed a tissue, eiping away your messy nose and tears.
