yungblud imagines || d.h

benefit of the doubt || y.c.w.m pt III

it's almost eight when you wake. dominic's hand grazes your skin with a gentle touch. you're not necessarily pleased, considering your hands were still bound to the metal railing of the bed and what else? oh yeah. the sick fuck was holding you hostage.

no matter how bad you wanted to get out, you had to take the easiest way if you wanted to keep your sanity after he lets you go.

"how was your catnap, love?" his finger caressed your cheek.

"s'good," your voice was groggy...and you had nap breathe, fucking great you thought.

"i went out and bought you basic things, to take care of yourself, and some outfits, i didn't know what you like so they're mostly casual, brought you your favorite perfume," how the fuck does he even know that, wait...your favorite fragrance is expensive as hell. your head snaps up, looking at bags he lay in front of you. chanel, tom ford, cucinelli... who the fuck is this guy?

"where did you get all this stuff?" you brow raises questioning.

"not to be rude, love, but if you read the bags right here, you should know where they came from."

you scoff, "s'not what i meant," you roll your eyes at his attitude; he didn't like yours either. in seconds, he's hovering over you, his hand grips around the sides of your face, covering your mouth. "now look, there's two things i don't do, avocados, and attitude." his comment causes you to furrow your brows together. "roll your eyes at me again, love. i dare you."

**

it's now been a week since you'd been taken. ultimately, you gave in and told him you'd give him the benefit of the doubt. dominic had let up a lot easier and a lot quicker than you'd expected. he was sick, but he was also a softie. most days, when he wasn't at home, he'd let you wander around the house to explore. you wanted to get into his brain, wanted to figure out what made him tick, what made him angry, what made him sad, or even what seduced him. that's how determined you were to get out.

today, you walked around in an old band tee of his. he'd been buying you things left and right all week, but you weren't necessarily the "everyday glam" type. you had thrown you semi-dry hair into a bun with a banana clip, put on a pair of pink socks, put in a cd, cranked it to max volume, and began to do some more exploring.

as you stepped into different rooms, it felt like walking into different worlds; you also tried to peak around for all of his cameras.about three songs in, you begin to familiarize the singer's tone.

wait, who the hell is this?

you rush back to the main room to snoop. the case you had pulled it out of was blank. the only thing written on it was music with a black heart scribbled beside it. you began searching through other cases to find clues. none of them gave off any hints; you were determined. looking to the door that, for some reason, always stayed locked. on your tip toes, you reach to touch the frame around the door, feeling for a key.

if i was something he wouldn't want me to find...where would i be? you ask yourself. the amount of irony in that question alone makes you want to smack the shit out of yourself. you jiggle the handle a few more times out of curiosity, maybe even hoping the door would just magically pop open; it didn't.

"that's stupid," you say aloud to yourself as you stand back to observe your current situation.

"s'not a nice thing to say love." you nearly jump out of your skin. you didn't think he'd be back so soon. you start to stutter almost immediately. every word sounded like baby gibberish. "were," he laughs at the moment of realization, "were you snooping...y/n?"