Entrapped hearts [Yandere Cult X Reader]

Option 3 (Stay)

I lay in our bedroom, my head was pounding, a dull ache throbbing behind my eyes as I tried to make sense of the past few hours.

A soft snore drew my attention to Dean's sleeping form beside me. He looked so peaceful, so innocent, like a lover rousing from a pleasant dream rather than the aftermath of violating depravity. Part of me wanted to lash out, to attack him while he was vulnerable and finally escape this nightmare.

But another part, one that made me recoil in disgust and self-loathing, felt an insidious pull toward him. Some twisted part of my psyche had found comfort in his arms, in surrendering to his madness, if only for a few blissfully blank hours. 

It terrified me how easily that part could take root, spreading like a cancer through my mind until I was utterly consumed.

Swallowing hard, I forced myself to look away from his sleeping face. I couldn't allow myself to feel anything but hatred and revulsion for this man - this monster who had stolen my life, my identity, my very soul. To feel anything else would be to well and truly lose myself.

Still, as much as I rallied against it, I could feel the hazy tendrils of Stockholm Syndrome wrapping around my battered psyche. 

Dean had broken me down piece by piece through his torturous "love," and now I was at risk of simply...accepting it. Letting the nightmare consume me until I was nothing but an empty, obedient shell.

I shuddered, bile burning the back of my throat as I slid out of the bed, every inch of me aching with a bone-deep weariness. Grabbing some clothes, I retreated to the bathroom, locking the door and sinking to the floor.

The scent of Dean's cologne lingered on the sheets, a heady, intoxicating aroma that stirred something deep within me. I breathed it in, letting the familiar smell wash over me like a crashing wave. Despite everything a twisted sense of comfort and longing that made me recoil in disgust.

But he smelled so good...

No, stop it!

He's a monster, how can you still find comfort in that?

And the memory of how tightly he had held me the previous night, how safe and secure I had felt cocooned in his powerful embrace, made my treacherous heart flutter.

Maybe this isn't so bad, a dark voice in the back of my mind whispered.

Maybe you're overreacting.

He loves you,

in his own way.

I squeezed my eyes shut, trying to drown out the insidious whispers urging me to surrender, to simply accept the nightmare as my new reality.

This is wrong,

all wrong!

He's brainwashing you, can't you see that?

Grabbing my phone with trembling hands, I quickly typed out a message to my friends - the few remaining lifelines to sanity I had left.

"Is it normal to randomly feel weird about your S/O? It's like...I don't know, weird?"

I hit send, praying one of them would have an answer, some logical explanation for why I was suddenly plagued by these confusing feelings of affection and attachment towards my tormentor. Anything to counteract the sickening sense of doubt creeping in, making me second-guess everything I thought I knew.

Please, someone tell me I'm not losing my mind here...

It was that same strange, traitorous sense of peace washing over me now as I inhaled the lingering traces of his scent. Like a battered psyche seeking refuge in the arms of its abuser, no matter how illogical or damaging.

Stop it!

This is exactly what he wants, to make you dependent on him!

The sound of footsteps on the stairs made me tense, and I quickly shoved my phone under the pillow as Dean entered the bedroom, running a hand through his disheveled hair.

"Morning," he grumbled, his voice still thick with sleep as he regarded me with those intense eyes that used to make my heart skip a beat.

Don't look at him like that, don't let him in!

"Morning," I replied automatically, stifling a yawn as I sat up in bed.

Dean mumbled something about getting coffee before disappearing downstairs again. As soon as he was gone, I snatched up my phone, my fingers trembling as I typed out another message.

"I don't know what's happening to me. Part of me feels...safe with him? After everything? It makes no sense but I can't shake this feeling..."

Finally i got a reply

Alex

Yeah, actually

Tammy

Stockholm syndrome much

Sandy

Eh kinda

Amelia

Lmao same

I rolled my eyes at their somewhat flippant responses, but a tiny part of me felt relieved that they didn't seem too alarmed. Maybe I was just overreacting, and these intrusive thoughts were simply my mind's way of processing everything that had happened.

I chuckled darkly at the question, shaking my head. Whether it was textbook Stockholm Syndrome or just good old-fashioned trauma bonding, the result was the same - I was losing my grip on reality, on who I really was beneath the layers of manipulation and mind games.

Pocketing my phone, I took a deep breath and headed downstairs, my steps heavy with a sense of resigned defeat. Dean was in the kitchen, puttering around and making coffee. He looked up as I

entered, his expression a mask of tender concern that made my skin crawl.

"Something the matter, sweety?" he asked, crossing the room to pull me into an embrace.

I tensed at his touch, but didn't pull away.

"Yeah...no, I feel weird," I mumbled into his chest.

He held me at arm's length, studying my face with those piercing eyes that used to make my heart skip a beat. Now, they just filled me with a confusing mixture of fear, disgust...and yes, that sickening flicker of affection I couldn't seem to shake.

"Do you feel as bad as yesterday?" he asked, his voice a soothing murmur as he brushed a stray lock of hair from my face.

I gave a small nod, unable to meet his gaze. "Yeah."

Dean was silent for a moment, seeming to weigh his options, before that terrible smile stretched across his face. "Hm, okay. I'll take off today and tomorrow and stay here with you."

"No, no it's okay," I protested weakly, knowing full well it was useless. "There's really no need to."

"No, you're not feeling well," he insisted, that undercurrent of steel in his voice that warned against arguing. "Go lay down. I'll take care of you."

______

(A/N)

Stolchom syndrome such?