Most Saturday nights were spent at home either curled up on the couch reading while nonsensical binge worthy shows streamed on the television, or hovering over her PC. Gaming, still with whatever filler streaming to fill the void. A girl had to maintain her sanity somehow.
Tonight was different. It was the first time she was going out since she'd moved.
She slipped on high waisted black shorts and a black top that exposed her shoulders, but covered down to her wrists, tied up her black combat boots, swept her hair up, and painted her face. A hint of tattoo showed at one shoulder. Coupled with the piercings and the black lipstick, she felt it gave an appropriate amount of "fuck off" to her appearance.
That was something Ayumu had learned young: if you can't be unseen, then be a walking warning.
Once upon a time, being invisible had been a cinch. She'd been undersized and silent, easily slipping through crowds with nary a touch to her skin. Then puberty had hit full force. Her breasts had developed, barely able to be hidden beneath baggy tees. Her hips and ass had been impossible to conceal.
The learning curve for her adolescent body had been steep and rough. At one point she went full-out goth, from the crosses to the music to the pale-cheeked makeup. That phase had subdued into a calmer, alternative look that worked well enough.
Most of the time.
And age had ripened her ability to stand straight, to walk with confidence. And to tell people to get their fucking hands off of her.
Life had started at 25. She was making money, she had friends. It was up and down. Relationships started with hope and ended in got too complicated.
She'd moved from the scene where people knew her Quirk. It was time to start over.
Ayumu grabbed her keys, her wallet, stuffed them into the pathetic excuse for a purse, and checked her phone again. The bar wasn't too far. She didn't plan on getting drunk, so it would be easy enough to return home. And she could always call a cab if needed.
She hated calling cabs.
The bar was the definition of "dive." It was dark, and she walked past a cloud of weed on her way to the door that she felt lingered on her skin long after she settled at a stool in front of a bowl of nuts she wouldn't try if threatened with a rusty nail to the side of her head. "Whiskey and coke," she answered the bartender when he leaned toward her expectantly. It was maybe a minute later that she was sliding the payment to him in exchange for the amber filled glass.
Ayumu turned to survey the establishment and its assortment of patrons. They were mostly lower on the socioeconomic scale, not unlike herself, but a few middle class folks off work were settled around as well. There was a distinctly seedy aura overall, but nothing outright criminal, nothing to suggest she was in the wrong place.
A youngish guy caught her eye, his head jolting up and his gaze flicking over her with interest. She turned back to her drink, pretending she hadn't noticed.
It was too late. "What are you drinking, beautiful?"
She lifted a dark brow, batted alter overlong, ridiculously colored bangs to the side, and acquiesced coolly. "Whiskey and coke."
He hummed. "Nice. What kind of whiskey?"
"The cheap shit, I don't know." Maybe that would put him off. Despite the location, he looked fairly conservative. Probably the type to think a lady shouldn't curse.
A lady probably doesn't have facial piercings and multicolored hair either.
She loved both things, had kept them not because they were off-putting to some, but because they were pretty. She liked seeing them.
"Is this, like, your hangout?" He asked, switching tactics.
Ayumu frowned. "Nope. Yours?"
"Nah, first time here. A few friends and I got off work and decided to hang. You know how it is."
"Mhm." She didn't.
His amber eyes glimmered as he looked up through his lashes. Puppy dog eyes, sweet face, a practiced expression meant to melt women's hearts. "You know, I didn't expect to see such a pretty girl here. Especially alone. It isn't safe in this area."
Her brows furrowed and she opened her mouth to tell him off when a hand swiped her drink. The owner of said hand took a swig and set it back on the bar. "Who said she's alone?"
The young man's eyes darted from her own bright eyes to the other man's even brighter blues. "Um, I, uh, didn't realize…"
"Yeah, sure." The man practically oozed danger, laden with scar tissue from bottom lip down his throat, more peeking here and there, all held with medical staples. He smelled like a bonfire. "You wouldn't know what to do with her anyway, nilla wafer. Scram."
The other man did just that, stuttering out an apology.
Ayumu signaled for another drink as the scars-and-staples guy took another drink of hers. "Nilla wafer?"
The grin stretched at some of the staples. "The kid probably thinks a little ass slapping doggy style is kinky."
She nearly snorted booze up her nose.
"C'mon, you know I'm right." Flame-blue eyes shone. "And with those whip scars on your thighs, I somehow don't think he'd do it for you."
Ayumu jolted, looking down over her legs to see what was revealed. There shouldn't have been many marks; she'd long since healed from her last scene. She straightened a leg and stretched over her shoulder to see a few faint scars on the back of her thigh. He must have seen them when she came in. "Good eye."
He smeared some of the sweat from the glass over the slick surface of the bar. "Pretty little thing walks in, of course I'm gonna check out her ass. And the rest."
"What if they were nonconsensual?" She countered.
He rolled his head back, scoffed. "Please. You radiate 'kinky bitch' all over." A pink tongue skirted over the burned lip, wetting the wrinkled scar tissue. "I bet you're a total painslut."
Despite herself, her heart was hammering and her core clenched. Usually game this upfront was a turn-off, but it was the little things he'd picked up on that swirled from her head to her toes. He'd noticed things, and he was confident.
"Takes one to know one." That was weak. She almost cringed at herself.
He smirked. "More of a sadomasochist, really. I like a little fight to my prey." Those fluorescent blue eyes danced over her face, down, and back up again. "I don't mind some nails and teeth, if you want to claw up my back. But I'm the one doing the abuse."
What could she say to that? What could she possibly say? Her mind cast out a net for anything and reeled back in, "You recognized whip marks."
"I'd recognize cane and rope and knife too. Curry comb." He shrugged. "Needles. I'm familiar with lots of toys."
"Hm." Ayumu sipped her drink to avoid his gaze for just a second. She felt the prickle of sweat at the nape of her neck, rubbed it with a nervous hand.
"I see why the kid came up to you. You're a pretty little thing. He probably thought you were just a young punk looking to make a mistake, but you're not some college rebel. What are you, twenty-three, twenty-four?"
"Twenty-eight." As of three weeks ago.
He nodded. "Fuck, you're a grown ass woman." That smirk was back, and she couldn't help but think he was good looking, scars and all. "Tell me," he leaned in. velveteen voice lowering to lure her closer. "If you had to choose right now, would you rather get the shit beaten out of you or have a good fuck?"
Ayumu swallowed through the cotton in her throat. Pain had become the simplest route to pleasure, one where skin didn't have to meet skin. It was an addictive rush of hormones and sensation. An easy answer. "The beating."
"Fuckin' painslut." The epithet and his smirk slid down to pool near her womb. He grabbed a napkin and pulled a pen from the black jacket he wore, scribbling something down. "I'd be happy to give you either one. Or both." He winked and slid the napkin to her, then stood to his full height. Before leaving he leaned over her, the heat of his body radiating through her as his breath stirred beside her ear. "Shoot me a message. I'll see ya around, doll."
She turned to watch him saunter out the door, hands in his pockets and looking like he had not a care in the world.
The napkin had a phone number scrawled diagonally across its surface, Dabi written beneath it, underlined once. Ayumu worried at it nervously before pulling out her phone and entering the contact info. She didn't do anything with the number, just stared blankly for a second before tucking her phone back away, napkin with it.
Not once during the short, intense exchange had he attempted to touch her. He'd maintained a distance even when he'd spoken against her hair.
Ayumu finished her drink and left, buzzing from the encounter more than the alcohol as she floated home. She thought about it as she stripped her boots at the door, left a trail of clothes across the room, and collapsed in bed.
She thought about it as her hand dipped beneath the blankets and to her wet folds.
She thought about it as she rubbed her clit furiously, burning blue eyes flashing through her mind as she climaxed.
She'd text him soon. Maybe even tomorrow.
That was her last thought before post-orgasm languidity hit full force and she drifted asleep.
Dabi, huh? Nice name
-who might u b?
You gave me your number last night at the bar
-the painslut
Her cheeks flushed as she gazed down at the screen. Ayumu hadn't expected him to respond so quickly, but here she was only moments after sending out that first text with perspiring hands.
-u got a name doll?
Ayumu
-pretty
-fits u
Now what did she say? She wasn't good at this, hadn't flirted much since her last relationship ended fantastically.
About as well as yours, but mine's real
-how do u know mines not?
No one would name their kid that
-lol got me there
-so does this mean u wanna play?
Maybe I just liked the conversation
-fair but i doubt thats it
Cocky much?
-u aint seen nothing yet doll
If I did want to play?
-i would love to make u cry
Her core clenched.
How would you do that?
-i'd rather show u than tell
You talk a big game
-thats not all i do
-when u wanna meet?
I don't know any dungeons around here…
-i knowa place, a little studio/dungeon ppl can rent
You know the traffic light system?
-i'm not a fuckin noob doll so yeah
-standard gagged safeword to
I have a few limits, obviously. Most are things like no scat, dismemberment, etc. I also don't do skin-to-skin contact
-damn and i wanted to smack that pretty face
It's a quirk thing
-i gotchu no worries
That was one of the biggest issues she had. It was hard going through life without touch; Ayumu had thought it was over when she'd dated last. Her girlfriend- ex-girlfriend- had been fine with the repercussions of touching her. Until it led to Ayumu finding out she was cheating.
-just checkin i wont like turn to stone or smthing right?
No. If someone touches me I'll see their memories in my dreams
She wouldn't tell him the other part, since it shouldn't apply to their interactions.
-dont wanna see me jackin off?
Lol, that would be where you go with it
They chatted back and forth as she set out everything for work, pausing now and then to check her phone. Whatever he did must have been as flexible as hers, seeing as he didn't mention needing to be away from his phone. Then again, it was Sunday. Maybe he was an office worker.
Ayumu chuckled to herself at the thought. Dabi at a cubicle would be Dali-like in its oddity.
-how about thursday?
Are you okay with being tired Friday?
-i dont have nething on the schedule for friday
-u could even spend the night
Thursday it is. You're lucky I don't have a 9-5
-what do u do?
I'm a painter
-no shit like on canvas?
Yep
-send pics I wanna see
The week passed like sap rolling down a wounded tree, but still she felt like Thursday was suddenly upon her.
It's not like I'm meeting him at a house or apartment, she comforted herself. She was being smart. The place had a receptionist.
Ayumu double checked her dungeon bag. It had a change of clothes for after, comfy pants and loose tee, a few snacks, water, blanket, her gag, the little odds and ends she owned for play.
She wore yoga pants and a t-shirt, the only underwear being a thong. Her pulse had raced as she chose everything out. She wanted to look cute, but practical. Shoulder length hair was left down for pulling (that wouldn't activate her Quirk), but she had a ponytail holder just in case. A little makeup, heavier on the eyes and not waterproof. Ayumu checked herself in the mirror several times before finally leaving for the little dungeon/studio he'd linked her to earlier in the week.
"Um, hi," she greeted the receptionist in the small welcoming room. "I'm here to-"
"Hey there, doll." His palm radiated heat through her t-shirt as it carefully laid over the cloth on her shoulder. "This is the scene partner I was waiting on."
The brunette behind the desk nodded and shooed at him. "Have fun."
"Thanks, Ness." The hand shifted to her lower back and he guided her through a door into a large, open dungeon. There were smaller rooms to the sides, and it was in one of those they stopped in.
The door swung closed with a slow whine as Ayumu set her bag in a corner. She surveyed the room, standing stiffly as though she couldn't feel his leonine focus.
There was a spanking bench, a Saint Andrew's Cross, and a small bed with attachment points. The bench and the bed were across the room from the cross, just enough space to swing a whip.
"Nervous, sweetheart?" Excitement danced in the blue flames of his eyes.
"Aren't you?"
He laughed and directed her to the cross. "I'm thinking a good, long pain session for you, doll. I wanna turn you into a pretty, crying, bleeding little mess. How's that sound?
"That sounds…" Her voice was shaking. "That sounds good."
Dabi tipped his head, studying her. "I want you to be a good girl for me. Can you do that, doll?"
"Yes."
He pulled something out of his pocket and his flat hand came at her cheek.
Red flashed as her head jolted. It wasn't a particularly hard slap, but the leather of the hand paddle added a sharper sting than one with just the hand.
"'Yes,' what?" Dabi's expression had become flat, distant but for that heated glimmer in his eyes.
That expression, that cold voice, the words, all set her nerves alight. "Yes, sir." Her voice was so breathy she wondered how he heard it.
"Good girl. Strip."
Notes:
I have vague ideas for this, no posting schedule, and I'm just kinda screwing around. I like the idea of Dabi being a somewhat experienced sadomasochist in the scene, because he strikes me as the type.