Yan!Apocalypse Gang Leader x Fem!Reader
'Greater of two evils'
18+ Minors DNI
Warnings: Typical yandere stuff, dark content, child labor, gang like attitudes, violence, graphic descriptions of gore, gun violence, physical abuse, manipulation, threat of death, coercion, zombies; cannibalism (are zombies cannibals?), genuinely a psycho yandere.
A/N: Definetly one of the darker characters I've written, figured it was time for an actually psycho yandere for once. It might be dumb, it was a concept I was trying with after playing games with smaller, localized zombie apocalypses, like Dead Island 2. I don't know if it's very good, so lemme know if y'all like Jacob, and have a happy new year!
It's eerily quiet out, the sounds of the quarantined city of Atlanta long faded. You aren't sure where you even are. Since the outbreak of a virus that creates zombie-like infected citizens, the whole state of Georgia has been quarantined, with any noticed outbreaks of the zombies being dealt with by the CDC and law enforcement. Schools are in session and businesses run, but masks are warn and early curfew are in effect. It's a pandemic, kept under wraps by the government while communication to the outside is blocked off. Of course, you were lucky enough to find yourself trapped within the walls of the quarantined region before you could visit your folks for the holidays.
A rise of violence from gangs seeking anarchy or control in this newly defined and cut off society is now a part of everyday life, with various groups from anarchists to junkies having formed small sectors all over. One such group had targeted you.
All you remember was trying to get home from work; having had your nightly hours cut in half due to the CDC implemented curfew, when someone had attacked. A shadow form had held a gun to your chest and demanded your bag and valuables. You had hastened to hand over the goods, though as soon as you did, a cracking force whipped the back of your head, and everything went dark.
Now, you feel your limp form being dragged, an arm draped around your shoulder in away that seems overly familiar for a kidnapper. You phase in and out of sight, seeing a white farmhouse, a bit run down and american Gothic, stood tall before you. Clearly you've been taken far from the city.
"Yoo-hoo. Hey, cmon, sleepy." As you're dropped to the floor, slumped over, you can see a few pair of shoes. A lanky form is kneeled over you, snapping their fingers like trying to get a cat's attention. "I didn't even hit you that hard, come on. Don't be a baby." The voice is awfully jovial for a kidnapper.
Managing to look up, you see a young man, no more than or nineteen or twenty, with buzzed blonde hair and a ratty tank. The sight makes you pale, Jacob Bates. A well known maniac whose been terrorizing the quarantined area with his gang of psychos. He had a hunger for anarchy and violence, killing both humans and zombies alike. He seemed to have no real allegiance or goal beyond his own desires for amusement. "Heh, big old eyes widened up, guess you recognize my face." He grins, tilting his head with a boyish amusement. "Well; it's good you can recognize faces; maybe you aren't as messed up from that pistol whip as I thought. You lost a lot of blood, but it's not like your brains were hanging the back of your head." He snickers. "Small miracles, huh?" He stands now, nudging you with the tip of his dark black combat boots. How had a simple night at work turned into this nightmare?
"Please let me go- please-" You immediately begin to beg, to plead for your life before this deranged young man. You'd seen horrific clips of him spread on the news station, the one approved only for the shutdown zone. Clips of a deranged man, robbing gas stations, blasting shots off at innocent citizens, even bagging up stray zombies and releasing them into the now rare populated areas. "They- your guys took everything I have, I promise. I handed over my phone, keys, wallet-"
"Shh- shh- shh- stop with the rambling! I'm sure my boys frisked you good, they aren't amateurs. Why they brought you back here is anyone's guess. Rudy?"
A much younger boy, thin and wide-eyed, is beckoned over. "Come on, Rudes. What was the play? Why bring crack this boring nine-to-fiver over the head and drag her back here?" The question is posed as casual as could be, but there's an underlying challenge. It's clear from the looks of this 'gang' scrappy kids and youths presumably scooped up from the already rough streets, that these kids have been groomed into a life of crime and parent-less anarchy, by their cult-like older brother figure. It's a test, proof of the cruelty and sadistic behavior he's trying to ingrain.
"I dunno." Rudy mumbles, scuffing his shoe on the floor. "Just... figured any hostage is a good hostage? We haven't snatched anybody up in a bit, and the other day you mentioned that it was getting uh- stale?" Rudy seems unsure of why he kidnapped you, but not necessarily ashamed. It's an odd sensation, kids and teens waiting around to see if their boss bites their fellow member.
Jacob just pauses, then tilts his head back in raucous laughter. "Oh shit- Rudy, your fucking face!" He loudly cackles; grinning like a jackal. "I'm fucking with you, you never need a reason to fuck with somebody. Good on you for the initiative, this is your first hostage, huh? Good on you. She's a lot bigger than you, how'd you drag her to the van? Growing boy." He slaps the boy a little too roughly on the back, making the kid flinch but smile, like a praised dog. "Wallet, hand it over. Keep the cash but show me that id. Gotta know who we have the pleasure of having over."
As Rudy pilfers through your leather billfold with nimble and practiced movements, you feel the toe of a thick black workboot nudging your cheek, forcing you turn over your head. "What to do with you? Got folks here, anyone who'd pay money to get that smoking face back?" He asks, once again far too casual for this situation.
"N-no- my family lives outside the quarantined zone, I couldn't leave before the outbreak." You weakly explain, trying to sit up a bit despite the constant ache on your head. He pushes his lips into a feigned pout, shaking his head. "Breaking my heart, don't cry, girly. You'll make me tear up." His face immediately falls, uninterested and even filled with a slight disdain as he stands from where he was kneeling by your side. "Kidding, duh. I don't care about your family shit- RUDY!" He screeches, eyes manic. "Where's that fucking id, shit- are you blind?"
"Here." Rudy quickly shoves the plastic card into his bosses hands. The surrounding folks seem on edge, but not suprised by Jacob's outburst. He's clearly prone to violent mood swings and outbursts, considering how used to it they seem. "Little fucking dweeb, get outta here. GO!" He waves off the others, and they scatter throughout the yard and farmhouse.
You remain silent, watching as he fidgets with the id, free hand playing with a shiny pistol at his side. The wanted posters had let you know gun violence was a calling card of the psycho, and he plays with the weapon as if its a toy. "Hmm, hmm, hmm. Interesting. Ooh, O negative, my second favorite blood type. " He crosses his hand over his heart in a fake swoon. "And you're sure there's no one we can ransom you to?" He asks, tossing the card he screamed for moments ago aside without a care.
"No, no one. There's no reason to keep me here. I have nothing for you!" You exclaim, putting your hands together. "Please; I won't tell anyone about your base or anything if you just let me go." You don't know how to appeal to him, to grovel or panic or cry, but you get the feeling none of those will work. He does whatever he damn well pleases, your fate is in his hands.
"Yeah, geez you've made that pretty clear. Company security pass, id, and a library card. God you're a boring shit! Rudy bagged a real winner." He grabs his pistol, twirling it once before roughly knocking the muzzle against your forehead, the 'clunk' inciting another tearing headache. "No ransom, no money, no drive. And no one coming for you. Might as well pop one in you and put you out of your misery now, since you're one useless civvy."
"No-no!" You beg, scooting away from his gun, which you now notice is covered in graphic doodles and bright stickers. One you've surely seen on tv, blasting the skull of some poor bank employee mid robbery. "It'd be easier to just let me go- you don't want to clean up the mess, I'm not worth the trouble." He just sucks his teeth in response.
"Baby, the splatter is half the fun. Besides, that's what I've got these goons for, clean up." He thumbs towards the back door where a few gang members had rushed out. "Wouldn't want an unhygienic space. We're killers, not gore fetishist. I guess you could saying cleaning brain matter-" Another rough push as he moves the gun to follow your head. "Matters!" He cackles at his own joke; before freezing. Your blood goes colder (if that's even possible), as he stares at you, pupils blown wide like a house cat zeroing in on prey.
"Laugh." He says, voice devoid of any emotions, grip on the gun firm as he lowers it. "Wha-" In your confusion, you apparently don't respond quick enough, he whips the gun across your face, a bleeding cut now running across your cheek as you sink back to the floor. "FUCKING LAUGH!" He screeches again, and you begin a deranged sort of fake laugh to appease him, barely able to suppress the hot tears which well in your eyes, before sliding down into your open cut. The sting barely registers in your state of fight or flight, as you look at Jacob.
He seems immediately appeased, withdrawing his gun and strolling over to the nearby windowsill and leaning out, looking at a beat up red pickup and some teens sprawled around it. "You got a nice voice, anyone ever tell you that?" He asks, not even looking at you. It's clear he's grown bored with you. Sucking his teeth again with a squelching noise, he turns. "Okay, I'm starved, gonna go get some shit food from some fast food place. You want nuggets?" He doesn't let you answer. "You want nuggets. Wait here, don't go anywhere, my boys will snipe you down quick, but they won't finish you off. They know I like delivering the killing blow." He grabs a pair of keys of a nearby hook, and grins.
"You got a little blood on your uh- everywhere." He snickers, before heading out the door. "Be good!"
You're left frightened, shocked, and sore as he wanders off, like a child done playing with a new toy. You manage to weakly drag yourself to a couch, the terror overcoming you as you let your tears flow. Sobs rack your body, and while you're sure his sadistic followers can hear you, at this point you don't care. Agonized, you let sleep overtake you, hoping it will all be some wretched nightmare when you awake.
The feeling of a warm, crinkle material shocks you awake, and you jolt to find a warm, greasy paper bag has been chucked at your face. "Eat up, got you a meal. You're welcome." He coos, flopping onto the couch beside you and wrapping an arm around your neck, a chicken nugget in his hands.
"Neeeeeeeeeow-" He makes airplane noises as he presses the processes meat substance to your lips. "No? Not hungry? Don't be picky." He warns, that cold, glazed look returning. You quickly eat the nugget, and his gaze melts as quickly as it froze. "Hope you don't mind, I'm keeping the toy." You notice a rubiks cube in his free hand, half dismantled and obviously owned by someone with no intention of solving it.
"Soooooooooo... been thinking. Got a proposition for you." He slaps the remaining food out of your hand. You can hardly deal with his constantly shifting wants and the whiplash of his actions. "Come on, put those legs to work, you're gonna come meet a friend of mine."
"I don't want to meet any of your friends." You mumble; earning a brow raise from him. "Was that a no? Kitty's got claws!" He giggles, gripping your shoulder harshly. "Don't do it again, kay?" He says it jovially, but the threat is present.
You quickly realize he's leading you towards a dilapidated barn, rotted and rain damaged wood. The building is barely standing. It feels like a death march, you struggle to prepare yourself to be taken out back and euthanized like a rabid mutt. However, as you approach the barn, you hear a sound that breaks you into a cold sweat.
Since the outbreak began, you've only ever seen one zombie. You'd been at the grocery store when gunfire and screams ran out, and while evacuating through the front, you'd seen a woman on the ground. She looked healthy, normal, until she whipped around to face the riot officers who stood behind her, eyes milky and jaw detached from her skull. Her face, or what was left of it, had made horrendous gurgles as the officers pumped her full of lead. She was put down quickly, but those sounds. That sight, it never left your mind.
Now, as he pries open the barn door, that same death-gurgle echoes out again, filling the rotted wood structure. Chained like a violent pittbull, a stake in the ground and a thick-linked chain around it's neck, is a zombie; clearly turned sometime ago. It's hobbled, legs intact but feet having clearly been hacked off. You can barely suppress your face as the smell hits your nose, before bending over; mouth dry as you heave up what little of your meal you'd been able to eat. "Fuck- ugh-" you continue to heave, even after there's nothing left to spew.
Jacob seems throughly amused; just cackling. "Lost your lunch? Bruiser here doesn't smell that bad..." he glances at the zombie, shrugging. "Kind of an ugly mug though."
"That's... fucking cruel- i-inhumane!" You exclaim, shaking. He just shrugs again. "Good for body disposal though. Eats like a goat, just munches on whatever you put in front of him. Pre-etty convinient."
"He was a person-" You can't even vocalize your disgust, both at what this human has become, and what he now endures as a living dead.
"He's a brain-muncher. It's not like I'm keeping some human locked up-" He cuts him self off, gasping with a dramatic 'Oh!' and looking at you. "Touché." He grabs ypu rather roughly by the back of your shirt collar, dragging you towards the jaw of the beast; stopping mere inches away from its face.
"Stop- stop!" You scream, writhing. "No- I'm sorry- don't let him eat me-"
"Eat you? He's harmless, like a pet. We keep him well fed. Come on, don't you wanna pet him?" He coos, cruelly occasionally pushing you closer to the beast who now writes, milky eyes inflamed with the scent of flesh and the heat of hunger. It lets out those gurgles. Those awful sounds. You let out an agonizing scream, and the creature only screeches in response. Having had his fill of amusement, he drops you.
"Okay, playtimes over. See? Not a pretty sight out here, is it?" He tuts, shaking his head as he kneels down again, booping your nose. "So, here's the sitch. I've been thinking it over, and I don't know whether or not I feel like keeping you, or watching you get eaten. Both are pretty. Fucking. Funny."
You shiver.
"So, either you stay in here, and when you feel ready to leave this world, just crawl on over to Bruiser here as show him that pretty neck-" he motions to the creature. "Or just uh- I don't know, agree to be my fiance."
You freeze, so confused you are momentarily snapped out of your fear. "What? Fiance?" You can barely get out the words.
"Yeah. Between girlfriend and wife? Never seen the bachelor?"
"W-why? I don't know you, you don't know me- you pistol-whipped me." You cry.
"Love is complicated, all good couples have spats." He grabs your face between to hands, squishing your cheeks. "I don't know, I like being amused, stimulated. And between you and me, the younger ones aren't exactly intelligent company." He motions to a pair of younger gangmembers, who are wrestling over what looks like a baseball bat. "Little dumbasses. Plus, we got a free bed," he leans in. "One of em' got a little mouthy, so he got to share a room with bruiser here. I'm sure you can imagine how that went."
The idea of him feeding anyone, much less some kid to his monster makes you sick.
"Anyways, I need stimulation. A fellow fully formed mind. I don't want a girlfriend, feels to flighty. And friend? Talk about under-selling it, this is a long term thing." He explains. "Even a maniac needs soooooooome constistency." He continues rambling. "But its like, I also don't feel like hunting down a priest whose not gonna snitch to some pig, you know? So, fiance. Future wifey. But not straight to wife. Sounds classy." He suddenly threads his fingers in your hair, fisting it and once again moving towards the zombie.
Before he can speak, you scream. "Yes- yes- okay! I'll be your fiance, don't hurt me!" You cry. He drops your hair and body like a sack of potatoes, and your chest hits the musty earth.
"Woooooo!" He screams; howling like a dog as he swings open the barn door. "Get out the good beers, your big brothers getting hitched!" There's a few jovial but confused shouts. It clear these poor folks are so used to his erratic behavior, the idea of him engaging himself to a captive of only a few hours seems par for the course. He yanks you up and begins to drag you to the house just as he dragged you out, this time with his lips on your cheek, before licking a wet stripe up your cheek. "Damn, forget that brain-munching idiot, I might eat you up myself, hot stuff. Tasty." He walks up to a post beside the doorframe, freezing as he puts a hand up.
"Woah, brainwave!" He chirps, snapping his fingers. "Hey, idiots. Switchblade, come on, I know one of you has one." A random, scruffy girl hands him a knife, and he nods. "Thanks kid," when she shuffles off, he chuckles. "I didn't even know we had girls in this gang, who the fuck was that?" He jokes, flicking it open and running the tip of the blade against the door frame.
"Come on, make your mark on this little home. Carve our initials. Mine and yours baby." He coos; like its some grand gesture. He gives you the knife, and in a moment, your flight becomes fight. You jab to towards him, but he grabs your wrist. "Hey, none of that!" He cackles gripping your wrist so hard you drop the knife. His grip is bruising, it feels like the bones might shatter.
"Sorry, I'm sorry- I'm sorry-" You blurt, confidence and rage melting away as he gives you that cold; jackal grin.
"S' okay, a little fights cute." He uses the tip of his boot to kick the knife up into the air with a practiced skill, grabbing it up with his free hand. He leans in, lips centimeters from your ear as his breath makes you shiver. "Alright, lemme rephrase," His voice turns cold again. "Carve those pretty letters into our new forever home, or I carve them into your fucking thigh." He spits. "Either way; they get written. Choose wisely, cause I'm showing a hell of a lot of restraint. There is a choice I think is a whole. Lot. Hotter." He kisses the shell of your ear as he takes your hand, folding the knife into it again and closing your fingers around it gently.
With a shaky fist, you barely scrape your initials, followed by '+ JB forever' into the painted white wood. You're zoned out, barely conscious of what you write as henlets out another wild hoot and holler, the delinquents around you whooping in response.
Despite not being left in that barn, you feel like you might still be in the jaws of a monster.
