❝ 𝘳.𝘦.𝘮. ❞ [ Pedro Pascal characters x reader ]

growing up | bittersweet

prompt: Missy brings home a boy

warning: mild language, mention of Missy's late mother, and I got carried away so just beware that feelings ensue

word count: 1552

pronouns: gender-neutral

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second-person point of view. . .

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There was pure rage hidden within his usually oh-so kind and optimistic deep hickory irises. Rarely did such violent feelings find themselves a home in his commonly so forgivingly understanding heart. In almost any other circumstance, it would have frightened and worried you. But given the current context, you found it amusing.

"Staring at him like that won't make him make spontaneously combust," You reminded him in a low voice with a playful smirk dancing on your lips.

"You don't know that," Marcus said quietly with a deathly serious tone, not tearing his eyes from the teenage boy. The teenage boy was sitting in his living room on his sofa next to his daughter. His teeth grit against each other as he had to stand several meters away and watch the boy blissfully touch Missy, helpless to stop him.

"You need to relax," Your voice was soft and comforting to his tense body. You came to stand behind him and look over his shoulder as he leaned on the wall just outside the earshot of the young kids.

"Missy is almost fourteen now," You pointed out to him gently. "She was going to bring a boy home eventually." Marcus did not look at you, his attention too trained by fury to focus on much else.

"Not that boy," Marcus hissed lowly. Your hands wound around his firm bisept and tugged lightly, urging him to remove himself from the wall. It took a solid minute of pulling before he finally budged, allowing you to pull him away from the living room. His gaze lingered on the teenagers before they were blocked by a wall.

A twinge of fear flashed over him when he could no longer monitor their behavior. Your hands were soft on his arm as you hauled him into your shared bedroom, closing the door behind you. Your hands drifted from his upper arm to his shoulder and you pushed him to sit on the edge of the bed.

Marcus reached out to tuck his arms around your waist so he could lure you between his parted legs so your knees carefully met the mattress. Your hands draped over both his shoulders intimately as he peered up at you.

Marcus looked far more calm now that you were in front of him. His anger faded into a sigh of frustration at the loss of control--of protection over his daughter. Missy never mentioned the boy before the evening he arrived to their home after school. Marcus had yet to determine whether or not he was someone she needed protecting from. You, however, knew it did not matter who Missy brought him.

"You don't need to be watching their every move," You told him sweetly, lacing very intentional sympathy into your words. "You know damn well Missy can lay him out." A proud chuckle escaped Marcus' lips. You were right, maybe he need not worry for her safety as heavily as he did. They were just down the hall and the boy appeared remarkably lanky.

"I still want to punch him," Marcus admitted, his high emotions now fizzling away. Your fingers lazily played with the soft curls that laid on the nape of his neck.