Long Series About Timothee Chalamet

Hayloft (P7)

Warnings - abuse, sexism, slut shaming, forgiving a bad person, parole officer meeting, abusive parent, trying to seduce someone to get what you want (incesty), feeling dirty and ashamed, smut, unprotected sex, pregnancy, use of safe word, talk of virginity, panic attack, mentioning raising another man's baby, mentions of drugs, drugging someone, dissociation, gagging, nearly puking, PTSD, wishing torture on someone, description of murder, fearing for a baby's life, mentions of porn

The next couple days were filled with leading my dad around town, trying to prove how happy I was that he had returned. To my shock, most people seemed to be overjoyed. He'd been known as a faithful family man, who dutifully watched his daughter after his wife died. Timothée had been seen as a trouble maker, and when it was found out what we were doing, I was slut shamed quite a bit. The new and improved, Christ loving, forgiving, me, seemed to be closer to everyone's taste. It was driving me crazy.

We got home and my father's ego was completely puffed up. He began to remove his shoes so he could relax on the couch.

"Make me some dinner," he grunted.

"One moment," I said, letting a small bit of the frustration I felt into my voice. A hand whipped across my cheek.

"Don't be insolent," he snarled as I held my cheek.

"Yes father," I said automatically.

"Make it before that Damn parole officer gets here," he snapped. I did as I was told. I made him dinner, but he sat down right as the doorbell rang. As the parole officer asked us questions, I went into auto pilot. I answered everything with a smile, and gratitude, and hoped my face wasn't red from the smack. In my head, I was with Timothée. I needed to picture him for what I was going to do next. When the officer left, father sat down to eat again.

I held back a gag as I let my hands sensually creep onto my father's shoulders. With slow movements I massaged his back. He groaned and I fought ever urge to run.

"That feels amazing sweetheart," he said. His tone was guttural and I hated it.

"This is so great, us being back here," I said, keeping the shakiness from my tone.

"I know, nearly perfect," he said, as he sloppily scarfed down his meal. Don't gag, don't gag, don't.

"I know what might make it better," I said.

"Yeah?"

"That parole officer is so dumb, we could have fooled him with a monkey dressed in a man suit," I said, he barked a laugh and sprayed food over the table. I covered my mouth, trying not to puke.

"You should go see Venom! I think he's still selling, it might give a discount to an old friend. I think that would actually make this perfect. You were always so much happier when you used. I can be your alibi."

"I don't know," he said gruffly. I made my movement more languid, as if trying to soothe him into the idea, like a siren.

"Come on," I purred. "I can take some too. You've just gotten out of a jail stint you didn't deserve. You should spoil yourself."

"You're right, I'm going to head up his way tomorrow."

"Great idea, I'll tell everyone some story about you sleeping in late and the car being repaired."

"You're so smart baby girl," he said, getting up and giving my cheek a lingering, greasy, kiss. We watched tv together until he finally went to bed. I raced out to the hayloft, absolutely desperate for Timothée after the day I'd had.

I found him laying in the hay, even more solid than before, and threw myself on him.

"I feel so dirty," I whimpered.