you're coming with me || dom x reader

twelve

** stockholm syndrome, one direction

**the amount of emotions i get from this version fucking sends me. enjoy 🖤

two days ago,

your psychotic, super attractive, kidnapper saved you. two days ago, you saw him for what and who he really was and who he wanted to be. you don't know what it was that made you want him to stay, but it just felt right.

today,

you want to peel back more of the hundreds of layers. you also realize he really hasn't seen much of yours. you tip toe across the hall to his room, being careful not to enter, you knock a couple times as gently as you could.

"y/n?" you smile at his regard.

"is it bad that you know my knocks," you joke from the other side, leaning against the wall. in seconds, he's out in a white tee shirt with some signature black jeans. "hm, your hair looks extra fire engine-y today."

he laughs at your remark. "how's your head feeling today, love?" he gently swipes his thumb across the small patch of stitching. "it's okay," you tell him, which wasn't a lie, it was just a tight pull sort of feeling, which only irritated when you made expressions. "it's one of the last few warm days before fall comes, would you like to get out for a bit?"

you're unaware of your eyes lighting up like christmas trees, "i'll take that as a yes, but put on joggers, we're going on foot." ooh. interesting.

...

...

the air is very warm , but the breeze is absolutely amazing. "y/n, i just want you to know i'm sorry," he can't help but stare at his feet when he speaks to you. "for?" you don't really know what he's done.

"well, everything, really. i just can't help but feel that i'm going to ruin you if i haven't already," he's still focused on the ground as you walk together; it's honestly starting to get on your fucking nerves.

you stop in your tracks on the sidewalk; he soon does the same. "you don't control what i do as far as it goes in choices that i make. you took me away from the only life i ever knew dominic; as shocking as this sounds, i forgave you for that. if i felt like you were going to ruin me, i'd find a way out, believe me. i almost did, but then that night when i sat at the stairs watching you after you ended that phone call, i saw something in you that told me, not that i can't go, but that i shouldn't." you inch closer to him.

"compromising isn't something you do much," you reach for his hand; of course he hesitates before letting you grab it, "people showing you physical affection clearly isn't something you experience much because you're too busy inflicting physical altercations on other people," he looks down as you call him out, "and here's the thing, as crazy as it sounds...the people you execute, yeah fine, but me? no. no more. because i would never do anything to physically hurt you as much as i wanted to in the past, but i never did, because it's not right!"

"something's changed," he says; you furrow your brows but of course you wince from irritation, "you've done something to me, y/n. and i don't ever want to let it go. the other night, i was so scared i was going to get sick right there in front of you. when you asked if i'd lay with you, there was this hideous endless pit feeling inside, i could barely keep my breath steady. it's almost like you're holding me captive in feelings i know not-shit about."

you couldn't believe what you were hearing. he got butterflies lying with you. "holy shit," your thoughts flow from your mouth. "are you alright?" you can't help but laugh at his reaction, "yeah...but dom. you weren't going to be sick," you grab his hand as you rest your head on his shoulder, "those are what romancers call 'butterflies.'" you would be lying if you said you didn't get them too...

"oh...shit, sorry," he kisses your forehead, "you wanna head back?"

"dom, we've only been walking for an hour," you insist.

"it'll be an hour and a half by the time we get back to the house."

little shit. "fine."

"i need you to pack a bag tonight," uhm, sorry what?

"what?" you repeat your thoughts aloud.

"i'm going on a small tour in a couple of days and we'll be heading to my home in brooklyn."

"tour?! dom, i...i don't know."

"would it help persuade you if i told you i was taking you so you can pick out a new phone?"

no fucking way.

"i'd say you're lying."

"y/n. i would never lie to you...and that's a promise. and we know i never promise much."

"fuck, uhm...yeah. tour...almost no different than a road trip, right?"

"in a way, except for the mental shows, each one sicker than the last."

oh wow...so much insight. sarcasm highly intended.

"you know, i still can't believe that that's what you do. aside from your illegal vigilante group shit."

"needed a side hobby," he places his hands in the pockets of his jeans. the two of you approach the familiar multi-million dollar setting, only something is wrong. "what the fook," he curses from in front of you. you peek around to see what's going on. his window was smashed. you look to him with worry; the two of you race inside.

after scoping out every inch of the home, you find nothing out of place. "maybe it was just a freak accident," you suggest. he's quiet as he sits on the couch. he's too quiet. "everything okay?"

"hm? oh, yes. just fookin' pissed. i'll call someone to come fix it...why don't you go get changed and we'll go for a swim? i'll even get kells and megan over," he suggests. honestly, it sounds great, a good stress reliever too.

as you head up to your room, dom immediately regrets not saying anything, but it doesn't seem like to big of a problem. he removes his hand from his pocket, dreading what he hid in it:

la's coming fast, be ready, bunny

                         a xx

with a big ass pair of purple lipstick to stamp it.

he insisted you check your room for any valuables that may have been stolen. he picked up the rock by the window that had the note wrapped to it with elastic. deep down, he already knew. he picked up his phone, dialing colson's number.

"hey...we've got a problem...yeah...just bring megan and swimsuits...i don't want y/n freaking out...thanks mate. see ya," he hangs up as he hears your foot steps approaching from upstairs.

"maybe it was just a freak accident," you tell him.