The apartment was small, clean, but chaotic, a little L-shaped room divided by function. A low coffee table was home to a thirty-two inch flat screen flanked by a Wii and XBox on one side and a PS4 on the other. Beneath the table was a row of game cases neatly organized. A futon was against the opposite wall from the entertainment system. It was piled with soft blankets and mismatched pillows, a sheet neatly tucked around it. =
A little side table sat near the juncture of the studio apartment. Kurogiri approved of the stack of coasters beside an ancient, sticker-covered laptop. The long wall of the little place had an easel and stacks and shelves of art supplies, while beyond that was a kitchenette. There was a drafting table covered in loose papers, inkwells, pens, pencils. Large paintings leaned against the walls, and there were stacks of smaller ones on a few of the surfaces.
He took inventory of art supplies before organizing them in a cloth grocery bag from above the half-sized fridge. Pens, pencils, sketchbook, special eraser all packed. Ayumu's painting supplies were much more difficult. Watercolors were swept into the same drawer as the oil paints, the tubes mixing indiscriminately with brushes as he added them in. It took him a few moments to figure out how to pack the easel as well.
For good measure he also took the canvas tarp beneath the construction. Once he'd finished there, he sorted through the clothes in her closet and her toiletries from the meager bathroom.
The whole ordeal took around forty-five minutes in totality, and then he decided to look through the pieces littering the domicile.
A sheaf of textured papers appeared to be illustrations in the rough progression of a children's story, something both magical and dark, starring a little girl with a vague resemblance to Alice from Lewis Carol's works, albeit with seafoam hair and a pink dress.
The paintings on wrapped canvases were all done in oils. One struck him in particular. It depicted a pale golden man lounging on clouds, his hair billowing as he blew a steady stream of wind. His handsome silhouette tugged at the gaze, drawing it to the one visible violet blue eye. On the wooden frame was written "Zephyrus, oil on canvas." Beside that was "-61.7."
That seemed a common theme on the works; the title and medium, then the number.
A beep from his phone brought him back from his exploration; Tomura Shigaraki was getting impatient.
He grabbed a stack of unpainted canvases under one arm, the other gathering up the bags of "necessities" on the girl's list, and portalled back to the hideout.
"What's all this shit?" There was the rough voice of the young man, right on time.
"This is all that Ms. Ayumu asked for in her list," he responded evenly, laying out the items for inspection.
Tomura Shigaraki began sifting through the contents, and the shadowed man flinched as an inkwell rolled across the floor. The young villain flipped through the sketch book with vague interest, pausing more on the pose sketches than anything else. He abandoned the toiletries at first glance, but took particular interest in the clothing.
"What'cha got there, Tomura?"
The young man startled, dropping the strappy black bra on the duffle bag it came in, and sneering back at Himiko Toga.
"Oooooo, is that your girlfriend's stuff? Did she officially move in?" The teenager scurried over to shuffle through Ayumu's clothes, exclaiming over everything that had even a touch of fashionability to it.
Other members of the League filtered in after the girl, Dabi leaning against the wall to watch her, hands shoved in his pocket. "I already told you, she's not his girl."
"Then why's Shiggy digging through her stuff?"
Emotions flowed across Tomura Shigaraki's face like quicksilver before settling back into his usual disinterested annoyance. "Gotta make sure our little prisoner isn't pulling a fast one."
"Sure." Dabi sauntered over, staring over their shoulders. "This shit should make good incentive for her."
"You're going to hold your girlfriend's clothes hostage?" Magne was the last to enter, her eyes narrowing as she caught up with the scene. "That's not very gentlemanly."
"For the last fucking time, she's noone's girlfriend. She's my prisoner." Dabi ran a hand through his black hair. "She's just this chick I was fucking who happened to stop me killing a wannabe hero."
Toga blinked up at him before shrugging. "Then she's pretty much your girlfriend. You have sex with her and she's living with you now. That makes her your girlfriend."
"She's in my room," Tomura countered.
"Why's Dabi's girlfriend in your room?" Himiko Toga was obliviously insightful, Kurogiri had found. "Are you in a love triangle?"
"Wait, why are we keeping her here? I bet she's a slut." Twice tensed up at his second comment, but the room had already fallen still at his first. The League shifted attention between the fire user and their leader and back again.
"She's useful." Dabi shrugged.
"She has a cancellation Quirk," Tomura said overtop him.
The atmosphere became thoughtful as each considered the implications.
Mr. Compress was the one to finally ask, "Does that mean you can touch her?"
Scarlet eyes flicked to him before the young man nodded.
Kurogiri spoke into the quiet that followed. "What shall I do with her possessions, Tomura Shigaraki?"
"I don't know." He exchanged a look with Dabi.
The latter spoke up, "Put it all in the empty room near mine. Maybe we can set that up for her to paint in if she's a good girl."
Tomura Shigaraki nodded, to which the shadowy man gathered up the items again and stepped through to the room in time to hear Himiko Toga say, "So your girlfriend paints?"
Someone was petting her hair and down her back in long, soothing strokes. Her body was stiff from lack of movement, as she had given up on finding anything useful after stumbling on a crumpled bag of stale Doritos.
Warmth pressed against her side, the bed dipped to indicate the presence of someone else. It was nice.
"You finally awake, doll?"
"I feel like shit," her sleep-worn voice cracked.
Dabi chuckled as his fingers combed through her tangled hair. It was not at its best given her situation. "Sorry to hear it. I'm happy to help you feel better, sweetheart."
She sneered, rolling onto her back to face the day. Her forearm shadowed her eyes from the harsh yellow light of Tomura's room. Dabi must have changed the bulbs in his room, because she remembered it being less harsh there.
"Don't be like that. Bad girls don't get presents."
Ayumu lifted a brow. "I'm not your fucking submissive, Dabi. Don't withhold shit just to get me to do what you want."
"No, you're my prisoner." He considered her with those neon eyes. "But anyway, that's not what I'm doing." At her flat stare, he added, "I'm rewarding good behavior. That's usually the best way to train a dog. Positive reinforcement."
"I'm not your pet, either."
He lowered his face to her own, tip of his nose tracing her own. "We're keeping you chained up. Might as well. Besides, wouldn't you prefer being treated like a pet to being treated like a prisoner?"
The thunder of her racing heart shook her rib cage as their eyes locked. "Do I have any choice here? Or am I supposed to pretend I'm here willingly?"
"Just don't do anything to piss me off and I'll take gooood care of you."
"I don't need orgasms, Dabi." She rolled her eyes. "I need to not be locked in the fucking dark for hours on end."
"Yeah, crusty likes to throw tantrums." He'd drawn back, leaning over her while propped on his side.
Her throat felt tight, warmth flooding her eyes. "I need my life. I need some control over my life. I've never been the kind of person who can just let others take over, not outside of play. I can't live like that; I need a way to get all of this out of me, I need an outlet."
He kept quiet, stroked her cheek with his knuckles, and watched her get out what she needed to say.
"I need a way to process everything. I can't live like this, where everything is closing in on me. You, Shigaraki, this room, the darkness." Her wet tongue flitted over dry lips. "The dreams."
She'd been left in the darkness for at least half a day, maybe more. During that time there was only so much she could do. The memories had started creeping into the corners of the blinded room. How many had she seen while lying in the abyss?
They were intertwined, tangled, messy in her mind. She had fragments of a fight where she was with heroes and not against them. Dabi— Touya had been burning (Ayumu still felt the echoes of pain lighting through her skin). And things she'd rather not have seen that she could only assume came from Tomura. Horrific, sick, twisted things she would rather cut her eyes out than see again. Had that doctor touched her too? She tried to remember if he'd worn gloves at all times, or if he'd managed skin contact. Some of those images had been visceral.
"Hey." Dabi called her back to the present. "Come with me. Come on, get up." He encouraged her to rise from the bed, unshackled her ankle, and drew her to the bathroom. "Get in." After a moment of him shuffling around outside the shower, he handed her a plastic bin filled with toiletries, taking the shampoo in hand to wash her hair himself.
The scent of rosemary and lavender wafted to her in the steam. "Smells good," Ayumu murmured as his fingers lathered against her scalp.
"You should like it," he replied. "It's yours."
Ayumu jolted and looked down at the tub again. She skimmed each bottle, each item. It was all hers. "What—" She blinked away her confusion, brows furrowed. "Kurogiri went to my apartment?"
Dabi hummed.
"Does that mean I get real clothes?"
"Only if you're a good girl." He tweaked one of her nipples, played with the bar through it. "Rinse."
She turned her back to the stream of water. "Those are my possessions. Withholding them is wrong."
"Villain, doll face. Besides, I'm not withholding, remember? I'm using positive reinforcement."
"You could let me go." Ayumu reached for the conditioner, but it was already in his hand. "You have no reason to keep me. I don't know where this is; I don't know any of your secrets. If you're not gonna kill me, why not let me go?"
When Ayumu didn't turn for him to work on her hair, he grabbed her shoulders and did it for her. His hot breath raised goosebumps down her neck even in the close, warm, humid bathroom. "What would we gain by letting you go? Since we know where you live, you'd definitely move. We'd have to hunt your ass down if we wanted you in the future. And… you know who I am. It wouldn't do to let you ruin all my plans." He kissed her shoulder. "And I like fucking you, hurting you, touching you. There is this dichotomy about you. You're so pretty, so soft, like a doll, like I could drop you and you'd shatter to pieces. But then there are moments you come to life, your eyes shining and your breath sweeter than sin. Like a thunderstorm. Lightning flashes through you and the world is stripped bare. In those moments, you are a force. Drawing it out is a drug. And all I want to do is push until you break. Whether you crash and fall apart, or you burn. I want to be there, and I want to sift through the ruins after." He tugged the showerhead down and ran it through her silky locks. "That's why I won't let you go."
She swallowed through the knot that had formed inside of her at his revelation. "I'm not all that."
"Hm. Sure you're not, doll. You're just a pretty woman I like sticking my dick into." Dabi planted a kiss on her cheek and stepped away. "Finish up. I'll be back in a sec with clothes."
Ayumu stared at the shower curtain as it waved shut.