farmer's daughter | l.jn
→city boy!jeno x country girl!reader
genre: smut, horror, suspense, southern gothic, 70s au, x/pearl au
synopsis: high and mighty jeno think’s he’s too good for the country side. maybe a lonely naive farmer’s daughter can help him waste time… well, he should've really thought about it beforehand.
warnings: ADULTS ONLY, MINORS DO NOT INTERACT! heavily implied murder, religious themes, sleazy jeno, “naive” reader, manipulation, oral (f receiving), unprotected sex, riding/cowgirl position, rough sex, obsessive love syndrome, sheep and fawn as symbolism, fight over control, implied fragile masculinity and creepy men, violence, blood, lowkey descriptive animal x animal consumption.
wc: 14k+ || anothology masterlist || soundtrack || ao3
© 2025 YOJEONGIN all rights reserved — please DO NOT translate, take, nor repost any of my works on other platforms. reblogs are HIGHLY appreciated and preferred!
disclaimer: this is purely fictional; in no way am I condoning this behavior, trying to offend anyone, nor is it meant to place such image on the idol, these are only characters. read at your own discretion.
an: well summer has been over but I’ve spent my entire summers in the countryside with no wifi unless going into town so trust this is as accurate as it gets. and again, remember this is part of a series that touches on immorality.
Jeno doesn’t always seem to notice many things. He didn’t notice the job application his cousin gave him said he had to move to Austin. He didn’t notice the road he'd taken as a 'shortcut' was actually the longest way to the city. And he definitely didn’t notice his gas tank wailing and begging him for the past hour and a half to fill it up, to feed it. Starving, and in no short amount of time, it would tire, conceding its responsibilities.
That came faster than expected and while Jeno sang his lungs out to the melody of when I die, the cows eating away the weeds laughed at him with every forced push and huff to make the truck keep going. Jeno didn’t understand why this was happening and he was growing scared that perhaps the biker with the billiard eye had cut a wire or drained the gas he had put in before returning to the station for a bathroom break.
But that wasn’t it. Crossing paths with the man was four hours ago and if anything he was a sweetheart to the raven haired man.
No, his negligence is what led him to this horrid path, finding himself stranded in front of mocking cows and temperamental winds which laugh in his face. If it’s a cool breeze, it’s a light chuckle. If it’s hot — well, the wind can't help but cackle at his misfortunes.
By these events, what most bothered Jeno was being stranded in the middle of butt-fuck nowhere with disgusting yellowing fields, hideous beasts, and horrid heat that couldn't be masked by open windows and blaring winds.
“God fuckin’ damn it!”
What was there to do besides complain? Worst of all, there was a gas station twenty miles behind he passed due to his ogling of a go-go dancers’ billboard for a club off the road. Yes, that’s the only reason why he took this bump hell of a ‘shortcut’ marked by the clawing of tractors and herds stampedes.
As words and filth spew from his plump lips, Jeno’s eyes roam his surroundings in hopes that someone will come by and save him from this self-inflicted misery.
Despite being punished by the tarnished old piece of metal, it had left him right in the entrance to a farm. It wasn’t anything special. A traditional old farm house with dirt clinging to the grooves of swollen wood and red tiled weathered down roof.
It wasn’t anything special.
That’s what he saw first beside the yellow tall grass, oddly colored for summer. The chilly breeze was treacherous next to the harsh Texan sun that blinded him if he ever so slightly lifted his head. Perhaps the sun was his enemy, blinding his eyes and heart with every step he took in direction towards the tattered old home.
In the trajectory towards the high risen creaky porch, Jeno hadn’t been able to see or hear anything, only the rusty door screen which he believed remained locked while the home door was fully opened.
Shade the porch granted took him out of the trance the sun fooled him into. His ears cleared up and the sound of sermons on full blast danced into them, prickling with preaching and scoldings that reminded him why he has not attended a service in years.
That alone made him contemplate on whether he should knock and ask for aid. What if they try to indoctrinate him? What if he gets scolded when they learn he only took the off road to see topless women in thongs?
But hunger was stronger and his awoken stomach was now notifying him of such. A whiff of roasted vegetables and cooking meat drew him closer to the screen, enough to feel the rusty mesh against his sweaty face. He didn’t care for the hygienic issues, for now he wanted to be fed. Something he ignored after finishing his last kolache from breakfast. The sausage might have been cold and the bread stale but the sheer concept of food was enough to satiate his hunger at the time.
Jeno’s knuckles softly rap against the stained wood of where a pushed-in doorbell resided. The metal was beginning to oxidize similarly to the doorknob that he unconsciously held. Ever since he stepped foot past the gates of the farm, the sun seemed to take control of him.
There was an eeriness to the premises and with every passing minute he felt observed. Strange though, because despite all his knocking and pacing around the loud creaking porch, no one came to his aid.
He knew there was someone home, he could see a hand holding a lit cigarette between stub-nubby fingers. The swirling smoke even made its way towards him just to laugh through minty giggles.
“Hello?” Jeno elongates the last vowel frustratedly. His stomach wouldn’t stop rumbling and with the increase of his desperation, so did the sound of the television.
A peeved huff left his lips as his body swung in desperation, taking in the decoration and furniture of the porch. Below the dock, empty milk glasses left to aerate while the chum sat next to his feet.
Almost every inch of the overhead was filled with bird feeders and wind chimes. Some metal and others glass or ceramic, but they all aimed to irk him with their constant howls. At least that was better than the preacher calling him a sinner for the fiftieth time since he arrived.
Regardless, the amount of crosses above every window and door won't allow him to forget where he is. Everything may be rusted or dirty but these weren’t. All spotlessly clean from what he could tell, almost as if they were cleaned daily.
Jeno knocked once more after glancing at the rocking chairs on the left side of the porch. Both covered in blankets and cushions. Stools next to them, and what seemed to be a rotting plate of chitterlings.
The sight disgusted him immensely, enough to gag — crawling maggots clinging to the piece. Surprisingly enough, there was no smell, he justified it with being out in the open-air.
One.
Jeno had given up and in his petty mannerism, knocking again, spewing a loud: “Bye, I won’t bother you any longer!” In his most faux friendly voice when under his breath he cursed whoever was inside rotting away just like the home and their gross habits.
Unlike last time, Jeno was aware of his surroundings now. He could hear every creaking floorboard, the clanking of pebbles under his feet, the giggles of the wind chimes, the cows asking if he had given up like a coward who would soon wait for someone to pass by. But, most of all he could clearly hear sing-song screeches battling with liquid against a metal bucket.
Jeno couldn’t believe he had missed the remaining buildings. A few feet away from the house, a tattered small barn with broken off bits of wood. A lighter wood covering cavities held by rusted nails. This was less special than the house, with no decorations and the barn doors on their last whim. One huge slam and it’d fall off its hinges.
The pebbles were replaced by straw, dry and crunchy under his boots but not loud enough for the sitting figure whose back faced him to notice that a strange man was approaching her.
Jeno took in the view before him. Sitting on a stubby stool — rendered useless as essentially squatting was the position. Hair tied in messy pigtail braids that swung around with every tug of the cow’s tit. The image of wrapping his fingers along those locks while his hands caressed the bare shoulders brewed. A bit more movement and he'd witness side boob.
There was a blue button-up tossed across the fresh straw stacks against the wall. Left in only scuffed leather boots, bandanna, and some short overalls that rode up to your upper thigh with the position you were in.
If Jeno wasn't going to experience his topless girls at least he's thankful for you. Teeth clinging to his lower lip, eyes scanning the bits of bare skin he could view while Jim Morrison screamed at you for being lost through the radio.
The weather was always treacherous. When he had been dumbified by the scorching sun, the coolness from within the dark barn had forced you to reach for the blue button-up. You could’ve easily turned left to grab it, but the ducks had other plans, waddling in loudly, demanding from whoever they saw first.
“Oh stop the whining you fatt—”
You didn’t finish scolding the pestering animals. In lieu, you abashedly stood up from the stool, nearly kicking over the half full bucket of milk. Your eyes grew and your hands went behind your back. He couldn’t see it but you were grasping the pitchfork while reaching for the blouse to cover up. The overalls were doing fine but you knew better than to be this exposed in front of a man, especially a stranger.
“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you, darlin'.” His hands may have gone up to show surrendered peace but yours went down with the pet name. Your grasp on the object loosened and your eyes sparkled every time he spoke. That perfidious smile luring you further in. It was that easy.
“My truck broke down in front of your home and I was wondering if there’s any way you could help me. A phone, some gas, a ride to a gas station?... Is your pop around?” He breaks out another smile, as friendly as he could, clasping his hands before him. A smile that often helped him out of troubles with lonely women. Steadily, he walks closer, stopping when your head negates all of his requests.
Disappointingly, his smile falters with a sigh that’s ready to turn into a complaining groans, denying it upon hearing your voice. “Daddy went to the city with my brother for some tractor pieces. They took the last gas can and I can’t drive.” Your grip on the pitchfork was gone, clinging instead to the denim over you.
“Surely there’s a phone, no?” He nervously asks, another step closer. Denied again.
“Mama doesn’t like all that fancy technology. The pastor gave nana a TV last winter and she hates it. But nana and daddy love it, otherwise it’d be silent here.”
Two.
Jeno hums, he points to the small radio near the bucket, a cheeky smile on his lips as his hand drops, similar to your head with an embarrassed tinge decorating your face. “Brother-in-law snuck it in for me. He’s kinda weird but he gets me gifts so I think that’s okay.” A giggle leaves your lips, weariness fading the longer his smile remains. Disregarding the fact this one was out of his own weariness.
“In that case, is he here? I just need some gas and I’ll be out of sight, I promise.” “No!”
There’s no denying of the desperation in your voice, and this time it was you who took the initiative to step closer. The button-up sagged and had fallen off a shoulder, long forgotten by you. “I mean, he’s not. He ain't allowed to come on his own especially when it’s just me and nana, only when sissy visits but she hasn’t shown since Easter.”
This was a lost case then. Who knows when your family would come back or if they’re willing to help. Whoever was in the home a clear example of unwillingness.
"Well, alright… Thank you.”
Ready to part, he gets stopped by your voice once more. “Would you like to wait? Nana and I cooked earlier — If you’re hungry.” Such a sweet smile decorated your lips, moistened by your tongue when he was distracted. His stomach woke up again, rumbling in a frenzy. He wanted to deny the offer. ‘Ew’ bouncing off every crevice of his brain with the thoughts of staying any longer but his hunger was stronger.
Ultimately, he smiles, nodding with gratitude rolling off his lips.
“Is your ma around, then?” He questions to begin conversation, watching your every move. Good enough for him as you crouch to grab the bucket of milk. Unbeknownst to you that the button-up and overall are doing a poor job over you.
The heaviness of the bucket made you stumble. Jeno enjoyed these moments as the fat of your breast moved around, taunting him with a nip slip that never came but was sure enjoying the game.
“Mind turning?” The blue fabric rose with your hand the second you noticed his wandering gaze. He didn’t say anything upon taking the hint. The rustling and clanking of fabric, buttons, and clasps filling the silence until you let him know it was fine with a tap to his own clothed shoulder.
Jeno hadn’t offered to carry the bucket but he knew not to make a bad impression. You country folk already think all city folks were impolite and if he wanted to win any brownie points, he oughta act otherwise. It's not like it's hard when your impressionable heart is thumping on your sleeve. “Thank you…” You timidly squeak, walking beside him and rubbing off the ache the thin metal handle left on your palm. Jeno opts to smile with a quick wink the way he knew girls liked.
Truth be told, the inside was more horrendous. Dirty carpet took over the living room where more and more cigarette swirls followed him around. The sermon hadn’t finished but the volume was definitely lowered. Besides preaching, the hacking of the one ruining themselves greeted both. No words, just hacking, coherent enough for you to understand. Almost as if it was a language of its own.
“He’s gonna wait until daddy comes back to get some gas, I’ll give him something to eat.” Received with a grunt and more hacking, obvious enough the other person wasn’t pleased with him in their home. You didn’t say anything anymore but it was obvious that whatever was interpreted, it wasn’t nice.
There was nothing special about the inside of the home. More crosses and religious imagery took shelter in the tattered wooden walls.
God, what a horrible home.
That wasn’t all that decorated the walls. In some areas, family pictures glared at him in hopes he’d leave. Not welcoming in any sense. But there was nothing special about the house, nothing in this farm was special.
Not the omniscient feeling of being watched and judged. Not the singing congregation on screen, and not the horrendous kitchen he walks in. Every inch, full of meats and dairy ready to be taken into town to be sold. Nothing special.
"Nana don't like guests.” Pointing at the counter next to an empty chum, Jeno leaves the bucket of milk there. “But as long as she don't see you, you’ll be fine.” The awkward pity smile turns joyful when you look at him, leaning against the sink. He mimics it, whispering a "Thank." he doesn't believe he should’ve uttered overall.
An overwhelming smell of spices tickle his nostrils, he figures it's the meat and what came from the oven. Ignored by the image of land before him, brighter than the grass patches he stepped on from the barn to the home.
There weren’t many trees besides a large one with a tire swing attached by old rope. A long overdo change of twine. Just like trees, no houses either. It was simply this dinky place only. He doesn’t think it’s beautiful but it is better than the ranch he had to work at in Paris or the one in Valentine.
“Beer?” Your voice removes his focus from the window, looking at the steaming plate in your hand and wide eyes, almost puppy-like. He found to like that, a smile forming on his lips seeing them glisten. “Yeah.” You return the gesture, placing the plate at the head of the kitchen table, back to the fridge where you take a can and open it for him.
You sat on the chair beside him, cheek to your palm, watching him fondly like this is a rare sight to see. A fantasy you're dreaming of and one he's playing with. Jeno smiles at that, a soft laugh leaving him the while he raises the can to thank you once more. It was awkward to say the least but he knows he'll have his fun.
“You’re a good cook.” He nervously laughs, taking a sip of his beer to down the grease. “Really?” You perk at his words, hands to the table and an excited smile as you lean closer to him. Precisely how he figured you'd react.
“Mama thinks I have much to work on. She says I add too much spice but I think she only says it 'cause daddy finishes the food when I cook but hers lasts until church.” An animated giggle left your lips, feeling more comfortable in his presence. He liked that, he liked seeing your cheeks round every time you smile or laugh, or your eyes shutting when he compliments you.
“My mom would say you’re ready to get married. She jokingly told my sister and months later she booked it to DC with this fancy pants. Now she doesn’t let me cook, she fears I’ll do the same.” You both laugh at the anecdote, your hand gracing his, something he won’t dismiss.
“So what were you doing around here? No one ever takes that road.” Your hand didn’t move, inching closer and closer, something he looked at with a growing grin.
Swallowing the piece of chicken in his mouth, his back straightens. “I start a construction job soon so I took a few days to enjoy the beach. It’s a little murky and cold but Galveston is all I can afford for now.” He laughs, playing your game and gracing your knuckle. Covering it with the motion of picking up another hash brown wedge and plunging it in his mouth.
“I've never been to the beach. Mama says the lagoon is better than the beach and it’s more decent.” You shrug, “It’s dirty and stinky from where the cows go in so I don’t see what she does.” A pout replaces the smile on your lips, slumping over the table, only pushing your hand further into his. Jeno musters another laugh before taking one of your fingers into his own.
He wonders how your lips would feel against his. More so when you reach for a strawberry in the basket next to the napkin holder. Jeno watches your every move, admiring the small bite of the berry, your lips wrapping around it and having a tiny sliver of juice trickle down the corner of your lips. He’ll have to lick it clean, essentially.
“I could take you if you want.” He mentions flirtatiously, taking the leftover berry from your fingers to get a taste himself. His plump lips turned red, suckling on the juices to avoid your mistake. Your teeth took your bottom lip under them, legs closing slowly at the image before you.
“Mama won't let me. Not with a stranger.” Right, he was a stranger after all. He found this comical, mainly because you had warmed up to him instantly.
Laughing, “I’m becoming less of a stranger now aren’t I, sweetheart?” He grasps your arm, the tickling warmth pricking your skin deep to the bone. If his touch felt this way, what about him?
“Where you headed to after?” “Austin.”
“Oh daddy says it’s full of— well, Pastor Mark said we shouldn't use foul words.”
If only you could read his mind and what he’d ought to do to you.
"Mama said it’s full of whores, though.”
You couldn’t say other words but whore was fine? He’s not surprised. Matter of fact, he receives this with a laugh. “I’ve heard so.” He shakes his head with a smile on.
“More food?” You offer, he immediately denies. Jeno agrees it's delicious, but immensely fatty for only one in the afternoon, even if he scarfed it down. “Pecan pie, then?” He denies desperately again. You’ll have to kick him out rolling if he ate so.
“Please? Just one bite…” You pout pleadingly, those same eyes he liked earlier, staring into his dark ones. Damn them for he has fallen for your antics. “Maybe just a taste.” He reluctantly answers, your glee making the annoyance fade away.
Giggles escape through the crevices of your teeth, scooping the warm crust and filling onto the metal spoon. It was as warm as the pie, but cool against his tongue. The sweetness of the filling is intense but acceptable. He wondered if this is how you liked it. Tooth aching and warm with no ice cream.
Maybe this is how your tongue tasted.
“Mm, so sweet…” Almost like a hymn while looking straight into your eyes. “Mama’s recipe. I tweaked it a bit.” Your gaze doesn't falter, bodies closer than before. He took this as an opportunity to take a hold of your hand. The small touches —although fast paced— were becoming unbearable and all he wanted to do was have you in his arms. Your light touches, stares, and smile were driving him crazy. He could kiss you — was it not for the elder in the other room.
A harsh thud from the other room prevents anything to come into fruition, and in a frenzy you stand up. Perhaps he thought too lowly of your grandmother's mobile ability and too lowly of your care that he sighs heavily as he rises to his feet with faux helpful pleasure.
But the worry he thought he saw on your face was wiped with the harshness of your voice, like that of someone scolding a child. He couldn’t hear anything but the tone was firm enough. On occasions, harsh whispers and scoldings were audible between hacks.
“Whores go to hell.” “Give it a few days, you should know.” Your words left in between gritted teeth leaving her in silence, the sermon on the television increased its volume like when he first arrived. He wondered what had led to that, but he couldn’t blame your reaction. The lady had been a nightmare without even talking to her directly.
Returning to the kitchen with an ashtray and cans of beer, the look on your face was one of annoyance. You tried hiding it from him with a smile but the fire in your eyes remained. The only thing that made you forget your grandmother, was seeing him doing the dishes — something you rushed to stop.
“Oh, please don’t. I got this, you can just sit.” Jeno felt the whiplash hit him. One second you were angry and sad, and now you're panicked. Practically begging him to stop on something so menial.
He should know better. Especially with how easily you were to open up to him. But, when his interest is not with how you feel rather with how quick he can get what he wants, Jeno would rather staple on those rose tinted glasses — just like you have.
“It’s no problem at all, anything to take some responsibility from you.” The dried side of his hand caresses your cheek, an embarrassed grin replacing your worried pout. “I appreciate it but mama won’t like it. You’re a guest, I can’t let a guest do this.” There was a hidden panicked whine in your voice, he wanted to drown it and wonder how much deeper it could go. If you weren’t so pretty and enticing, he wouldn’t be there to begin with.
Stapled heart shaped rose tinted glasses.
“You talk so much about her, but she’s not here. I doubt she’ll notice.”
Your gaze lifted with his words. The warmth in your eyes was not there anymore, almost as if he had struck a nerve. The seconds felt excruciatingly long in the silence of your heavy glare — albeit, nervous, as well. The creaking floorboards in another room making it worse. He figured your mother was a sore subject, but he can't find it in himself to care for this to continue.
“She’s on a church retreat, should be in Midland or Odessa by now. They’re going all around the state to leave the word of God.” The Almighty's name broke away your gaze from him. “Sissy went with her but they told me I had to stay to take care of nana and daddy.” That whine was back, bitter this time.
Jeno was beginning to understand your role in the family. He didn’t care much for it but it was entertaining for now; not everyone opens up this quickly. Besides, it's not like you’re angry you weren’t performing your religious duties, you just wanted to get off this damn farm rather than deal with the mess it is.
“How old are your siblings?” He turns to you, drying off his hands while you now put away the dishes. “Sissy is thirty and Bubby— my brother turned ten last month.”
“How about you?”
Turning to him and lowering your arms from the cabinets, a bright grin is shown.
“Legal.” That is all Jeno had to hear.
Soon as he was to approach you, you turn to the back door. “I’m going back to the barn. Daddy will be madder than a wet hen if I don't finish my chores.” He took this as an invitation even if it wasn’t. There was no way he was staying in there while every crevice yells at him to get out or be stuck with your geriatric grandmother. Who knows, maybe she’ll hack in his face if he dares to greet her personally.
No, you won’t leave him alone in that horrid home.
Trailing behind you with rushed steps, you swing turning to look at him. “You know, mister… you’ll have to help if you oughta stick by me.”He nodded knowing he had no intentions on doing it well. If he slacked off maybe you’ll grow annoyed and forget the conditions.
“Great. In that case, you’da clean the pigsty.”
Pigsty? Perhaps staying with your grandmother wasn’t so bad.
To be frank, Jeno did not want to help. He only reluctantly agreed in order to get more brownie points with you. He felt like goldilocks; he’s eaten your food, enjoyed the comfort of the kitchen, but now he wants a perfect bed to lie in. Preferably with you on top or below him, but for that he can’t just take it, he’s not a monster after all. The bears are awake and bright, he has to win the cub over.
Through the passing of time and his constant gagging from to the horrid smell, Jeno was coming closer to giving up. Things got worse when cleaning the corners. All were stained with an oxidized red he didn’t know too well but was weary of. The initial stench was only worse with this discovery. He had been too immersed in the filth that he hadn’t realized the red splatter across the wood.
The pigs hadn’t left him alone the past near two hours. They tried biting him many times but the shovel in hand coming in contact with their head made them pull away with a harsh squeal.
Their hunger seemed to become worse, and when fending them off, Jeno can only focus on the horrid feeling beneath his foot and crack that came with it. Alerted when the pigs rushed to his feet, making him tumble enough to see slimy red under his heel and fresh blood ooze from where he had stood. Jeno didn’t have time to curse the pigs, left in horror when he noticed he had stepped on a few developing eggs, a matter squashed under his heel and sticking to it.
No worry for these horrid animals; these beasts carelessly devoured the matter grotesquely.
He knew pigs were filthy animals, heinous and the most disgusting but he never thought to this extent. To see them gleefully munch and lick the soft red lumps was making his stomach churn. Hearing their mocking snorts as the cartilage grinds from their teeth. Red stains they flash his way before snorting again.
His intestines push up his throat and mirror the chitlins he had seen on the porch earlier. Was this what they were trying to do to him with every thrown bite? Those snorts and grins were nothing but a mockery of fate. Telling him he has saved himself this once.
This once.
The cow on the other side stares at him, almost communicating that he should get over it and man up, this was the farm life. As patronizing as your grandmother, she huffs, laying in the corral — hers was clean. Cows, ever so sacred and understanding of their fate.
Soon enough the mother of those eggs came in. A clueless goose, with no mind to the devouring pests until the shells she created with much pain came into view. Her desperate pecks and significantly loud honks deafened anyone. Yet, the pig kicked at her like he had done to them. Futile; her creations were gone.
The beak left some lesions on their thick hairy flesh, but nothing could make them grown a sense of guilt. If anything, the depravity of one made it turn to nip her neck, enough for the goose to fall limp.
Jeno couldn’t handle it. There was no need for him to experience this. Indignantly, he rushes out the barn with a look of disgust and breathing in the fresh outdoors air, cleansing his sinuses of the filth pigs create.
Resting his hands —with a tremble he had not noticed— on his knees, gagging at the memory, Jeno tries hard to breathe properly. He’s on edge and anything will throw him off, just like the soft touch on his lower back. Startled, Jeno turns with a harsh grip on the hand, eliciting a pained groan. “I— was just checking to see if you’re okay.” Your voice was careful and eyes frightened.
“I’m sorry, darlin'. I didn’t mean to— you startled me.” He pants, hand running to his thumping chest. Your own hand took a hold of his forearm, worry plastered on your face.
“Come on, let’s get this cleaned.” Confusion and annoyance was filling him. Jeno didn’t understand what you were talking about, he was almost worried you were meant finishing the pigsty together and there is no way in hell he was going near those beasts again.
“What are you talking about?” He questions with a harsher look and tone, enough to startle you. “The cut on your arm…” You calmly explain, but there was a brewing disappointment with his attitude that was made him grown more irritated.
You weren't allowed to see him as anything else than what he's been showing you. No.
Jeno hadn't grasped the severity until he saw a large gash on his forearm. It didn’t hurt, wasn't aware when he got it but it was slowly trickling with thick dark beads of blood unlike the stream from the eggs and then their mother's neck.
A sense of dread filled Jeno the while you drag him inside the house. He couldn’t help comparing himself to the pigs who didn’t react to the goose's poking until they had enough. Almost like he had with your nagging.
But he was no pig. He's no damn pig, and should not feel this dreaded guilt. At least not when he has not yet done any damage.
You were nagging him about something that he didn’t bother listening to. He had put up with you long enough and there was no delicious whining to your tone which did nothing but irking him further.
The plate of chitlins was replaced with fresh ones and cobwebs in the corner of the overheads were gone. The clothes on the drying line were also gone, the empty wire was a sight for sore eyes to him but not as much as the figure in one of the windows that made him jump in his step, jolting his arm out of your grasp so he could hold onto his thumping chest.
Messy and filthy Jeno. Can he not see he has now stained your last pair of clean work clothes? Ungrateful, pesky guest.
He knew the house was old, and things were odd since arriving, but the occurrence in the barn and this was driving him mad. As far as he knew it was just you and your grandmother in this farm. And, there's no way the woman that could only hack to communicate had cleaned outside let alone rush to the attic simply to glare at him.
“What?!” You ask confused and justifiably as annoyed as him. He was being fairly rude as a guest and you knew mama wasn’t going to like this. Most of all, you didn’t want nana to be right about him. That hag should never be proven right.
He wanted to describe what he saw, yet the words wouldn’t leave his mouth and his limbs froze in place. His tongue formed a knot and he was unsure of how that was possible. Unfairly, it felt like barbwire the longer he tried to unravel it. Scraping the pink muscle and leaving its geographic marks.
Jeno could swear it was that woman in the attic. Wearing a white dress, almost prairie like, covered in the same splatters he saw on the barn’s wood. Her gaze followed his every move, terrorizing him furthermore. It's far more uncanny that he can't get a clear look of her face, blurred every time he tries to look at her directly. He turns to you, eyes practically begging you to help and see with your own eyes. But when he looks back up, she not there anymore, making him seem like a fool before you.
"God bless your heart." You scoff, pulling him inside the home, muttering something under your breath while he regains his. He feels foolish and lost. Oxygen had left his brain for too long, feeling like he was losing this game he created and which you willingly went along with.
The house was of no help, deliberately mocking him. Showing that it knows he's weary of nothing and he's simply a coward. The feeling of angered impotence intensifies the while you drag him towards the bathroom. Your grandmother's hacking is refined and clear to him now. It's not simply a cough, it's a cackle that haunts him, louder with every step.
She's laughing at him, she is being proven correct about him.
Everything mellows out when you slam the door behind him. The scratching of his brain and tongue leave. The static that rings in his ears and sermons are completely gone. This rickety dark bathroom proves to be his own saving grace and with a heavy sigh he thanks it. A "You're welcome." returned to him in morse code by the flickering light bulb hanging by a cord on the ceiling.
Your movement is noticeably hostile. Stretching the gauze to the point of nearly ripping each fiber, drowning cotton in rubbing alcohol and pressing it delicately on the wound just to increase the pressure. Jeno winces, eyes shutting from the sting. It's torture, he knows it is but he does not think it's on purpose.
The hostility forces the safety barriers to decay; your grandmother's TV sermon seeps through the cracks and crevices to bury into his wound and sting further. Jeno doesn't think he's ever been this miserable in his life. Not even on the long periods of forced labor by his father as a child. Was it not for his interest in you, he would've remained in that damn truck.
Right, his interest in you. Jeno isn't in your best graces at the moment, evident in the way you rub soaked cotton balls around the wound. Not as bad as the first time but still painstaking.
"I'm sorry, love." He breaks the silence, drowning the preacher's muffled voice. You grumble in response with a shrug. He doesn't back down, taking your hand into his before you can keep on punishing him with alcohol soaked cotton balls. The action only makes you glare at him, albeit it doesn't last long, slowly fading with the playful pout and wink he sends your way.
You don't outright say the words, but he can tell it's forgiven with the tone of your following words. "So what's the city like?" He sets your hand free, your rubbing of his wound proving you could be delicate. Jeno bites the inside of his cheek, holding back any resentment and weakness.
"Loud, crowded, people rushing everywhere and into big skyscrapers." His free hand pushes away the fly-aways from your braids. Some strands sticking to your cheeks. He hadn't realized how hot and humid the restroom was. Jeno chalked his sweating to the reaction from your petty cleansing and freighted soul.
"But?"
He laughs, patting your cheek. "But at night the lights are bright, music is loud, clubs are booming, and cinemas are full. You've been to a cinema?" A rhetorical question that you still answer. "What is it?"
Jesus Christ, how sheltered have they kept you?
"Really? It's where you go and watch movies on a big screen. Have you ever watched a movie, even?" You shrug with a nod. "Yes… but, only the ones the channel on TV run."
"In dark times such as these, we must all remember to look to the Lord for guidance." Your grandmother's sermon grew louder, blaring under the shut bathroom door.
"Well, some cinemas are huge. It gets nice and dark, you sit down with a cup of pop and eat popcorn. I went last week to watch The Texas Chainsaw Massacre and Alice, Sweet Alice. They had a revival event going on." He leans closer, similar to earlier in the kitchen. "And there's also drive-in's. I like those more, you get nice and comfortable in the truck or the bed and… you get to have some fun…" The latter he whispers, breath fanning against your cheek. You could feel his free hand caging you in.
"Resist the Devil…"
By the graces of God, you turn to face the sink, washing your hands viciously. Maybe it's the sin in your head, maybe your grandmother was right, but this man is nothing but Satan personified trying to lure you as it has with Eve.
"I could take you." He laughs, wrapping his arms around you just to deceive by joining in washing his own hands. "We can lay out some blankets in the bed. The cabin is spacious enough, if privacy is better." He laughs, each word prickling your skin. Any grime from the pig pen leaving his body as he releases those words. It feels liberating to an extent, painful the second he registers his hands prickled from the nearly boiling water.
He pulls his hands away, eyebrows furrowed when yours remain as if you were in thought. No signs of pain. If you weren't so endearing and alluring to him, he would not feel guilty for thinking you're insanely weird.
"Mama won't let me." Glumly you respond, wiping you hands dry. He hums along the creaking floorboards, feeling your warm hands against his injured arm, wrapping the gauze around the wound. His finger goes under your chin, forcing you to look at him. "She's not here is she?" Pity swaddles every word.
The increasing volume of the sermon and creaking floorboards leave you silent for longer. That impotence he felt earlier, clinging to you when it's all heard too near for your liking. "I guess not…" Your timidity leaves with each whispered word, a semblance of peace anchoring itself the closer Jeno gets. The more silent the floorboards became.
"…And he will flee from you!" The preacher's attempts are futile the second Jeno chuckles. Pearly whites shining under the yellow bulb before you feel his plump lips cling onto yours. It's shocking and strange. His lips are too wet and cold despite the horrid summer heat but they're also soft and they force a tingle that brews from your stomach down between your legs.
Like a sinner with no redemption, you sigh against his mouth. Arms wrapping around his toned torso, warm and hard under your flesh. Jeno seems pleased with this reaction, one he rewards with snaking his tongue inside your mouth and lapping your own. It's sweet and bitter, the mixture of pecan pie and lingering beer still there. Nothing unfamiliar.
His hands knead your ass desperately, finding a way to cup your bottom and hoist you on the sink; Jeno nestles himself between your legs. Insatiable as the beasts he denounced, Jeno can't seem to separate himself from you. Hands in a frenzy kneading any skin he can feel and lips latch to yours despite how much his lungs beg for air.
It's not granted to him until his fingers fumble with the clasps of your overall, attempting to take them off with no avail when you push him back. "Promise you'll take me with you?" Panting you utter, pecking his lips. He reciprocates them in attempts to deepen the kiss again. "Of course." He rushes, kissing you once more. Fruitless, because you can't seem to drop it and he's growing irritated with every hesitation.
"I'm serious." It's clearer and with no waver in your tone. Jeno takes notice of it but doesn't dwell on it, not when he can feel the warmth between your bodies increase. "I promise, love." He forms a cross over his heart and one with his fingers that touch his lips. It's blasphemous and makes you feel sickly aroused.
You cup his face, pulling him in for a hungry kiss. It's messier than those prior and his use of too much tongue doesn't matter. It doesn't matter how good it feels to have him dry hump you. The denim you both wear makes it painfully pleasurable. This is what sin truly must feel like, you figure. You know it is.
Jeno attempts to unclasp your overalls again. And again you halt the action, much to his displeasure that his eye twitches to his understanding.
"Here?" You ask trepidatiously. "Yeah." He shrugs, doing his best to hold in the agitation. "It's inconvenient… uncomfortable." His fingers rake through the raven locks, scratching a little too hard. "Lead the way, then." He sighs heavily, moving back to help you off the sink.
Jeno knows he's being irrational and a dick. The thought of the beasts back in the barn haunt him with the way he's acting with you. He hates the way his brain is forcing parallels between the two when he knows he's nothing like them.
The lapse between the bathroom and wherever you're leading him outside of the home was met with your grandmother's hacking becoming louder. Mixing between rage and begging for something that only caused you to dig your nails into your thighs. The grumbling from earlier returns, just as inaudible as prior. It's maddening but anything within these acres will make you feel so.
One thing is for sure. Jeno has caused something that meant that hag lost whatever him and her had unconsciously begun. And Lord, does it feel fucking good…
His pride blinds him the way the sun had done when he first arrived. Further confused when he notices clothes back on the clothesline, this time muddied and… bloodied? Solid specs of something cling to the cloth, dehydrated immediately by the sun.
While questions pop in his head, his need for an orgasm is far bigger. He doesn't care if the clothes are disgusting and hanging on something meant for clean clothes. He doesn't even care that they've popped up when no one but you could have placed them there, yet you've been with him for a significant amount of time to do so. And as far as he knows, the wheel chair next to your grandmother's recliner prove that she can't even roll down the porch's steps.
Jeno is blinded by lust and pride. Five more sins to black out from the list.
It's fairly nice in the shed you dragged him to. The wood seems newer than the one that composes the main home and the barn. It's waxed and polished. It reminds him of the trailer home he shared with three other coworkers when working in Ruidoso. Oddly cold for New Mexico.
You seem to have caught on to his curiosity, wrapping your arms around him, leading him onto the bed. "We had a worker. Nice guy until he started to rid of the animals." That should explain the splatters in the barn. They looked too large to only be the doing of the pigs.
"You never truly know people…"
Three.
A slight push is enough to sit him on the bed, rebound present in the spring's creaking. His eyes fixate on your hands, the way they waltz over the overall's hardware. Nimble fingers swaying with them to cruelly drop it and move onto the next. Jeno doesn't mind, he welcomes it with a grin and his bottom lip trapped by his upper teeth. Increasing the crimson hue of his flesh.
He leans back on his palms, the stretch of his limbs cause a sting on his gauze cladded arm. It's bearable if it means he gets to enjoy the striptease he was promised.
It's a loud thump against the floorboards by the heavy denim and hardware that force him to look at your bottom half. Eyes raking the smoothness of your legs to the frail and thinning panties. He notices some loose threads, overshadowed by the satin pink rose in the middle that scream at him for a touch.
"Would'ya do me the honors?" You ask, fingers toying with the delicate buttons of the shirt. The top button must've been undone when he was busy ogling your nearly see-through worn panties. He chuckles, sitting up only a mere inches to get a glance at your present cleavage. The buds of your nipples teasing the further you pull down on the grotty fabric.
"Don't I deserve to have you do it after getting wounded? No veteran discount?" You shake your head, "No. You ain't finish your task and you're distracting me from mine."
Jeno takes this gracefully, amused, even. He laughs, properly sitting up, with his hands on his lap and more blood staining the gauze. "Well, I'm sorry, sweetheart. I guess you're right." It's slightly patronizing —fake, if he's honest— masked by the comedic relief he felt after being here for a few hours.
Fingers feel rougher than prior. He makes sure to tease and taunt in the process of sliding his digits down the fabric. Some touches 'sliding' off onto your skin for a feel of flesh. It's warm and sticky, sweat slowly drying off but visually present. It smells like a warm angry summer that leaves you never wanting to experience it again but you embrace when it returns — torturously familiar.
When Jeno finishes working on your buttons, he lets the fabric fall slack off your shoulders. You stare at him, his attempts to distract you by unbuttoning his own flannel work. Jeno is fast with it, much desperate and unruly to the point you hear some stitches popping here and there.
He's as glorious as Satan had been. The image of a fallen angel sculptured to be perfect by the hands of God personified before your eyes. He's as tempting as the fruit of Eden and if you've fallen before, you'll fall once more.
Your hands perch on his pecks, nails softly raking through the taut skin. He smirks, reveling in the feel so pleasurable to him.
Jeno takes your distraction as an opportunity to latch his fingers onto the elastic of your panties, slowly pulling the fabric down your legs. He lets out a pleased hiss, licking his lips upon noticing the slickness that clings to your lower lips and the fabric.
Neither speak, everything is comprehensible enough with the way you look at each other. The hunger of a wolf enticing him to the delirious sheep staring in curiosity. Unaware it is only another wolf in sheep's clothing.
He takes the bait, grinning at you the while pulling you forward roughly, his warm hand clinging to the soft mound of your ass as his boot clad feet tap your heels apart. His mouth feels hot against your stomach, and his tongue delicious as it licks wherever he kisses.
Your fingers thread through his locks, scraping in anticipation with every nip on your hips. A shudder when his mouth closes on the mound of your pelvic bone, followed by a desperate moan. Jeno has hit gold.
It feels awkward at first, his nose rubbing against you while his lips kiss between your legs. It slowly feels better with the stimulation his tongue provides.
Jeno is more interested in the silent moans you let out. In the way your head throws backs following with a tug at his locks. That is what brings him pleasure, the kind that he rewards by wrapping his plump lips around your clit, sucking to stimulate you further and keep this vicious cycle going.
He doesn't know what it is that makes you taste so deliciously different than the many others he's had before. A certain sweetness that lingers in his tongue when it swipes through your labia. Parting them to inspect every crevice with the soft muscle.
The writhing of your body in between his is something else he has discovered to like. There's a certain thrill which brews within him knowing his grip is what keeps you flush against him. If he wants to let you go, he will. If he doesn't, he won't. That's the control those arms you enjoy so much grant him. It's not like you want him to let you go either. That same depravity fills you, furthering the feeling of playing tag where both win or lose no matter what.
With such a foreign activity, it doesn't take you long to come undone from his mouth. Shuddering as he sheathes his tongue within you. It's a strange feeling, to have him open you up with his tongue and lap at the aftermath of your orgasm. To have his eyes so intently on you as you moan, howling in pleasure followed by scratches to this biceps and arms.
You're not telling him to stop, you're begging him to continue torturing you into overstimulation. But he rather torture you otherwise by pulling back, cum and saliva connecting you both. The image is tempting enough to have you lean down, capturing his glossed lips. Tongue feeling just as soft and the taste of you moving into your own taste buds.
Jeno moans into your mouth, feeling the tugs at his hair fairly more aggressive. The pleasure going down to his groin, hands rushing to unbutton his jeans and freeing himself from those restraints. One of his hands go between your legs, fingers prodding where his tongue had done earlier.
His fingers work slowly, comfortably sheathing themselves within the velvet walls. He's not intentional with anything, lazily pistoning them, slowly… dragging it out to understand what your inside feel like…
You've never felt this taken care of before, it's always quick and unsavory. Sure, some feel great but many don't. It's always take, take, take. Maybe your grandmother was wrong about Jeno, he's very giving, very doting, very hungry.
Whatever pleasure you felt left within seconds, forcing your eyes open to look at him taking his hand and wrapping it around the painfully erect leaking cock. A hiss leaves his lips with a simple touch, a painful whine that brings you the same delight yours have brought him.
You've allowed him to give so much, perhaps it's best if you return the favor.
Your eyes never leave his moving hand, jerking himself off, wanton moans flood the confines of this shed. He's rough and fast with himself, his fist applying pressure at the bottom of the base and on the tip to expel spurts of pre-come. A sheer layer of sweat, small beads cling to his pecks.
Lowering slowly to not distract him, your knees hit the dusty floorboard, some debris clinging to your sticky skin already. Your shoes had been long gone, his boots still stuck to his feet like the bunched up fabric on his thighs.
Your touch forces his eyes open, feeling awfully selfish for worrying about his pleasure rather than adding more to yours. Despite his intentions all day, he still wanted you to feel great, to have you remember him even when he was gone. Because he was special and he knew you were too.
Your nails rake his legs slowly, a red train left behind as you drag his jeans down to his ankles. He watches you kiss his thighs and knees the while you undo his boots, placing them neatly next to your own shoes. He wonders how often you've done that task, it's always a struggle for the other girls he's been with. Is it in your nature or your duty to remove boots for many men before him? Men outside of this situation, men in authority — respectable men.
It's when your lips kiss a trail up his shaft, shuddering and writhing — the way he has made you — that Jeno halts your actions and his, forgetting his inquiries. Strong and clammy hands clasp your shoulders to pull you back. He stares at your swollen lips, parted ready for another taste. Your eyes dilated as if the taste of him was enough of a strong drug.
Your head dips forward, attempting to get him in your mouth this time, yet he denies the action again, squeezing your flesh softly. "No, I won't be able to hold longer if you do." He cries, helping you up to your feet. A light stumble from the jeans that land you both on the creaking bed.
Perching some pillows, Jeno gets comfortable on the sheets, patting his thigh with a cheeky grimace to signal for you to get on. You return the expression, a giggle added the while you settle your weight on him. A kiss as a reward, his hands on your ass again, kneading softly this time. It's rather soft, more tender than the ones before.
A slap on it breaks the rhythm of this kiss, biting his lower lip from startling you. He laughs, massaging the welted area that doesn't really hurt but stings enough for it to feel good.
He watches your moves, the crouching above him while your hand works up and down his cock, using your thumb to lather his pre-come on it. Smiling skeptically when your lips pucker, letting a strand of spit fall on the tip. His tongue caresses his lower lip, eyes narrowed watching you work, positioning yourself above him before letting the tip tease your entrance.
A breathy sigh leaves him, perching his hands on your hips. Softer, nicer than before. "Not your first time, is it?" He asks calmly, not judgemental nor perverted. You shake you head reluctantly, free hand hovering over his toned torso. He doesn't say anything, simply hums, contemplation on what to think.
The innocent farmer's daughter act finally cracked.
Jeno guides you through it. Hand wrapping around yours leading his cock between your folds. You glance at him, his eyes glued to the connection between you. Shaky breaths slither through ajar lips, louder the second he holds onto your waist, helping you down on him.
Jeno's eyes shut tight feeling the warmth of you around his aching cock. It's a different feeling to you around his tongue. It's a nice stretch, a nice sting. His slow fingering hadn't done much to prepare you for his girth but the feeling of enveloping him unprepared made you feel deliciously full.
You shimmy around, hips gyrating over him the while you get comfortable. Eventually those gyrations become intentional, clinging to his torso while lifting your hips up and down, the friction between both of you forming sheer sheets of sweat on your bodies. Returning that bittersweet fruit.
Jeno wasn't shy in letting you know how good you made him feel. Lips parting and forming an 'O' shape. When they touched it was to give a pleased smile, opening them again to utter sweet nothings that made you hot in the face and lower stomach.
A hardy chuckle leaves him, pulling you in for a kiss, hands kneading the hot flesh of your waist, slowly moving upwards. "Look at you, pretty! You feel so fucking good, baby… Taking me whole, you're pretty like this, definitely fate has lead us together." His words slurred, drunk off the high you gave him. The air in these acres poisoning him further.
You reward him with light kisses that trail down his neck, nipping the salty skin. He smiles, meeting your hips halfway with his own thrusts. Breathy moans leave him, eyes closed drowning in the sensation of the warm mouth and cunt on him.
Strangled they become, writhing under you with the feeling of your teeth scraping over his nipples. Nipping them for the effect of his hips pistoning harder. It's intentional on your behalf, but not unappreciated by him. Rather, Jeno pulls you back with a mock offended grin and an airy laugh. Your gaze faking innocence, pushing his intentions forward.
"Cheeky… Cute." He nods conditioning, acting immediately by latching his mouth on your chest. You laugh, replaced by a loud moan when his teeth cling to your perked nipples. Looking down at him the while he pulls back with a shit eating grin like he "got you". It's a juvenile action, one that means nothing if this didn't make you any more wet and impassioned.
It doesn't take him long to realize what he has done. It doesn't matter either because he can feel your depravity seep into his flesh and his groin, causing that fiery arousal in him to hold onto you harshly. And when you lean down to kiss him, chest to chest, Jeno takes this new angle as an opportunity to lift his hips and fuck into you relentlessly.
This pace or position isn't foreign to you but the delicacy and the detail is. He's calculated when he thrusts forward, rushing to grip your jaw and force you to look at him before allowing his hand to take it's original position on your welted ass.
If you moan, he wastes no time to swallow it, pushing his tongue into your mouth and letting the sound slide down the muscle. And if he plans on being extra nice to you, his thighs lift off the mattress to allow the position to create more friction between your bodies, enough for your swollen clit to garner stimulation that forces cries out of you and those… those Jeno relishes upon with languid kisses that sear each other's lips.
Jeno's thrusts ultimately become sloppy and less volatile, his testicles no longer coming in contact with your bottom and for a second you miss that contact. That searing sting that felt too good but wouldn't voice in the occasion Jeno wanted to punish you by stopping, for teasing.
Ragged moans and skin against skin are the only sounds left within the vicinity of these walls. His thighs burn, the exertion tiring his body but he won't give out until you're finished. For a second, you could swear tears welled in his eyes, some spurts of come painting your walls despite how much he's holding off.
Yet, Jeno knows you're a sweet girl, and when your hands cup his face delicately, bringing your lips to him in a tender and slow kiss, he can sigh contently feeling your body begin to relax over his. One of his hands treading lightly to where you're connected, index and ring finger rubbing rapid but delicate circles over your clit.
It's you now that mimics those tear filled eyes, broken moans against his mouth, and shuddering over him with every rubbed circle. He relishes in the feeling when your cunt clasps around him. Swallowing your last moan as you come on him; he knew he would be damned if you were the one with the upper hand.
He takes it all away almost immediately, laying flat on the bed to rest his burning muscles. His fingers leave you, getting you off him, letting you sit on him the while he jerks himself off rapidly. And within seconds, his scorching spurts of come paint your stomach, dripping down the sweaty skin and down to your pelvic bone.
If he had a camera, he would cherish this moment forever.
There's a heaviness in your chest seeing the image, panting with those tears still welled in your eyes when he pulls you down for a kiss. His poor attempts of being tender not gone unnoticed but will go ignored for an ounce of affection.
Neither utter a word, Jeno laying in the atmosphere of post sex and trying his best to ignore how loud an old TV meters away could get. It's almost unfair that after he has won this little game, your grandmother's antics still linger.
"Resist the Devil and he will flee from you!"
He's not too sure how long you've laid there, with you on his chest and his arm around your body. It feels disgustingly domestic and he's glad he hears tires over gravel that force you off of him immediately.
In a spur of a moment, he watches you jump from the bed to the restroom already modestly clothed in comparison to what you and your grandmother had seen all day. There's no traces of sex or the stench of it on you that leaves him awfully surprised on how quick you could get rid of something he had worked hard to leave traces of.
The feeling deepens the moment you rush to toss his clothes at him, his boots no longer neatly tucked under the bed. "Daddy's home, hurry up!" You hiss at him, smoothing the dress that seems oddly familiar. Albeit, this one is pristinely pearl white and not stained red.
He feels like a mouse in a maze throughout these seconds. Treading lightly, almost tip-toeing around craggy gravel and rancid pasture to avoid being seen by your father and younger brother. He watches you change your mind almost a million times when deciding where to come out from.
Eventually you decide to sneak into the barn, the option causing a shudder out of him with memories of those pigs. He wonders if they're waiting for him, grimaces or maybe mocking grins letting him know his opportunity to escape was gone and now it won't be eggs and geese, it will be him. Like they initially intended it to be.
The bile rising up his esophagus begs for clemency to be let out and stop this obnoxious suffering but your spur of energy won't allow it. Pulling him out of the barn from the front and pushing a bucket into his hand with rotten gruel so disgustingly foul that he doesn't have the courage to ask what you could possibly need this for in the house.
His ears won't stop ringing either, whether it's from this inconspicuous dread that fills him — freight could be a better word — or the pitched hunting call that slowly makes his brain spin, drawing him closer without needing your aid, and a dizziness that fuels his bile's case.
All Jeno knows is how rapidly pleasure can turn into uncertainty. As odd as he finds it, the sun is to blame once more.
"Hiya daddy!" Jeno decrees this is what grounds him slightly, the floor under his feet still feels shaken and the air within these acres feels far worse than before. The poison's effects getting worse and worse.
In a blur Jeno watches you jumpily hug your father, the man's years very present in his face and stance. The sun's kisses obviously over his weathered skin, cuts on his hands from farming from days on end.
He thinks his brain can relax when he looks to the left, a fairly quiet kid with a bat in hand. There's a bow on it, something your father obviously rewarded him with for this trip. Jeno forces a smile when he notices the kid staring intently at him. Not curiously the way kids stare, but in a haunting way, warningly.
"Bubby, new toy?" Your voice breaks the gaze they share, the boy smiles with a nod. He takes your hand, skipping around the while picking up some dust, enough for it to taint Jeno's boots you had carefully managed and for the dust to enter his aching lungs.
He hadn't felt like a stranger this entire time, you instant hospitality and friendliness made him feel as if he knew you and your family for longer than the hours he's been here.
It's your brother's hostility and father's curious glare that make him feel left out. The man spits out his chewed tobacco to the left, somehow finding itself near Jeno's feet. He holds back his grimace, swallowing the spit pooled in his mouth.
"Who's this?" He grumbles, trudging heavily towards the house without tearing his gaze from Jeno. "His truck broke down," You motion with you head outside the gates, his truck nowhere visible. "Needs some fuel, daddy. Got an extra can?"
The older man grumbles again, Jeno silences his own snicker. You're just like your father.
"No. We'll fill it up after dinner, hun." Jeno can't help wince this once, your father's voice disgustingly familiar to how his had been all day with the exception that he expected nothing from you. He shouldn't, he's your father after all.
But nothing changes how suffocating and ill Jeno feels knowing he's slowly morphing into this, this that he hates so much. And if he couldn't expel his bile earlier, this and the image above on the top window sure helped.
His loud lurches and hurls force the three of you to look at him with grimaces. Confusion on your face, indifference on your brother's, and offense on the faces of your father and the figure on the window. The splotches of blood bigger than before. Brighter and fresh.
Jeno thinks it feels worse when you don't rush to his aid like before. He's used and ragged, what he wanted to do with you.
"You oughta wash up, yeah?" That's the most you throw his way, hand hovering over his back but never touching. It's frustrating how your warmth isn't felt either.
Jeno looks at you, then at the window again. There's nothing— again. Nothing for him to blame and to further make him look like a fool. Jeno can't stay here any longer, he needs to get out.
His feet think otherwise, trudging along towards the house while he kicks some dirt over the mess he's made. He winces, gagging occasionally, retrieving it when he catches your father shake his head disapprovingly from the corner of his eye.
"Man up." He's sure that's what he's thinking, sharing a sentiment with the cow.
The instant the threshold of that rickety home is crossed, your grandmother's hacking becomes louder, strained to let out everything she had in her system even if he doesn't understand it but you do. You understand it enough to rush her way and raise the volume of the TV while stuffing her mouth with some cookies she had on her side table.
A seething rage in the way you shove the dry matter into her weathered mouth, with hushed words that Jeno isn't sure he's proud of or concerned that you're showing this brash part to him. This isn't the you he has liked for the time being, he has no interest in knowing you.
Jeno is unable to hear what you tell that wretched woman but he thinks it's bad enough to make her deflate and wince like a kicked puppy. The anger of your words linger in your eyes that attempt to blink away while making your way to the kitchen in a rush.
It's reminiscent of the pace back in the shed. You move through these halls in a pace he can't keep. Clanking and open cans are heard, a sermon so muffled by now that he thanks god for once. Your grandmother's hacking stifled by the cookies she's struggling to dissolve in her mouth. And your brother like the odd little shit he is, stares and stares at him. Tapping his bat against his foot, continuing to chip off the stain until it's gray underneath.
The older offers a polite smile, waving his hand even the while he rocks on his heels. But the child minds nothing of that, in a state of mild catatonia that only applies to how he interacts with Jeno.
"Alright, daddy, I'll check if there's any." Your voice snaps him out of it, smiling your way as you lead him to the restroom so he can freshen up. There's an authoritarian pep to your step, distressed and too mature for how you had been with him — prior to their arrival — that he didn't like. He thinks the dress only adds onto this persona you've picked up.
And the while he washes his mouth clean of the contents of his stomach, Jeno notices the way you stare at him through the mirror. A semblance of worry as you chew on the skin of your lower lip.
"What is? Round two?" He attempts to tease, his chuckle comes out broken instead. When he's met with that same blank stare your brother had given him, Jeno swirls in his spot before spitting out the mouthwash.
He leans against the sink, the trimming digging into his lower side. "What is it, love?" He asks seemingly concerned. Your eyes flicker to his, mouth twisting to a side before sighing.
"I just don't know how to tell daddy that I'm leaving with you today."
What?
"What?" Jeno's eyebrows furrow, standing up properly. "You should help me pack actually." The glimmer in your eyes make him feel sick again, the grimace on his face growing.
"Today? Baby, I don't have a place of my own yet. I can't have you live with me in a trailer home with three other men, can I?" Jeno thinks of all the excuses he can muster to kill this stupid idea you have.
He offered to take you to a stupid movie, not to live with him.
"You promised…" your voice meek, eyes settling on his offended ones. He doesn't recall ever doing such thing, but he will lie if he has to. "I know, I know, baby… I'll come back for you though, yeah?" His hand reaches your arm, soothingly rubbing the clothed skin — an unfamiliar image.
"I'll come back for you, I promise." And it's disgustingly believable that your guts churn, twisting with an inexplicable anger.
"You promised you would take me." It's not whiny nor meek. Your voice is strong enough to be heard outside these walls and for the words to cement themselves in his ears. Jeno can't differentiate if what he feels is trepidation or frustration. Why is it so difficult for his words to get through your head? It's not natural for someone to get this attached to someone they met a few hours ago.
"And I will… I will, but not now. Let me get settled on my own first and I'll come back for you, darling. In the meantime I'll come visit every weekend." He smiles ridiculously, confident it will work on you. The stupid, inept farmer's daughter that will do what he wants. What everyone wants.
Jeno watches you sigh, nodding while a slow smile forming. "You're right. you're right." You relent with a content resigned smile, one he mimics finally complacent. "That's my girl." He hums, cupping your face and connecting his lips to your temple. "I'll go check my truck in the meantime."
He strides over to the door, flinging it open to have you follow behind. Your grandmother's hacking laughter is what pushes away whatever semblance of tranquility you had within you. Before he can manage to leave the house, you hold his wrist — a little too tight in comparison to any of your grasps.
"Mind helping Bubby check if there's a canister of oil from the basement? They're too heavy for him to bring up." The sweetness in your voice returns, satiating whatever Jeno clung onto from first meeting you. He's reluctant of course, his body aches and he'll go insane if he spends any time with your weird little brother.
But he has to remain in your graces if he wants to leave peacefully. So he nods, smiling tightly and having you lead him towards your brother that stands in between the threshold of the kitchen and the basement door.
The boy kicks something into the corner, Jeno can't get a good look of it but it has a foul odor and the squelching is loud enough for either to hear. You pay no mind which makes it eerie when the boy manages to cover it with the brand new bat.
"Bubby, daddy needs a canister. He'll help you, okay?" The boy doesnt respond, he simply unlocks the door to the damp and dark basement, brushing past Jeno with a shove that nearly makes him stumble. You give him an apologetic smile, gaze lingering for a while.
There's an uncomfortable silence that rises the hairs on the nape of his neck, the longing in your eyes makes him shift uncomfortably that Jeno can only think to kiss your temple again to rid of this moment. Your grasp on his wrist softens, squeezing softly before nodding to the door. Your brother had long been down there in the dark.
When he looked back to see if you were still there, Jeno's breath hitches in the back of his throat. The odd familiarity between that woman in the attic and you formed a pit in his stomach the further he went down these stairs.
He makes small talk, nervous and quivering when the wood continues to dip under his step. Your brother doesn't respond to any of this and Jeno curses under his breath. Not an ounce of light has touched this place and he's unsure of how Bubby has found his way around.
Jeno nearly stumbles when your brother turns a lantern on, shining the underside of his face. For a second he finds familiarity between your brother and the woman that he could only see in blurs.
"Easy, bud. You scared me." He jokes, hand clutching his chest with labored breaths, attempting to pat the child's shoulder before he dodges the contact.
"Your sister is real sweet…" Jeno continues his attempts. "I like her, you know." There's almost a semblance of truth in his voice that anyone else could believe, but children aren't as easy to manipulate. Your brother halts in his spot.
Jeno thinks he's getting somewhere, smiling in relief when the boy looks up at him. His face doesn't show any signs of hostility but he's also not lax about the news. Jeno can't really blame him, especially if he knew how much of a dog Jeno was.
"I'll swing by next week. Anything you think she'll like?" "You all say the same darn thing."
Jeno thinks a kick to the balls would hurt less. No, scratch that, he's not hurt but he's utterly confused and almost freighted with the way your brother clearly states those words.
No hesitation, no childlike tone. He's well spoken and angry.
He swivels around, continuing like nothing but Jeno swears there are eyes on him now. It's reminiscent of the time he went hunting with his father once. How hungry and depraved the older man looked when finding some fawn and how Jeno pretended to root for his father.
A pit forms in his stomach the way it did then.
"I do like her, buddy." Jeno tries to laugh it off even when his voice quivers on its own. Your brother doesn't immediately respond, pointing up at the canister that in Jeno's opinion was fairly light enough. No reason for him to come all the way here when your brother could have pulled up a chair.
"Just like brother in law… just like everyone."
His ears ring, watching the way the brother takes the canister from his hands like nothing. Feather light with a tight grasp that Jeno has never managed to have.
The child's strides were fast, skipping past him with an odd melody humming off his lips. With every one of his steps, the stairs creak, singing that same melody — pushing Jeno further into that feeling he's been straining.
"Do you even know her name?" The boy chides, stepping heavily on a step enough for the wood to crack. Jeno feels his soul leave his body, the step bellow his teasing him as to tell him that his is next. He shall fall with the weak wood, as weak as him.
The boy giggles, jumping onto the other step. Jeno didn't know your name and it hadn't dawn upon him that he's given empty promises to someone virtually anonymous. This shouldn't ache as much as it does, but it makes him feel the weight of his sleaziness. He's hit a new low.
"Mama don't like bad guests." He lets out in a sing song while unscrewing the cap of the canister. Jeno can't act fast enough to stop him from pouring out most of the liquid or from intentionally dropping the canister. Running up the remaining steps with loud cries, tears immediately pouring out enough to drag you to the top of the steps.
The worry on your face is clear as day. Hands cradling the crying child for any signs of foul play, but for him you'll always believe anything he says.
"What happened, Bubby?" "The can, it fell… it was too heavy."
Your soft gaze drops, turning to Jeno with a cold glare he could never expect from you. Those soft features he has learned to enjoy are gone and there's a meanness to your puckering lips that make him feel sick.
"That wasn't nice of you—" "What? Love no. I- he took it—"
Jeno slips a few steps back, holding onto the concrete walls — the material ragging his hands and nails. He winces, holding his fingers in his mouth; muffling his words. "I had it, he took it from my hands. I didn't make him do anything." Jeno defends, managing his way to the top in slow strides, holding onto the same walls that are making his palms bleed.
"That wasn't nice of you…" you repeat, softly like he likes. He sighs, looking down at the boy in your arms that grins his way in between cries. Jeno attempts to defend himself again, reaching for your shoulder just to be rejected the way your brother had done.
Rejection… it's a disgusting and vile feeling. The one that clogs your throat and poisons the acid in his stomach making it far more painful to spew. Indignantly, his voice pitches. "You can't be serious?" He scoffs, trying again, to be once more rejected with a sharp hiss.
"It's not nice of you to treat a child like that." Jeno rolls his eyes, hands on his hips staining the denim. He shakes his head, a scoff louder than prior. "And it's not nice of you to take advantage of my generosity." The seething anger in your voice snaps his head up, eyes narrow and awfully offended by your choice words.
"You've been a bad guest and mama don't like bad guests."
Jeno can't process the words he's heard so much throughout his time before he feels the ache of the wooden bat against his shins. The pain increases with another blow to his back, and lastly a push so delicate he can tell that one came from you. He's not sure if what he hears cracking are his bones or the stairs — he reckons it doesn't matter.
The words won't leave his mouth, like a new born he can only complain through moans and cries. His body aches all around, no space more than the other and he wonders if this is what that fawn all those years ago felt like when it wasn't his father nor him that finished its days. How anguished the screams had been, trampled by it's own scared herd and not yet dead when the coyote launched over.
"There's gruel if you get hungry." This wasn't your voice, he doesn't think so, even if it comes from you. Whatever force there's left of him, Jeno stumbles up rushing as fast as he can over the barely stable steps. It's futile, they only end up pushing him off with the help of the oil that stinks beyond belief. It coats his clothes and skins, marking his wrong doings.
And the only thing left for him is to cry at the top of his lungs watching you glare at him. The hands that once held him forming a cross over your heart and kissing the one your fingers make.
His gaze begs you, trembling as he pleads for clemency that does not come; the door creaks shut with the melody your brother and those steps had sung. A voice joins the door once it is shut, a creep crawling through his spine and embodied through his screeching cries.
Peace is gone, the light he didn't know existed in the attic turns on. As yellow as the bathroom light that had been the only true warmth within these walls. And like the prior one, this light can only whisper apologetic: "This is the end, my friend…" directing him towards the creeping figure that has haunted him all this time.
The stains on her dress had completely covered it, a nice crimson he sees on women at night. It's fresh, he can tell this much from the stench it emanates with every step. The splatters on her face and hands show no sign of drying any time soon.
Jeno hadn't registered his surroundings. The stacks of bloodied clothes, flies over them, and the faded polaroids hidden under. He scoots back, his blood running cold all over his body when he notices his extra pair of work boots and jacket his mother had made lazily thrown over with his own polaroid. Freshly taken of him waiting for someone to open the door when he first arrived.
Jeno had never thought he'd be the fawn or the sheep he's hunted in the past. It wasn't in his nature, he's been told all his life, but here he is now. Screaming at the top of his lung with silent prayers that he mimics from your grandmother's sermon playing at full blast.
"The Lord is my Shepard, I shall not be in want!"
The large circle over his face on the picture, red from the blood he's not sure where the woman has gotten it from. It doesn't smear nor disappears under his frantic thumb. His words jumble to drown the woman's croaking. Her cold and harsh grasp cling to his leg the while he attempts to crawl up the stairs that have betrayed him.
"He restores my soul!" But Jeno doesn't have it in him to believe these words which have betrayed him his entire life. What he does believe is the pain in his body that increases with her grasp and own blows. The rancid smell of her breath fanning over his face and it's uncanny how familiar her features are to yours that he never could guess you'd have these nefarious genes.
"You've been a horrid guest… worse than those before and I don't like bad guests…"o
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