#pedro pascal father figure

[juletheghoul]

father figure II

a/n: Y'all really pulled for Clint to win the poll, and I am nothing if not committed to giving you want you want! 💕 Thanks to @foli-vora & @just-here-for-the-moment for screaming at me about this and for letting me scream at them about it too. I know we're all pretty messed up about...well, you know, so lets focus on this hot older man being soft. xoxo

Warnings; 18+ no minors, vague but big-legal age gap, oral sex (female receiving), dirty talk, shitty dad (neglect), absent mother (abandonment issues), allusions to illegal activity, domestic violence, daddy kink, secret relationship, period piece - takes place in 1987, Clint being a big guard dog for you and others, and riding a motorcycle because of course he would, let me know if I missed any! (I haven’t seen the movie, so I went rogue in terms of where he lives, his backstory and pets)

Pairing: Clint Flood x F!Reader

Ko-fi link 🥲💕

word count: 6.2k

reblogs are appreciated

Masterlist series Masterlist

The days leading up to Thursday crawl, every minute until you see him again like a slow drip from a leaky faucet, each one indistinguishable from the last. Nothing was worse than the night before though, even with the exhaustion of a long shift, of being on your feet all day and dealing with picky customers, sulky teens and unruly children racing down the aisles, sleep was a stranger once you got into bed. The promise of seeing him, possibly going on a real date–or, whatever it was he had planned was too exciting to let you succumb to that heavy feeling in your limbs. 

The next morning found you curled up in that same position as the night before. With more energy than was necessary you were up and jumping into the shower. Your mind wandered as you scrubbed, all of the different possibilities of what he’d planned. Questions about what to wear, which shoes, would he want you to dress up? Question after question kept popping up as you rinsed and shut off the water. What would he wear? A toothpaste covered smile stares back at you at the thought of him in a suit. 

The house is empty, but that’s nothing new.

It’s peaceful without the frantic energy of your father bumbling about, the sounds of kids playing outside comes through the window, melding with the low hum of the little radio in the kitchen. You wonder idly what time he’ll come get you, hopefully not while your dad is home. 

Coffee steams as you start to worry over exactly how this’ll go down, he hadn’t exactly given you much detail, maybe he’d only said it offhand. A tiny flicker of fear burns low in your gut that you’d taken him too seriously, too literal and maybe today wasn’t a solid, definite plan. The soft knock on your kitchen door wrenches you out of the spiral. 

“Hi sweetheart.�� He smiles big when the door swings open, warm brown eyes crinkling with mirth and you mirror the expression, worrying about him not keeping his word had been silly. 

“Hi.” You bite your lip, peeking around him in case your dad was around but he shakes his head no.

“He’s busy, we have time.” He steps through, and the smell of him mingles with the freshly brewed coffee. It settles somewhere in your chest, how comforting it is and when he closes the door and slips his big hand around your waist to pull you in for a toe-curling kiss, it drops into your gut like a stone. Your fingers clutch at the lapels of his jacket, your mouth curves into a smile and he hums into the kiss. 

“Hmm, you taste sweet, any coffee left for me?” His hand is so big, so warm, so firm on your lower back it forces your body into an arch against him. 

“Yes–I’m happy to see you.” Your body is so sensitive to him, every single inch attuned to the hard planes of his form. 

“I’m happy to see you too, baby.” With a few more soft, minty kisses he lets you go, winks when you sigh happily and move to pour him a cup of coffee. 

“So, what’s the plan?” You put the cup down in front of him, black and strong. He pulls you into his lap, the sharpness of him hits you again, the zipper of his jacket, the stiffness in his jeans. It only served to highlight your softness. 

“You’ll see. Go on, get ready.” His big palm lands a crack on your ass, not hard enough to hurt, but hard enough to send a thrill through you. 

“Okay okay, I’m going, bossy.”

Your heart races with every step you take up towards your room. Your attention keeps creeping down the stairs to that wonderful shape of him in your kitchen, sitting with him, imagining the small smile on his lips as you rush to get dressed. 

“You look beautiful.” His eyes travel the whole of you when you finally come back down, unabashed. Your face heats, everything in you wants to hide but he pulls you forward by your wrist, presses another kiss to your mouth and leads you out without another word. 

“Oh my god–” The motorcycle in your tiny driveway is a shock, big, acid black, so obviously him.

“You’re not scared are you baby?” He walks over, helping you with the extra helmet he’d brought. You shake your head and lie, chewing on your bottom lip as he carefully buckles it tight enough that it won’t come off, gentle enough that he doesn’t pinch your chin. There’s a slight tremble in your limbs when he helps you onto the back, the rumble of it underneath you is something else, like a big jungle cat purring against your bones, only louder. 

“Ready?” He looks over his shoulder, smiling at the no doubt terrified expression on your face. You nod.

“Okay, hold onto me, nice and tight.” Your arms around his waist tighten, your thighs grip outside of his hips as he slowly backs out of your driveway. When he finally takes off down your street, you scream in delight. 

It feels like flying. 

The wind almost whips through you, tears gather in your lashes as he winds between the cars and makes his way through the city. Never has anything felt so liberating. Despite the fear, the adrenaline courses from the top of your head to the very tips of your fingers and toes. 

“You okay back there?” He yells over his shoulder, slowing down for a turn and you nod before remembering he cannot see you. 

“Yes! This is amazing!” You speak into his ear, his palm presses against yours where you hold onto him, you inch yourself closer. 

All too quickly, he’s pulling into an underground garage, and parking the bike in a numbered spot, beside the car you’ve come to recognize as his. 

“Are we at your place?” He unclips the helmet, helps you down and hangs it on the handlebar. 

“Yes.” 

He’s quiet, but smiling as he leads you towards the entrance into the apartment building. 

The lobby is nothing to write home about, exceedingly beige, run down and not exactly a place you’d want to be in after dark. Not exactly a place you’d want to be in without his reassuring shape beside you. The elevator doesn’t help. The light flickers, the doors take an age to close. It smells neglected, dusty and dry, it creaks worryingly loud as it crawls up towards the tenth floor. 

“It’s an old building, but it’s really quiet.” 

“I’m not super into elevators, they freak me out a little.” His hand rubs your shoulder and you breathe deeply until finally it dings open. 

You’re not really sure what you expected his place to look like, but it certainly isn’t what greets you when his keys turn the lock and he guides you in. A giant, fluffy cat meows angrily from just inside. The windows are massive, and light bathes everything in the apartment. His furniture isn’t new, but it’s very well taken care of. Everything is neat and tidy, and a part of you feels almost ashamed at what you thought might be waiting for you. 

Maybe it was the younger guys you’ve dated, with their laundry piled on the floor, with their dirty dishes on different surfaces throughout their places, cigarette butts and empty beer bottles. 

“Go on, make yourself at home, I have to feed Louis before he rips my throat out.” He shakes his head, rolling his eyes. He walks past you towards where the grey cat sits, tail swishing in annoyance.

“Yeah yeah, I heard you. I was only gone for a couple of hours.” The cat stalks after him, meowing almost in response, an argument in two languages and you cannot help but laugh. 

You’re staring out the big window at the city below when he comes back. His chin rests on your shoulder, his hands slide over your hips and your heart races. 

“Want a tour?” He presses kisses to the side of your neck, the short scruff tickles the sensitive skin there, and you pull away with a laugh. 

“I’d love one.”  

His bedroom is just as neat as the rest of the apartment. His bed is bigger than yours, the whole room is. A chair sits in the corner beside a small side table with a lamp, it makes you smile big to see a book resting there too. 

He says nothing as you look your fill, only stands quietly, leaning against his door frame as you look at the things lining his dresser. The half empty bottle of cologne is him, the smell of it when you bring it to your nose almost makes your mouth water. You put it back down, noting the small pile of change, a set of car keys, a stick of gum. 

“How long have you lived here?” You stack the coins in order of size. 

“About ten years.”

“So. Louis.” It’s hard to stop the grin, and he laughs low. 

“Louis.” He shakes his head, “I adopted him, maybe a year after I moved in here. He’s a grumpy old thing, mouthy too.” It’s like he’s talking about a relative. 

“I never pictured you as a cat person.” The trinkets on his counter lose their appeal the longer you stare at him. 

“Oh, I’m not sure he’s actually a cat.” His shoulders are so broad, even without the big leather jacket on. The bed frame is up against the big window, light streams in but when he sits he blocks some of it, that image of him as an eclipse hits you again, a protection against the burning sun. 

“No?” You sit next to him, your thigh pressed against his. 

“He's some old man, cursed to live as a cat and having to change his litter box is a particularly creative way to keep me humble.” A bark of laughter escapes from your mouth at the thought, and his smile widens. His hand comes up from its place on the bed, and cups your cheek. 

His mouth is on yours before you’ve stopped laughing. 

Everything falls away with his kiss, the world tilts in so many ways and then you’re on your back and he’s following. His kiss is soft, but with an edge. Your bottom lip trapped between his, soft and sensual until his teeth nip at it playfully. The skin on your belly trembles from the tickle of his fingertips slipping under your layers, just feeling the warmth before undoing the button of your jeans. His mouth moves to your neck, warm and humid up towards your ear while your eyes track the way he pulls your zipper down. 

“Been thinking about you here, imagined having you in every single way I could—“ his big palm slips under the band of your panties, cupping your cunt; you swallow thickly, both of you watching him just hold you.

“I can’t stop thinking about you, naked, wet and spread around my cock.” Deft fingers slip through your seam, dipping into the pool of arousal at the mouth of your cunt. He groans at the feel, surges to kiss you while those thick fingers drag the slick up to swirl slow, decadent circles at your clit. 

His lips brush against yours, breathing in your soft moans and low whimpers while he drives you clean into madness.

“Does that feel good, baby?” He nudges your nose with his, “Tell me. Open that pretty mouth and tell me.” He slows his movements, and it’s like you could map out his fingerprints from just how attuned your body is to the feel of it.

With another thick swallow, you nod, breathing out a whispered yes.

“What are you thinking?” His knee shifts, but you don’t feel anything but his mouth on your cheek, and his fingers between your legs. Words are hard, and they don’t come to you right away, your heart pounds in your ears, your nipples are hard as diamonds under your layers. 

“Baby, talk to me, or I stop.” It’s a threat you cannot gamble with, so you whimper, gather what little wits are leaking out around his fingers.

“I-I’m thinking, I—“ he swirls a little harder and the words fail you again.

“You’re thinking?” He bites at your chin, he’s so fucking cruel, teasing you like this and expecting what, a dissertation?

“Yeah, thinking…thinking, oh god—thinking it feels really good, thinking that I want you to keep going and make me come.” It’s with Herculean effort that you push the words out through kiss-swollen lips and he rewards you. Two thick fingers slip inside you, deep and stretching.

“That’s my girl, good job baby, you want Daddy to make you come?” Slow, rhythmic pumping of his fingers makes your brain blank, before he bites your lip again. That he likes you calling him Daddy, that he encourages it makes your blood sizzle in your veins.

“Yes Daddy, please—“ it’s so fucking close, so warm and licking up your spine. 

“Do you want to come on my fingers, or on my tongue? Want me to spread those thighs and lick this cute little clit?” He laughs at the noise you make in response, you cannot be embarrassed though, not with the image of his face between your legs.

The whine you let out at the loss of his fingers is involuntary, he shushes you softly, an interesting juxtaposition with how forcefully he rips your jeans and panties down at the same time, your slick on his fingers leaves a little trail wherever they touch your skin. The prospect of him actually going down on you kicks the adrenaline up to eleven, within seconds he has you naked from the waist down, while kneeling on the floor at the edge of the bed. 

You let out a yelp when he yanks you towards his face, a heavy bruising grip on your hips, then at the flesh of your thighs. He doesn’t say anything, only breathes deep, groans somewhere deep in his chest at just how wet you are before he opens his mouth and eats.

Other guys have done this before, a tongue on your clit isn’t something new—but it’s never been like this. The guys that were willing to before may have given you a few kitten licks before moving onto the next feeling, the next position, just a prelude to fucking. What Clint is doing is miles away from whatever those other guys had done. 

The way he eats your cunt is hedonistic, animal, desperate in a way that makes you watch in awe, a way that pulls your hand down to spread the lips of your sex wider for his mouth. His tongue glides against your clit, up and down, swirling and writing words in a language you desperately want to learn. His brow is furrowed, his nose is pressed against your mound, his lips dragging down and then back up to collect the honey that leaks out for him. 

He moans obscenely, suctions his lips around your clit and strokes with his tongue. Your stomach clenches, your heart races, pleasure licks up your spine as he pulls you apart with every firm stroke of his tongue. 

“Oh fuck—yes, just like that, oh my god…I’m gonna fucking come—“ 

His eyes find yours, and the smile is clear in them as he doubles down. The suction gets tighter, one hand snakes up under your top and pulls the cup of your bra down to pinch at your nipple. Liquid heat burns a path through your being, it radiates out through your cunt and into your soul. Your hands practically claw at him, pushing his mouth where it continues its assault on your overly sensitive clit but he holds on, slows down, turns the suction into a kiss. 

“Such a sweet—“ he speaks, peppering in flat-tongued licks that make you flinch involuntarily away from his mouth, licks that morph into a noisy kiss, “pretty,” again, “wet little pussy.” He moans into your skin, like your pleasure is also his. His tongue dips low and drinks down what he’s pulled out, before finally moving up. You can taste your orgasm in his mouth, his lips, his tongue is drenched with it. His hands stop yours before they’ve undone his jeans.

“I just wanted to make you feel good, I’m okay.” He kisses you softly, smiling at your confused frown.

“You don’t want to fuck me?” There’s a pout you can’t hold back, and he laughs, not unkindly.

“Oh I am dying to fuck you, pretty baby, but I want to get started on dinner. If I do what I want to do to you we won’t leave the bed.” You sigh, turned on all over again. “I’ll go and start, you take your time and get dressed.” With another soft kiss, he rises, and leaves you, adjusting himself on the way out.

That pleasant, post-orgasm bliss weighs heavy on your limbs, you are almost too comfortable to move. His low voice slips under the crack between the floor and the door, a low conversation with the cat you never expected him to have. It’s quiet in his room, peaceful in a way that yours has never been, in a way your life has never been. You can’t help but think of your dad, you can’t help the barrage of memories and comparisons to the life you’ve lived since your mother–whoever she’d been–left. 

Part of you is obviously grateful that your dad stuck around, but there has always been that sense that you were somehow to blame for him having to do it alone. The thoughts annoy you. The mixture of your own slick and Clint's saliva between your legs cools, as does the arousal behind your belly button. Now was not the time to focus on your mommy, or daddy issues. 

He’s whistling when you finally emerge from his bedroom, clothes back in place, his comforter smoothed out. His smile is enough to shake the ugly thoughts and memories from your head.

“What are you making?” You stand beside him at his counter, leaning close to hug his middle. His lips press a soft kiss to your forehead. His kitchen is neat, there’s a bench near the big window full of healthy, thriving plants and you’re surprised all over again.

“I’m making us some cutlets, a salad, some asparagus.” Three shallow bowls are lined up, an assembly line to dredge, and coat thin pieces of chicken in flour, beaten eggs and breadcrumbs. Another unexpected aspect of him. 

“That sounds good, can I help?” 

“You want to wash the greens for me? There’s a strainer in the sink, lettuce is in the fridge. 

You get to work, picking leaves off of the head and rinsing them in cool water. It’s quiet, calming to move through the motions while he prepares the chicken, while he fries it. His lips keep pressing to your forehead, to your temple, your neck whenever he gets close. 

“Is there a big bowl I can put these in?” With your task finished and the greens dried, you search for where to prepare the salad. 

“Here, put them in here–” You frown when he pulls tupperware out from a cupboard and hands it to you. 

“We’re not eating here, baby. We’re packing it all to go.” Your frown deepens. “Just trust me, let's rinse these as well.” He hands you a container of cherry tomatoes, and winks before continuing with his task. It all comes together surprisingly quick, a bag packed with steaming hot, crispy cutlets, a big bowl of salad, some pan-seared asparagus. His expression is the happiest you’ve seen him, moving about his small, light-filled kitchen, gathering a couple of plates and cutlery, napkins and even a folded up table cloth. 

“Okay, let’s head out.” He tries to usher you out of the kitchen but you plant your feet.

“Wait–what about the dishes? Let's do them–”

“Don’t you worry about dishes, I’ll take care of them later.” Gently, but firmly, he guides you towards the entrance. 

“Where are we even going? Can’t we stay here?” The frown doesn’t dissipate, the thought of leaving his space, the comfort of it, the peace, you pray that he isn’t taking you back home.

“Can you please just let me surprise you? I am taking you somewhere nice, trust me.” He nods at your shoes, at your jacket and with a small sigh you follow. 

“You aren’t taking me home right? Can you just tell me that?” The thought of seeing the peeling vinyl of your kitchen table, of waiting with bated breath for your dad to walk in and kill the mood makes your stomach roil. He lets out a small huff of amused laughter. 

“No sweetheart, we’re not going back to your place.” He holds the door open, “Louis, I’ll be back later, don’t you dare scratch up the sofa.” You smile at the pitiful meow that follows you out the door. 

-

His bike has a little compartment under your seat and it fits the bundle of food perfectly. Your mind drifts to it, just as he drifts through the streets, just as the wind drifts through your hair and that sense of calm hits you once more. 

You almost laugh, the neighbourhood goon, the big bad criminal makes you feel safer and more loved in the short time you’ve known him, and the even shorter time there’s been any kind of romantic interest than anyone ever has. He pulls into a small parking lot for a park you vaguely remember visiting as a child. 

“What are we doing here?” He undoes the helmet, helps you off the bike and then pulls the bundle out from under where you sat. 

“Picnic, thought you might like it here.” He grabs your hand and leads you towards the wooded area. With anyone else, this might have caused you to panic, you might have found yourself legging it out of there as fast as you could but not with him. He’s a beacon of safety, funny enough. You don’t walk too far, and within a few minutes he has the cloth laid out, the food open and the salad dressed. With a smile he gestures for you to sit. 

“This is…I don’t know what to say.” Emotion swells, feelings that don’t make sense, feelings that don’t fit inside your body ebb and flow like a tide. 

“You don’t have to say anything, eat, relax, spend some time with me.” He presses a soft kiss to your mouth, and it spills into your heart. That tide overflows with the threat of tears. You turn away and take a deep breath, he’s kind enough to avert his gaze, lets you keep your dignity. 

The food is good. Really good. You eat in a comfortable silence, shoes slipped off, taking in the beauty of the flora. 

“It’s beautiful here.” You comment between bites, staring up at the lattice of tree branches criss-crossing high above you. 

“It is.” He nods, his head tilts up as well, his neck draws your attention. “I used to come here all the time when I was a kid.” He’s somewhere else, in another time, with other people. 

“With family?” You prod gently. He nods, taking a big bite, part of you can see the calculation in that bite, an excuse to not elaborate, you let him have it. 

“I don’t know if I’ve ever been here. Maybe once when I was little?” You poke around at your plate, spearing a cherry tomato. 

“What’s your favourite place to go to?” He wipes at his mouth, he looks somehow taller, half laying half sitting up, legs stretched out. 

“Oh God, I don’t know.”

“There’s gotta be somewhere you like being–” He takes another bite, his neck distracts you once more. 

“Well, I’ve always liked the outdoors, stargazing and all that. Actually a couple of years ago, my friend's mom drove us to that big planetarium to see Halley’s Comet.” 

“How was it?”

“Shit actually,”  you laugh at the memory, “We got there too late, but it was nice to be there anyway. The view was really pretty.” He laughs along with you. 

“That’s a long drive to miss the whole thing.” He puts his empty plate back in the bag. 

“I enjoyed the drive, my friend’s mom is really sweet, almost felt like I was part of the family.” Your empty plate joins his, back in the bag. 

“Can I ask what happened to your mom?” He replaces the lids on the food and you help. 

“Beats me. She left before my third birthday.” He frowns, but you shrug. “I don’t remember her, and my dad got rid of all her pictures so I have no clue what she looks like. I don’t even remember her voice.” You huff out a self-deprecating laugh, but he doesn’t join. 

“It’s whatever. Better that she left, she obviously didn’t want to be a mom so who knows how she might have treated me if she’d stayed.” You shrug again, he stays quiet. 

“That’s depressing though, let's talk about something else.” You smile to show him that it doesn’t matter, you’re definitely over the abandonment–at least, you tell yourself you are.

“What about you? What are your parents like?” 

“Well, my parents died a long time ago.” 

“Oh God, I’m sorry–” You kick yourself mentally, here you are on this nice picnic and the topic of conversation has changed from a shitty mom to dead parents.

“No, it’s okay really, happened a long time ago. My dad went first, he had issues with alcohol and he drank himself to death. My mom died a few years later, cancer. I didn’t have a good relationship with my father so to be brutally honest, it was a relief. My mom though, I was really close to her.” He frowns at the memory, you take his hand and squeeze. 

“I’m sorry.” It’s all you can offer.

“Thank you, she used to bring me here, no money but she’d pack up whatever we had and spend the day.” Your heart swells, cracks in two and he worms his way in, deeper than anyone or anything before him.

“Sweet of you to bring me here.” You press a kiss to his mouth, once, twice, and then a third time.

“I can be a pretty sweet guy.” He smiles, and while it’s obvious he’s happy to be here, there’s a flicker of something in his grin, the curve of it not quite reaching his eyes. 

“Do you want to talk about it–” He shakes his head no, and your words die in your throat, maybe you’ve pushed it a bit.

“No, it’s okay.” He presses another kiss to your lips, a silent, but effective distraction. A wordless truce, a peace treaty to not discuss those deep-seeded scars you both carry. You clutch at it, and enjoy just being with him. 

-

Seconds slip by, and every single one feels like an eternity. 

“Will that be all?” Your mouth does its best impression of a friendly smile, you’re grateful it’s enough. The bone-tired mother of three nods, attention split in quarters between her children and you. 

“Yes–hey, drop it.” One of her kids, a toothy little boy drops the tape and returns to her side while she pays for her rentals. 

“Please be sure to rewind your tapes before returning, if they’re not returned within two days, then late fees will apply for every extra day they’re late.” You hand the small stack of tapes to her and she nods, one eye on her kids. 

“Have a great day.” You speak to the back of her head, sighing loudly to no one in particular. 

It’s been a week since the date with Clint; it feels more like a month. Your dad still has his meetings, and by his uncharacteristically good mood in the last few days, something has gone well. You can’t say you’re entirely happy about the big wad of cash you spotted on his dresser this morning, but if it keeps your bills paid and the lights on, it’s none of your business. The realization, the decision–to ignore the implications doesn’t silence the doubts, it doesn’t alleviate the worry. They only swirl faster, amplify and haunt you throughout your shift, bounce along with you with every step you take home. 

Clint is at your house when you walk in, leaning against your kitchen counter engrossed in a conversation that doesn’t seem to be going well. His brow is furrowed, his voice is raised–until he meets your eye. His expression, his obvious bad mood doesn’t dissipate. Your father doesn’t acknowledge you, his attention is wrapped up in whatever issue they have between them. 

“I’m just going to grab a drink and I’ll head up.” You speak to both of them, your dad only tries to look around you when you cross his field of vision. 

“Don’t bother sweetheart, I’m leaving.” His voice is so neutral, so different to how it’s been when you’re alone. “You, go get what I asked for. Now.” It dips below freezing when he speaks to your dad, the urge to argue is thick in the sigh he lets out, but he rises with a huff and makes his way up the stairs anyway. Once out of sight, you feel his hand on your arm, and then he’s sweeping you into a crushing hug. He smells like cigarettes, like his cologne and engine oil. 

“You free next Thursday?” he whispers into your ear, his lips pressing to that place just under your ear. You nod into his neck, holding onto him tight enough to make your arms ache. 

“I’ll be here–” his mouth finds yours under the ugly yellow lights of your kitchen, frantic, consuming, you’ll see the evidence of this kiss in your panties later. Your dads steps sound down the stairs and then the Clint you’ve come to know evaporates. Instantly, you miss his grip, his smell, his touch. 

“Here.” Your dad sulks, handing Clint a small bundle wrapped in a cloth. He takes it, and leaves without so much as a word for your father. He catches your eye when you follow him to close the door however, leaving you with a wink, and a nervous feeling in your belly.

-

Saturday at the video store is always insane, especially when a bunch of new releases came in on Thursday night. They’re all gone of course, the Friday night crowd snatched them all up but that doesn’t stop people from coming in and asking, hopeful that some good samaritans have returned them early. 

“Sorry–” You speak over your shoulder, the young couple on the other side of the counter wilt, “Nothing in the return bin yet. Your best bet is to come back on Monday, usually they’re dropped off Sunday night.” They sigh, the hope gone. 

“Thanks anyway.” They pout, resigned to look through the aisles for something else, something they haven’t already seen. 

“Hey–” Your manager, Stephen, is going through a shipment at the end of the counter, he looks up at the sound of your voice.

“Need a coffee, want anything?”

“I’m good, you go ahead–Bobby!” He calls out to your coworker, “Come watch the register.” 

The sun is bright; enough so that the jacket hanging in the backroom of the store will probably make its way home in your arms instead of on. The diner is sunny, a little warm but the smell can’t be beat. Savoury and salty, threaded with whatever pies are fresh. Warm sugar and fresh coffee, a hint of sun-warmed plastic, and perfume. 

Lois, the waitress catches your eye and smiles knowingly. 

“Just coffee, honey?” She calls out, making her way behind the counter. 

“Maybe, how are the donuts?” You try to peek over the customers sitting at the counter. 

“If you wait a few minutes I could get you a fresh apple fritter.” She pours steaming coffee into the paper cup, smiling at your exaggerated nod. “Sure thing honey, give me a few.” 

You bounce on your heels, your tongue watering in anticipation. Your fingers practically shake with the promise of the sugar high as you try to dig the change out of your wallet. 

“I got it, here.” Clint’s voice nearly scares you half to death from where he appears behind you. He sets a twenty down on the counter, giving you a wink. 

“You don’t have to–” He tuts, gently holding your hands in their tableau, twisting into your wallet and hands Lois his money. 

“Keep the change Lois, let it cover whatever she wants tomorrow, or the next day.” Lois raises her eyebrow, but nods. 

Your cheeks ache from trying to hold in the smile while you take your coffee and warm donut. His hand settles on your lower back, guiding you gently away from the counter. 

“We keeping this thing a secret from everyone? Or just your dad?” He whispers beside you, your belly trembles, your heart races. 

“What’s more exciting?” You bite your lip, probably doing a very bad job of keeping emotions off your face. He lets out a low laugh. 

“Understood.” He nods, separating from you to move further into the diner, “Say hi to your dad for me, sweetheart.” You watch him make his way over to someone sitting alone in a booth, he doesn’t look back, and for that you’re grateful. 

The gears in your brain resume their regular rhythm, urging you to move from your place, and you do. They move you right into someone walking in through the door, luckily it’s only Jen, your other manager most likely stopping in to grab something before her shift. 

“Sorry!” You smile at her, holding your steaming coffee away from both your bodies. 

“You’re good, bit of a traffic jam.” She laughs, dancing her way around you. She’s closer to your dads age, but fit in a way that told you she took advantage of all those exercise tapes at the store. “Give me a couple of minutes and I’ll walk with you, just need my tea.” 

A few moments later she’s standing next to you once more, steaming tea and what you can only imagine is her usual bran muffin clutched in her hands. 

“Ready?” She pulls your attention away from where Clint sits, following your gaze but saying nothing until you’re both outside and walking down the street. 

“I remember him.” 

“Who?” You speak around a bite of fritter.

“Clint, he's in the diner.” She gestures with a shake of her head. 

“Oh?” 

“Yeah, you’re probably too young to remember but he almost killed a guy like ten-fifteen years ago? It was brutal.” She shakes her head, sipping carefully at her hot tea. You don’t respond, a deep frown settles on your face. You knew he had a reputation, everyone did but this wasn’t something you’d ever heard, and if you had you certainly didn’t remember. She sees the conflict.

“I don’t really know the whole story, but, okay you know Mercy? Sweet lady who works at the pharmacy?” You nod, because yes, everyone knows Mercy. 

“Yeah well, back in the day she was with this guy, real fucking prick–used to beat the shit out of her.” You gasp, “Yeah, we all knew, but she’d been with him since they were kids or something. I don’t know–well I guess he made an enemy out of Clint and long story short, Clint put him in a coma. Knocked out a bunch of teeth, broke his jaw, probably would have killed him if he hadn’t stopped.” 

Ice flows through your veins, the man she’s describing doesn’t align with the one you’ve come to know, come to care about. 

“If you ask me–” She continues, oblivious to your internal crisis, “-he was protecting Mercy but they won’t say. Mercy loves him, refuses to say a single negative word against him, swore that her old man attacked Clint and that it was self-defense but he didn’t have a scratch on him. Makes sense though, with what happened to his mom.” 

“Clint's mom? What do you mean?” You keep forgetting just how small this town actually is, despite its size. 

“Oh yeah, his dad almost killed her. He would get loaded, go home and wail on her. My mom used to work with her before she passed away.” 

The video store bell dings as you make your way inside but it doesn’t feel right, the floor is wobbly, the air is thick. Jen says nothing else, leaves you with new knowledge and new feelings you don’t really know how to process. It doesn’t seem real, the version of him in the park, cooking in his neat little apartment, the version who owns Louis. It doesn’t mesh with the person Jen described. 

It churns and churns, water crashing against the shore, his bright eyes and warm smile–the grip of his hands on your thighs and then broken bones and blood. It’s not as though you can just ask him, something about hearing a rumour about him makes your stomach roil, he’s given you no reason to be afraid of him or to doubt his feelings. With the last bite of fritter, with the last sip of the cooling coffee, you decide to put it out of your mind. 

It’s none of your business. 

---

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[avatarofthetimelords]

at this point i’m just collecting fictional father figures like pokémon cards

(no i don’t have a healthy relationship with my father why’d you ask?)

[ellieslittleburrow]

Summary : You were supposed to come home at dusk. But the flaming sunset was too beautiful not to enjoy. Joel doesn't like that.

Warnings : None, just the very beginning of a father-daughter relationship

A/N : Comments and critics are welcome 🥺🥺👉👈 your girl needs them ❤️

------

It's....some time after dusk and your body is vibrating, endorphins being the cause of that. You rush "home" calling out for Joel as you enter the house.

"There you are" You turn to him when your eyes find him. "Youwould nnnot believe my view today." You start walking up to him, momentarily wondering why his features are still-but you're elsewhere, really it was-"Such a good view-the clouds orned the sky with like-a shit ton of colors and all the greens turned into these like-muddy greys and-

"Shut it, Y/N" A sigh of exhaustion follows his rage, causing you to shake your head in disbelief, stopping mid sentence.

"Wha-"

"When did i tell you to come back?"

"Uh" You watch the man, examining his facial traits-which now that you actually look-don't seem as amazed as you are by that story youre telling-

"I asked you a question, Y/N" he gets up and you take a step back, jerking your head again in, slowly processing things.

"You...before it gets dark-But i really didn't think it was such a big deal i mean-" your eyes widen as his face extorts.

Maybe youuuu shouldnt have said that??

"But its only been a few minutes since it got dark." You attempt a defensive response but given the bitter scoff that just left his lips- "not a big deal?" it's easy to say your attempt has failed.

"Not a big deal?" Joel's voice abruptly rises. "Do you have any idea what i had gone through in the past hour?" He leans inward and you lean away, tensing up.

"Joel i wouldnt have g-"

"Next time i tell you to do something-You do it. Get it?"

You watch him, ignoring the question.

"Get it?" He asks again, voice lower and teeth gritted.

"Joel-im sorry i didn't mean to d-"

But Joel walks away, unforgiving, causing you to unconsciously and softly launch yourself at his back, wrapping your arms around him and pressing your cheek against his back.-What else would you do- "Joel i swear i didn't mean to scare you-I'm sorry" You bury your cheek harder against his back.

And as silence sets in, His fingers softly brush against yours, and for a second it seems like he's giving it a thought-before he averts his hand away and yanks yours from his waist.

"Just don't do it again." His voice is softer than earlier, calm and more collected.

It's not your first fight, really. It's just your first....sentimental one. He's never acted this way before, and you've never actually done such a thing not on purpose. Sure, you carried a gun without him knowing for a while. And you lied to him about your whereabouts a million times. But you never even thought he'd ever get this worried.

Does that mean he's getting protective over you?

-----

@mymelodymia

-----

I've been overthinking this bitch for the past month. I'm sincerely hoping yall liked it ❤️❤️❤️🥀🥀🥀

[mags-yaps]

was it not enough that i just lost bobby (911) and then joel (tlou 2)? i had to lose pope francis (irl, not conclave) too? 🥹

[rosieshipper]

You know it’s funny that a lot of my parental f/os are like the biggest swooned after in fandoms. Like for a majority of my parental f/os people would be like “Omg he’s such a dilf. I wanna make out with that old man” and meanwhile I’m standing over here like

“Aheem heem. That’s my dad right there.”

[missdaddycool]

🥳🤍

[rayslittlekitten]

Source: @pascalispunk via IG stories

[scoopdi-woop]

No thoughts. Not one single thought besides Ethan Hawke in western films

[soulreader05]

Happy Father’s Day🎉

To my live action dads

To my cowboy dad

To my government dads

To my space soldier dads

[ellieslittleburrow]

Fics I planned on writing before you-know-what 🤡🤡

[icyfox17]

I WATCHED THE WILD ROBOT!!!!! IT'S SO GOOD

It didn't make me cry which shocked me bc everybody told me it was Depressing and I didn't find it that sad... (And I cry easily) But it was so very sweet!!! I really really loved it<3

[blushpetalbaby]

petition for pedro pascal to be cast as professor utonium in a power puff girls live action adaptation thaaaank yew

[poutypisces]

pedro… my love…. please give me a chance…. i could make you happy 😔

[acozysoulwrites]

Found family | J.M

Description: (fem!reader) and Joel are sitting in an empty town atop a roof when the conversation of her father comes up. Joel realizes he’s helping her as much as she’s helping him.

~ No trigger warning ~

They are sitting atop a tall building. The night is young, the stars only just appearing, coming out from hiding. Clickers followed, they could hear a dozen below them, prowling blindly through the streets, listening and waiting for something or someone to move.

Joel tosses a pebble and it clinks, rolls down a metal roof, and a clicker shrieks, stumbling after the noise. He smirks to himself.

"You’re nothing like him, you know."

Joel frowns, glancing at her. "Who?"

"My father. You aren’t like him. I shouldn't have said that earlier... So I'm sorry."

Joel nods slowly, eyes facing back out into the darkness. "Okay, apology accepted."

She lets out a sigh, picks up a pebble, and tosses it.

"What was he like?"

Silence fills the space between the two and for a moment, neither of them moves an inch. Joel worries he's opened an old, unhealed wound.

"He was kind of an asshole" She breathes.

Not upset. Good.

"He was a drunk when I was growing up, then when my mom filed for a divorce, he basically quit drinking right then and there." She starts.

Joel hums, "Well, that's good ain't it?"

She shakes her head. "Like I said. He was an asshole, tons of abuse" She says quietly, looking at her hands which worked nervously in her lap.

"You ever get involved?" He asks.

"If necessary, then when she left I took her place."

Joel nod's again, letting her know he was listening. He swings his feet back and forth slowly, nervously. He wasn't great with this emotional, comfort shit... But he was trying.

"Did you get out?"

"This was my out," She gestures to everything around them.

Joel feels a pang of sadness in his chest. He brings his hand up to her shoulder, pulling her against him. "I'm sorry kiddo", he almost whispers.

She leans into him, her arm wrapping around his back gently. "It left this... sort of emptiness inside me, you know? Like there's always been something missing for as long as I can remember. A father, maybe" She says, a small smile growing on her face as she feels him squeeze her tighter.

"Yeah... I'm sure" Joel says, glancing down at the girl in his arms.

Joel knew that emptiness. He had felt it for far too many years now. When he lost Sarah... Well, it had nearly consumed him. Yet lately, little by little, the emptiness in him had started to fill up again.

Little did he know, hers had too.

[starryeyed-spacegirl]

This is for all my fellow Prospect fans out there!

I have listed below, for your viewing pleasure: a compendium of my three (3, ☘️3️⃣🎶) Prospect fics !

After Launch is my original baby child, set… you guessed it… right after launch at the end of the film! It’s a 3 chapter what-if imagining of how Ezra and Cee would react to being so suddenly paired together, and it was such fun to write ❤️

Gilded man is currently one of my top my fav WIPs: a 1940’s, Indiana Jones-ish AU of the film, set in the Amazon.

But Ezra and Cee are wonderful characters no matter where you set them, so not that down

And last but not least, “there’s by the time you read this”, an idea I took from a writing prompt, based on one character writing to the other, describing all the things that will have occurred by the time they receive the letter being written. It’s cute and fluffy, yet a little bit course and rough around the edges, just like Ezra (And I love it nonetheless).

Then, finally, here’s my treasured playlist for my fav sci-fi reluctant father daughter duo:

✨Enjoy ✨

[theavefinn]

contributing to the narrative that pedro pascal is so incredibly easy to draw (he absolutely is)