A collection of one-shots featuring various Pedro Pascal characters. Including: Din Djarin, Javier Peña, Joel Miller, Marcus Acacius, Marcus Pike, Dave York, Javi Gutierrez, Oberyn Martell, Jack "Whiskey" Daniels, and Max Phillips. Most contain expl...
summary: You work for rival agencies, but every time you and Jack meet on missions, things heat up.
rating: Mature (Kinda enemies to lovers, dirty talk, fighting, mentions of sex, feelings)
word count: 1100+
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You dodged the punch heading straight for your head, hitting him in the stomach hard with your own, making a soft groan of pain escape him.
"You've gotten slower," your words came out breathy.
You took in Jack's attire—the jeans, a grey button-up under a black leather jacket, the absolute eyesore that was his Statesman flask belt buckle, and as usual, his cowboy hat that seemed to defy the laws of physics in fights.
He moved quickly on your next assault, getting your arms in a lock behind your back and holding you against him, his mouth at your ear, hearing him panting.
"Now, sugar, is that any way to greet your dear ol' friend Jack?" He asked.
"We're not friends," you replied.
"Now I ain't so sure about that, sugar. I seem to recall us being very friendly in Barcelona."
Your mind thought back to the night you let him fuck you on a balcony, and you felt heat move under your skin. You moved quickly, breaking out of his hold and spinning to kick him, Jack blocking it and tackling you to the ground, hugging your arms against your body while his cowboy hat-wearing head hovered over yours.
He was smirking, eyes twinkling as he looked at you.
"I don't reckon why you always wanna fight me on it, sweet pea," he said, making you huff and roll your eyes at the endearment. "You know how this is gonna end," he continued. "I'll offer you the job I so very much would like you to take with Statesman, you'll decline much to my dismay, and our joyous meeting will end with you screaming my name. Isn't that right, baby girl?"
You snorted.
"You're ridiculous."
"I don't know, sweet pea. You got that look on your face like you're thinking about the last time I was buried deep inside you," his face moved lower, lips hovering over your own, voice going deeper. "You love our rendezvous', the fighting, the fucking, it turns you on, gets you going. I bet you're already dripping for me. All I'd have to do is flip you over, pull down those pants, and sink right in. You want that, baby girl? Want ol' Jack to fill you up?" Your breath hitched in your throat, body thrumming.
"You missed a step," you whispered, ghosting your lips over his.
"Right," he sighed, ready to be turned down for the tenth time, leaning back to look at you. "My sweet pea, why don't you give up that work you're doing with that abysmal agency and come work for Statesman? We've got benefits, retirement, and moi."
