#Pagan Min x Reader

[closecry]

I started playing Far Cry 4, my first far cry game, literally today and I have read all your Pagan Min stuff already

lol

o7 I am so glad that my work is being enjoyed!!! I hope you enjoy Far Cry 4!!!!!

I can't remember if they're all on my tumblr account - but there may be a few on Ao3 that you have not seen!! I've linked the collection with my fics in it just in case <3

I love Pagan, I'm so glad you do too :)

[crankycreates]

Untitled fic, a.k.a

"I AM NOT WRITING THIS GODDAMN COFFEESHOP AU" ~Cranky, 23-04-14

AO3 link

Pagan Min x gn!Reader 845 words Coffeeshop AU, barista!Reader, businessman!Pagan, flirting (sort of?), humour (or I tried at least), prologue to a story that may or may not get written...

“Shit!”

You stared at the plate. Or, well, ex-plate. It wasn’t really recognisable as kitchenware after hitting the floor. Pieces had skittered off across the tiles in every direction, like a very sad starburst, made out of shards of probably very expensive china. How the fuck could you be so clumsy? Mindlessly, you dove after the ex-plate, crawling madly around the floor, sweeping your hands over the tiles to gather up the remains before anyone arrived, uttering a string of curses.

“Fuck. Fuck! Shit shit fuck!”

“Such colourful language! Yet somewhat lacking in … vocabulary breadth.”

You whipped around — still on all fours — and were met by the sight of a pair of slightly worn but expensive-looking slippers. Above them, plaid pajama pants. And your eyes travelled up, and up, and past the pajama pants there was an expanse of skin that made your mind white-out for a moment before you took in the face above; its eyes twinkling with what might have been faint amusement. It was very hard to tell from this angle, especially since your mind suddenly snagged on a detail it overlooked before, and your eyes slipped down again — past the chest with its patch of dark hair and down the trail from his navel to the—

“Enjoying yourself down there, hm?”

You squeaked something. There were meant to be words in there but exactly what, you had no idea. You tried again: “I’m sorry— Uh— I broke this plate— I’ll pay for it, of course!”

Which was an utterly ridiculous thing to say to a billionaire. But you were feeling utterly ridiculous at the moment, so.

Pagan, mercifully, twitched his dressing gown closed, and settled back against the kitchen island behind him. Less mercifully, he said, “What if I told you that plate was worth a fortune?”

You stared up at him. Some part of you was a little bit grateful: now that you were blanching at the idea of owing Pagan Min money, you no longer had to worry about him noticing you blushing after having checked out the bulge in his pajamas. From the floor. On your knees.

Fuck.

Okay, alright, okay — backing up for a moment. How the ever-loving fuck had you ended up here?

You’d woken up early, alone in a guest room in Pagan Min’s house. Mansion. Estate? Whatever these things were called, this side of the pond. You’d been cranky and hungry and maybe a bit sad, and absolutely appalled at the notion of approaching the man about breakfast. Or, even worse, using the room phone to call ‘the help’. (’The help’ had been his word for it. He had servants. Fucking servants! In 2014! Jesus.) Like this was some sort of hotel.

So, you’d gotten out of bed and thrown on yesterday’s clothes and shuffled off in search of the kitchen. Or a kitchen, anyway. For all you knew there were more than one. And when you found one, you’d gone looking for a snack, and somehow—

Okay, but none of that explained how you ended up spending the night in Pagan’s guest room in the first place.

“Relax,” Pagan said, lips curving into an amused smirk. “I’m only teasing.”

“Yeah,” you said vacantly. You were still busy reviewing all the questionable life choices that had landed you in this mess.

He cocked his head. “You’re awfully high strung, aren’t you?”

“What?”

Wow. Seriously, smooth. Not like you had any particular hope to impress him or anything — that ship had long sailed, by this point. You felt rather like a stray he’d taken in for the night. Here’s how it happened: Pagan had found you crying outside the Golden Path Café. You were his favourite barista, so of course he would offer you a place to stay after you had been so callously evicted by—

Except that didn’t explain how you came to work at the Golden Path, or why he — the owner of King’s Coffee, the most popular chain of coffee shops in the United Kingdom — frequented the establishment of his competitors/sworn enemies.

“Come on, get up, kid. Can’t have you crawling around on the floor like this. Breakfast and Omelette might get jealous!”

He was smiling now — a nice, friendly smile — and offering you his hand. A perfectly gentlemanly gesture. A host attempting to put their guest at ease with an innocent joke and helping them off the goddamn floor. The way you stared, it might as well have been a tentacle he was holding out to you.

You said, “Uhh,” and took the proffered limb.

So anyway. This would in fact only be the first time Pagan Min rescued you from homelessness, and mortifying as the whole ordeal was, the next would be worse. Perhaps it could all have been avoided if you had come better prepared — if your mother had actually told you anything useful before she died.

Because in truth, for you, it all started with loss. With grief and ashes. With a promise to your dying mother: to bring her back to the UK, and to Lakshmana.

Read it on AO3

[vikkirosko]

🗻 Pagan Min x Reader Oneshot King's Palace 🦚

Pagan has always loved luxury, so when you first saw the palace to which the soldiers brought you, you remembered about it. You haven't seen Pagan for many years, since he disappeared, but he was an important part of your life, so you still remembered him and sometimes, looking at bright clothes or gold jewelry, you remembered him with a warm smile on your lips. You didn't want to go to the tiny country you heard about for the first time, but the letter you received made you worry. You received a letter from Yuma, in which she asked you to come to Kyrat as soon as possible. She wrote that it was a very urgent matter, that's why you went there. You had to do a lot to get permission to enter the country, but at the entrance to the country, the soldiers took you away. You didn't understand the reason for it, but they didn't hurt you. You didn't have many options but to obey them. They brought you to the palace. They didn't ask you why you came to the country, as if they knew who you were. It bothered you, but you didn't have the opportunity to object to people with guns. They brought you to the palace and sat you down at a table on which there were plates with a variety of dishes. You looked uncertainly at the soldiers who were making sure that you didn't run away.

"Do I really need to be here?"

"Of course"

It wasn't the voice of one of the soldiers. Turning around, you opened your eyes wide, not believing that you really see it.

"Pagan?.."

He gestured for the soldiers to leave, remaining alone with you. There was a smile on his lips.

"I'm glad to see you again!"

You looked at him in shock, but now the puzzle in your head has become a little clearer. You should have guessed that where Yuma was, Pagan was there.

"Welcome to my palace"

He continued to smile at you, and you realized that you still had a lot to learn about him and about the place where you, apparently, were forced to stay.

[cranky-kyrati]

OMFG i completely forgot i wrote this random snippet from the coffeeshop AU that i'm absolutely not going to write

~~~~~

"Shit. Fuck! Fuck. Shit shit fuck!"

"Such colourful language! Yet somewhat lacking in … vocabulary breadth."

You whip around - still on all fours - and are met by a pair of slightly worn but expensive-looking slippers. Above them, pajama pants. And your eyes travel up, and up, and past the pajama pants there's an expanse of skin that makes your mind white-out for a moment before you take in the face above, watching you with what might be faint amusement. It's very hard to tell from this angle, especially since your mind suddenly snags on a detail it overlooked before, and your eyes slip down again - past the chest with its patch of dark hair and down the trail from his navel to the…

"Enjoying yourself down there, hm?"

You squeak something. There were meant to be words in there but exactly what, you have no idea. You try again: "I'm sorry- Uh- I broke this plate- I'll pay for it, of course."

Which was an utterly ridiculous thing to say to a billionaire. But you were feeling utterly ridiculous at the moment, so.

Pagan, mercifully, twitches his dressing gown closed, then settles back against the counter. "What if I told you that plate was worth a fortune?"

You stare up at him. Some part of you is a little bit grateful: Now that you are blanching at the idea of owing Pagan Min money, you no longer have to worry about him noticing your blush after having checked out the bulge in his pajamas. From the floor. On your knees. Fuck.

[chickenparm]

... OK fine that last one wasn't a real prompt

Pagan Min pretending to be completely oblivious to the EFFECT he has on Reader while teasing her/them mercilessly?

OH BOY OH MAN i've never written pagan before so i don't know how much justice i'm about to do, but god willing i'll do my best for you. also this is like 1k words cause i don't think i could squeeze all i want in just 500 oops

---

Paul himself had been very frank with you. More candid than he’d ever been, as few as those times speaking with one another had been. 

“He’s very particular. You understand? Do exactly as he says, as he wants, and you’ll be fine.”

It’s meant to be reassuring, but an uneasiness settles in your bones as the minutes pass, and you’re left alone in the kitchens, waiting for Pagan Min to make his appearance and potential demands. 

You’re under absolutely no illusions that Paul would protect you if something were to go wrong. While you have a particular set of skills that he enjoys and values, they’re not something that can’t be found in any number of other people. You just happened to be convenient and within arm’s reach. 

Listening carefully for any sound of footsteps, you let yourself relax enough to inch toward the only source of warmth in the room - the lit fire. Holding your hands close enough that the heat borders just on the edge of crisping your edges, you take a moment to gather yourself back into some semblance of composure. 

“It’s just Pagan Min.” Turning your palms toward yourself to warm the backs of your fingers, you exercise a futile attempt at self comforting. “He’s just a man. A stylish man, but just a man.”

“Style is subjective; all in the eyes of the beholder.”

Your blood freezes all over again, the chilled air is no match for the drop in temperature that comes with his arrival.

“If we’re going to be trading compliments, I’m a fan of the… shabby-chic aesthetic that you’re maintaining here.” Footsteps that are no longer silent round the long table in the center of the room. Effortlessly, he rounds a corner that you often stumble over in your hastiness. From the corner of your eye, you spot pink.

“Pagan Min. Stylish man, ruthless tyrant, and apparently now some form of gorgon, considering you refuse to look at me.”

He doesn’t get to finish tsking at you before you snap your head in his direction and take in a sight you’ve only ever gotten to witness on static-filled television screens. There’s boundless amusement and not much else, and while you’ve never been good at reading people, even you can tell that the lack of further emotion is deliberate. A mask.

Dark eyes flit through the room, taking in the prep table, the shelving, the stove and oven that you’re leaning dangerously close to. And for a moment, the smallest bolt of shame shoots through you before you realize that you’ve never had control over your workspace. Nor have you had any pride.

With a gloved hand plucking at his lower lip absently, Pagan seems to take mental notes of anything and everything. From the peeling plaster to the dented wok, nothing escapes his notice. It barely registers to you as you fall into a trance thanks to the pink of his lip. Even in the low light, it shines. You’re almost certain he’s wearing some type of balm to combat the chilly winds.

It snaps back into place as he pulls his hand away, and you frantically look down at his shoes in favor of being caught by his knowing eyes. Though, you understand well enough that he had to know what you were thinking. The way your shoulders hunch speak a thousand words.

Pagan’s shoes are shined, unsullied, and more than likely new. Suddenly, they’re the most interesting in the world for the span of time it takes him to snap his fingers and regain your attention all over again. As if he’d ever lost it.

“Skittish little thing, aren’t you?”

That gloved hand glides along the well-worn tabletop before it plants firmly and supports his leaning weight. One ankle crosses over the other and all at once he’s smooth lines that are accentuated by a cocked hip and the light of the fire dancing across impossibly high cheekbones. You’re enraptured, and by the way his eyes wander over your shoulder, he either doesn’t notice or doesn’t care.

You’re not sure which you’d prefer.

Abandoning your personal space, Pagan rounds the table again in favor of moving across the room to where he’d been staring over your shoulder. It’s obvious where he’s headed, considering not much is over there beyond a few covered bowls kept close to the open window to keep them fresh for dinner later this evening. 

Methodically, he checks each bowl one by one, examining what’s there before covering them exactly how’d you had them before his meddling, then moving to the next. One in particular catches his eye as he lifts the fabric covering it. 

Turned away, you can’t see his expression, but a pleased sound leaves him - low, gravelly, straight to somewhere you desperately didn’t want to encourage at a time like this. You’ve heard fear can enhance these sorts of things, but this is too much. Too inappropriate.

But even his excitement is making your very bones vibrate at a harmonic resonance, like you want to share in it for just a moment. With all your willpower, you refuse yourself the honor. It’s not your place, and while Paul had said to only do as Pagan instructed, you had a feeling that there was something unspoken there about not wanting to sprawl across this table-top and make every attempt at seduction.

Any shoring of your perverse feelings is swept away when he sweeps his index finger through the contents of the bowl and brings it to his lips. Again he hums, through his nose but it comes from deep in his chest. His satisfaction is undeniable, and you’re frantically cataloging the two back-to-back sounds you’ve been gifted, however undeliberate they might have been. 

His jaw works as his tongue cleans the digit thoroughly of the filling you’d be using that evening. There’s a wet sound as he pulls it from his lips, then turns to you with a knife-like smile, almost sly in nature. “This rangoon will be something to die for.”

[cats-and-fiction]

Pagan Min rescuing the reader and afterwards treating her with a dinner meal because he finds her attractive. Thank you!

Thank you for you request and I hope you enjoy it! I have to admit that I never played Farcry 4 that much and didn't find it that interesting so I don't know that much but I hope you still enjoy it.

Pagan Min rescuing you and inviting you to a dinner

Pagan had been on his way back from some business with his dear people of Kyrat. If it wasn't for Ajays antics he had taken a helicopter but now he had to sit in a car

A tree had fallen on one of the streets and stopped the cars. Now he even had to wait for his men to clear the road. Waiting for them to clear the mess Pagan had been intrigued by a scream for help

Instead of jumping up himself and looking who was screaming for help he send some of his men to look and when they came back with you in their arms his interest was piqued. maybe the day would be interesting after all

You looked disheveled, had some scratches and dirt was covering your cloth. What else to expect when you were chased by a tiger seconds ago.

His smile was charming as he looked you up and down. You knew who it was and you maybe would have rather been eaten by the tiger than running into Pagan Mins arms.

Though the next thing that happened you sat freshly showered and in new clothes at his table. In front of you a line of meals that looked delicious. He had invited you to a meal.

Even though you had looked dirty in the first place when he first saw you he couldn't deny that you eyes shone and behind all that grime you still looked...attractive to him. Wouldn't hurt to invite you to dinner.

Now with you being clean and wearing new clothes he was right, you did look attractive, probably even more than before. With that he sat on the other side of the table in front of you.

The evening would go with you two talking and you actually finding that he wasn't that bad of a person. Interesting to talk to and a fun partner to have a conversation with. Maybe not fit to lead a country but otherwise he was okay.

The evening ended with you two looking out over Kyrat, admiring the beautiful view.

[keffirinne]

WIP Title Game

RULES: make a new post with the names of all the files in your WIP folder, regardless of how non-descriptive or ridiculous. let people send you an ask with the title that most intrigues them, and then post a little snippet or tell them something about it! then tag as many people as you have WIPs.

Thanks @thegreatwicked for tagging! Most of my titles are WIP, I usually name the fic at the end, so it's even funnier now.

Smut:

Having fun with Lalo / Better call saul (Lalo Salamanca x Reader)

Please not him / Birds of prey (Roman Sionis x Reader) yeah, I said I finished it but I still have a few drafts I might or might not post.

Don't lose control / Gotham (Oswald Cobblepot x Reader)

For the king/ Far cry 4 (Pagan Min x OC)

The worst best birthday gift / Birds of prey (Roman Sionis x Reader)

You would look good in red / Birds of prey (Victor Zsasz x OC)

Mortician's daughter / Birds of prey (Victor Zsasz x Reader)

#sharingiscaring / Birds of prey (Roman Sionis x Reader x Victor Zsasz)

Platonic:

Locked up with a monster / DC, based on Harleen comic book (Joker x OC)

Hit the clubs with Maggie / Gotham (Oswald Cobblepot, Maggie - @house-of-slayterr's OC)

Read it if you want xD - that's the most random I didn't plan to find - fanfic from 2017 about polish national football team. Was really hyped about Euro back then.

Not that many, but I already forgot I even started writing some of them.

[lethalchiralium]

blue hour | Pagan Min x GN!Reader

a/n: …there is a common theme here on my blog and it is that i don’t post for long stretches of time, i love terrorists, and i specifically love terrorists played by troy baker. plus sam drake. gotta love my boston baby.

warnings: none????? it’s far cry

summary: pagan woke you up, frustrated but not meaning to, and you calm him down.

“Tell Yuma.”

The only words you heard were those as you woke up, the left side of the bed empty and the bedroom door ajar. Your hand carded through your hair as you drowsily looked towards the door, seeing the familiar silhouette softly shut the door.

“Pagan?” You murmured and his head sharply turned towards you when he heard his name.

“Darling, I’m sorry,” He spoke without any breath of fatigue in his voice. “I didn’t mean to wake you; the Golden Path is causing ruckus near De Pleur’s fortress. I was hoping it would-“

“Pagan,” you shut him up without even snapping at him, something you did often. The way you spoke his name was something that stopped the King in his tracks. You moved the blankets off of you and stood, Pagan started to walk towards you.

“You can go back to bed.” He stated but you met him in the middle of the room, taking his hand and pulling him towards the balcony. “Y/N, I request that you go back to sleep.”

You raised your hand when you reached the shining moonlight, leaning on the railing as you listened to the flags flutter in the wind.

“Take just a moment.” A whisper that Pagan barely heard, his hands reached for your hands. He squeezed them as he looked at the Man in the Moon, silent prayers and wishes he sent to him that he would never speak. How he prays to keep you here with him, how he wishes to be loved by you forever.

You scratched your head with your free hand, yawning as you observed the Man in the Moon. How the moonlight illuminated the Earth like dim sunlight, how it felt pure and how this was the light that showed your Pagan, the one who always cared and answered every call.

“Love you.” You said to the wind, to Pagan, and the man smiled. He pressed a kiss to your neck and an arm slithered around your waist.

“Let’s go back to bed, dove.”

———

Copyright © 2021 lethalchiralium. All rights reserved.

[seeds-and-sins]

Coming Soon...

Derange & Desire - Part One

Vaas Montenegro x Reader: You are a native. You'd do anything to protect your family, even if that means becoming engaged to the island's most ruthless pirate lord. @mhiyx

Four Letter Word - Soulmate AU

Homelander x Reader: The first words they will hear from their Soulmate are imprinted on their skin from birth. @midnightprincess18

Time Out

Pagan Min x Reader: Pagan Min captures you, hoping to torture you personally. The torture turns into something completely different. @joseph-givemeyour-seed

Note: My apologies for the long wait, I've been slowly but steadily finishing these. With the exception of the Pagan Min fic, which I recently just started. Expect posts for both Vaas and Homelander to be posted sometime this week. I think they will be most enjoyable. *laughs maniacally*

[crankycreates]

“You can and you will.”

2.6k words, Explicit Fandom: Far Cry 4 Pairing: Pagan Min/Original Female Character (can be read as Reader) Tags: Pegging, Established relationship, Bottoming from the top (I guess?), hints of Maledom/Femsub, Praise, Pet names, Fluffy feelings

AO3 link

I searched his expression for mockery, feeling intensely uncertain and out of my depth. But although his eyes were dark and hooded, I could find nothing but affection and tenderness in his smile. It widened when he caught me looking at him. “Mm. You look gorgeous with a cock, love,” he murmured.

(This is a Pagan Poetry side story, but doesn't spoil anything important and works well on its own.)

“I don’t know if I can do this.”

“You can and you will.”

“But I—”

“I’m not asking you to take charge,” Pagan said, his voice firm and gentle, much like his hands cupping my shoulders. “I’m telling you to fuck me with a strap-on.”

I stared up at him, pinned by his intent gaze. Swallowed. My eyes were prickling, and abruptly I felt ashamed. Over the past few months, we had done any number of absolutely debauched things with and to one another, yet I balked at pegging him? It was practically vanilla, in my book. But when faced with the actual thing, it was suddenly terrifying.

Pagan let go of one shoulder and gestured to the strap lying on the bedside cabinet. “You’re going to put this on for me, right now, because I want you to, and you aren’t going to deny me. Are you.” His voice was too flat for it to be a question, but he raised his eyebrows in expectation of a proper response.

“…no, sir.”

He had already helped me out of my dress, and now he sat down on the dungeon bed, evidently expecting me to do the rest myself. I picked up the strap-on, feeling my cheeks burn.

Like so many of his toys, the strap was custom made for me. Not just the harness, which of course fit perfectly, but the cock itself, which skin tone matched mine. And of course there was a smaller one for myself on the inside, curved and moulded to rub against my g-spot.

It was somewhat surreal, looking down to see a lifelike erection sporting from my own groin. Cupping it experimentally in my hand, I felt its counterpart stir, and a ridge on the inside of the harness pressed against my clit. I swallowed and let out a shivering breath. No matter how conflicted I was about the act itself, it was going to give me pleasure.

Pagan was watching me, a faint smile playing on his lips. I searched his expression for mockery, feeling intensely uncertain and out of my depth. But although his eyes were dark and hooded, I could find nothing but affection and tenderness in his smile.

It widened when he caught me looking at him. “Mm. You look gorgeous with a cock, love,” he murmured. He sounded like he meant it.

Sliding off the bed, he sank to his knees before me and lowered his head. Hot breath ghosted over my skin as he brushed his lips against my belly, dipping his tongue into my navel before leaving a trail of kisses down to my groin. His hands slid up my thighs to my hips, holding me steady. And then he bent further, pressing his face close to the base of the strap-on, glancing up at me as he ran his tongue up its length.

I moaned, despite myself. Aside from the way the dildo moved against and inside me, there was something wildly erotic about the sight of Pagan lapping at it, coating it with saliva and then taking it into his mouth. He was good at this, I thought dazedly, I should be taking notes; only it was beginning to get very difficult to concentrate. He wrapped his fingers around the base and slid it — the dildo — my cock — in deeper and deeper, until he’d swallowed it completely, and I marvelled at how he held still for a few long moments, seemingly without effort, before he pulled back with a soft groan.

If I had ever thought there was something inherently submissive about kneeling to someone and taking their cock down your throat, I would have had to recant that belief now. When Pagan looked up at me, eyes black and shining with lust, lips slick with his own saliva parting around a sharp grin, I was in free-fall. Drowning. I rocked on my feet, knees weak, and my cock nudged against his cheek. He chuckled huskily and pressed a kiss to the shaft.

Then he rose, slipping a hand into my hair and kissing me gently even as he undid his trousers and let them fall to the floor, all in one fluid motion. I wavered and whimpered and melted against his lips, and when he pulled back I clung to him, flustered and uncertain. He stepped back to the bed, pulling me with him, and sat down.

“Relax, sweetheart,” he said, tugging me to stand between his knees. He brushed his knuckles underneath my chin until I met his eyes, and gave me a gentle smile. “I’m not tossing you into the deep end. I’ve warmed up already, and that thing is not so big that you’ll hurt me. Even if you get rowdy.”

That brought a smile to my lips, and I huffed faintly, looking down for a moment. “So, um. How do you, uh, want me to do this?”

He peered at me, eyes narrowing in thought. “Well… How about you give me a massage, to begin with, hm? Get us both nice and relaxed.”

I nodded. That sort of service, I knew how to perform.

As I stooped to fetch a bottle of lube from the bedside cabinet, Pagan slid onto the bed and made himself comfortable, lying on his stomach. I climbed atop him, trying to ignore the sensation of the toy shifting inside me as I moved. My cunt was wet already, juices leaking out to smear the harness, apparently completely oblivious to my misgivings over what was coming.

I took a deep breath and expelled it slowly. Focused on Pagan, on the broad expanse of his back stretched out before me, on the bunched muscles of his shoulders as he rested his head on his forearms. I could see the corner of his mouth curving in a smile as I poured a generous helping of lube down the groove of his spine.

He was wearing a plug. It shouldn’t have surprised me, really, but I still felt flustered at the sight of it, nestled between his buttocks. Leaving it alone for now, I ran my hands over his back, spreading the lube over his skin. I leaned into it, pushing the balls of my hands into his flesh, and he groaned appreciatively. It was always a treat, getting to touch him like this — usually, he was the one with his hands on me — and I managed to lose myself in the warmth and the intimacy of it, even if the shifting of my cock as it nudged against his buttocks provided the occasional reminder of our purpose here.

“Time to move on to the main course, darling,” Pagan mumbled at last. He seemed utterly at peace.

I sat back on his thighs, taking another steadying breath. Pagan arched his back slightly, relaxing his glutes. I reached for the plug, eased it out of him. Its base was thick; he really would need no further warm-up. Setting the plug aside, I ran my hands over his ass, squeezing the hard muscle, spreading him open.

Part of me wanted to line myself up, close my eyes and just … get this over with. But I was realising, finally, that that would have been missing the point.

This wasn’t about me topping him. It wasn’t even about me fucking him in the ass. I had been told by a lover of his that being on the receptive end this way was something he just … didn’t do, for the most part. Though I had never asked him about it, I had a strong hunch it was rooted in some complicated tangle of emotions, rather than simple preference. He was, as the plug demonstrated, perfectly capable of enjoying anal play in other ways, but letting someone fuck him was a different beast altogether.

And when I managed to set my anxieties and misgivings aside, I could finally appreciate what he was giving me. Ultimately, this was about trust. He was taking me across boundaries, both mine and his own, in order to share something with me. Letting me see a part of him almost no one got to see.

It was an expression of love no less profound and intimate than that of him allowing me to wash him — or of me handing myself over that he may take my mind apart through pain and fear.

So I didn’t look away. I kept my eyes on him as I trailed a couple of fingers down the waxed crevice of his ass, rubbing them against his opening and pushing inside. He accepted them readily, purring appreciation. Pulling out, I reached for my cock and laid it between his buttocks, thrusting slowly between them to get it coated with lube. And then I angled my hips, pushing down on my cock until it slipped into him.

Pagan moaned, lips parting on a blissful smile. I paused for a moment, eyes darting between his face and his ass, and let out a breath I hadn’t realised I was holding. I steadied myself against his hips, gaze locked on his face as I pushed all the way inside.

“Fuuuuck that’s good,” Pagan sighed, still smiling. “My good girl.”

I started moving. If I was a bit hesitant at first, by now it was mostly to do with having never done this before. It took a little while to figure out how to move my hips, how to tilt my pelvis. Pagan seemed to have all the patience in the world for my fumbling efforts, allowing me to find my rhythm without interfering. He arched his back, but stayed mostly still, and for that I was grateful, as any attempt at meeting my thrusts would likely have thrown me off.

And then, from one moment to the next … I was fucking him. As he had told me I would. And once I’d gotten the hang of it, I was suddenly keenly aware of how every roll of my hips had the toy grinding against my clit and my g-spot. Aware of how Pagan was moaning as I fucked into him, his face flushed, his fingers digging into the pillows. Aware of how hot it was — how intimate, how sensual.

My thrusts grew more forceful, not through any conscious decision but simply because I found myself wanting more of this. Any lingering self-conscious unease fell away as I lost myself to pure lust. I felt like an animal like this, clutching at his hips and grinding into his ass, panting and moaning. Pagan moaned with me, breathing my name, praising me and calling me his good girl.

I was in reasonably good shape, but I had never fucked anyone like this before. Muscles were put to work in ways I wasn’t used to, and soon started complaining. I pushed through, fuelled by my desire to please, urged on by Pagan’s moans and encouraging words. But eventually there came a point where my thighs and back simply wouldn’t obey anymore; my pace grew erratic and my thrusts weak.

“Nnh— Pagan— I, I can’t—” I panted, straining against him, almost sobbing with fatigue.

“Alright pet,” he purred, “get off me.”

I pulled out of him and slid to the side, quivering and dripping with sweat. Worry curled in my chest and my hands and my eyes sought him, clinging weakly, searching his face for disappointment. He hadn’t reached his climax yet; had I let him down? But he was smiling that cat’s smile of his, eyes heavy-lidded. He pushed himself up to sit next to me, and helped me onto my back.

“You’ve been so good for me, love,” he murmured, leaning in to brush his lips against mine. “Pushing yourself so hard. My sweet pet. Now it’s my turn, hm? You can just lie back and relax.”

And then he moved to straddle me. Reaching between us to line me up, he sank down onto my cock with a soft sigh. I felt very small like this, bracketed by his muscular thighs, and it eased my tension somehow, made me feel safe. Pagan rocked his pelvis just the slightest bit, gazing down on me. A moan spilled from my lips as the toy shifted inside of me, and he smiled. Pulled strands of hair free of my sweat-slick forehead and smoothed his thumbs over my cheeks.

“There’s my girl,” he said warmly.

He began moving, and I found myself captivated by the roll of his hips, and by the fact that I could see his cock — not just the base where it disappeared into me as was usually the case, but the whole hard, throbbing length of it. Precome glistened on its crown, smeared Pagan’s skin as it bobbed against his belly. I moved my arms to rest my hands on his hips, wanting to feel the way they rolled and flexed.

Pagan smiled, cupped my jaw, rubbed my lips with his thumb, and then he was slipping a finger into my mouth. I sucked on it, and he called me a good girl again, his voice hoarse with desire as he fucked my mouth with his finger and fucked himself on my cock. Though it was hardly necessary for me to move, my hips were still twitching needily against him.

My gaze was drawn to his face, our eyes locked. Pulling his finger out of my mouth, he let his hand rest on my throat, his fingers wrapped around it but not squeezing. It struck me that it didn’t matter whose cock was inside who — he was always inside me. Pagan picked up the pace, my name dripping from his lips like a warm caress, and I was abruptly aware of just how close I was.

“Pagan— Pah— Can I—”

“What’s that, pet? You close?” he asked, his voice husky.

He ground down on me a little harder and I gasped, “Yes, please—”

Pagan guided my hand to his erection, and I eagerly wrapped my fingers around it. He groaned, pace stuttering for a moment, his cock twitching at my touch. “You gonna come for me, hm?” His voice was gravelly now, yet still warm, almost tender. “Gonna come while I ride you?”

Quite unable to answer, I was a quivering, panting mess, staring up at him as he quickened his pace. My climax was sudden and intense, breath catching in my throat as my body seized up for a moment, and then I was shaking and letting out a drawn out, warbling wail of a moan. I was squeezing his cock, hard, and I heard Pagan’s breathless, “That’s it, there’s a good girl—”

And then he was twitching, moaning, shuddering above me, spilling milky white ribbons over my belly, my chest — all the way up to my chin, he painted me.

He lifted himself off my cock and collapsed on top of me, caging me with his entire body. I felt his every heaving breath stream over my neck and shoulder, his hair tickling the side of my face. His cock was still hard in my hand, still throbbing with the aftermath of his climax, even as my cunt kept clenching around my toy.

We lay like that for a time, panting raggedly, clinging to one another, until at last Pagan managed to stretch out beside me. I turned my head to look at him, and then — with some effort and Pagan’s help — rolled over to face him properly. Hooked one of my legs over one of his. Our hands found one another, fingers twining together loosely. Sweat cooled on our skin.

We gazed at one another. Neither of us spoke, because no words were necessary. Both of us were smiling.

[vikkirosko]

🗻Pagan Min x Reader Oneshot Childhood friend 🦚

You were sitting on a plane and flying to New Delhi. It was the last place of your tour. For several years now you have been performing all over the world as a singer. This has been your dream since childhood. Then you lived in China and could only dream of leaving your native country. Your family owned a small restaurant where members of the Triad met quite often. It was there that you met a boy named Pagan Min. He was the son of a rich and influential mobster who liked your family restaurant. He often came there with his son and you and Pagan often chatted. He was a couple of years older than you, but that didn't stop you from becoming friends. He was the only one you told about your dream of becoming a singer. He was the only one who supported you. Even when your parents insisted that you start learning how to run a restaurant business, he was the only one who argued that you need to follow your dream. He was sure that you could become a star. That's why you decided to run away from home. You were still grateful to him for his faith in you, but you haven't seen him since you escaped from Hong Kong. You came to your hometown during one of the tours and learned from old friends that his father was killed and Pagan himself went somewhere with his stepsister. You would like to meet him again, but you didn't have such an opportunity. Finally your plane landed in New Delhi. But instead of an escort, you were met by a man you didn't know with several guards.

"And here you are, and we've been waiting for you"

The man looked quite friendly, but something in him bothered you. However, the man did not notice your concern and continued talking.

"Come with me"

"You are not my escort"

"I was told to escort you to Kyrat, that's the king's order"

"What? But I have a performance!"

"Your performance can wait"

You were forcibly taken away from India. You couldn't even call anyone or try to escape. You didn't even know where Kyrat was, and even more so you didn't know why the king of this country might need it. You saw perfectly well that the people who kidnapped you had weapons. You didn't want to die, so you tried to stay calm. When a man named Paul told you that you were almost there, you started to feel anxious. Looking out the car window, you saw the palace itself. You should have expected it, but you were still amazed, not even imagining how much money it cost. When you arrived, Paul took you inside the palace. He led you to the big door. Behind this door was a real dining room. There was a lot of different food on the table, but the only person in the room was a man you had never seen before. But when he spoke, you realized that you were wrong. You knew this man much better than you thought.

"Thanks Paul, you can go"

Paul left, leaving you alone. The man got up from the table and approached you. A smile appeared on his lips.

"Pagan?.. Is it really you?..

"Hello old friend, and welcome to my kingdom"

[cranky-kyrati]

Hey. I'm not sure if you're still doing requests but if you are could I get a Pagan Min foc with an autistic reader? If you have questions feel free to pm me.

Dude I am SO SORRY, I dropped the ball on this one - I've had the first part of this written for a while and wanted to write more before i published it, but i figure something is better than nothing at this point. There's a continuation in my head, fingers crossed I'll be able to put it into writing soon!

Anyway here goes, Pagan rescuing Reader from bullies ^^;

Pagan Min x GN Autistic Reader CN: bullying

“Hey! Weirdo! What you listening to, weirdo?”

You keep your head down. You always do, it’s safer that way. The less you look at people, the less they tend to notice you, and everyone’s happier that way. But it doesn’t work this time. The soldiers have closed in on you, trapping you in a corner of the palace courtyard you were trying to cross.

“The way you’re always humming along it’s gotta be some good shit right?” they laugh as they snatch at your headphones.

Your attempts to evade them are fruitless. Your shitty old headphones are ripped off your head, your shitty old phone torn from your hand, and now you’re staring at the soldiers as they pass the headphones around.

“The fuck is this, this is just noise!”

They’re roaring with laughter, but there’s an edge to it; like fear. Like anger. Men like that don’t like things they don’t understand. Their eyes stab at you and you have to look down again.

“Hello? Excuse me?”

That voice you know well, even though it has never spoken to you directly. Everyone knows the king’s voice. Right now, it sounds faintly amused, as its owner strolls over to join the gaggle of guards surrounding you. You swallow and take a step back, your heel nudging into the white-washed wall behind you. You lean into it, press your palms against it, focusing on your breathing.

“What’s the big to-do, hm?” Pagan Min asks, just as his shoes come into your field of view. Red crocodile leather, polished to a high sheen.

The soldiers have all straightened to salute him. Now they shift slightly, probably exchanging glances.

“Uh. Sir. Uh. Just having a joke with weirdo, here,” one of them ventures. “All in good fun. We’re buddies. Aren’t we, kid?”

You should probably nod, but you can’t quite seem to move.

“Oh. Huh,” Pagan says.

It sounds like a verbal shrug. Somehow, you manage to tear your eyes off the ground long enough to dart a quick glance at his face. He’s watching you, and when he catches you looking at him, his mouth quirks the tiniest of smiles. And if you didn’t know better … you could swear he winks at you.

“Well!” he continues, “Last I checked, all my staff have names, and I’m pretty sure your friend here isn’t called ‘Weirdo’. I’m also pretty sure you are supposed to be in the barracks for a briefing that started, oh—” he checks his watch, “—five minutes ago. Now, far be it from me to tell you how to do your job, but you know how temperamental my commander-in-chief tends to get…”

There is a moment of stillness, and then one of the soldiers hisses a curse, and they all salute the king again and scramble off towards the barracks. The one who had been holding your phone drops it. You hear yourself cry out softly and you dive for it as it hits the flagstones. You collect your headphones, hands shaking slightly. They don’t seem to have broken any worse than they already were, so that’s something. The phone screen is cracked quite badly, but perhaps it still works—

The red shoes are still there. Why hasn’t he gone yet?

You tilt your head back before you think better of it. The king is watching the army men disappear around a corner, hands in the pockets of immaculate black trousers. “Soldiers always seem to have the absolute worst sense of humour,” he muses. “I wonder why that is.” Then he glances at you, and his lips split in a grin. “But I’m sure they’ll appreciate my little joke at their expense. Hm! That briefing takes place over in the gulag.”

And then he winks again, and saunters off.

[korpuskat]

i'd be appalled if i saw you ever try to be a saint [Pagan Min/Reader]

[Ao3 Mirror] Rating: Explicit Wordcount: 1,944 Content: DFAB & Gender Neutral Reader. Blasphemy & Sacrilege, Inappropriate Use of Religious Objects, Shibari, Bondage, Suspension, Begging, 

"I didn't think you'd be into... this..." You murmur, raise your arms as Pagan's nimble fingers slide the rope around your chest, once, then twice, forming lines across your skin with the deep red-brown material.

"Oh? Why's that?" He grins and it makes your stomach flip- a completely different anxiety than the one that's born from being completely nude as he takes his time forming shapes with his preferred medium. "One must be adventurous to rule a kingdom, and it's quite aesthetically pleasing."

"Thought it would be too similar to your work."

"Work, hah." He carefully threads the ends of the ropes back behind you, pausing to give you a moment to turn away from him. "Maybe for De Pleur, but I for one do not make it a habit to personally tie up terrorists with this much care." With only light touches he brings your arms back and binds them at your elbows, weaves the rope around your outstretched limbs until you can no longer pull them apart or lift them, as he secures that set of knots to harness forming at your chest.

"Though," He starts, then taps your shoulder to make you turn again. His eyes wander over your body, appraising his work thus far before lowering himself to his knees to begin working again at your waist. "This does give me some ideas."

"Thought you didn't want to tie up terrorists." You tease him and it earns you a half-amused glance and raised eyebrow.

"I don't, but someone must. It's the only way to stop them from making a mess of things." His hands are tireless, forming a thick, intricate weave along your outer thigh before it splits into individual strands- and Pagan tips you backwards onto the bed as he finishes that foot with your toes extended, leaving your leg as immobilized as your arms. Only a few minutes in and you can't move the majority of your body- and the thought sends a wave of heat through your body, culminating between your legs. In a vain attempt to subdue the building desire, you press your thighs together- which does not go unnoticed.

"Always so needy." He tsks, but his words carry no weight. Even if you didn't know your neediness made him feel wanted, his own excitement was obvious, tenting the front of his pants. "Almost done." He purrs and rolls you onto your stomach. He touches your unbound leg. "Lift, please."

The angle is odd, but you raise your leg as much as you can. It must be enough, because Pagan rests your ankle in the crook of his arms as he works more rope down this leg. He seems to work quicker, his own impatience growing- and you can't blame him. That heat burns between your legs and you have nothing left to sate it with other than the imaginings of what's to come.

"There." Pagan sighs, and steps away from the bed. He walks around in front of you, once again appraising his work- and you realize you can't put your leg down. Without his support, your leg hangs in the air, the rope shorter on the back of your leg than the front, the tension alone keeping it up. It's an odd sensation, like your weight isn't spread the way it should be- but you don't focus on it long as Pagan retrieves his phone.

All at once the heat rushes to your cheeks and you're ducking your face into his plush beddings. He laughs, always one to enjoy your embarrassment. "Nothing to be shy about, darling. Don't you want to look good for your king?"

"You're horrible." You grumble into the mattress, try desperately to close your legs as he circles around.

"Mmm," His clothes brush against your inner thighs. "Is this so horrible?" His fingers slip between your labia, slick and easy with your building arousal. Unbidden, your hips buck as best they can with the ropes restricting them, and still Pagan is as careful as he was threading the ropes. Never once do the pads of his fingers touch your clit, circling tantalizingly close and never quite making contact. All it does is fan the flame, all your focus centered on the feather-light pinpoints of his touch.

He stops as quickly as he started, coming around in front of you once more. Your mouth is already open, correctly anticipating his ritual of making you clean his fingers.

"Now this may take a moment." Behind you once more, he messes with the ropes- and you struggle to figure out what's happening- until you feel a peculiar pull across your body. You twist in your binds, try to glance over your shoulder- all you get a glimpse of him with his shirt sleeves rolled up, buttoned to expose more of his forearms as he grabs the rope again and pulls.

This time you slide right off the side of the bed. "Pagan?" Your voice shakes, not quite sure what to make of it- and he pulls again, not even answering you. One leg bent back, you balance carefully on the toes of one foot- each pull on the ropes takes more and more of your weight. He keeps going until you're nearly hanging by your leg, almost inverted except for your one leg that still dances across the floor, skittering across Pagan’s plush carpets for purchase, not quite supporting you and not quite dangling.

Pagan exhales, and with your new position you spin lightly in the center of the room, field of view drifting around until you catch sight of him again. He's trying off the rope, and mutters half to himself, "Let's buy a winch next time."

Though he sweats lightly, as soon as he makes eye contact with you the exhaustion wears off quick. His fingertips remain light and teasing as they trace down the long lines of rope, testing the strength of his knots that keep you in your perilous position.

"I think," He says, breathless, "this is right where you belong, don't you?" His fingers race along your arms, up to your shoulders, up and up till they're stroking through your hair. You strain to look up at him, watch as the fire builds in his eyes. "It's what you really want, to be under my power. Nowhere to go, nowhere to hide, nothing to do but to obey me."

With a whine you avert your eyes, try once more to bring your thighs together- and all it takes is a rough tug at your hair to bring your focus back to him. Your hands flex aimlessly, staring at him as he licks his lips, "That sweet pussy of your must be aching by now. I know you want to beg, so go on."

"P-please." It's hardly more than a whisper, and Pagan's face hardens, more insulted than amused by your first attempt. A forceful swallow and you try again, "Please, Pagan... touch me?"

"Tsk, that was pitiful. You can do better than that."

A bite to your lip and you’re still fighting to get the words out past your shame. "Please, I need it, I'm aching," You whine, can't even drop your head with his hand still tangled into your hair. "I- I'll do anything you want."

The knuckles of his free hand caress the side of your face. "Oh, I know you will, darling. But that's bargaining not begging. Is the blood rushing to your head already? Come on dear, let it out."

You're aching and he won't stop, ruthless, almost sadistic and all you want- all you really want- "Use- use me. Please, King Min, please, use me- I want- I want to make you cum, I want to taste you, please-"

Pagan grins, unashamedly pleased in your slow descent into subspace. "All you had to do was ask." Finally, he releases his hold on your hair which leaves your scalp tingling and your neck straining to keep watching. It's a sight worth fighting for; he unbuckles his belt and makes short work of his pants, the pink fabric parting- and your whole body throbs. With one hand he strokes himself, takes care to draw his foreskin back and watch as you begin to drool. If he could, perhaps he'd tease you like this for hours- make you watch him slowly please himself while you beg and insist that you could help. It would be agony for you both.

His own impatience is what makes him grasp your hair again- and he doesn't even have to tell you to open your mouth.

His taste and scent fill your every sense- the faintest twinge of sweat, but mostly soap and his cologne. Until, of course, he holds the sides of your head and begins to move. The first hint of bitter precum has you moaning, remembering the last time you'd had the privilege of making your king come undone with your tongue.

"I didn't tell you where these ropes came from, did I?" He manages to say between grunts, doesn't wait for you to try to answer. "Some unloyal citizens had thought to- oh, to rebuild one of those bell towers."

Your mind fights to the surface to understand, but all you can manage to do is stare up at him with big, glassy eyes. "They're sanctified. Meant to dispel fucking demons." He says and lets his head fall back. The weight of his words begins to settle in- and he pulls you as far as you can go and holds you there. Your nose flush with his abdomen, pressed against the black, well trimmed hairs. Your throat spasms with the intrusion, gagging- and Pagan doesn’t let up until your chest begins to burn.

He pulls you off him entirely. You gasp in lungfuls of air as he wrenches your head up again. He's half-crazed, panting, as rabid as you've ever seen him- "Are they working? Do you feel like you're curing evil?"

There's no right answer. Nothing you could say would be right, but he’s pleased enough at your open-mouthed panting, how you’ve nearly come undone just from sucking him off.

Pagan grabs the rope and spins you, your one foot dragging on the floor until you're facing away from him again. His hands find your hip and your strung-up leg- and there's nothing for you to do but squirm. He pushes in and his first thrust is like music; your whole body sings for the stimulation, the attention, the touch of your king. As rough as he can be with your body swaying, his fingers dig into your skin, desperate for any sort of leverage. Hard, then harder- his short-clipped nails biting into your skin. It's still not good enough; he grabs the ropes that twist around your arms, his fingers winding around his own knots as he yanks you back onto his cock.

His other hand reaches around, latches onto your throat and pulls as hard as he can, your body aching as you're bent backwards, straining against the ropes. Close, close enough for him to pant in your ear as he fucks you- "They're for worship.” He spits the word, drives it home with a thrust so hard he must bruise your cervix- and follows it with a hand sliding over your side, over each line of rope. Down, over your belly, down to your still-neglected clit. You keen as he brushes it, draws faint circles over it- "Do you feel worshipped?" His teeth close around the shell of your ear- and that's all it takes.

Lightning passes through you, leaves you gasping, begging with empty words as Pagan grunts, mutters a "Fuck, fuck!" A long, stuttering sigh- and his forehead rests against your shoulder, breath slowing in rhythm with your still-twitching body.

The serenity doesn't last long- the ropes cutting into your skin brings you down from your high. A single tiny "Ow." has Pagan up- and through his own post-orgasmic stupor manages to cut through the ropes and steady you enough to fall back onto his bed together.

With half-asleep limbs you shuck the knots from your body. Pagan watches with one eye before conceding, "Maybe too adventurous."

----

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[closecry]

All of my Pagan x Reader Fics!

All SFW, any further warnings will be listed on the ao3 page when you click the title of the fic!

A Nightmare

You wake up in the middle of the night after a nightmare. You decide to seek out Pagan's bed rather than spend the rest of the night in yours alone.

Sketches

You are quite the artist, unknown to Pagan. You find it calming to draw things in your daily life. Living in Kyrat with Pagan has caused a lot of your sketches to have him in it. One day he comes across you drawing something and asks to see how the progress is coming along. After you hand him the notebook, he commits a cardinal sin by starting to flipping through the pages.

It's Subjective

You discover a book on Kyrat "History"... It's completely inaccurate... like, ridiculously inaccurate. Pagan simply shrugs.

Pagan "May I Speak To Your Manager" Min

Pagan is a Karen. The rooms get messed up at a hotel, and Pagan is NOT going to stand for this. No matter if the room is still absolutely gorgeous, it is NOT the master suite and he WILL be speaking to the manager. Your job? Keep him from killing said manager.

Back-Up Plan

It's 2018. Late 2018… Maybe. Probably. These days, it was hard to pinpoint what day it was exactly. You were on an island Pagan had purchased for his retirement from being the King of Kyrat. What with the constant sunshine and nice weather, it was hard to tell exactly what time of year it was.

[plutoswritingplanet]

requests are currently CLOSED

MASTERLIST

My AO3 Profile 

Fandoms/Characters I'm willing to write for:

Supernatural

Peacemaker <3

Midnight Mass

Slashers <3 (except for Chucky and Freddy)

DC Batman (villains ahoy)

Far Cry 5 and 3 (+ Pagan)

The Boys

Outlast

Live Action One Piece

Lost (2004 tv series)

And many more I currently don't remember. This is a certified villain loving zone and no judgement zone so... Go crazy my guys!

[lethalchiralium]

But A Dream | Pagan Min x F!Reader

a/n: number 3 HELLO

warnings: very small mentions of abuse, trauma and heartbreak

summary: He followed her to America. He needed her, but she never needed him. Defeated, Pagan, the King of Kyrat, finds himself rotting away in an airport bar.

Ishwari-

I apologize that it has to come to this. If there was any way I could resolve this - but our daughter is the reason why I am fighting against your husband. I apologize for pushing you away, my love.

Behind this letter is a check for Ajay’s full education and your living arrangements. I will no longer contact you, being that those are your wishes.

Take care of my son, no matter if he’s not my blood. I would have given him Kyrat, or the world, if he asked.

Pagan

Pagan wasn’t happy. When he saw that smile while that smiling baby sat on her hip, he knew that she would never let him back in. He knew that she wanted to be alone, without him, not in Kyrat, and without her actual husband.

All of his feelings were overwhelming him, feeling betrayed and abandoned by the one person who swore they’d never leave. He sat at the airport bar, nursing a glass of bourbon. He wasn’t one to indulge in such filthy drinks, but he felt as filthy as the drink tasted. Was he not enough? Was the life he was building for her and Ajay not enough? He was ready to smash the glass in his hand when he thought about how his daughter’s ashes are barely even cold and her mother already abandoned her.

Was love even for him? Was there anyone else made to love him? And Ajay, his son. If not by blood, he still called him “Dad”.

“Bellini, please.”

Pagan’s eyes wandered to the left, noticing the black leather jacket and jeans of a young woman. Hair pulled back into a ponytail with tired stare as she held up her ID. Pagan looked to the bartender as well.

“I’ll pay her drink.” He spoke, the first time in three hours, and the woman turned to the broken man.

“I can get it,” She spoke softly and Pagan shook his head.

“Don’t worry about it.” He answered and his eyes fell back to his drink.

She cleared her throat and watched as the bartender made her drink. “Well, where are you going?”

Pagan let a short laugh leave his lips. “I’d love to go to Paris again. Have you ever been to France?”

The second he turned to her, he felt that feeling again. The way he felt when he first saw Ishwari, the feeling of ‘Holy shit’.

She smiled at him and he couldn’t get over her eyes. “No. Paris sounds fun, a lot better than where I have to go.” The smile faded quickly but she thanked the bartender when they set down her drink. He nodded and proceeded to look back at his drink. He was well-versed in conversation, but not with beautiful women. But this time, he was better off, seeing that the woman to most likely unmarried.

“No one has to go anywhere,” Pagan sounded and the woman sighed.

“Except for abuse trials.” She answered shortly. “Watching your abuser be granted rights again and place a restraining order on him isn’t fun.”

Pagan’s eyebrows furrowed and he took a sip of his drink, ignoring the taste before he turned to her. She was staring down her drink like a contest.

“What’s stopping you from hopping onto a plane to literally anywhere else?”

“Money.” She answered. “This ticket is a one-way, and plus, I wouldn’t like to get arrested at an airport.”

Pagan sort of laughed. “Where are you going?”

“Minnesota.”

He had no idea where that was, he was surprised he even knew what United State he was in right now. “Where is that?”

She laughed. “A day’s drive from here, if I’m lucky. My car wouldn’t make it past the city.” She took another sip before turning to Pagan. “I’m sure you’ve been everywhere, your accent gives it away.”

“No no, my father is from the UK, I was born in Hong Kong.” He answered and she nodded. “I lived in Hong Kong until recently.”

“Exploring the world for yourself?” She echoed the words he hadn’t spoken in his head, the man nodded in return.

They both turned back to their drinks, Pagan merely sipping his while she finished hers. The sight of Ishwari was still clinging to every corner of darkness in his vision, but seeing how happy Ajay was was the nail in the coffin. Maybe he shouldn’t have left the check, let Ishwari come back to him. He was frustrated, exhausted, and ready to smash his hand against a wall.

“Well, where are you headed, stranger?”

He looked back to her, who had a smile that lit up a room. He smirked.

“My name is Pagan. Min. Pagan Min.” He chuckled at himself. “Sorry, I’m usually not this…unorganized.”

“I’m Y/N L/N, nice to meet you, Pagan.”

The way that sentence smashed together the broken and jagged pieces of his heart. Was this possible? Was it possible to fall in love immediately after you were broken up with? He wished he could know the answer because he knew it was wrong, but it felt right. God, was he in love with Ishwari but this woman could be what he needs: a stable relationship where the strings are neatly tied together.

“Well, Ms. L/N, would you like to go anywhere that isn’t Minnesota?” He asked, taking another sip of his drink and watching her intently. She glanced down to her bag near her feet, then back to the bartender who had been cleaning glasses. Pagan then felt embarrassed, being in a country that was foreign to him and being in the company of a woman he most likely won’t stop thinking about.

He took a breath, but she spoke first.

“What did you have in mind?”

He smiled. “The country I live in now.”

“I can pay you for a ticket, it will take me a little while though.”

Pagan fished his wallet out of his suit jacket and placed a $20 bill on the counter, stood, and turned to her. “Don’t worry about it.”

He held out his hand and she looked to it.

It was a chance at freedom. Away from her family, from her ex, from everything. She couldn’t pass it up.

“Where to, stranger?”

Pagan smiled.

“Kyrat, darling.”

———

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