Entrapped hearts [Yandere Cult X Reader]

Option 1 (Crazy)

The next day, I awoke with a heavy heart, the weight of the previous night's events pressing down on me like a suffocating shroud. As my eyes fluttered open, I found myself enveloped in the psycho's embrace, his arms wrapped around me in a twisted mockery of affection. 

In that moment, one chilling realization crystallized in my mind: Dean was getting worse by the day, his descent into madness accelerating at an alarming pace.

Carefully, I extricated myself from his grasp, trying not to wake the sleeping monster beside me. As I stretched, my muscles protesting after a night of restless slumber, Dean stirred, his eyes opening to regard me with an unsettling intensity.

Desperate for a semblance of normalcy, I made my way to the bathroom, grabbing my toothbrush with trembling hands. But even this simple act of self-care was tainted by his presence, as I turned to find him watching me from the doorway, his gaze unwavering and unblinking.

"Are you gonna watch me brush my teeth?" I scoffed, my voice laced with a mixture of defiance and barely concealed terror.

"Yeah," he replied, his voice devoid of emotion, sending a shiver down my spine.

I rolled my eyes, trying to maintain a semblance of normalcy as I brushed my teeth, the familiar motions providing a small comfort amidst the growing unease. Once finished, I made my way downstairs, desperate to put some distance between us, if only for a moment.

But he was already there, his presence looming like a dark cloud. Without a word, he walked ahead of me and turned on the coffee pot, his movements deliberate and purposeful.

"What are you doing?" I asked, unable to mask the confusion in my voice.

He turned to face me, his expression unreadable. "I'm doing it for you."

A knot of apprehension formed in the pit of my stomach. 

"I'm perfectly capable of doing it on my own," I countered, my tone edged with defiance.

He shook his head slowly, his gaze unwavering. "No, no, you just need to stay still and let me do everything for you." The words were spoken with a strange, unsettling inflection that sent a chill down my spine.

"That's weird," I blurted out, unable to contain my discomfort.

"No, it's not," he countered, his voice taking on a sickly sweet tone. "It's perfectly fine for people to want to do everything for their wives."

I rolled my eyes, trying to brush off his disturbing behavior, but the knot of dread in my stomach only tightened as the rich aroma of freshly brewed coffee filled the air. Without a word, he poured the steaming liquid into a cup and turned to face me once more.

"You gonna blow on it too?" I mocked, desperate to regain some semblance of control over the situation.

But his response only deepened my unease. "If you want me to," he said, a twisted smile playing on his lips.

"You're a weird person," I muttered, unable to mask the unease that had settled deep within me. What is wrong with him?

"I know," he replied, his tone casual, as if acknowledging his own strangeness was the most natural thing in the world.

Shaking my head, I reached for the cup and took a sip, desperate for the familiar comfort of the rich, bitter liquid. But even that simple pleasure was tainted by his involvement, as I realized with a mixture of surprise and discomfort that the coffee tasted better than when I made it myself.

Worse still, I had burned my tongue in my haste, adding insult to injury.

Dammit, why does he have to ruin everything?