Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

After an hour of Anora weeping into Igor’s arms in his grandma’s car, she finally catches her breath again. She gets up from his grip and can’t even look at him. He tries to catch a glimpse of her eyes, but she just awkwardly mutters, “Thanks,” and gets out of the car. She feels awful—mostly embarrassed, but also a little better. She hadn’t shed a tear in the past few days, so that was… something, she thinks.

As she walks up the stairs to her house, she prays that Igor will drive away as fast as possible. She steps inside and waits. Only after several minutes does he finally start the car again and drive off.

The past few days feel like time has stopped.
Anora stays in her room, crying most of the time, sleeping the rest, and eating only when she remembers to.
Vera tries to talk to her now and then, stepping into her room, but Anora just wants to be left alone.
Lulu, on the other hand, is very worried about her. She calls A LOT. And after a few days, Anora finally decides to answer one of her calls.

⸻

A: “Hey.”

L: “HEY???? Bitch, do you know how fucking worried I am???? First, you tell me you’re married to some rich Russian dude, and now you won’t answer my calls anymore? The fuck is wrong with you??”

A: “I don’t feel like talking about it. Let’s just sum it up and say that he’s a piece of shit who fooled me—like every fucking thing in my life—and now I’m back to fucking square one.”

L: “Oh shit, girl, I’m sorry. So you’re not together anymore?”

A: “I said he’s a piece of shit. End of story. That twink motherfucking nasty ass—”

L: “Yeah, yeah, I got it. I’m always here for you, you know that, right?”

A: “Yeah, I know, Lulu. Thanks.
I’m thinking of coming back, but I’m embarrassed as fuck to show up at HQ after everything that happened with… you know.”

L: “That bitch Diamond can suck your dick, Ani!!! I’ll talk to Jimmy, don’t worry, girl.”

A: “Hate that girl. Thanks, L. Love you.”

L: “Love you too. I’ll keep you updated. Byeee.”

⸻

As Anora gets off the call, she feels the same.
Going back to her old job is… hard, to say the least. She thought she was done, gone, finally found a way out. She doesn’t even know what she was thinking. Like that could happen. To HER.

But one thing is still on her mind.
Igor.
How everything was left so awkwardly.
How that henchman, violent, rape-eyes rat was there for her when she fell apart.
How SHE felt safe enough to fall apart in his arms.

After Lulu helps Anora get her job back, she finds out she only gets half-time shifts. Since she left, Jimmy had to bring in other girls to fill the void, but now that means she has more time for herself in between shifts.

Three months pass since everything happened, and Anora still feels the same—but slightly better. Letting time do its thing.
One day, she decides to use her free time to go to her favorite deli and buy ingredients to make cookies.

As she arrives in Brighton Beach, she sees it.

THE car.

And she knows he’s here.

She decides to ignore it and tells herself that if she sees him, she’ll just run away.
But then—she does see him.

And he’s with another girl.

They’re laughing so hard, it’s fucking annoying, she thinks. You’re in a public place, shut the fuck up.
Igor touches the blonde girl’s hair, moving it from her face to behind her ear, then leans in for a kiss.

A KISS????

Who the fuck does he think he is? she thinks.
Did he have sex with me when he had a girlfriend????

She doesn’t know why it annoys her so much.
It’s not like she likes him.
It’s not like it was anything serious.
And she already knows he’s a bad guy.

As the blonde girl walks into an ice cream shop, Igor lights up a cigarette.

And Anora—without even noticing her feet are moving—starts walking toward him.

She reaches out, snatches the cigarette from his mouth, and starts yelling.

“The fuck, Igor? You have a girlfriend??? You’re a lying piece of shit! You look at me with those rape eyes, letting me have sex with you when I was vulnerable—AND YOU HAVE A FUCKING GIRLFRIEND???”

Igor looks at her, his eyes widening.

“Anora! Are you okay?”

“Am I okay????” she snaps. The fuck is that question?

For a second, he just stares at her.
Then—he exhales, rubbing his face with his hand, like he’s trying to wake himself up.

A small smile tugs at the corner of his lips.

And for some reason, that pisses her off even more.

“I was worried about you,” he says. “So I’m glad to see that you are okay.”

Her chest tightens.
That stupid accent of his. That stupid fucking soft voice.
And that stupid way he’s looking at her—like he actually means it.

“So back to my fucking question—” she starts to shout.

But before she can continue, Igor suddenly takes his hand and puts it over Anora’s mouth.

Her eyes widen.

His hand is warm. Rough. It smells like cigarettes.

For a second, she freezes.

Then, reality kicks in.

She starts screaming even louder, her muffled voice vibrating against his palm as he pulls her away from the ice cream shop.

Finally, he lets go.

She glares at him, her heart pounding.

“It’s not what you think,” he says, breathing hard. “I met her a month ago. And besides that—you think I’m a rapist and a bad guy. So why do you care?”

Anora looks at him, shocked. How dare he?
But—he has a point, she realizes.

Her throat tightens.

“I thought you took advantage of me, and it just all came out like that… I’m sorry. I’m leaving.”

She turns to go.

But Igor takes her hand.

Her stomach flips.

“I only want you to be okay,” he says, his voice quieter this time. “That’s all I wanted—from the moment we met until now. I would never take advantage of you.”

Anora looks at him, surprised.

She stares at him for a few seconds.

Her skin tingles where he’s touching her.

She even gets goosebumps.

But she ignores them.

Does he actually care?

He can’t.

No one can.

She gives him a half-smile, then turns and walks away without saying another word.

Chapter Text

As Anora rides home on the bus, she can’t stop thinking about what just happened.
How Igor looked at her with those green eyes, placed his rough, work-worn hands over her mouth, and told her he cares for her. He cares, for her.

And then she remembers that blonde girl. A wave of nausea rises in her throat, though she doesn’t understand why. It’s not like she feels anything for him. She doesn’t even think about him. The only time she has in the past few months was out of sheer embarrassment over what happened in the car.

She forces herself to push those feelings away, just like she ignores the way she suddenly notices his scent, or how his stupid accent sounds… cute sometimes. None of it matters. She just has to move on from everything that happened—including him.
At least, that’s what she tells herself.

The next day, she comes in for another shift at HQ. At first, everything is as usual—Ani dresses in a silver net dress and black high heels, white lingerie, and starts chewing her gum before getting to work.

She moves from client to client, flashing her biggest smile and changing her voice.
“How are you dooooiiinggggg?”
“Want a lap dance?”
And of course, “Wanna go to a private?”

Ani continues scanning the room for customers, but one of them seems… off. He’s older than most, even though she’s seen every possible age and type of man walk through these doors. His teeth are yellowish, and he reeks of alcohol and cigarettes (not in a good way, like Igor’s hands, she thinks, before quickly pushing the thought away).

Still, she approaches him. He wants a private room, but she smiles and replies,
“I think we should start with a lap dance and see how it goes.”

As she begins dancing on his lap, his hands wander too much. When she decides she’s had enough and moves to get up, he suddenly grabs her—tight—and slaps her across the face.

Ani crashes to the floor, completely shocked.
She’s seen it all, but this? Hitting her? That’s too far.

Security rushes over to drag him out while he slurs out some nasty, drunken insults at her. Ani stumbles into the bathroom, straight to the mirror. Her eye is already swelling up, and as she stares at herself, her vision blurs.

She starts to cry.

And it feels like a relief.

She hasn’t cried in so long. It’s like she’s been stuck in the same endless, meaningless loop, and now—somehow—it’s gotten even worse.

Jimmy sends her home to rest, and she decides to take the next day off, lucky Vera isn’t at home for investigations but she can’t afford to miss her night shift. She needs the money. The diamond ring and extra 10K help, but they’re not enough.

And selling the ring? That doesn’t feel right.

⸻

The next day

When Ani arrives for her next shift, she gets dressed in the changing room with the other girls. This time, she chooses a black strapless dress—something safer. Yesterday’s outfit suddenly feels wrong.

Speaking of yesterday, she didn’t get the chance to talk to them about what happened. She just ran after that drunk old man hit her. Now, though, all of them are staring at her.

Before she can say anything, Lulu storms into the room.
“The fuck are y’all looking at? Get back to your fucking jobs.”

Ani throws her a grateful look. Lulu helps her with the makeup and she covers her bruise on her face, not all of it though. They step outside for a cigarette before the shift starts, and Ani finally tells Lulu everything.

Lulu listens, eyes widening in shock.
“Shit. I’m sorry, babe. That’s fucked up.”

Before Ani can reply, security steps outside and calls out,
“Ani, there’s someone here to see you.”

She and Lulu exchange confused looks before hurrying back inside.

For a split second, fear grips Ani’s stomach. What if it’s that old drunk from last night?

But it’s not.

It’s Igor.

FUCKING IGOR.

Her whole body tenses. Doesn’t this motherfucker have a girlfriend? What the hell is he doing here, at her club, looking for her? She can already feel the heat rising in her body, just like every other time she sees him.

As soon as she steps forward, he approaches her without hesitation.

“Anora,” he says softly, looking at her the way he always does—with too much fucking light in his eyes. He lifts his hands close to her face, not touching her, but radiating warmth.

“I heard what happened to you. I came to check if you are okay.”

Igor is dressed the same as always—black jeans, a hoodie, and a coat. And he doesn’t look like a customer.

For a moment, Anora is surprised. Even… flattered.

Then the moment passes.

Anger floods through her veins. She pushes his hands away from her face.

“First of all, don’t fucking call me Anora here. You’re not my friend.”
She isn’t sure why it bothers her now when it didn’t last time, but something about him calling her Anora here—at her job—feels wrong. Here, she’s Ani.

“Second, how the fuck do you even know what happened to me? And third—” her voice rises, frustration spilling over, “you have that fucking blonde-ass bimbo girlfriend of yours, so what the fuck are you doing here???”

Jimmy watches the whole scene unfold, already looking annoyed. He calls out,
“Ani, if he’s not a customer, he needs to get the fuck out. You’re wasting time when you just had a break. Either you take him to a private, or he’s gone. I don’t want another ‘incident’ like last night.”

Ani burns.

She rolls her eyes at Jimmy before grabbing Igor’s hand, leading him toward a private room. He follows without question.

⸻

Inside, Igor sits on the couch while she stands in front of him, arms crossed.

“Well?” she demands. “Answer my goddamn questions.”

Igor pauses for a long moment, just looking at her.

Her stomach twists—somewhere between discomfort and butterflies—though she completely ignores the latter.

“First,” he says finally, “I have my ways of knowing if you are okay or not. And I was worried about you.”

“Worried,” she echoes mockingly.
But he just looks at her, confused. She smirks inside.

“Second, my business with my girlfriend is not your business. And you and her are different. So leave it alone.”

Anora’s eyes widen.
“So she’s okay with you coming to ‘check up on me’ at the strip club I work at? Does she even know you have your own fucking weird-ass ways of finding out what’s wrong with me?”

(She wants to add And by the way, stop that shit. It’s creepy. But… knowing someone is looking after her, even him, feels kind of nice. And that’s a problem.)

Igor’s voice is steady. “She does not know you. And she does not need to. You two are not the same. I told you—leave her out of this.”

Something inside Anora shifts.

She suddenly wants to test him.

She doesn’t know why she does what she’s about to do, but she climbs into Igor’s lap, moving slowly.

Her hands trail up his stomach, then his chest, finally reaching his face. She looks into his eyes and starts grinding against him, slow and deliberate.

Igor doesn’t stop her.

Half-shocked, half-turned on —but not stopping her.

She takes his hands and places them on the back of her ass, pressing herself against him, moving closer, so close. Their lips are almost touching when she whispers,

“What would your girlfriend think about this, Igor?”

He swallows hard, his Adam’s apple bobbing, eyes locked onto hers.

It feels… too familiar.

A flash of memory—her in his lap, their bodies just as close, their breathing just as uneven. The car.

But this time, she has more power. And she likes it.

She leans in, her lips almost brushing against his, and she feels it—this isn’t just a game anymore. She isn’t just fucking with him. She wants this.

She wants him.

His hands tighten on her waist, fingers flexing against her skin. His scent, the warmth of him—it’s messing with her head.

She likes his touch.
She likes the way he takes care of her, even when she doesn’t ask for it.
She likes his stupid green eyes, and even his bald-ass head.

She likes him.

No.

She can’t.

Igor moves his hand to her face, brushing over the bruise from last night.

She flinches.

But she doesn’t pull away.

They’re so close now, close enough to feel each other’s breath.

And then—

He pulls away.

Slowly, carefully, he lifts her off him and stands up.

“I— I can’t. I need to go.”

He heads for the door, and just before he walks out, she swears she hears him murmur,

“Not like this…”

And just like that—he’s gone.

Anora stays frozen in place.

Her heart is pounding. Her lips are still tingling.

What the fuck just happened?

She was the one who made a move. She knew he had a girlfriend. She knew what she was doing.

So why does she feel like she’s the one who just got played?

Why does it hurt?

Her head spins. She needs to get out of here.

She rushes down the stairs, blinking back tears.

No. No more fucking crying. Not today.

Lulu sees her storming off and follows her into the changing room.

There’s no one else there.

Ani drops onto one of the benches, hands shaking.

Lulu sits in front of her, watching. She doesn’t ask, doesn’t push—she just knows.

And when she reaches out to hug Ani, the dam breaks.

Ani starts sobbing.

Not the quiet kind. Not the fake, attention-seeking kind.

The real, painful, gut-wrenching kind.

The kind she cried three months ago.

The kind she cried in his arms.

And now—now she’s crying for reasons she can’t understand, but can’t stop.

She lets Lulu hold her, lets the tears fall, lets it all crash over her.

Until, finally, she calms down.

And she goes home.

Chapter Text

As Anora gets home, she immediately run to her room and sits in her bed, rethinking everything. What the fuck just happened?

She replays Igor’s words in her head, analyzing every detail. “You two are not the same.” What the hell does that even mean? Is it because of what she does for work? Is that girl better than her? Kinder? More settled? Then why the fuck did he come all the way to HQ and do what he did? Why did he let her get so close? Let her touch him? Let her in?

Her mind spins in a hundred different directions, emotions colliding all at once, too much, too fast.

Suddenly, there’s a knock at the door.

It’s Vera. She looks worried, but not in the usual way. This time, she’s calm, like she genuinely wants to know what’s wrong. They had talked about what happened with Vanya, but she didn’t mention Igor. Like what the fuck was I supposed to say? “Oh yeah, I started fucking him in his grandma’s car and then had a full-on breakdown in his arms for an hour?” Yeah, no fucking thanks.

But she feels on edge. And the second Vera asks if she’s okay, the damn breaks.

It all spills out—the moment in the car, their meeting at Brighton Beach, today. Everything. And Vera just listens, her face unreadable.

“It sounds like he likes you,” she finally says.

Anora blinks. “How the fuck did you get that from everything I just said?” she snaps. “That guy took me hostage and tied my hands and legs and—”

“Then why did you show him all that affection?” Vera cuts her off. “I’m not judging you, Ani. But it sounds like he cares. And it sounds like you care about him too. If not, then why all of this? Why the tornado of emotions you’re drowning in?”

Anora is speechless. Because deep down, she knows. She felt it even when she was with Vanya—Igor had always been there, behind her, watching, protecting. Even in front of Vanya’s parents, he had stood up for her, telling them Vanya needed to apologize.

And then he showed up after three months, out of nowhere, when he didn’t have to. No job. No orders. No reason. Just to check on her.

How the fuck did he even know something happened?

Her chest tightens. Too many questions. Too many feelings. But the worst part?

She doesn’t believe someone would actually care about her.

That’s why she shouts at him. Curses him. Pushes him away. But he never seems affected by it. He never was.

Vera sees the storm in her mind and doesn’t say anything. She just hugs her tight, and for the first time in a long time, Anora lets go. She melts into Vera’s arms, and they fall asleep together.

—

The next day, she wakes up late. Another night shift. HQ is starting to feel like a place where disaster just follows me around, she thinks. But she has no choice.

And when the night comes, she hopes to see him. Maybe he’ll come. Maybe he’ll explain. Apologize. Maybe he’ll just watch from the side, making sure I’m okay. She needs answers. She’s too afraid to get them, of course, but she needs them.

But he doesn’t come.

Not that night. Not the next.

For almost a week, she goes to work, hoping he’ll show up. He doesn’t. She even lingers a little longer at Brighton Beach, at her favorite deli, pretending she’s just there for coffee, waiting—nothing.

Until one night.

She steps out of HQ after her shift, and there he is.

She sees him the second she walks out. Leaning against his car, that same lame-ass hoodie and jeans. A cigarette between his fingers.

Her stomach twists. She tightens her coat around herself—she’s still in the dress from work, didn’t bother to change, and the cold creeps up her arms. But she walks toward him anyway.

She wants to say something, yell at him, demand an answer—but nothing comes out.

He exhales a slow stream of smoke. “Want a ride home?”

She hesitates. Every instinct tells her to say no. But her curiosity, her fucking weakness for him, wins.

“Yeah.”

—

The ride home is quiet.

She feels his gaze on her a few times. She keeps her eyes on the window, watching the city blur past. But in the reflection, she catches glimpses of him. His sharp jawline, the way his hands grip the steering wheel. She tries not to look.

They pull up to her place, and suddenly, she can’t breathe.

The memory crashes back—this exact spot. His grandma’s car. That night. Her body tenses, ready to run.

But then, he speaks.

“I am sorry.”

She looks at him. His eyes shine in the dim light—his eyes always shine.

“I just have one question,” she says. “What did you mean when you said ‘you’re not the same?’ Is it because I’m a stripper? Because that’s fucking messe—”

“No,” he interrupts. “You are different because you are like me. You are rough. Raw. Real. Intense.”

She stares at him, breath caught in her throat. Her heart pounds, her skin burns.

“Get out of the car with me,” she says suddenly.

He does.

Leaning against the hood, he watches her. She stands in front of him, trying to make that angry face, but she just can’t.

“I met Nicole a month and a half ago,” he says, his stupid accent thick. “She is different. She does not know I do bad things for work. She thinks I am a good guy. And… it is nice. Having someone care about you.”

And Anora understands. Because that’s what he is to her. The person who fucking cares.

For the first time in her life, she actually wants to kiss someone. With her older partners it took time, but she feels like it’s burning inside of her.

But she can’t. Because it’s too complicated. He’s a bad guy. Even though… he’s not. But there’s too much history. And Nicole. Fucking hell.

“I spoke with Nicole today. I told her the real me. She was surprised… and she tried to be there, but she wanted a break. A few days, to figure things out.”

And just like that, all the warmth inside her fades.

Anora scoffs, crossing her arms. “So now you decide to fucking talk to me? When you and your bimbo ass girlfriend hit a rough patch?” She lets out a bitter laugh, shaking her head. “I can’t believe you,
Igor. You’re just… you’re—”

“It is not what you think,” he says
immediately. “With you, it is different. You are Anora.”

Her whole world spins. What does he mean by that?

“Okay, I am saying it,” he breathes.

She just stares. Heart pounding.

“I like you. I liked you from the moment I saw you there. But I am afraid. You are like a broken angel I want to hold, to keep warm. And I feel confused. I have Nicole. She is different. From us. From you. But you… you are different. In every good way possible.”

Her jaw nearly drops.

On impulse, she kisses him.

At first, they hesitate. Their lips barely move, but they burn for each other. And then the fire ignites. It’s intense. Hungry. Needy. She grips his neck, he pulls her in tighter, their bodies melting together, lips crashing—desperate, endless, breathless, and it goes like that for a few minutes, like the time freezes.

And then, when they finally pull apart, when they’re both gasping for air, he touches her face, voice barely above a whisper.

“My Anora.”

And she melts.

But then—reality.

“I can’t do this to Nicole. I need to give her time. I am not the kind of person who lies.”

Anora exhales. Fuck.

“I get it. But I don’t want to lose you.” She smirks. “At least give me your fucking phone number.”

He chuckles, and they exchange numbers. He kisses her cheek before watching her walk inside.

Then, he drives off.